The Way of the GuruDr. P. Natarajan(being pen-pictures from the Life of the Sri Narayana Guru)
Introductory
Where is happiness? Where is rest from the fever of life? Where is the image of perfection? Where is the fountain-source of wisdom from which the thirsty traveller can drink? Where is that luminous something, in which we can live apart and be free—free from sense of want and suffering?
These seem to be some of the eternal questions echoing and re-echoing through the ages within the heart of humanity. Some think that the answer can be found in material comforts. Some search for the answer in books. Some sit in meditation trying to tune their life-breath in unison with the Great Knowledge. Some others “scorn delights and live laborious days”. All these attain degrees of success.
Once in a hundred years, solitary, among a hundred thousand, there arrives at the caravansary of life one, at the sight of whose features the seekers intinctive1y arise from their varied occupations and greet him and see in him and his ways a clear commentary, a silent interpretation, a radiant centre of all that they were seeking for. He becomes the object of reverence and common pride. He is able to dispel age-long doubt and darkness by his words: and the hearers smile and for a moment feel a strange happiness. Literature and art and science grow round his person. Historical events find a centre round which to turn
The Sri Narayana Guru was one of such He was one of those who followed in his life the ancient and immemorial programme of oriental saints and prophets. He left his home in search of truth. He lived in the lonely forests for years, unknown to men, performing Tapas1. He emerged from the forest having solved some great riddle in life and he wanted to give his solution to the world at large.. Therefore, without any sort of hesitation whatever, he called himself Guru or Teacher. Penniless himself, he began to command an influence over rich and poor, educated and uneducated. People flocked to take the dust of his feet.
To-day his words are recognised as a most modern echo of the ancient wisdom of the Orient In him we had, combined once again, a bard who sang about the aspirations of the soul of man, a philanthropist whose one aim- in life, night and. day, was to devise ways to minimise human suffering, and a seer whose daily food, and drink was the highest form of Truth. .
Although out of reach of newspaper-men and propagandists, this silent sage was the recognized spiritual leader of more than two millions of people in South India to whom his word was more imperative than law. Within a period of less than a decade he had established more than one hundred places of worship on the West coast of. India alone, which are day by day growing into centres of educational, philanthropic, and economic activity Crowded meetings are held in which his name is the unifying element His message to the people is the subject of weekly comment on a hundred platforms, and more than a. hundred associations, at least, have been organized - in various parts of South India to spread his ideals. By the spell of his name, young and old are seen to join hands in a common undertaking rich and poor, high and low, are seen to rub shoulders It can be asserted that he has set in motion a force that is bound to spread into a new mission for the regeneration of India and the world
Where is happiness? Where is rest from the fever of life? Where is the image of perfection? Where is the fountain-source of wisdom from which the thirsty traveller can drink? Where is that luminous something, in which we can live apart and be free—free from sense of want and suffering?
These seem to be some of the eternal questions echoing and re-echoing through the ages within the heart of humanity. Some think that the answer can be found in material comforts. Some search for the answer in books. Some sit in meditation trying to tune their life-breath in unison with the Great Knowledge. Some others “scorn delights and live laborious days”. All these attain degrees of success.
Once in a hundred years, solitary, among a hundred thousand, there arrives at the caravansary of life one, at the sight of whose features the seekers intinctive1y arise from their varied occupations and greet him and see in him and his ways a clear commentary, a silent interpretation, a radiant centre of all that they were seeking for. He becomes the object of reverence and common pride. He is able to dispel age-long doubt and darkness by his words: and the hearers smile and for a moment feel a strange happiness. Literature and art and science grow round his person. Historical events find a centre round which to turn
The Sri Narayana Guru was one of such He was one of those who followed in his life the ancient and immemorial programme of oriental saints and prophets. He left his home in search of truth. He lived in the lonely forests for years, unknown to men, performing Tapas1. He emerged from the forest having solved some great riddle in life and he wanted to give his solution to the world at large.. Therefore, without any sort of hesitation whatever, he called himself Guru or Teacher. Penniless himself, he began to command an influence over rich and poor, educated and uneducated. People flocked to take the dust of his feet.
To-day his words are recognised as a most modern echo of the ancient wisdom of the Orient In him we had, combined once again, a bard who sang about the aspirations of the soul of man, a philanthropist whose one aim- in life, night and. day, was to devise ways to minimise human suffering, and a seer whose daily food, and drink was the highest form of Truth. .
Although out of reach of newspaper-men and propagandists, this silent sage was the recognized spiritual leader of more than two millions of people in South India to whom his word was more imperative than law. Within a period of less than a decade he had established more than one hundred places of worship on the West coast of. India alone, which are day by day growing into centres of educational, philanthropic, and economic activity Crowded meetings are held in which his name is the unifying element His message to the people is the subject of weekly comment on a hundred platforms, and more than a. hundred associations, at least, have been organized - in various parts of South India to spread his ideals. By the spell of his name, young and old are seen to join hands in a common undertaking rich and poor, high and low, are seen to rub shoulders It can be asserted that he has set in motion a force that is bound to spread into a new mission for the regeneration of India and the world
The Guru At Home
The traveller who was animated by a desire to see this leader of one of the modern religious movements in India, would most probably have had to alight, as the present writer once did, at the small railway-station called Alwaye, two stations to the north of the terminus of the Cochin State Railway. Alwaye is a small municipal town belonging to the State of Travancore. It is associated with the name of the great Indian philosopher, Sri Sankaracharya who is said to have taken Sanyasa while bathing in- the broad river of crystal water winding its way through the town. If the traveller had directed his footsteps along one of the roads leading to the river-side, he would have come across a stile leading into a compound, which he must cross, keeping his way along the narrow avenue till he reached the bright river-side beyond the trees. He would have found, on turning to the right, a neat little white building strewn round with pure river-sand—the silence of the place broken only by birds or by the voices of occasional bathers in the river; On one side he would see below him the river boiling over with a thousand whirlpools on its broad breast, the banks over-grown with luxuriant vegetation. If the Guru was in the Ashram, he could invariably be found seated on a little raised seat overlooking the river. As he turned to look at the visitor the latter would, if he had a keen eye, discover from the expression of his face that the Guru had just been disturbed from some all-absorbing subject in which his mind was engaged, while he sat gazing at the river scene. There could be discovered a peculiar composure in his features revealing a peaceful otherworldly contemplation. He would ask the newcomer, where he was from and who he was, in the most gentle of voices; and treat him, probably, to a meal of fruits and milk. After that, if he conversed, the topic in all probability turned on how human nature must improve; how there is no necessity for man to quarrel with man, as he does at present, on supposed religious, national, or racial distinctions; how while a cow or a dog may be considered to belong to a different caste, it is absurd to think that one man differs from another except in trivial things like dress or language; and how it is immaterial, in everyday life, what school of philosophy or what creed a man professed so long as he does net transgress the bounds of morality or good behaviour. Before the new-corner retired from the abode of the Guru leaving him to gaze on the river scene in absorbing meditation, let him walk round the humble hermitage, and he would not have failed to observe the neat little kitchen where a Brahmachari prepared light food for the Guru, or noted how sparing the Guru’s diet was. In the grounds of the hermitage he would have found trees, each one of them receiving its share of the Guru’s care. Before leaving the holy precincts had the visitor cast his glance on the inscription in golden letters on one of the walls of the Ashram, he would have read as follows:—
ALL MEN BELONG TO ONE AND THE SAME CASTE.
ALL MEN BELONG TO ONE AND THE SAME RELIGION,
MEN BELONG TO ONE AND THE SAME GOD.
The traveller who was animated by a desire to see this leader of one of the modern religious movements in India, would most probably have had to alight, as the present writer once did, at the small railway-station called Alwaye, two stations to the north of the terminus of the Cochin State Railway. Alwaye is a small municipal town belonging to the State of Travancore. It is associated with the name of the great Indian philosopher, Sri Sankaracharya who is said to have taken Sanyasa while bathing in- the broad river of crystal water winding its way through the town. If the traveller had directed his footsteps along one of the roads leading to the river-side, he would have come across a stile leading into a compound, which he must cross, keeping his way along the narrow avenue till he reached the bright river-side beyond the trees. He would have found, on turning to the right, a neat little white building strewn round with pure river-sand—the silence of the place broken only by birds or by the voices of occasional bathers in the river; On one side he would see below him the river boiling over with a thousand whirlpools on its broad breast, the banks over-grown with luxuriant vegetation. If the Guru was in the Ashram, he could invariably be found seated on a little raised seat overlooking the river. As he turned to look at the visitor the latter would, if he had a keen eye, discover from the expression of his face that the Guru had just been disturbed from some all-absorbing subject in which his mind was engaged, while he sat gazing at the river scene. There could be discovered a peculiar composure in his features revealing a peaceful otherworldly contemplation. He would ask the newcomer, where he was from and who he was, in the most gentle of voices; and treat him, probably, to a meal of fruits and milk. After that, if he conversed, the topic in all probability turned on how human nature must improve; how there is no necessity for man to quarrel with man, as he does at present, on supposed religious, national, or racial distinctions; how while a cow or a dog may be considered to belong to a different caste, it is absurd to think that one man differs from another except in trivial things like dress or language; and how it is immaterial, in everyday life, what school of philosophy or what creed a man professed so long as he does net transgress the bounds of morality or good behaviour. Before the new-corner retired from the abode of the Guru leaving him to gaze on the river scene in absorbing meditation, let him walk round the humble hermitage, and he would not have failed to observe the neat little kitchen where a Brahmachari prepared light food for the Guru, or noted how sparing the Guru’s diet was. In the grounds of the hermitage he would have found trees, each one of them receiving its share of the Guru’s care. Before leaving the holy precincts had the visitor cast his glance on the inscription in golden letters on one of the walls of the Ashram, he would have read as follows:—
ALL MEN BELONG TO ONE AND THE SAME CASTE.
ALL MEN BELONG TO ONE AND THE SAME RELIGION,
MEN BELONG TO ONE AND THE SAME GOD.
Two Random Impressions
A junior officer of the Indian Civil Service once recounted the following account of how he met the Guru for the first time in his life:
“My privilege-leave was about to expire and I was travelling back to Salem in a mail train. I was seated in a second-class compartment. At about ten o’clock in the morning the train steamed up to the crowded platform of Calicut. A number of people, dressed in spotless white, were seen on the platform. In the centre of the group was seated on a chair an old gentleman dressed also in white, who was well-nigh sixty years old. He was tall, slender and erect The arrival of the train and the consequent bustle did not seem to produce any effect on the composed features of this person.
When the first bustle had subsided, the person slowly got up from his seat and walked into the very compartment in which I was seated. My curiosity to know who this revered person was, became aroused; and I began to watch him minutely. I soon guessed that he did not belong to the class of rich people, for h wore neither gold nor silver on him. His dress was of the simplest description, consisting merely of two pieces of white cloth. He wore no sort of head dress but, after the manner of the Hindu Sannyasi, had a clean-shaven head, which showed a sparse crown of silver hair. There was a sedate grandeur in his countenance, which was not suggestive on the one hand of the cold calculating nature of a man of wealth nor, on the other, of the sternness of a fighter Relaxed and restful, like the countenance of a child, it still revealed an undercurrent of seriousness which led the critical observer into the unfathomable depths of something inexplicable.
