Sage of Arunachala

All India Radio:

.?.?...Ramana Arunachala drew thousands of devotees on September the 1st to mark the completion of fifty years since the Maharshi set foot on the sacred soil of this historic mountain shrine. From far and near they flocked for darshan of the holy sage who, by severest austerities and profound contemplation, has attained spiritual wisdom and serenity, unique in the country. Thousands draw comfort from his mere presence for he never preaches nor blames, setting at ease all who came to him by the essential goodness he radiates to all around.

A good man in a trouble world.

In the small town of Tiruchuzhi, thirty miles from Madurai in South India, 'Arudra Darshan', a celebration of Lord Shiva, is performed annually with great religious fervor.

On December 29th, 1879, devotees had taken the Shiva Nataraja Image out from the famed Bhuminatha Temple and were parading the deity in the streets of Tiruchuzhi. Late at night, at 1:00 a.m., when the festivities were concluding and the image was being carried back into its sanctuary, a small, sharp cry of a new born babe was heard just outside the temple wall. The boy, Venkataraman, later to be acclaimed by the world as Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi, was born.

Venkataraman was the second of four children born to Azhagammal and Sundaram Iyer. Sundaram Iyer was a successful pleader in court and a self-made man. He was renowned throughout the area for his generosity and wisdom. The house he built stands as a testimony to this. It was built in two separate units, providing an equal amount of space for guest and pilgrims, as for his own family. Today this house is maintained as a shrine where daily worship is performed and pilgrims often visit.

Sundaram Iyer commanded respect and reverence from even robbers, who would withdraw from attacking his cart when it passed at night. His wife, Azhagammal, was a hard-working and gracious orthodox homemaker. Her innate spirituality later became known, as it blossomed under the direct guidance of her son, in the evening of her life.

The boy, Venkataraman, attended the local elementary school like other boys of his age and status. He sometimes played by the Koundinya River on the outskirts of town. In later years he was once heard to reminisce, "We used to bathe in the Koundinya River, pour a vessel of water on the Linga in the nearby Kalayar Temple, offer food... then eat it. The children of the village adjacent to the temple used to join us there. We would play together till nightfall and then go home."

Thus twelve years of boyhood happily passed for Venkataraman. In 1891 he was sent for higher schooling to relatives in Dindigul where he attended Dindigul Municipal High School. This larger town is about seventy miles north of Tiruchuzhi. He was living in this house for less than one year when the ominous news of his father's serious illness reached him. He immediately returned home and within a few days, on February 18th, 1892, his father died.

With no man to lead the household, or adequate income to maintain it, Venkataraman's family was divided among relatives. He and his older brother went to live with their paternal uncle, Subba Iyer, in Madurai. Azhagammal, her daughter and youngest son, went to stay with other relatives in a nearby town.

Madurai, which is known for the famous Meenakshi Temple, is a large bustling city. Venkataraman first joined the Scotts Middle School, and by the time he advanced to the American Mission High School, it became clear to all that this boy would never be a scholar; he preferred games and athletic activities. If it wasn't for his amazing retentive memory, the neglect he showed towards his studies would have definitely alarmed his guardians.

In fact, nothing to this point in his life revealed any real purpose or meaning to him. Swimming in the Vaigai River and competing in sports was a happy diversion for him, especially since he was blessed with health, strength and coordination, enabling him to excel all others.

The first premonition of the boy's unusual destiny exhibited itself in November, 1895, just before his sixteenth birthday. One day when meeting an elderly relative and asking him where he was coming from, Venkataraman was astonished to hear him reply, "From Arunachala." He knew of Arunachala as being a very sacred place, but it never occurred to him one could actually go there.

The second premonition came soon after. His uncle had borrowed a book of the 63 Tamil Saints, titled Periapuranam. Venkataraman picked it up and, as he read it, was overwhelmed with ecstatic wonder that such faith, such love, such divine fervor was possible; that there had been such beauty in life. The tales of renunciation leading to Divine Union, inspired him with awe and emulation.