The supreme restfulness and leisureliness of his manners, unaffected by anything that was passing round him, the spotless purity of his personal attire the delicately artistic perfection of every one of his movements, even the manner in which the flowing dress clung round his person — half negligently, yet in a way that the artist would have the rumples adjusted — the silence and the gentleness of his ordinary behaviour made him carry with him, even in the busy atmosphere of a modern railway-station, a still halo of reverence.. When he talked, which was only now and then, his voice which, though not loud, had still a rich mellow in it, exercised a peculiar lulling effect which could be compared to the far-off chiming of temple bells or the noonday murmur of bumble-bees. As I was watching him, I could observe that tears filled to the point of overflowing the eyes of this great man, as one by one the devotees, that had gathered on the platform, measured their lengths in prostration before him. Each one of them touched the foot of the strange leader and placed an offering of fruits and flowers before retiring from his presence. Age had not robbed his features of that soft freshness, rich fulness, and restful relaxation so characteristic of the Indian Yogi. A pair of not at all large eyes, which seemed to be constantly gazing at some object in the far off fringe of the horizon, lips with the corners slightly turned down as if in open-eyed meditation, all these and many more little traits, revealed to me that the stranger was one of the Mahatmas or Holy men of India.
The train soon left the station, and, as we stopped at the next station, I could observe that the Sri Narayana Guru—for the stranger was none other than this revered leader of whom I had heard so much—was engaged in giving away one by one to some poor children who appeared at the carriage, all the fine oranges that he had received at the previous station,- till not one was left of the pile beside him. A householder, I thought, would have reserved some, at least, to be taken home. When I had observed him thus far in silence, I was overcome by desire to talk to him, but having adopted the customs of the Western nations I felt some difficulty in introducing myself. I struck upon a plan. I was then carrying with me some oranges of the finest quality plucked from the orange groves of the Wayanaad. I took out one of these and determined at last to break the silence. ‘Swamiji’, I said at last: ‘Would you mind, my offering you an orange?’ Those were the ‘fitting words’ with which I chose to break the silence; to which the saint replied rather pertinently, as I only realized later, ‘Have you failed to find that out in spite of having watched me all this time?’ Surely I had seen him receive a hundred oranges without any sort of protest, and felt for a moment how ridiculous a figure I cut in the presence of one whose manners belonged to the unalloyed past. This was how I met the Sri Narayana Gum the first time in my’ life.” To this effect, mainly, were the words of the officer. Coming from a perfect stranger to the - Swami this picture of him has its value in as much as it serves to show what the Swami appeared like to the eyes of a casual stranger.
There is another impression of the Swami which the writer of this narrative had occasion to hear— this time from one of the representatives of the poorer classes. Towards the small hours of the night it was—we were travelling together on the deck of a steam launch in the backwaters of Malabar. The first blush of day was just appearing at the corner of the horizon. The boat at this time passed a big church surrounded by palm trees which moved in front of us a we sat up in our beds, like, a silhouette picture against the brightening sky. The rough hands of the fellow-passenger and his dress, which were just beginning to be visible, revealed that he was a poor labourer. After -some preliminary questions about my destination and antecedents, this new friend began to narrate -, the following anecdote, after he had crossed himself most reverently as we passed the church. “Sir, I have seen the Guru,” he said :— “It was the year before last, that one day I heard that he had arrived at the house of a landlord in the village where I live. ‘I hid heard of him long ago and wished very much to meet him and lost no time in going to see him in that house When I saw him I could not resist the thought that he was like our Saviour Jesus Christ. He was surrounded by people who either wanted to be healed of sickness or came to seek his advice regarding some calamity that had befallen them. Some there were who were eager to take the dust of his feet and others were waiting for the water that had cleansed them. Surely this was the way in which, as we read in the Bible, Lord Jesus himself moved among the multitude. I am a poor man without learning or wealth. I had a secret desire to invite this great man to my humble dwelling-place in spite of its being very poor and dirty. I mustered strength to express my wish to him. What was my joy when he consented to come forthwith. Within a short while he had already started. As we were on the way the Swami asked me about all my affairs and my children and all the rest in a voice which was full of tender regard. When we were not far from my house, I excused myself and went ahead by a short cut in order to set things in order before the honoured guest arrived. I dressed my children up in their cleanest and spread a white cloth on an easy chair, had some incense sticks lighted, and with a brass vessel full of pure water awaited his arrival at the outer entrance. Like the morning beam of light carrying the message of peace, the holy man entered, Although at first he resisted my approach to wash his feet with my own hands, I had my own way, on which, while I was bending, he gently placed his hand on my head. That solacing touch at once carried its message of blessing to the innermost recesses of my being.” When this honest man came to that part of the narrative, the day had almost dawned and the sun made the backwaters full of orange crested waves, and in the day-light could be seen the features of my fellow-passenger showing visible signs of emotion. His voice cracked and his honest eyes grew dim. There was a pause for few minutes, after which he continued as follows: When the Guru had finally taken his seat, I called my son and asked him to take the dust of his feet which he did. The Guru asked him which class he was studying in and advised him to be a good and diligent boy. Turning to one of his men who was standing by, he then ordered a rupee to be given to the boy and told him that he was expected to return that rupee, when he became a grown-up man, back into the public funds. Turning to me, he told me in so many words that I was not to consider myself as one who belonged to a different creed or religion: ‘We are all one and the same’. His words are still echoing in my memory.”
A junior officer of the Indian Civil Service once recounted the following account of how he met the Guru for the first time in his life:
“My privilege-leave was about to expire and I was travelling back to Salem in a mail train. I was seated in a second-class compartment. At about ten o’clock in the morning the train steamed up to the crowded platform of Calicut. A number of people, dressed in spotless white, were seen on the platform. In the centre of the group was seated on a chair an old gentleman dressed also in white, who was well-nigh sixty years old. He was tall, slender and erect The arrival of the train and the consequent bustle did not seem to produce any effect on the composed features of this person.
When the first bustle had subsided, the person slowly got up from his seat and walked into the very compartment in which I was seated. My curiosity to know who this revered person was, became aroused; and I began to watch him minutely. I soon guessed that he did not belong to the class of rich people, for h wore neither gold nor silver on him. His dress was of the simplest description, consisting merely of two pieces of white cloth. He wore no sort of head dress but, after the manner of the Hindu Sannyasi, had a clean-shaven head, which showed a sparse crown of silver hair. There was a sedate grandeur in his countenance, which was not suggestive on the one hand of the cold calculating nature of a man of wealth nor, on the other, of the sternness of a fighter Relaxed and restful, like the countenance of a child, it still revealed an undercurrent of seriousness which led the critical observer into the unfathomable depths of something inexplicable.
The supreme restfulness and leisureliness of his manners, unaffected by anything that was passing round him, the spotless purity of his personal attire the delicately artistic perfection of every one of his movements, even the manner in which the flowing dress clung round his person — half negligently, yet in a way that the artist would have the rumples adjusted — the silence and the gentleness of his ordinary behaviour made him carry with him, even in the busy atmosphere of a modern railway-station, a still halo of reverence.. When he talked, which was only now and then, his voice which, though not loud, had still a rich mellow in it, exercised a peculiar lulling effect which could be compared to the far-off chiming of temple bells or the noonday murmur of bumble-bees. As I was watching him, I could observe that tears filled to the point of overflowing the eyes of this great man, as one by one the devotees, that had gathered on the platform, measured their lengths in prostration before him. Each one of them touched the foot of the strange leader and placed an offering of fruits and flowers before retiring from his presence. Age had not robbed his features of that soft freshness, rich fulness, and restful relaxation so characteristic of the Indian Yogi. A pair of not at all large eyes, which seemed to be constantly gazing at some object in the far off fringe of the horizon, lips with the corners slightly turned down as if in open-eyed meditation, all these and many more little traits, revealed to me that the stranger was one of the Mahatmas or Holy men of India.
The train soon left the station, and, as we stopped at the next station, I could observe that the Sri Narayana Guru—for the stranger was none other than this revered leader of whom I had heard so much—was engaged in giving away one by one to some poor children who appeared at the carriage, all the fine oranges that he had received at the previous station,- till not one was left of the pile beside him. A householder, I thought, would have reserved some, at least, to be taken home. When I had observed him thus far in silence, I was overcome by desire to talk to him, but having adopted the customs of the Western nations I felt some difficulty in introducing myself. I struck upon a plan. I was then carrying with me some oranges of the finest quality plucked from the orange groves of the Wayanaad. I took out one of these and determined at last to break the silence. ‘Swamiji’, I said at last: ‘Would you mind, my offering you an orange?’ Those were the ‘fitting words’ with which I chose to break the silence; to which the saint replied rather pertinently, as I only realized later, ‘Have you failed to find that out in spite of having watched me all this time?’ Surely I had seen him receive a hundred oranges without any sort of protest, and felt for a moment how ridiculous a figure I cut in the presence of one whose manners belonged to the unalloyed past. This was how I met the Sri Narayana Gum the first time in my’ life.” To this effect, mainly, were the words of the officer. Coming from a perfect stranger to the - Swami this picture of him has its value in as much as it serves to show what the Swami appeared like to the eyes of a casual stranger.
There is another impression of the Swami which the writer of this narrative had occasion to hear— this time from one of the representatives of the poorer classes. Towards the small hours of the night it was—we were travelling together on the deck of a steam launch in the backwaters of Malabar. The first blush of day was just appearing at the corner of the horizon. The boat at this time passed a big church surrounded by palm trees which moved in front of us a we sat up in our beds, like, a silhouette picture against the brightening sky. The rough hands of the fellow-passenger and his dress, which were just beginning to be visible, revealed that he was a poor labourer. After -some preliminary questions about my destination and antecedents, this new friend began to narrate -, the following anecdote, after he had crossed himself most reverently as we passed the church. “Sir, I have seen the Guru,” he said :— “It was the year before last, that one day I heard that he had arrived at the house of a landlord in the village where I live. ‘I hid heard of him long ago and wished very much to meet him and lost no time in going to see him in that house When I saw him I could not resist the thought that he was like our Saviour Jesus Christ. He was surrounded by people who either wanted to be healed of sickness or came to seek his advice regarding some calamity that had befallen them. Some there were who were eager to take the dust of his feet and others were waiting for the water that had cleansed them. Surely this was the way in which, as we read in the Bible, Lord Jesus himself moved among the multitude. I am a poor man without learning or wealth. I had a secret desire to invite this great man to my humble dwelling-place in spite of its being very poor and dirty. I mustered strength to express my wish to him. What was my joy when he consented to come forthwith. Within a short while he had already started. As we were on the way the Swami asked me about all my affairs and my children and all the rest in a voice which was full of tender regard. When we were not far from my house, I excused myself and went ahead by a short cut in order to set things in order before the honoured guest arrived. I dressed my children up in their cleanest and spread a white cloth on an easy chair, had some incense sticks lighted, and with a brass vessel full of pure water awaited his arrival at the outer entrance. Like the morning beam of light carrying the message of peace, the holy man entered, Although at first he resisted my approach to wash his feet with my own hands, I had my own way, on which, while I was bending, he gently placed his hand on my head. That solacing touch at once carried its message of blessing to the innermost recesses of my being.” When this honest man came to that part of the narrative, the day had almost dawned and the sun made the backwaters full of orange crested waves, and in the day-light could be seen the features of my fellow-passenger showing visible signs of emotion. His voice cracked and his honest eyes grew dim. There was a pause for few minutes, after which he continued as follows: When the Guru had finally taken his seat, I called my son and asked him to take the dust of his feet which he did. The Guru asked him which class he was studying in and advised him to be a good and diligent boy. Turning to one of his men who was standing by, he then ordered a rupee to be given to the boy and told him that he was expected to return that rupee, when he became a grown-up man, back into the public funds. Turning to me, he told me in so many words that I was not to consider myself as one who belonged to a different creed or religion: ‘We are all one and the same’. His words are still echoing in my memory.”