The climax came only a few months later. Venkataraman was in the upstairs room of his uncle's house when the great change in his life took place; in fact, it was quite sudden. A violent fear of death came over him. In spite of good health and without crying out for help, he just felt, "I am going to die." This shock drove him inward, and he was totally absorbed in the vital questions demanding to be answered: "What does death mean? What is dying? It is the body that dies."

He dramatized the event by imitating the state of rigor mortis, lying stiff, holding back breath and voice like one dead. His body would be carried to the burning grounds and reduced to ashes. Yet, he thought, "I still feel the full force of my personality and even the voice of the I, within me, apart from the body." He experienced that he was the Supreme Spirit transcending the body. The body dies, but the spirit cannot be touched by death. He was granted the certainty that he was the deathless spirit.

From that moment on, the "I" or Self focused attention on its Source, which is the Self and Substratum of all existence, and his absorption in it remained unbroken. Whether talking, reading or doing anything else, he was always centered within, on that Supreme Self.

The permanent awakening of this new Awareness within him, simply meant the transcendence of his individual I, or ego, sense and union with God.

With this new experience came a dramatic change in his life and interest. He no longer enjoyed playing games with his friends, he was indifferent to the food he ate; and, in his studies, already suffering from neglect, he lost all interest. His preoccupation with the flood of Divine Awareness awakened in him was all but total. If there was anything at all that attracted him, it was the nearby Meenakshi Temple. He would now go there every evening and stand for a long time alone, motionless before the images of Shiva or Meenakshi or Nataraja and the 63 Saints. As he stood there waves of emotion would overwhelm him.

The crisis came on August 29th 1896, some two months after the awakening. Venkataraman was attempting to write out an English grammar lesson when the futility of the exercise struck him so forcibly that he pushed the papers away, sat cross-legged, and abandoned himself to meditation.

His elder brother sitting nearby and observing this, rebuked him saying, "What use is all this to such a one?" Recently he had often scolded him because of his indifference to responsibilities and pointed out that if he insisted on acting like a renunciate or sadhu, what is the use of staying here and playing the role of a student?

This time, Venkataraman recognized the truth of his words and the moment the thought came as to where to go, "Arunachala" leaped into his consciousness.

Shortly after, he rose and told his brother he had to attend a special class on electricity. Unconsciously providing the funds for the journey, his brother replied, "Then take five rupees from the box downstairs and pay my college fees on the way.

Proceeding downstairs, his aunt served him a meal, which he ate hastily. He was given the five rupees and then he quickly glanced through an outdated map to locate the nearest train station to Tiruvannamalai. He saw it was Tindivanam, although a railway line had recently been constructed to Tiruvannamalai where the Arunachala Mountain is located.

Placing the following note in a cupboard, he left--not for his school, not to pay the college fees, but for the quest!

"I have set out in quest of my Father in accordance with His command. It is on a virtuous enterprise that this has embarked, therefore let none grieve over this act and let no money be spent in search of this. Your college fees have not been paid. Two rupees have been enclosed herewith."

Reaching the train station, looking up the tables of fares, he quickly located Tindivanam. Had he looked closer, he would have seen the town, "Tiruvannamalai." But he was already late for the noon departure. Purchasing his ticket and rushing to the platform he was relieved to find the train had not even come into the station.

Once on his way, Venkataraman sat silent among the passengers, lost in the exultation of his quest. After passing several stations, a bearded Muslim pundit asked him where he was going. A discussion ensued which resulted in his realizing he could change trains at Villupuram Junction and board another for Tiruvannamalai itself.

Before dawn the next day he arrived at Villupuram Junction. When morning broke he walked into town and looked for road signs for Tiruvannamalai, as he now thought of walking the distance. Unable to find his way and feeling tired and hungry, he sat near a restaurant waiting for it to open. After eating he returned to the railway station and bought a ticket to Mambalapattu, which was as far as his remaining money would take him.