Brotherhood
It was a red-letter day in the history of the little: Ashram (or hermitage) at Alwaye, on which was to be celebrated, by some of the enthusiastic young men of the surrounding districts, the anniversary of their association for Universal Brotherhood. The celebration was to be held in the afternoon, at the Sansrit Patashala (School) founded by the Guru. An extensive palm-leaf roof had already been put up to accommodate the delegates. It was known — almost nstinctively, for no newspaper announcements were made that the Guru would grace the occasion with his presence.
Batches of young men began to arrive at Alwaye early in the day, both by the North-bound and the South-bound trains. Before going to the Guru at the riverside hermitage, they had to plunge in the river and then put on their purest raiment. The Guru himself, who rose during the small hours of the morning, was usually ready after his morning silence to receive the visitors and talk to them on whatever subject they raised, and to clear away individual doubts that were brought before him,: in the considerate, witty, and convincing manner usual to him. On this particular morning it was one of the new young men who had arrived at the hermitage and who had decided to be a worker among the people, that was standing reverently talking to him about the meeting that was to take place. The Guru turned his face, with half-wakeful eyelids, towards the optimistic young man and asked him, his voice softened by the peaceful rest of the morning meditation: “Do you think there is any use in holding big meetings?” “Yes “, was the decided reply of the young man: “meetings are the best means of spreading ideas” “But “, said the Guru, “they do not appear to produce as much action as noise. People come in crowds very seriously to take part in meetings. They speak at the tops of their voices and seem to rouse passions. The speakers propose to reform the whole world, and the audience applauds and enthusiastically raises hands in unanimous votes of support and, while someone is lecturing, if there is heard the whistle of a train, he excuses himself to the audience quite abruptly, takes up his bag and baggage, and goes back home. Meetings frequently end in this manner. But they may not be completely useless. It is good, all the same, to have some meetings now and then to rouse the public conscience……
Can you speak to the crowd?” I shall try to “, replied the young man humbly. “It would be a good thing “, continued the Guru, “to tell themabout the excessive greed of human beings. Don’t you think that the animal called man is worse than the rest of the animals in this respect? The desires of animals in the forest are safely controlled by natural instinct from all abnormal excesses. The elephant is simple and fat, and does not need tonics treatment to keep it fat. The jackal hides in the woods all day and comes out only at night when all is quiet. It does not take much food—just a few fresh crabs, and the clear stream water, reflecting the moonlight, to drink—and it is content. It enjoys its life with its nightly music, and you can see that it is none the worse for this sort of life—its neck is as plump and glossy as a pillow. The animals have no exaggerated needs like man. Man trots about the earth as a veritable demon of destruction. As he marches, he carries behind him a trail of devastation. He cuts down the trees: and blasts and bleeds into paleness the green beauty of Nature for the sake of the plantations and smoky towns and factories which his unbridled desires necessitate. Not content with destruction on the surface, he tampers with the crust of the earth, making it weaker and weaker day by day: and he covers the surface with miles and miles of iron and coal. Man is terribly inconsistent. The state, which calls itself interested in humanity, would, for example, vehemently forbid even a man suffering from the worst form of skin disease to quit his miserable body. On the other hand, it will madly engage itself in wholesale manslaughter, after due deliberation and in the holy name of altruism or religion. Man does not know what he does, although he prides himself on being more intelligent than the animals. It is all a mad deluded rush.” “Oh, this man I” he said, lapsing into wistful-ness . . “ He must lay waste: his greed can be satisfied only by the taking away of life.” As the Gun repeated the word Man, the youthful orator watched his composed features and could not but discover a distant tinge of sadness in his voice and in his venerable features. “Man knows not what he does “, the Guru repeated, and became silent for a moment. “It would not have mattered so much “, he continued, “if the effect of man’s misdeeds struck its blow only at mankind.. But the innocent monkeys and birds in the forest have to forfeit their peaceful life because of man. The rest of Nature would be thankful if, in the process of self-destruction, man would have the good sense to destroy himself completely, leaving the rest of creation at least to the peace which is its birthright….”.
These words had their proper effect upon the young man, and by this time more young men had gathered round the Guru and he rose and walked gently as a summer’s cloud” to the place where the preparations were going on for the afternoon celebrations. The public were to be the guests of the Ashram for the day and the Brahmacharis were busy preparing a dinner of rice, vegetables, and buttermilk for the numerous persons that were expected. The palm-leaf lecture-hall was being decorated with festoons of young green cocoanut leaves.
The Guru walked round, interesting himself in the arrangements, and afterwards sat down on the floor of the verandah talking to young and old who surrounded him, eagerly anxious to imbibe his words. “It is precipitate thought “, he went on, “that makes a man try to proclaim his own opinion as the best. No one opinion, however loudly proclaimed; can justly represent the Whole. It is like the story of the blind men who went to examine the elephant seem. It is only waste of breath to argue vociferously to establish any one religion. It is impossible in the nature of things that only one opinion should prevail. Without realising this simple fact, men divide: themselves into rival camps and fight for the mere words that divide them, forgetting the most primary of human interests. Speeches should not be made with a spirit of rivalry or hate. All speech is for knowing and letting others know. A man’s religion is a matter of his personal conviction, which is bound to be at varying stages of natural evolution in different people. Each man, therefore, may be supposed to belong to a different religion, and no two people belong to the same religion. On the other hand, all the religions of the world agree in spirit, the most essential part of religion. All religions represent Truth or Duty. The Goal is common. Why should man fight for his faith? It is an unwise act—one should not be swayed by the conflict of opinions, but should remain tranquil, knowing the Unity in all human effort, which is Happiness. Men differ in dress. Some people like to wear a beard; others are, clean-shaven. Serious people do not quarrel over these things!. Again, languages differ, but it requires no proof. to see that humanity is one in spite of such differences. Why then should man differ and cultivate hatred? It is in vain — men have still to learn that fighting only destroys. If man only understood the simple truth, he would not fight. “ Thus continued the Guru, talking gently, and wafting home to the simple folk that stood round him the eternal principles of human conduct which burned in his heart though his talk lacked oratorical perfection, for it was broken now and then by lapses into silence.
Another of the Guru’s favourite topics on such occasions was caste or racial distinctions. He disapproved of all imaginary distinctions between man and man - in which he saw the cause of much unhappiness and unrest among men. The young men had already made him commit himself to a definite statement about the burning question of caste distinction in India; and the Guru’s message, which they had printed in his own child-like autograph, was ready to be distributed in the afternoon. It ran as follows
Whatever may be differences in men’s creeds, dress, language, etc. —because they belong all to the same kind of creation, there is no harm at all in their dining together or having marital relations with one another. NARAYANA GURU.
The Guru continued his conversation, contemplating man’s manifold self-made troubles. As he sat and spoke, on one side of him stood fanning him an old man who disliked the youngsters and stoutly opposed, with all the influence he could command his own village, the contagious spread of leveling philosophy preached by these “hot-headed young men “—and on the other side stood the leaders of the youthful reformers themselves, as tame as lambs in the presence of this strange old man who puzzlingly” combined and represented the views of the hot-headed young reformers and those of the callous, conservative elders, The silent Saint stood between the two rival parties — who vied with one another in doing homage to him —as the personification of the principle of exalting Synthesis. His love of men made him the most artful and just peacemaker, whilst remaining himself most obstinately uncompromising when occasion demanded.
It was nearing midday. The Guru rose and ended his way to his river-side resting place. On way he stopped, seeing some boys giving the last touches to the decoration of a triumphal arch through which the delegates were to enter. He suggested that the mystic syllable AUM might be written “as large as the head of an elephant” to decorate the top of the arch:and under it the words Sahodaryam Sarvathra,
BROTHERHOOD OMNIPRESENT FILLS !
It was a red-letter day in the history of the little: Ashram (or hermitage) at Alwaye, on which was to be celebrated, by some of the enthusiastic young men of the surrounding districts, the anniversary of their association for Universal Brotherhood. The celebration was to be held in the afternoon, at the Sansrit Patashala (School) founded by the Guru. An extensive palm-leaf roof had already been put up to accommodate the delegates. It was known — almost nstinctively, for no newspaper announcements were made that the Guru would grace the occasion with his presence.
Batches of young men began to arrive at Alwaye early in the day, both by the North-bound and the South-bound trains. Before going to the Guru at the riverside hermitage, they had to plunge in the river and then put on their purest raiment. The Guru himself, who rose during the small hours of the morning, was usually ready after his morning silence to receive the visitors and talk to them on whatever subject they raised, and to clear away individual doubts that were brought before him,: in the considerate, witty, and convincing manner usual to him. On this particular morning it was one of the new young men who had arrived at the hermitage and who had decided to be a worker among the people, that was standing reverently talking to him about the meeting that was to take place. The Guru turned his face, with half-wakeful eyelids, towards the optimistic young man and asked him, his voice softened by the peaceful rest of the morning meditation: “Do you think there is any use in holding big meetings?” “Yes “, was the decided reply of the young man: “meetings are the best means of spreading ideas” “But “, said the Guru, “they do not appear to produce as much action as noise. People come in crowds very seriously to take part in meetings. They speak at the tops of their voices and seem to rouse passions. The speakers propose to reform the whole world, and the audience applauds and enthusiastically raises hands in unanimous votes of support and, while someone is lecturing, if there is heard the whistle of a train, he excuses himself to the audience quite abruptly, takes up his bag and baggage, and goes back home. Meetings frequently end in this manner. But they may not be completely useless. It is good, all the same, to have some meetings now and then to rouse the public conscience……
Can you speak to the crowd?” I shall try to “, replied the young man humbly. “It would be a good thing “, continued the Guru, “to tell themabout the excessive greed of human beings. Don’t you think that the animal called man is worse than the rest of the animals in this respect? The desires of animals in the forest are safely controlled by natural instinct from all abnormal excesses. The elephant is simple and fat, and does not need tonics treatment to keep it fat. The jackal hides in the woods all day and comes out only at night when all is quiet. It does not take much food—just a few fresh crabs, and the clear stream water, reflecting the moonlight, to drink—and it is content. It enjoys its life with its nightly music, and you can see that it is none the worse for this sort of life—its neck is as plump and glossy as a pillow. The animals have no exaggerated needs like man. Man trots about the earth as a veritable demon of destruction. As he marches, he carries behind him a trail of devastation. He cuts down the trees: and blasts and bleeds into paleness the green beauty of Nature for the sake of the plantations and smoky towns and factories which his unbridled desires necessitate. Not content with destruction on the surface, he tampers with the crust of the earth, making it weaker and weaker day by day: and he covers the surface with miles and miles of iron and coal. Man is terribly inconsistent. The state, which calls itself interested in humanity, would, for example, vehemently forbid even a man suffering from the worst form of skin disease to quit his miserable body. On the other hand, it will madly engage itself in wholesale manslaughter, after due deliberation and in the holy name of altruism or religion. Man does not know what he does, although he prides himself on being more intelligent than the animals. It is all a mad deluded rush.” “Oh, this man I” he said, lapsing into wistful-ness . . “ He must lay waste: his greed can be satisfied only by the taking away of life.” As the Gun repeated the word Man, the youthful orator watched his composed features and could not but discover a distant tinge of sadness in his voice and in his venerable features. “Man knows not what he does “, the Guru repeated, and became silent for a moment. “It would not have mattered so much “, he continued, “if the effect of man’s misdeeds struck its blow only at mankind.. But the innocent monkeys and birds in the forest have to forfeit their peaceful life because of man. The rest of Nature would be thankful if, in the process of self-destruction, man would have the good sense to destroy himself completely, leaving the rest of creation at least to the peace which is its birthright….”.