He reached Mambalapattu in the afternoon, and from there walked along the railway lines toward his destination. A ten mile walk took him as far as Tirukoillur. It was now evening, and before him was the ancient temple of Arayaninallur, built on a large rock. It was at this spot the glorious saint Jnana Sambandhar first glimpsed the holy Arunachala Hill over one thousand years ago.

Soon after Venkataraman reached the temple a priest opened its doors to perform the evening worship. The boy entered, sat in the pillared hall and immediately beheld a brilliant light pervading the whole temple. After rising and searching to find from where this light emanated, he soon realized it was from no physical source. He again sat absorbed in meditation, only to be roused by the temple cook who asked him to leave, for they were locking the temple doors.

Being hungry and tired, Venkataraman asked for food and permission to stay. He was refused both requests and was given the suggestion to follow them to the Kilur Temple across the river where he may be given food after the worship there.

Reaching the temple he again sat and was plunged into deep absorption. At 9 p.m. the worship was finished and supper was served. He again requested food and this time the temple drummer, who was impressed with his appearance and devout manner, gave him his own share.

By now he had become very tired. He took his leaf plate of food in hand and was led out to a nearby house to obtain some water. While waiting for the water he collapsed in a faint, or sleep. A few minutes later he came around, drank some water, ate some food, and then lay down on the grass to sleep.

Next morning was Monday, August 31st, the birth anniversary of Sri Krishna. When Venkataraman woke, he walked about looking for the road and began feeling tired and hungry again. Tiruvannamalai was still twenty miles away.

He stopped at this house near the Kilur Temple to beg for food and the mother of the home warmly responded to this bright looking boy on this holy day of Sri Krishna. Venkataraman was wearing the traditional ruby-set earrings worn by brahmin boys, which were worth some twenty rupees. Remembering this, he offered it to the head of the household for a loan of four rupees, enabling him to complete his journey by train.

The transaction completed and addresses exchanged (so he could later reclaim his property) the pilgrim departed for the train station. He had to sleep that night in the station, for the train to Tiruvannamalai didn't leave until the morning. In the morning, on September 1st, 1896, three days after leaving home, he finally reached his destination.

With quick steps, his heart throbbing with joy, he hastened straight to the great Temple of Arunachala. In mute sign of welcome, the gates of the three high compound walls and all the doors, even that of the inner shrine, stood open. He stood alone in blissful union before the image of his Father Arunachala; The quest achieved; the journey ended.

Leaving the temple, Venkataraman wandered out into the town. He made his way to the Ayyankulam Tank, into which he threw whatever possessions he had, including about three and a half rupees in change. That was the last time he ever touched money. Removing his lower garment he tore off a strip to use as a loin cloth and cast the remainder into the tank.

Someone noticing the lad's apparent mood of renunciation, amusingly suggested to him to have the barber remove his hair also. He agreed. Returning to the temple, and just before entering the main gate, a short, hard shower of rain burst down on him. This rain-bath, he thought, was sufficient compliance to the scriptural injunction of bathing before taking up the life of an ascetic.

All formalities completed, Venkataraman entered the temple and took up his abode in the Thousand-Pillared Hall. He sat, giving himself up to total absorption in the bliss of being. Day by day, day and night, he sat unmoving. For some weeks he continued so; lost in ecstasy, never speaking.

A saint known as Seshadri Swami, who had arrived in Tiruvannamalai a few years earlier, began looking after the Brahmana Swami, as Venkataraman was now called.

School boys, seeing another boy about their own age, sitting mute, half human-like, began making mischief by throwing stones at him, among other things. Seshadri Swami's attempts to keep them off were not very successful. So Brahmana Swami sought refuge in the Patala Lingam, an underground cellar shrine in the Thousand-Pillared Hall.