These words had their proper effect upon the young man, and by this time more young men had gathered round the Guru and he rose and walked gently as a summer’s cloud” to the place where the preparations were going on for the afternoon celebrations. The public were to be the guests of the Ashram for the day and the Brahmacharis were busy preparing a dinner of rice, vegetables, and buttermilk for the numerous persons that were expected. The palm-leaf lecture-hall was being decorated with festoons of young green cocoanut leaves.
The Guru walked round, interesting himself in the arrangements, and afterwards sat down on the floor of the verandah talking to young and old who surrounded him, eagerly anxious to imbibe his words. “It is precipitate thought “, he went on, “that makes a man try to proclaim his own opinion as the best. No one opinion, however loudly proclaimed; can justly represent the Whole. It is like the story of the blind men who went to examine the elephant seem. It is only waste of breath to argue vociferously to establish any one religion. It is impossible in the nature of things that only one opinion should prevail. Without realising this simple fact, men divide: themselves into rival camps and fight for the mere words that divide them, forgetting the most primary of human interests. Speeches should not be made with a spirit of rivalry or hate. All speech is for knowing and letting others know. A man’s religion is a matter of his personal conviction, which is bound to be at varying stages of natural evolution in different people. Each man, therefore, may be supposed to belong to a different religion, and no two people belong to the same religion. On the other hand, all the religions of the world agree in spirit, the most essential part of religion. All religions represent Truth or Duty. The Goal is common. Why should man fight for his faith? It is an unwise act—one should not be swayed by the conflict of opinions, but should remain tranquil, knowing the Unity in all human effort, which is Happiness. Men differ in dress. Some people like to wear a beard; others are, clean-shaven. Serious people do not quarrel over these things!. Again, languages differ, but it requires no proof. to see that humanity is one in spite of such differences. Why then should man differ and cultivate hatred? It is in vain — men have still to learn that fighting only destroys. If man only understood the simple truth, he would not fight. “ Thus continued the Guru, talking gently, and wafting home to the simple folk that stood round him the eternal principles of human conduct which burned in his heart though his talk lacked oratorical perfection, for it was broken now and then by lapses into silence.
Another of the Guru’s favourite topics on such occasions was caste or racial distinctions. He disapproved of all imaginary distinctions between man and man - in which he saw the cause of much unhappiness and unrest among men. The young men had already made him commit himself to a definite statement about the burning question of caste distinction in India; and the Guru’s message, which they had printed in his own child-like autograph, was ready to be distributed in the afternoon. It ran as follows
Whatever may be differences in men’s creeds, dress, language, etc. —because they belong all to the same kind of creation, there is no harm at all in their dining together or having marital relations with one another. NARAYANA GURU.
The Guru continued his conversation, contemplating man’s manifold self-made troubles. As he sat and spoke, on one side of him stood fanning him an old man who disliked the youngsters and stoutly opposed, with all the influence he could command his own village, the contagious spread of leveling philosophy preached by these “hot-headed young men “—and on the other side stood the leaders of the youthful reformers themselves, as tame as lambs in the presence of this strange old man who puzzlingly” combined and represented the views of the hot-headed young reformers and those of the callous, conservative elders, The silent Saint stood between the two rival parties — who vied with one another in doing homage to him —as the personification of the principle of exalting Synthesis. His love of men made him the most artful and just peacemaker, whilst remaining himself most obstinately uncompromising when occasion demanded.
It was nearing midday. The Guru rose and ended his way to his river-side resting place. On way he stopped, seeing some boys giving the last touches to the decoration of a triumphal arch through which the delegates were to enter. He suggested that the mystic syllable AUM might be written “as large as the head of an elephant” to decorate the top of the arch:and under it the words Sahodaryam Sarvathra,
BROTHERHOOD OMNIPRESENT FILLS !
Mystic Experience.
It is in a little-inhabited district of South Travancore, the banks of a foaming mountain stream where roaring through rocks and pebbles it passed into the plains, that our next scene is laid. The secluded valley resounded with the noise that rose from the river and the tall trees around looked as if imploring heaven incessantly. Except for the cowherds who followed the cattle into the woods or the goats that leapt about among the rocks, there were scarcely any signs of human life in the vicinity. Such was the place in which, in the year 1886, a man of about thirty years of age emerged into public attention in the manner we are about to recount.
Leaving his home behind him, for years and years he had wandered from one holy man to another, from one religious centre to another, before he came to settle down, for the time being at least, at this spot. During this period of restless travelling he had sometimes walked three to four hundred miles with no better provision than that of a mere mendicant. Sometimes he had to swim across rivers or stretches of backwater on the coast line; but these barriers could not hinder the spirit of search that had awakened in him. Unknown to the million who only later begin to adore him, he passed from one village to another sleeping at night on a cloth spread on the stone slabs of some wayside rest-house, with his stick as his only companion beside him. Other vesper hours found him perchance in a wayside verandah or some forsaken temple-yard where, with the leaves rustling in the gentle evening breeze and sometimes with the moon shining, he spent his night, famished perhaps, fatigued and forlorn, but only apparently in slumber in reality inwardly awake with the “light of the silent tabernacle of the mind”.
Generally uneventful in the usual sense of the term, the life of the ascetic became more uneventful still as his search made him turn more and more within himself for consolation. That search began to depend less on outside persons or things, and, as it became more pronounced, it was necessary for him to protect himself from the “madding crowd’s ignoble strife” it was in the beautiful district we have referred to, that his search reached its final stages. Now established in his forest abode he was beginning to witness within himself an event of more import than the eruption of a volcano or the conquering of a kingdom. It was thus that the villagers of Neyyattinkara had the opportunity of making continued contact with the ascetic, who sat by the riverside, his face shining with inner resolution, and who was none other than the Sri Narayana Guru beginning his life as a teacher of men.
One villager after another who went past him in the forest in pursuit of his daily occupations, began to wonder what the matter was with the man who was seen day after day not specially occupied in doing anything. He seemed to be busy over nothing, anxious over nothing, attached to nothing and no events seemed to shake his calm. While the passer by had slept and waked and fed his hunger and mixed with his mates and passed again, there the seeker sat with his calm yet resolute face, with his gaze showing complete wakefulness but seeming to see nothing in front of him He was absorbed in some thought, the nature of which was a mystery. Thus day after day passed by.
As the villagers’ curiosity became greater, they soon discovered that there were people in the neighbourhood who brought milk and fruits for the strange man, which they left beside him; but the birds and the squirrels were seen more often to partake of them than the absent-minded man him self. A single banana and some clear water formed his sustenance from day to day, as he spent his time in introspective absorption.
His ways frightened some and served to keep them aloof. Others approached nearer and made bold to break the silence and tried to induce him to take more food. There was one elderly dame whose maternal instincts prompted her almost to compel him to take more food by putting rice into his mouth. To a vast majority of people who had not come near him, he remained merely an abnormal man. Some thought him an impostor trying to play on the religious sentiments of the credulous. Others thought him one whose virtue was only a cloak to hide laziness or even vice. Some of them blamed him openly even though the young seeker had asked for no favour of them whatever and was totally unrelated to them in any way. They blamed him and hated him and without apparent cause gave vent to their aversion in strong language. Indifferent alike to praise and blame, the young man sat neither loving less nor hating more but imploring God in the most supplicant terms to save him from his inner misery and lift him beyond blame. Some strange cosmic emotion was heaving within him and he was in the pangs of the birth of an inner life to which the life dictated by the senses was becoming more and more repulsive.
This state of self-absorption increased soon after. Human company of any sort became unbearable to him. When a curious passer-by stood and watched him as he would a curious animal in the zoo (so he himself described it), he would sometimes spring to his feet in resentment and walk off to the neighbouring hill-top on the summit of which, on a pile of stones for a seat, he would sit cross legged, erect and silent, gazing at the vast panorama of hills that was visible from that point of vantage. He sank deeper and deeper into oblivion of the affairs of the world. The mind seemed to feed on itself and reap a strange happiness.
The emotional counterpart of this incessant search was so heavy as to make even a sturdy supporter groan under its trials. The torrential stream on the banks of which he sat was but an objective representation of the state of emotion in his heart. Nothing can describe adequately the trials he underwent. It would be vain to undertake the task.
It was as if he was drunk. The red fire of knowledge was beginning to glow within him. It was as if his feeling were beginning to melt. It was as if the ambrosial essence of his being was beginning, to pervade his mental horizon. This emotion made him call upon God as his only refuge—God, “whose tender feet dripped with the honey of compassion “. God was to him the pearl of perfection, the dancing centre of his life, the lotus that sprouted in the silence of his heart caught in the centre of which, buried among the petals, like a bumble bee having its fill of honey, his soul enjoyed uncoveted blessedness. It was as if his soul in the form of a radiant child, planting his foot in the centre of a glowing radiance, had devoured within his being the light of the sun and the moon. It was as if this radiant form was dancing and swaying at the centre of his being, mounted on the back of a peacock with outspread feathers of green and gold. It was as if a lamp shed its sombre light in the silent house of the mind….
It was an experience beyond words; and the volume and force with which images such as these surged up within his mind, richly breaking through barriers of rhyme and metre in some of his prayers written at this period, throw ample light on, its nature.
This new experience was not in the nature of an event. It was an experience that changed for him the meaning and import of all events so called. He waited no more for events that would bring him pleasure or pain. He inwardly smiled at the events that others round him attached so much importance to. The events that disturbed or frightened others round him, making them put on grave faces and speak to one another with hidden hatred, seemed to him child’s play. Death had lost its bitter meaning to him and the unknown had lost its mystery.
It was as if he had come into possession of a rich heritage. A veritable ball of radiance had come to his possession. Its light seemed to heave, with every breath, reaching beyond the bounds of the three worlds. Sounds seemed to fill the sky. The eye was filled with beauty. Music and rhyme burst forth unpremeditated in his voice. Tears of compassion and pity stood ready at the least little demand to overflow into action. He became a changed man with a strange silence in his ways, both the subject and the object of utmost compassion.
Undivided and uncramped with trivial events, Time to him became richer and richer in inner meaning, while the ponderable, aspect of time became less and less. Past, present and future merged into a continuous whole and he forgot weeks and weeks as they glided freely by without affecting him. The joy of the state into which he had fallen was alluring him deeper and deeper into his own consciousness.
Controlling with an iron will the domination of one set of emotions over another, upright as a bolt, established firmly in that kind of reasoning which concerned itself with the most immediate realities of a simplified world, he soon entered into a distinct phase in his life. The hunger of a simple villager who came to visit him, became a matter of greater concern to him than theological disputation or the establishment of a new religion for humanity. He began to live in a present that was the result of an endless experience of the past and the most far reaching expectation of the future. The result was that his duties became clear as daylight to him at every step. Philanthropy became a natural hobby to him. Philosophy gave his actions a motive, and poetry gave him the means of natural expression. His life and ambitions were simplified, and the foundations of a career of benevolence and prosperity were laid in his personality.
As days passed by, the crisis of the emotion connected with the breaking in of the new life was over. He became able once again to converse with the people that gathered around him, still keeping himself established in the state that he had made his own. While the great subjective events were taking place, the villagers had put up a roof for him to sleep in when the weather happened to be bad. They had made special arrangements for his food. They had appointed office-bearers to be in charge of the different activities of the place. People arrived on foot and in bullock carts to see the Yogi. Women and children constantly gathered round him, bathed in the river and brought simple presents of fruits or flowers which they placed as an offering to the saint. The crowds of such visitors had to be managed. They invariably partook of the hospitality of the place and returned to their normal business after a few days of comfort and consolation derived from ministering to the wants of a Yogi. Fatigue, both physical and mental, was dispelled at this riverside hermitage, and the place grew into an institution, an Ashram as they call such in India.
The place, however, still lacked one feature of an Ashram, and that was a place of adoration. This became especially necessary as the saint was beginning to move about again from this abode. On these occasions the atmosphere was lacking which his presence gave, and thus the need of a special place of worship was felt by the little community that had spontaneously established itself in connection with the new Ashram.
This new need raised a whole tangle of problems. What was to be the shape of the place of worship? What form of worship was to be adopted? Was it wise to depart completely from popular tradition, or was it better to respect tradition in its harmless aspects and point the way to reform? Agreement on these various problems seemed almost impossible. Under the encouraging guidance of the Guru the villagers progressed from one form of compromise to another until they reached a point which represented the farthest progressive step they could take. Uncouth formalities and customs handed down from time immemorial were mostly cut out, there being only retained some of the simpler harmless ones like the waving of camphor lights and the offering of flowers. The difficulties, that at first appeared Himalayan, dwindled down into insignificance. There among the hills was to be established a temple of Siva, the God of Renunciation. There the women and children could gather together. That would form the centre from which the children would begin to love the clean and the beautiful. The idea satisfied all concerned and the Guru instead of refusing to co-operate with the peasants and the villagers because he himself had risen above the need of formalities in worship, consented to consecrate the temple with his own hands. The necessary land was soon purchased and the date was fixed for the consecration of the temple.
On the appointed morning, long before the ‘hunter of the east’ began to throw his pink noose of light accross the sky, the Guru was up to prepare himself for the duties of the day, bathing himself in the bubbling river. The spot for the installation of the stone altar had been selected and made ready. Thousands of people had gathered overnight to witness the event. The stars shone still when the young ascetic entered the enclosure.
What miracle was going to happen? This was the thought that engaged the minds of the thousands of villagers who had gathered in eager expectation under the starlight. There in the centre of them stood the silent ascetic ready to perform the installation ceremony of the central stone of the altar. The darkness was lighted only by the golden flicker of a five-petalled brass lamp set among flowers.
To some present it all seemed strange and suspicious. Was the young ascetic fitted to perform such a serious ceremony? Was he orthodox enough for it? Had they not heard him talk of Siva as a mere historical figure, some ancient hunter who lived in the Himalayas, who, because of his virtues as a leader of his people, was loved and began to be worshipped with godly attributes. Was he pretending to be a devotee? Would the wrath of God descend on the village for such breaking away from tradition? These were the thoughts that passed through the minds of some of the crowd as, standing nearer to him than the rest, they watched his features to find a reply to their doubt.
No answer to these seperate questions seemed available. He stood in the centre, his face eloquent with expression, and with his eyes lifted in silent prayer. “ Let increased blessing come! Let the poor and needy be comforted! Let them prosper and let not their daily bread fail them from day to day! May they learn to be truthful and seek the ways of happiness each in co-operation with the other!. May they learn to be cleaner day by day! Let all hatred and dissension vanish from among them! Let them learn to respect the feelings of the least little creature of God! Let at least a portion of the Great Truth dawn on them and bring them consolation!” These were the wishes with which he lifted up his eyes.
As he thus prepared himself for the act which was to be the living link, not only between the past and the future, but also between his deepest feelings and those of the ignorant millions for whose sake he was performing the act, in outward evidence as it were of his earnestness, the questioning villagers saw on his resolute features, rolling down in unceasing streams, just simple childish tears.
Silence prevailed while the crowd, moved by the same contagious emotion, looked one at another in the starlight. Soon the installation ceremony was over. The day had dawned. The clarion call of the conch rent the sky, and as the white-clad crowd began to disperse beyond the hills, each felt the petals of a new hope unfolding within; and victory seemed to reign.
The little white-walled institution, nestling among the hills, soon grow out of its infant struggles. The people of the locality formed themselves into a regular association to give continuity of life to the tradition started by the Guru, and the plant showed signs of growing into a useful tree. The Guru began the role of a gardener, not to plants but of a field of institutions scattered over the West coast of South India. Old ones he was obliged, in some cases, to uproot and establish anew. He was content to prune some, while he grafted others on the stock of ancient tradition. For the next thirty years of his life he travelled in annual cycles, watering and weeding them with the care and concern of a true husbandman. Calm as the seasonal changes, the reforms took root starting a new era for the people touched by them. Thus his role as a Guru began It is in a little-inhabited district of South Travancore, the banks of a foaming mountain stream where roaring through rocks and pebbles it passed into the plains, that our next scene is laid. The secluded valley resounded with the noise that rose from the river and the tall trees around looked as if imploring heaven incessantly. Except for the cowherds who followed the cattle into the woods or the goats that leapt about among the rocks, there were scarcely any signs of human life in the vicinity. Such was the place in which, in the year 1886, a man of about thirty years of age emerged into public attention in the manner we are about to recount.
Leaving his home behind him, for years and years he had wandered from one holy man to another, from one religious centre to another, before he came to settle down, for the time being at least, at this spot. During this period of restless travelling he had sometimes walked three to four hundred miles with no better provision than that of a mere mendicant. Sometimes he had to swim across rivers or stretches of backwater on the coast line; but these barriers could not hinder the spirit of search that had awakened in him. Unknown to the million who only later begin to adore him, he passed from one village to another sleeping at night on a cloth spread on the stone slabs of some wayside rest-house, with his stick as his only companion beside him. Other vesper hours found him perchance in a wayside verandah or some forsaken temple-yard where, with the leaves rustling in the gentle evening breeze and sometimes with the moon shining, he spent his night, famished perhaps, fatigued and forlorn, but only apparently in slumber in reality inwardly awake with the “light of the silent tabernacle of the mind”.
Generally uneventful in the usual sense of the term, the life of the ascetic became more uneventful still as his search made him turn more and more within himself for consolation. That search began to depend less on outside persons or things, and, as it became more pronounced, it was necessary for him to protect himself from the “madding crowd’s ignoble strife” it was in the beautiful district we have referred to, that his search reached its final stages. Now established in his forest abode he was beginning to witness within himself an event of more import than the eruption of a volcano or the conquering of a kingdom. It was thus that the villagers of Neyyattinkara had the opportunity of making continued contact with the ascetic, who sat by the riverside, his face shining with inner resolution, and who was none other than the Sri Narayana Guru beginning his life as a teacher of men.
One villager after another who went past him in the forest in pursuit of his daily occupations, began to wonder what the matter was with the man who was seen day after day not specially occupied in doing anything. He seemed to be busy over nothing, anxious over nothing, attached to nothing and no events seemed to shake his calm. While the passer by had slept and waked and fed his hunger and mixed with his mates and passed again, there the seeker sat with his calm yet resolute face, with his gaze showing complete wakefulness but seeming to see nothing in front of him He was absorbed in some thought, the nature of which was a mystery. Thus day after day passed by.
As the villagers’ curiosity became greater, they soon discovered that there were people in the neighbourhood who brought milk and fruits for the strange man, which they left beside him; but the birds and the squirrels were seen more often to partake of them than the absent-minded man him self. A single banana and some clear water formed his sustenance from day to day, as he spent his time in introspective absorption.
His ways frightened some and served to keep them aloof. Others approached nearer and made bold to break the silence and tried to induce him to take more food. There was one elderly dame whose maternal instincts prompted her almost to compel him to take more food by putting rice into his mouth. To a vast majority of people who had not come near him, he remained merely an abnormal man. Some thought him an impostor trying to play on the religious sentiments of the credulous. Others thought him one whose virtue was only a cloak to hide laziness or even vice. Some of them blamed him openly even though the young seeker had asked for no favour of them whatever and was totally unrelated to them in any way. They blamed him and hated him and without apparent cause gave vent to their aversion in strong language. Indifferent alike to praise and blame, the young man sat neither loving less nor hating more but imploring God in the most supplicant terms to save him from his inner misery and lift him beyond blame. Some strange cosmic emotion was heaving within him and he was in the pangs of the birth of an inner life to which the life dictated by the senses was becoming more and more repulsive.
This state of self-absorption increased soon after. Human company of any sort became unbearable to him. When a curious passer-by stood and watched him as he would a curious animal in the zoo (so he himself described it), he would sometimes spring to his feet in resentment and walk off to the neighbouring hill-top on the summit of which, on a pile of stones for a seat, he would sit cross legged, erect and silent, gazing at the vast panorama of hills that was visible from that point of vantage. He sank deeper and deeper into oblivion of the affairs of the world. The mind seemed to feed on itself and reap a strange happiness.
The emotional counterpart of this incessant search was so heavy as to make even a sturdy supporter groan under its trials. The torrential stream on the banks of which he sat was but an objective representation of the state of emotion in his heart. Nothing can describe adequately the trials he underwent. It would be vain to undertake the task.
It was as if he was drunk. The red fire of knowledge was beginning to glow within him. It was as if his feeling were beginning to melt. It was as if the ambrosial essence of his being was beginning, to pervade his mental horizon. This emotion made him call upon God as his only refuge—God, “whose tender feet dripped with the honey of compassion “. God was to him the pearl of perfection, the dancing centre of his life, the lotus that sprouted in the silence of his heart caught in the centre of which, buried among the petals, like a bumble bee having its fill of honey, his soul enjoyed uncoveted blessedness. It was as if his soul in the form of a radiant child, planting his foot in the centre of a glowing radiance, had devoured within his being the light of the sun and the moon. It was as if this radiant form was dancing and swaying at the centre of his being, mounted on the back of a peacock with outspread feathers of green and gold. It was as if a lamp shed its sombre light in the silent house of the mind….
It was an experience beyond words; and the volume and force with which images such as these surged up within his mind, richly breaking through barriers of rhyme and metre in some of his prayers written at this period, throw ample light on, its nature.
This new experience was not in the nature of an event. It was an experience that changed for him the meaning and import of all events so called. He waited no more for events that would bring him pleasure or pain. He inwardly smiled at the events that others round him attached so much importance to. The events that disturbed or frightened others round him, making them put on grave faces and speak to one another with hidden hatred, seemed to him child’s play. Death had lost its bitter meaning to him and the unknown had lost its mystery.