In those days this vault was neglected and seldom visited by humans, but the ants, vermin and mosquitoes flourished in its dark, damp atmosphere. In this corner they preyed upon the boy's flesh until his thighs were covered with sores that ran blood and pus. To the end of his life the marks remained. The few weeks he spent there was a descent into hell; and yet, absorbed in the bliss of being, he was unmoved by the torment; it was unreal to him.

One day, a pious man, seeing boys throwing stones into that cellar, became indignant and chased them away. Entering the vault he was horrified to discover the ill-kept youth who sat unaware of his surroundings.

Brahmana Swami was then bodily carried out and placed in the nearby Subramanya Shrine. One Mowni Swami began looking after him. Sometimes nourishment had put in his mouth, as he paid no attention when it was offered him. For some weeks he did not even trouble to tie his loin cloth.

After a few weeks he moved out to the temple garden; then later to the hall of the temple vehicles; later, again, under a tree near the temple wall. In this way, for nearly six months, he resided within the great temple. He remained almost always completely absorbed in a blissful trance. He would even move about in this trance, for on waking to the world he would sometimes find himself under a different bush with no recollection of how he got there.

The festival of Kartikai, falling in November or December, would lure thousands of pilgrims to Arunachala annually. Brahmana Swami began to attract much attention and devotion from these pilgrims who saw in him a pinnacle of renunciation and union with God.

A sadhu attending to Brahmana Swami tried to keep off the crowds of sightseers, meeting with only partial success. Some time passed with no relief from the onlookers, so another suggested the Swami would be less disturbed if he left the temple and moved to Gurumurtam, a shrine on the outskirts of town. By way of gesture, Brahmana Swami consented.

In February of 1897, about six months after his arrival in Tiruvannamalai, he left the Arunachala Temple for Gurumurtam.

There was no change in his mode of life. He would sit in this Shrine, his mind and senses merged in the Divine. He would eat only one cupful of food daily, and never speak. Others thought he was observing a vow of silence, but it was not so. He simply had no desire to speak or attend to the needs of his body. His hair grew long and matted, his body was crusted with dirt and, because of lack of nourishment, he had difficulty raising himself when he needed to go out.

It was here that a sincere devotee, Palaniswami, attached himself to the young sage. He consecrated the rest of his life to his service, remaining his attendant for twenty-one years.

The owner of a neighboring mango orchard noticed the number of pilgrims and sightseers increasing, causing some disturbance. He offered his fenced-in orchard as an alternative residence. In May, 1898, after a little more than a year at Gurumurtam, Brahmana Swami and his attendant moved into the orchard.

The mango trees have long since been cut and the land is now used for growing rice, but the sanctity derived from the young sage's residence will prevent these grounds from receding into obscurity.

About the time Venkataraman moved to the orchard, his uncle in Madurai died. It was at his funeral that the bereaved family received news that their runaway boy was now a revered swami in Tiruvannamalai.

Azhagammal anxiously sent her late husband's other brother, Nelliappa Iyer, to bring the boy back. After arriving in Tiruvannamalai with a friend, Nelliappa Iyer was deeply moved to see his nephew in such an exalted state, but distressed at his physical condition. He pleaded with the boy to return to his family. The swami remained silent and indifferent, and his uncle returned home disappointed.

Six months quietly passed in the mango orchard. Then the Swami decided to live alone and beg his food in town. He moved to this Arunagirinathar Temple. Palaniswami, his attendant, insisted on following him. After a month here and another month in the Arunachala Temple, he went up to Pavazhakkunru, one of the eastern spurs of the Arunachala Mountain. He stayed in the temple there and continued to sit as before, immersed in the bliss of Being. It was here, near the end of 1898, where Alagammal found her son.

The Mother walked up the stairs to her son's abode and she immediately recognized him, despite his wasted body and matted hair. Day after day she beseeched him, entreated, begged, and even reproached him for not returning home. The boy sat unmoved. In final desperation she burst into uncontrollable tears. The boy walked away lest his compassion should show and give her false hopes.