It was as if he had come into possession of a rich heritage. A veritable ball of radiance had come to his possession. Its light seemed to heave, with every breath, reaching beyond the bounds of the three worlds. Sounds seemed to fill the sky. The eye was filled with beauty. Music and rhyme burst forth unpremeditated in his voice. Tears of compassion and pity stood ready at the least little demand to overflow into action. He became a changed man with a strange silence in his ways, both the subject and the object of utmost compassion.
Undivided and uncramped with trivial events, Time to him became richer and richer in inner meaning, while the ponderable, aspect of time became less and less. Past, present and future merged into a continuous whole and he forgot weeks and weeks as they glided freely by without affecting him. The joy of the state into which he had fallen was alluring him deeper and deeper into his own consciousness.
Controlling with an iron will the domination of one set of emotions over another, upright as a bolt, established firmly in that kind of reasoning which concerned itself with the most immediate realities of a simplified world, he soon entered into a distinct phase in his life. The hunger of a simple villager who came to visit him, became a matter of greater concern to him than theological disputation or the establishment of a new religion for humanity. He began to live in a present that was the result of an endless experience of the past and the most far reaching expectation of the future. The result was that his duties became clear as daylight to him at every step. Philanthropy became a natural hobby to him. Philosophy gave his actions a motive, and poetry gave him the means of natural expression. His life and ambitions were simplified, and the foundations of a career of benevolence and prosperity were laid in his personality.
As days passed by, the crisis of the emotion connected with the breaking in of the new life was over. He became able once again to converse with the people that gathered around him, still keeping himself established in the state that he had made his own. While the great subjective events were taking place, the villagers had put up a roof for him to sleep in when the weather happened to be bad. They had made special arrangements for his food. They had appointed office-bearers to be in charge of the different activities of the place. People arrived on foot and in bullock carts to see the Yogi. Women and children constantly gathered round him, bathed in the river and brought simple presents of fruits or flowers which they placed as an offering to the saint. The crowds of such visitors had to be managed. They invariably partook of the hospitality of the place and returned to their normal business after a few days of comfort and consolation derived from ministering to the wants of a Yogi. Fatigue, both physical and mental, was dispelled at this riverside hermitage, and the place grew into an institution, an Ashram as they call such in India.
The place, however, still lacked one feature of an Ashram, and that was a place of adoration. This became especially necessary as the saint was beginning to move about again from this abode. On these occasions the atmosphere was lacking which his presence gave, and thus the need of a special place of worship was felt by the little community that had spontaneously established itself in connection with the new Ashram.
This new need raised a whole tangle of problems. What was to be the shape of the place of worship? What form of worship was to be adopted? Was it wise to depart completely from popular tradition, or was it better to respect tradition in its harmless aspects and point the way to reform? Agreement on these various problems seemed almost impossible. Under the encouraging guidance of the Guru the villagers progressed from one form of compromise to another until they reached a point which represented the farthest progressive step they could take. Uncouth formalities and customs handed down from time immemorial were mostly cut out, there being only retained some of the simpler harmless ones like the waving of camphor lights and the offering of flowers. The difficulties, that at first appeared Himalayan, dwindled down into insignificance. There among the hills was to be established a temple of Siva, the God of Renunciation. There the women and children could gather together. That would form the centre from which the children would begin to love the clean and the beautiful. The idea satisfied all concerned and the Guru instead of refusing to co-operate with the peasants and the villagers because he himself had risen above the need of formalities in worship, consented to consecrate the temple with his own hands. The necessary land was soon purchased and the date was fixed for the consecration of the temple.
On the appointed morning, long before the ‘hunter of the east’ began to throw his pink noose of light accross the sky, the Guru was up to prepare himself for the duties of the day, bathing himself in the bubbling river. The spot for the installation of the stone altar had been selected and made ready. Thousands of people had gathered overnight to witness the event. The stars shone still when the young ascetic entered the enclosure.
What miracle was going to happen? This was the thought that engaged the minds of the thousands of villagers who had gathered in eager expectation under the starlight. There in the centre of them stood the silent ascetic ready to perform the installation ceremony of the central stone of the altar. The darkness was lighted only by the golden flicker of a five-petalled brass lamp set among flowers.
To some present it all seemed strange and suspicious. Was the young ascetic fitted to perform such a serious ceremony? Was he orthodox enough for it? Had they not heard him talk of Siva as a mere historical figure, some ancient hunter who lived in the Himalayas, who, because of his virtues as a leader of his people, was loved and began to be worshipped with godly attributes. Was he pretending to be a devotee? Would the wrath of God descend on the village for such breaking away from tradition? These were the thoughts that passed through the minds of some of the crowd as, standing nearer to him than the rest, they watched his features to find a reply to their doubt.
No answer to these seperate questions seemed available. He stood in the centre, his face eloquent with expression, and with his eyes lifted in silent prayer. “ Let increased blessing come! Let the poor and needy be comforted! Let them prosper and let not their daily bread fail them from day to day! May they learn to be truthful and seek the ways of happiness each in co-operation with the other!. May they learn to be cleaner day by day! Let all hatred and dissension vanish from among them! Let them learn to respect the feelings of the least little creature of God! Let at least a portion of the Great Truth dawn on them and bring them consolation!” These were the wishes with which he lifted up his eyes.
As he thus prepared himself for the act which was to be the living link, not only between the past and the future, but also between his deepest feelings and those of the ignorant millions for whose sake he was performing the act, in outward evidence as it were of his earnestness, the questioning villagers saw on his resolute features, rolling down in unceasing streams, just simple childish tears.
Silence prevailed while the crowd, moved by the same contagious emotion, looked one at another in the starlight. Soon the installation ceremony was over. The day had dawned. The clarion call of the conch rent the sky, and as the white-clad crowd began to disperse beyond the hills, each felt the petals of a new hope unfolding within; and victory seemed to reign.
All was not smooth on the course. Three thousand years of tradition, gone to seed, had covered over and shrivelled the life of the people. They held to the thin reed of traditional life with the tenacity of a drowning race. Deprive them of the be-all of life, they would call it their fate and meekly suffer it; but touch the nerve having its root in the traditions of their ancestors, and the hungry men rose to die for what they prized more than life. Not even the king could try to change tradition. The established religions could only continue the traditions that they inherited. The people were willing to carry their Popes in golden palanquins as long as they respected the least little detail of tradition, but even a departure from a baneful practice was enough to dethrone them from Guru-hood. Such were the forces.
There was a safety-value which tradition itself afforded, and this consisted in the respect for renunciation. From time immemorial, the ruling kings rose from their seats to honour a holy man who entered the palace from the street. The people instinctively recognized holiness. The books laid down the marks of such a one. It was traditional to think of a man of renunciation as a representative of God. Time and again in the story of that vast continent seething with population, a simple man of renunciation had lead the people to the gates of safety. This tradition is still alive and is the silver lining of hope for the future.
The rare privilege of leadership in reform adorned the ascetic features of the Guru with a natural grace. His heroic qualities had been tested in fire. There came a night dedicated to the memory of Siva, the ancient leader of the Himalayas, that kept a large crowd awake, hearing orators, musicians and lantern-lecturers and waiting for the elephant procession at midnight and the fireworks in the morning. They made the secluded riverside into a town for the night, and young and old gathered in the spot which was the seat of the ascetic life of the Guru. The Guru sat protected from the crowd at a distance, finding out from the by-standers all that was happening. He spoke of the vulgarity of elephant processions and the waste involved in fireworks. He made no speeches, but the crowd heard his views through the speedy medium of rumour; so that while he pronounced no judgment, the people carried out his suggestions, as if responding to their inner voices.
At midnight the Guru came into the crowd. There was to be a meeting and the Guru was to preside. A deep unconcern sat on his features while he sat at the head of the crowd. Orator after orator rose to his feet and spoke on the ideals of the Guru as they understood him, and the Guru sat silent behind them. They moved the crowd, mixing their voices with the subtle emotional atmosphere of the midnight vigil.
A group of women and children, more sunburnt than the rest of the crowd, sat segregated from the others. They were poor peasants, who, after a day’s hard work, had come in search of consolation to the festive scene. For ages these poor labourers and their ancestors had tilled the soil for the richer people who took advantage of their goodness. On the basis of their Caste these people had been condemned to age-long suffering, and were segregated and spurned. The Guru’s watchful eyes lighted on the group. He asked the orators to wait a moment. He asked the crowd if these people should be segregated. Why should they not come and feel equality with the others? The Guru arranged that two of the boys from the crowd be brought on the platform, and seated them, after kind questions one on either side of him. “They are God’s children as much as the others”, he murmured, and tears of compassion more eloquent than speeches carried home his silent message to the crowd. Even they who would have growled at such a departure from tradition, could not resist the winning power of the Guru’s eyes. They crouched innocent of the axe which the Guru aimed at the dead root of tradition No statesmanship or subtle diplomacy was employed. It was the simplest manifestation of humanity, welling up in the heart of the Guru that won the case for ever. Thus the first victory of the Guru was won. The boys were later admitted as members of the hermitage; and they, and many such, remained near the Guru, wherever he went, until the day of his passing away. While others spoke and become excited over the past or the future, striving for hours to direct the popular mind, the saint sat silent, and acted. His silence, when judged by its effect, marked the high watermark of oratory. In winding up the proceedings of this memorable day, the Guru had nearly a few simple words to say. These he put in the form of a motto, which one of those present proclaimed to the crowd. It read
Devoid of dividing walls
Of caste or race
Or hatred of rival faith,
We all live here
In Brotherhood.
Such, know this place to be!
This Model Foundation!
Such, then, was the manner, and such the character he gave to his work. It soon overflowed the limits of the province, and spread its seeds far and wide. Let us follow him a step further in his silent task.
Let the reader imagine a village in Travancore in or about the year 1895. The sandy village-lane is untreadable in the midday heat. It is more than a hundred yards long and leads to the village temple and the pond. A poor villager, a hard-working agriculturist, and his tired newly-wedded wife have traversed the hot sand on their way from afar. They meet the priest of the temple who enters the lane from the opposite direction. A new-comer to the village would have heard an angry shout raised by the priest, which was meant for the approaching couple to make way for him. He was the representative of God and had to be given the way. The harsh traditional shout was effective in making the tired couple retrace their steps all the way backwards till the priest could pass without distance pollution from the poor workmen. Let the visitor pass on to the temple-yard, which is the centre of the village life. The white walls of the temple which once formed the canvas on which inspired artists tried to express the richness of their inner life, was now a place which the idle village-urchins scratched and defiled with ghastly figures in charcoal. The temple festival had degenerated into a drunken merry-making. Instead of the spirit of heroic sacrifice, society connived at the cowardice of ritual sacrifice of animals. The spirit had fled from the temples, leaving the shell of tradition behind. The unholy wand of degeneration had touched with its deadening touch the once luminous spirit that radiated from the village temple. Such and a hundred other such so-called places of worship were the canker at the core of a fallen society.
Not far from the temple stands the house of a trustee of the temple. The mistress of the house has finished the duties of the day. The children have retired to rest after their evening meal. The last visitor has arrived in the village, and this happens to be none other than the Yogi of the riverside hermitage. A youthful follower is with him and conducts him through the slaty darkness beneath the palm trees, with the light of a torch. They partake of the last remnants of the meal and prefer to sleep in the open, under the starlight. At day-break the anxious housewife discovers that the bed, on which the Guru slept, is made, and the Guru departed. He is already on the scene of action. He has called the leaders together, and talks to them. Animal sacrifices must be stopped. The temple must be demolished. It is too dirty for a place of worship. Drinking must be discouraged. All are equal in the sight of God, so long as they are clean and moral. There is no harm in modern innovations in shaving or dressing. Such was his outlook and programme. Soon the task appeared to take on serious aspects. Hydra-headed tradition raised difficulties. Age-long precedents were quoted. Bloodshed was threatened. The wrath of the gods would descend on the race. The voice of a thousand years of convictions questioned the authority of anyone on the face of the earth to touch a hair in the accepted tradition of their forefathers. Some even trembled and gave vent to hysterical outbursts, while the Guru sat on another side taking in his usual gentle way to the leaders. After hours of pitched battle, one by one the leaders yielded to reason. Demoniac feelings of ancient origin danced their last dance, exhausting themselves, and fell back before the gentle tear-filled features of the Guru. His voice sounded stronger than the shouts of vested interest. One by one the diverse elements melted into harmony.
Next morning the Guru began the demolition of the old temple. The stones were to be used for a new temple. An overgrown grove, untouched for generations out of superstition, was to be cut down by the Guru’s mandate. The timber available there from was to be used for the school building that the Guru proposed for the education of the idle village-urchins.
Innumerable privations were involved in such a task of reform. Some of them were self-inflicted. Others took the form of protests, while still others were resorted to set a better example to the people. It sometimes meant that on entering the gates of a rich mansion where he was invited, he had to turn away in protest on seeing some poultry in the yard which made him mumble something about the cruelty of rearing a bird or animal with parental care until it was grown and then on a fine morning applying the sharpened knife to its neck just to satisfy the wild desires of the palate. It meant at other times that he walked twenty miles on foot in protest against the ill-treatment of an animal drawing the vehicle in which he sat. It meant at other times still, that he walked all night disgusted with the heavy snoring of some of his followers who had feasted with him on a previous night. Once he spent a whole night sitting by the river-side refusing the requests of a rich landlord to come and sleep in a couch that was prepared for him in the house, just because he had seen a visitor spit on the ground within sight of his window. It meant starvation when he refused to take even milk on a day on which he had no supper, telling the bystanders that the milkmen were cruel to the calves and did not leave enough milk to satisfy their hunger. Such occurrences were constant events in his life, giving intensity and depth to his silent message, which he carried with him wherever he went.
For fifteen years he travelled incessantly, attempting to bring more cleanliness and light to the poor people of the country. He helped them to clean up the houses and streets. He helped them to have cleaner habits. He introduced and set an example in better diet. He gave an impetus to moral standards. He pointed the right road to reform and more prosperity. He helped them to see clearly through maladjusted emotions. But these were only preliminaries to the real teaching that was to follow. This he left behind in the form of verses and writings for his future followers to learn and interpret.
As the honey in a flower attracts insects, so also the natural kindness that radiated from his person made him specially interesting to intelligent young men in the places that he visited. They gathered round him and followed him and were influenced by his ideas in various degrees. He talked with them, unceasingly helping them to distinguish the higher duty from the lower and opening their inner eyes to the light of truth “with the golden needle of knowledge “. With the care of a parent; alternately kind and harsh as the seasons of their mental unfoldment demanded, the Guru guided these men from one high pinnacle of thought to another. Some dropped off. Others lapsed into household life, where the training they received near the Guru made them shine in their self-chosen careers. Others developed the Guru-qualities themselves, and, filled with the spirit of the Gurus message, burst away from him as seeds burst to scatter themselves. It was a continuous task for the Guru.
After fifteen years of such wanderings, in which he was everywhere and nowhere in particular, he emerged into a more settled sort of public life again at a place forty miles North of the original Asram. He had selected a neglected hill-top on which a poor peasant had built a shed for him out of cocoanut-palm leaves. The sea was visible as a silver gleam from here, and all the undulating country below. Visitors, when the more persevering of them had succeeded in discovering him in that secluded spot, found him once more absorbed in Tapas .
He sat unconcerned. The perennial springs that gave rise to gurgling streams at the foot of the hill, had water as clear as tears, and represented objectively the inner state of peace within him. As before, he wrote prayers for the people who were interested in him. This time he chose to address God as his Mother. The devotional language, instead of reminding one of the torrential stream, reflected the perennial flow of crystal water.
“O Mother “, he called, “when will my spirit’s fever be calm and mingle in the core of the radiant-petalled glory of the One Primordial Mind? When will the deceptive snare of hungry visions cease…?”
Such was the strain of his music at this period.
This place also soon began to grow into an institution by the same magic touch of his presence. He protected under his care a few of the poorest children he found around him. They did for him the odd jobs and lived with him. To one he taught how to weave and earn his living thereby. Another was his personal attendant and read him books while he waited on him. He talked with each of them, directing their thoughts into purposeful channels. He simplified his philosophy for them with the greatest consideration for their ignorance. In his attempts to explain to these poor children his religious attitude in simple language, he wrote the following verses for their daily meditation. Translated they read as follows:
God, protect us and keep us ever from harm!
Thou art the Great Captain,
And a mighty steamship on the ocean of being Is thy foot.
Counting all things here,
Touching them one by one,
We come at last to where
There is no more left
Then, lo, the quest stops
In stillness.
In Thee, likewise, let the
Attain its rest
Food and clothes, and all things else we need,
Thou givest us unceasingly
Ever saving us from want.
We thrive on thy bounty, Lord!
Our only God thou art.
To sea, and wave and wind and depth compared,
Let us within us see the plan, respectively
Of us ourselves, of Maya, Thy Power and Thou
Thee we find in Creation Thyself!
The Creater, too, Thou didst become, and
Creation’s myriad magic
And the very Stuff of all created things.
Truth thou art,
And Knowledge and Bliss likewise.
The present Time art Thou,
Past and Future merge in unity in Thee.
Even the Spoken Word—a moment’s thought reveals
As but of Thine own self again.
Victory to Thee, Great Master!
Ever-watchful Saviour,
All knowing, bliss-filled sea of kindness, Hail!
In the deep deep ocean of Thy Glory,
Let us all together immersed be,
For ever and for ever— There to dwell, everlastingly
In Bliss.
AUM..
Principle And Practice
The Guru represented the principle which stands, as it were inactive and still, at the centre of practice whose proper place is at the frontier or the circumference. Practice was concerned with particular events, while the principle as the dynamic centre which gave continuity and coherence to the seperate events. The principle stood colourless and neutral in comparison to the particular act that was to be accomplished, but it was the silent and simple principle that lent support and benediction to every righteous cause. At Varkala, which was his new abode, the Guru became more and more the representative of the Principle with a capital ‘P’
Varkala was not a populous place. The blackened rocks that cut into the greenness of the sloping hills, looked hard and unyielding. The seekers after ease and pleasure had therefore deserted this place and lived nearer the sea-coast where the abundance of fish, moisture and fertility favoured the proliferation of human life. Away from the competition and strife of daily life the Guru sat on the bill top, removed from the highways of business. To him the neglected spot had its aspects of sublime beauty. Hidden behind the apparently unchanging fixity of the rocks, the meditative eyes of the Guru could see the Principle of change and becoming. The ancient breezes that rose far away on the ocean’s breast, greeted him where he sat. The star-lit nights were rich with the distant murmur of the waves At the foot of the barren rocks, hidden amongst the growth of fern, crystal springs perennially formed themselves into gurgling streams The virgin beauty of the spot could not be discovered by the vulgar eye of haste or greed To the Guru, as he himself used to say, it was the ‘Punya Bhoomi’ (holy land), where the signs of human pettiness and greed were not in evidence.
A stranger would have thought that the Guru was inactive, or that he was resting without much work A longer or shorter stay at the Ashram soon changed that notion It was true that at early dawn, before even the contour of the hills became visible, the Guru, who had finished his morning ablutions, sat still on a raised couch while one of the Brahmacharis read, in musical tones, parts from an elevating scripture His long staff and lantern with half-raised wick, and his sandals which he left on the threshold of his little dwelling-room, seemed to add to the still picture of meditation. So did the morning shadows at the foot of the mango grove.. It was true that most of the day he spent talking to various kinds of visitors, young and old, on topics that made a hasty man impatient while he stood listening to him. It was true that after his midday meal he shut himself up or sat under the shade of the mango tree. It was true that he retired soon after nightfall and lay down on his couch while someone read or sang to him. But the Guru was still wakeful. His voice would come unmistakably when the reader made a mistake that had to be corrected. Grammar and pronunciation were not neglected. The style was not left uncriticised. No sublime height was left unappreciated, while still he appeared to be lazy. Separate days mingled thus, their boundaries, in a Peace that was ever active within him. It was a state of continued Yoga. It was a life of dedication to a principle which he shared with the sun and stars. The world of actions was only an outer zone of shadow compared to the brilliance of the light that burnt within him.
It was not that he did not engage in activity. The attitude of strenuous activity was a natural counterpart of the Yoga which he practised day and night As a result of this ever-wakeful attitude, he always did what others forgot to do, and even this kind of activity generally kept him more occupied than most people On a rainy morning, when all the inmates liked to stay longer indoors, he was already getting the water-ways clear of the obstructing earth that the flood overnight had deposited. In the midday heat when the building overseer who volunteered to supervise the erection of the new school building, was absent, he was there present himself to direct the stone breaking and carting operations He was at the timber-yard at night to put away valuable timber that the workmen had neglected to store away in safety. The poor boys of the Sanskrit school had helped to wash the mossy greenness of the parapet-wall that surrounded the temple of Sarada, and he was there helping to make and distribute to the children milk-pudding with his own hands. It was a peaceful routine of activity, some strenuous, some calm, which the continuous principle that he stood for, made him engage in without ado. Life was to him a continous day of harmonised activity. It was not that he believed that all must work hard, but it was rather that man could not remain without activity “What can one do? “, he used to say “our hands and feet and finger-tips are all asking for work. They are like restless horses. We should be ill if we did not give enough work to them.” He would therefore stubbornly insist, saying he would cook his own food or wash his own clothes, when a devotee tried to deprive him of the chance He would walk miles and miles to escape from some of the helpful attentions of his devotees.
Occasionally there came a visitor who was a knight-errant in some frontier cause connected with the principles that the Guru symbolised Perhaps it was one coming from the ancient temple-city of Madura, where, since the time of his breaking away from the leader, in the fashion we have referred to several years before, he fought the slow but winning battle against popular superstition and darkness. Or he came from the island of Ceylon or from the Kanarese-speaking country of Mangalore on the coast towards Bombay. Some others returned to the Master with fruits and flowers from Kashi (Modern Benares), or, farther still, from Haridwar. They touched the feet of the Leader and remained with him imbibing afresh his Message before they travelled back to their chosen frontier. The spirit of reconciliation filled the atmosphere in the Ashram when any such came, and the inmates, young and old, rejoiced in the sense of life that came from the alternation of seperation and return of the members of the great family of the Guru The frontier was the real seat of activity The Guru himself appeared inactive, and unconcerned with affairs as such.