In the end he wrote on a piece of paper, "The Ordainer controls the fate of souls in accordance with their prarabdha karma. Whatever is destined not to happen will not happen, try as you may. Whatever is destined to happen will happen, do what you may to prevent it. This is certain. The best course, therefore, is to remain silent." The Mother resigned herself to his firm resolve and left.

Shortly after the mother left, the Swami moved up on the hill, just above the great temple. As varying circumstances dictated he moved from cave to cave on this slope until 1922, although his primary residence till 1916 was the Virupaksha Cave. This dwelling that contains the remains of the 13th Century saint, Virupaksha, has a small stream running next to it. Unfortunately, in the summer months the cave becomes oppressively hot and the stream dries up. During this hot period the Swami and his followers would move to the nearby Mango Tree Cave, which was somewhat cooler and had adjacent to it a perennial supply of water.

In 1900, soon after his move onto the hill, the first portrait photo of the young Swami was taken. We see a beautiful youth, almost childlike in appearance, yet radiating the strength and profundity of a sage.

During the early years on the hill the Swami continued to maintain silence. His radiance had already drawn a group of devotees around him and an ashram had come into being.

He occasionally wrote out explanations or instructions for his disciples, but his not speaking did not impede their training, for his most effective instruction was imparted in silence. Merely by sitting in his presence restless minds came under control and long-sought spiritual experiences manifested of their own accord. This penetrating and transforming silence became the hallmark of the young sage.

The first western visitor, F. H. Humphreys, an English police officer, described its effect in a letter to a friend in England: "On reaching the cave we sat before him, at his feet, and said nothing. We sat thus for a long time and I felt lifted out of myself. For half an hour I looked into the Maharshi's eyes, which never changed their expression of deep contemplation. I could feel only that his body was not the man: it was the instrument of God, merely a sitting motionless corpse from which God was radiating terrifically. My own feelings were indescribable."

In 1902, one Sivaprakasam Pillai happened to come to Tiruvannamalai on government work. After hearing of the young sage he immediately went up the hill to see him and was captivated on his very first visit. He put fourteen questions, and since the Swami was still observing silence, both questions and answers were in writing. These answers were later expanded and arranged in book form as "WHO AM I?" This small book, containing his early teachings, remains the essence of all instruction ever given.

Altogether outstanding among the early devotees of the Swami was the great scholar and ascetic, popularly known as Ganapati Muni. He was a man of towering ability: a child prodigy in Sanskrit, a phenomenal memory, a man of intense sincerity, natural humility and devotion. His very presence evoked awe and respect.

In 1903, as a young man of twenty-five, he moved to Tiruvannamalai, thinking it a good place to perform austerities. By the year 1907, doubts began to assail him, and one hot afternoon with great agitation he ran up the hill to the Swami, fell at his feet and with a voice quivering with emotion said: "All that has to be read I have read; even Vedanta Sastra I have fully understood; I have performed japa to my heart's content; yet I have not up to this time understood what 'tapas' is. Therefore I have sought refuge at your feet. Pray enlighten me as to the nature of tapas."

The Swami turned his silent gaze upon him for some fifteen minutes and then replied: "If one watches whence the notion "I" arises, the mind is absorbed into That; that is tapas. When a mantra is repeated, if one watches the source from which the mantra sound is produced, the mind is absorbed in That; that is tapas "

These instructions, and the overwhelming grace he felt emanating from the Swami, filled him with unspeakable joy. He began composing Sanskrit verses on the Swami and declared to all that henceforth the Swami is to be addressed as Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi. Immediately the name Ramana came into use; so also did the title Maharshi, which means 'Great Seer'. But gradually the epithet 'Bhagavan' began to prevail among his devotees. It simply means 'Divine'.

In 1916, Ramana's mother, Azhagammal, came to Arunachala with the resolve to spend the rest of her life with her ascetic son. Her eldest son had died. The wife of Nagasundaram, her youngest son, also died, leaving behind a baby boy. Nagasundaram left his son with his childless sister, Allamelu, joined his mother and sage-brother and donned the ochre robes of a renunciate.

Soon after his mother's arrival, Ramana moved from Virupaksha cave to Skanda Ashram, a little higher up the hill. Mother took charge of the Ashram kitchen and received intense training in spiritual life from her son, whom she now came to look upon as a Divine Being.

During her last years at Skanda Ashram, she intuitively realized that her salvation depended on her son, who was now her sole refuge. She refused to leave his company even for a day, fearing she might die away from him. She told him "It doesn't matter if you throw my dead body in the thorny bushes, but I must die in your arms."

And in his arms she was, on that fateful day of May l9th, 1922, when, by his special touch, she attained the final state of absorption in the Heart before she breathed her last.

Sri Kunju Swami, who witnessed the Mother's last hours at Skanda Ashram, describes the scene:

Interview #1: Kunju Swami

The Mother's body was carried down to the foot of the southern slope and buried with all the ceremony and rites accorded to a liberated soul, a Jnani. A shrine was erected over the grave and the Maharshi would visit it almost daily. His brother took up residence there, and on one occasion a few months later the Maharshi came down and settled there too. The devotees from Skanda Ashram followed him, and thus was founded Sri Ramanasramam.

At first there was only a thatched hut built over the Mother's grave, but as seekers and devotees began pouring in from all over India and abroad, buildings were constructed to accommodate them. A forty by fifteen foot hall was built to house the Maharshi and, although he preferred every sort of simplicity, a couch was forced upon him. This became his home for most of the twenty-four hours of the day.

He adhered to a punctual routine, which included going out for a stroll twice a day. At these times he would walk up on the slopes of his beloved Arunachala Hill, and, if any attachment to anything could be said of him, it was surely an attachment to the Hill. He loved it and said it was God Himself, the Spiritual Heart, or Center of the earth. He seemed to be never so happy as when wandering around its slopes, and once remarked that there was not one spot on the Hill where he had not set his foot.

He also encouraged devotees to walk around the eight mile circumference of the Hill, as it has been well known from ancient times to be a very potent spiritual exercise.

Generally, the Maharshi appeared to be indifferent, a witness, to what was going on around him. Nevertheless, he was always aware of what was happening and seemed to be very particular about certain matters.

First of all, he insisted that he should be accessible to devotees and visitors at all times. Even on the day of his death, when he had no strength to even hold his head erect, he asserted that devotees should not be prevented from seeing him. He was also very keen that visitors should be fed immediately upon their arrival, and food should be well cooked and nutritious. He participated in and supervised meal preparations for many years.

The Maharshi was adamant that no preference should be given to him in way of food or conveniences. "If it is good for me, it must be good for all", he would say when some special food preparation or medicine was offered him. He would then make the attendants distribute the item to everyone present before he would take it himself.

In his company one would notice a total absence of distinction between men and woman of different castes and creeds, of different races and religions, between a prince and a peasant, an ascetic and a householder. His equality extended far beyond human beings and embraced even plants and animals.

His love for and affinity with animals can be compared only to that wonderful child of Christ, Saint Francis of Assisi. They all came to him--dogs, snakes, monkeys, crows, deer, peacocks, chipmunks and cows--to name a few. Their silent language was known to him, and when he spoke, they understood and obeyed. He arbitrated the monkeys' quarrels; he has been known to speak to the wild leopards and cobras, and the whole animal kingdom accepted him as their guardian and defender. All felt his grace and acted with intelligence in his presence. He considered every living creature as equal, and those who came to him deserved an equal share to the land and resources of Ramanasramam. He often mentioned that this was their territory all along and we humans have just come and occupied it. If they could speak they would claim their rights as well.

Besides this, he maintained that every creature, from man down to the smallest insect, was an equal manifestation of the Supreme Self, the Imperishable One, and even an animal can progress spiritually and, on rare occasions, attain liberation. This was demonstrated in the life of the cow Lakshmi.

For over twenty years she lived in the Ashram and exhibited a rare devotion to Bhagavan and intelligence in all matters. Bhagavan fully reciprocated her gentle devotion and, on her last day, when her end was near, he went to her: "Amma (Mother)," he said, "you want me to be near you?" He sat down beside her and took her head in his lap. He gazed into her eyes and put his hand on her head and also over her heart. Holding his cheek against hers, he caressed her. Satisfied that her heart was pure and centered on God he left her. Shortly after, she left her body quite peacefully.

She was buried with full ceremony and a stone bearing her likeness was erected over her grave. An epitaph written by Bhagavan was engraved thereon, stating that, in fact, she attained final liberation on that day.

The Maharshi was always very tidy and clean. He was invariably punctual, and his frugality was flawless; nothing ever went to waste. He was often seen bending over to retrieve a lone grain of rice and return it to its proper place.

Whatever work he performed he did with full concentration, with greater speed and perfection than anyone could match. And all the attention lavished on him didn't affect him. He never wanted anything from anyone. He was fully satisfied with the pristine fullness of the Supreme Self. As for human attributes, his personality and character bordered perfection.

But his most outstanding feature was not human; it was Divine. It was that Divine-transforming quality of his presence that attracted thousands to him from all corners of the world. His very presence, his silence, quelled the agony of many hearts and transported mature souls to the realm of spiritual fulfillment, Self Realization.

Let us listen to a not-so-uncommon experience of one such seeker, Ramani Rajagopal Ammal:

Interview #2: Ramani Rajapalayam Ammal

The sincere seekers flocked to him and the intensity of their sincerity was reciprocated in full in an unseen manner, known only to the seeker.

He explained to the devotees that although one may see varied visions, hear supernatural sounds, experience clairvoyance, even develop occult powers, such as invisibility, the materialization of objects, etc., it is not until the mind is perfectly silenced and sunk into the Heart, the seat of the Supreme Self, can the final truth be realized and perfection attained.

With or without visions his guidance would take them beyond the limitations of body and mind and awaken the pure awareness of the Self in the Heart. Professor N. R. Krishnamurthy Iyer, an ardent senior devotee of the Maharshi, recalls his experiences while sitting before the Master in 1934:

Interview # 3: Prof. N. R. Krishnamurthy Iyer

By his look and the power of his presence, he effected subsidence of the mind and the experience of the one perfect Reality.

He often said that the true teaching was in silence, but this does not mean verbal expositions also were not given. And although he authorized many different methods of spiritual practice, he, however, laid the greatest emphasis on the path of Self-enquiry: "The first and foremost of all thoughts that arise in the mind is the primal "I" thought. It is only after the rise or origin of the "I" thought that innumerable other thoughts arise. Search, by means of a deeply introverted mind, wherefrom this "I" arises. If we go inward questing for the source of the "I" the "I" topples down and immediately another entity will reveal itself proclaiming "I-I". Even though it also emerges saying "I" it does not connote the ego, but the one perfect existence."

People of all religions came to him, and he never advised any of them to change their faith or abandon their creeds. He answered their questions patiently, but in the end brought them round to the Self. "Know who you are, then all else will be known," he would say.

To a question put to him about happiness, he replied, "Happiness is your real nature. You identify yourself with the body and mind, feel its limitations, and suffer. Realize your 'true Self' in order to open the store of unalloyed happiness. That 'true Self' is the Reality, the Supreme Truth, which is the Self of all the world you now see, the Self of all the selves, the one Real, The Supreme, the eternal Self, as distinct from the ego or the bodily idea for the self."

He never advised anyone to renounce their families or move to the forest. "The obstacle is the mind," he would say, "it must be got over whether at home or in the forest. And why should your occupation or duties in life interfere with your spiritual effort? By giving up activities is meant giving up attachment to activities or fruits thereof: giving up the notion 'I am the doer'."

The practice of his teaching doesn't require outward rituals or ceremony. It takes one straight to the source of one's own being, which is the source from whence all religions spring and must ultimately resolve. It can be practiced by men and women of all walks of life, regardless of their environment.

The Maharshi lived what he taught; in fact, his life was the most perfect demonstration of the supreme state of Self Realization. And although he was fixed in the permanent state of Pure Awareness, his body was subject to the laws of nature: in time it became afflicted with rheumatism and weakened with age.

Early in 1949, a small nodule appeared below the elbow of his left arm. It was surgically removed. It later reappeared and was diagnosed as a malignant tumor, which inch by inch ate up the flesh of his left arm, poisoned his blood and, finally, rang down the curtain on a life of immaculate purity and grace.

Throughout his final year there appeared to be terrible suffering, but the Maharshi never complained. He seemed to be indifferent alike to the existence or non-existence of the body, being almost unaware of it. Devotees seeing his gradual weakening and ominous symptoms, expressed their agony at his impending departure. He simply told them that they attached too much importance to the body, indicating that his influence was not limited to the diseased body they saw before them.

When on April 13th, 1950 a physician brought him some special medicine, he refused it, saying, "It is not necessary; everything will come right within two days."

The next day a long crowd filed past the open doorway. The disease-racked body they saw there was shrunken, the ribs protruding, the skin blackened; it was a pitiable vestige of pain. And yet at some time during these last few days each received a direct, luminous, penetrating look of recognition which was felt as a parting infusion of Grace.

"They say that I am dying, but I am not going away. Where could I go? I AM HERE." He repeated this several times, implying clearly that the end of his body would not interrupt the grace and guidance.

And that evening, moments before the end came, unexpectedly, a group of devotees sitting outside the hall began singing 'Arunachala Shiva'. On hearing it, Sri Bhagavan's eyes opened and shone. He gave a brief smile of indescribable tenderness. From the outer edges of his eyes tears of bliss rolled down. One more deep breath, and no more. There was no struggle, no spasm, no other sign of death: only that the next breath did not come.

At that very moment an enormous star trailed slowly across the sky and disappeared behind the holy Arunachala Hill. Many saw it, even as far away as Madras, and felt what it portended. It was exactly 8:47 PM, April 14th, 1950.

Next day a pit was dug and the body interred with divine honors. The crowd, packed tight, looked on in silent grief. A Lingam of polished black stone, the symbol of Shiva, was consecrated over his tomb. The crowd dispersed....

After the first shock of bereavement, devotees slowly began to be drawn back to Tiruvannamalai.

"They say that I am dying, but I am not going away. Where could I go? I am here."

They quickly discovered how true this was. More than ever he has become the inner Guru, guiding seekers more actively, more directly. The devotees wherever they may be, find his grace and support, his inner Presence, not merely as potent, but even more potent than before.

And since the disappearance of his bodily form, his name and fame has been growing day by day. Now, in greater numbers, thousands flock to his tomb and feel the powerful influence of his presence. Houses and cottages have sprung up in and around his Ashram. The Temple built over the Mother's remains has become surcharged with a palpable spiritual force.

The routine adhered to while the Maharshi tenanted his body continues today, unchanged. Only the Ashram's size and scope has broadened to meet the ever-increasing demand from sincere seekers the world over.

He lived his life, emanated his power, enunciated his teachings only to demonstrate to mankind that life has a meaning and purpose, that there is an Indestructible Reality, an Incomparable Beauty, a life of perfect peace and bliss within the Hearts of all beings. He 'is' the embodiment of That. A visit to Sri Ramanasramam intimately binds one to the Divine Presence of Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi.

That Presence is, in fact all-pervasive

It is, here and now, and It is the Self of all.

Happiness is your real nature. Realize your true Self in order to open the store of unalloyed Happiness.

"Ocean of Nectar, Full of Grace,
  engulfing the universe in Thy Splendor!
O Arunachala, the Supreme Itself! be Thou the sun
  and open the Lotus of my heart in Bliss!"