Once came the poet Rabindranath Tagore, on one of his southern tours, to visit the Guru. In honour of the great poet of Bengal the people in the vicinity of the hermitage arranged a kingly reception. Elephants were requisitioned. He was to be brought in procession as far as the foot of the hill of the Ashram. Musical accompaniments were arranged. The Guru stood in the verandah of his rest-house and himself ordered the best carpets that the hermitage possessed, to be brought out to adorn the foot of the seat of the honoured guest. The people thronged with the guest, anxious to hear the conversation between the Guru and the seer of Santiniketan. Each of the crowd thought himself the chosen follower of the Gum, and, as space was limited, it took some time to establish silence for the conversation. The two veteran leaders greeted with joined palms, and sat down facing one another. The seer of Bengal broke the deep silence that marked their meeting, and complimented the Guru on the “great work” he was doing for the people. The Guru’s reply was not delayed. “Neither have we done anything in the past nor is it possible to do anything in the future. Powerlessness fills us with sorrow “. His words sounded an enigma to some. Others thought he was just joking. Still others examined the logic of the statement. A characteristic silence followed the remark. The crowd looked at one another for a meaning, but it was the Guru’s face itself that gave the silent commentary to the words. Deep silence and earnestness sat on his features. Smiles of curiosity and the rival expectations of the people were drawn into the neutral depths of silence by the suggestion that was on the features of the Guru. All was expressed silent for a minute or two. The climax of the interview was reached in silence where all met in equality. Usual conversation followed and the poet and the crowd retired.
The apparently unproductive Principle which the Guru stood for, was all the time ripening fruitful results all round. Some were merely seasonal expressions of his message. Others had continuity beyond the limit of seasonal cycles. They began in. the shape of reading-rooms in the name of the Guru, which later developed into places of worship. The social and economic institutions were spontaneously aggregated round this central nucleus of religion. Humble individuals, trained in persistent effort, once touched by the Guru, were at the bottom of each such new sprout. They carried the pictures of the Guru in procession. They arranged popular conferences in which men and women took part, and searched for the direction of progress at which the Guru pointed Those who had special political or social disabilities, answered the rallying call of the leaders more than others. Soon, hundreds of little nuclei of institutions were scattered all over the country in Travancore, Cochin and British Malabar Later, they spread into Ceylon and the Madras Presidency
Prominent among the permanent organisations that grew, as it were in the shade of the parent Principle, was one started in connection with the management of the original river-side temple of Siva at Aruvippuram. The Guru sometimes sat at its annual deliberations, and he directed the course of its growth from year to year for more than thirty years of his life. Sometimes he protested and would have nothing to do with it. At other times he accepted its invitation and blessed its efforts. Its membership grew from a number of two digits to one of six. Although the Guru did not place much faith in big organisations which were obliged to work at the dull level of the popular mind, the voiceless people whose rights were trodden under the feet of special interests, found a powerful organisation here to voice their rights. Beneficial results accrued from year to year. This association still flourishes and its ponderous name signifies. “The Association for the Propagation of the Dharma of Sri Narayana “.
The peripheral limits of the Guru’s influence were where his principles lashed in the form of waves against the rocks of die-hard conservatism and public opinion reflecting the dead formalities traditional life. This was the region of actual conflict. This was the frontier where the cause advanced and receded in succession. This was the region where the leaders arose and became ‘men of the hour’. They worked in the dust-clouds of controversy. They believed in mass meetings and demonstrations. They adopted tactics and made compromises. Youthful enthusiasis found food for imagination in this work. They joined in numbers the ranks of the older leaders. They used the name of the Guru and owed their leadership in varying degrees to his moral and intellectual guidance. He commended and ridiculed them as occasion demanded, as they visited him now and then to spend a day or two at the Ashram.
By this time the Guru had become a social force that could no more be neglected. He had the right to prescribe a deviation from customary practice. He could even alter marriage and funeral rites and enact forms. It was accepted that he was working for the good of the people. Protests and murmurs of dissent were raised, but the vital voice of truth and justice carried all before it. After a time, even these murmurs died in the silent victory that belonged to the Principle that burnt in his heart.
Once, a beautiful European girl stood by an Indian student who had not long before returned to India from his studies. Intimacy had grown between them while in Europe, and, true to her word, she had crossed the ocean and come to the man of her choice. The father of the young man, who was much respected in the neighbourhood, had spent many a sleepless night thinking what would happen to the family traditions if his son married an imported woman from a strange shore. The atmosphere of panic prevailed. Was the family to break away for ever from the rest of the relatives, whom they loved, by this mingling of blood? Debates where held in nooks and corners. The wise people shook their heads. Ill omens were imagined. The troubled father at last came to the Guru for advice.The Guru saw no harm The wedding could take place in the Ashram itself The public were invited. And there the couple stood, the brave girl, radiant in an Indian saree, by the bridegroom who was then professor at a university The Guru, who sat on a platform built as the base of a mango-tree hung with jasmine festoons, sorrounded by a crowd of several thousands of people of all religions, after a few simple formalities consecrated the marriage.
In the absence of a proper “bride’s party “, the Guru specially asked an Englishman who was present, to say a few words as a representative of the bride’s people, Rival social and religious representatives met on that happy and significant occasion and feasted together. The clouds that seemed to threaten disaster, only brought joy in all hearts as they departed from the Ashram. It was the silent Principle that the Guru represented, that had again won a calm victory. This was only one of many smaller victories of the same kind which were almost of weekly occurrence at the Ashram.
Meanwhile, the youthful enthusiasts were preparing the ground for a more serious clash with vested interests and conservative opinion. Events seemed to accumulate, as it were underground, for a long time before they found characteristic expression in what is now a fairly famous event known as the Vaikam Satyagraha struggle. In this, the Guru’s efforts came into contact with those of Mahatma Gandhi. As the Guru’s attitude in this campaign was not clearly understood , we shall here give a brief account of the main happenings and circumstances with a view to studying his general attitude in relief.
As in many other parts of the world, some religious institutions, instead of being consecrated by a living symbol of justice and righteousness, had degenerated, and the temple walls had become the ramparts for the protection of vested interest. The traditional respect of the people for the name of God and religious duty began to be exploited by a minority. Public benefactions were being diverted into unlawful channels. Those who could not claim holiness, were reduced to the humility of waiting outside the institutions that their money supported, while those who were already not specially needy, feasted within the walls. Dirt and demoralisation spread its contagion Myth and fiction having their justification in special circumstances in the past, overcovered simple realities beyond all recognition. Even some important roads were thus reserved for particular sections of the public, not to speak of the right share in the advantages of the public institutions.
With the general awakening to popular rights that followed in the wake of the nationalist movement in India, the nation was beginning to search its own conscience. Among the sore spots in the national consciousness was the question of caste privileges which had been for a long time mixed up with social and religious duties One seemed to lend justification to the other, until, in the dull background of the popular mind, one became confused with the other. Long lapses of time made them inseparable from the primitive stem of popular belief, and they came to be spoken of under the sonorous title of Varnashrama Dharma. Not only did the hereditary priests reserve to themselves the right to interpret this Dharma or duty, but, what was more, they reserved the right to decide when they were right. Thus, by a vague sort of justification which was more felt than found reasonable, an unjust domination remained unaffected by the ebb and flow of popular opinion.
Dayananda, Keshab Chandra, Vivekananda and other pioneers of reform in India had for a long time protested in their own ways against this injustice, but it was Mahatma Gandhi to whom belongs the credit of inducing the nation as a whole to include items like ‘the removal of untouchability’ in the national programme, and trying to clean the national conscience It was, however, from the point of view of All India politics that the Mahatma looked at the question.
Some of the youthful followers of the Guru were impatient for results. It was some time since they had started a movement for the throwing open of Hindu temples to all sections irrespective of caste or birth. They linked their efforts with those of Mahatma Gandhi and the National Congress. They went to see the Mahatma who advised them to try the special method of fighting the situation, which he called Satyagraha. It was a kind of passive resistance with ethical principles and a philosophy which had evolved in connection with the personal life of the Mahatma in his work in South Africa and India. ‘Soul Force’ was its watch word, and it sought to obtain real results by the use of weapons which belonged purely to the emotional world. Even the nearest followers of the Mahatma were liable to be mistaken in their interpretation of this method which Gandhi’s mind had conceived and perfected through various stages of trial and error in his life.
According to the Mahatma’s advice a Satyagraha camp was established at Vaikam, one of ancient temple-towns of Travancore state, where the injustice was keenly felt Volunteers arrived from various parts of South India. Constant directions came from the Mahatma, who was at Ahmedabad. The Guru’s land and centre at Vaikam was placed at the disposal of the Satyagraha committee, and the Guru’s followers supplied much of the manpower required for the campaign. The Guru encouraged and visited the camp, but as usual took no direct part in the campaign. More men and money poured in from all parts of India and the campaign, which was the first clear expression of the pent-up feelings of the people against a long standing blot, soon took on grave proportions Batches of volunteers went to the road that the Travancore government reserved for the high- castes, and stood facing the police constables who were posted there to obstruct them from entering the road Without retaliation the men suffered privations month after month, standing at their post in the heat and ram and even flood, hoping to raise the right emotion in the conservatives that would bring victory to the cause The tension of public opinion grew from day to day, and still they kept on under keen provocation from the rival camp.
At last, Mahatma Gandhi himself came to Travancore to inspect, and, if possible, terminate the situation He talked with all the parties interested in the question, and came to Varkala to speak to the Guru It was thus that the silent sage of Varkala met for the first time the historic figure of Sabarmati.
The Mahatma represented a wave of reform that, starting in a political ideal, tried to make the people spiritual He believed in Satyagraha as a special weapon of self-purification for the masses They were, therefore, called upon to believe in this doctrine The thought of the welfare of the masses haunted him day and night He sought to serve their cause with all the earnestness that was at the command of his frail body When his plans failed or produced a re-action, he took the blame on himself and confessed before the public that he had committed a ‘Himalayan blunder’, and implored the mercy of God in the most supplicant terms
To the Guru, the elements of continuity of the Principle were more important than the particular extensive application of a doctrine or method to a given situation that arose Rules served their purpose for a time and had to yield place to others. Each situation called for its own special intelligence and there was no one panacea. The mind was to be left free to thread its own way through the maze of situations that presented themselves before it, and rules were straight lines compared to the zigzags and curves of the course of right action. He emphasised only two platforms of thought. One was that of the every-day world of neutral facts, and the other that which belonged to the Otherworldly Reality beyond. He carefully avoided preaching or lending his assent to special philosophies or standpoints to serve temporary or temporal purposes, lest such creations should continue to haunt the minds of the ignorant after the creeds had ceased to serve an immediate cause, and thus add to the heavy load of superstitions with which the poor people confused their honest brains. Popular agreement in a course of action was not to be the result of faith in a doctrine or the appreciation of a special philosophy, but the natural outcome of tangible realities of everyday life interpreted as simply as possible for the sake of the people.
The Mahatma saw special use in declaring himself a Hindu and a Vaishnava, besides preaching the doctrines of Satyagraha and soul-force He also believed in a Varnashrarna Dharma which he elaborated and interpreted in his speeches and writings. The Guru was content to call himself a man, and to call upon man to recognize God and the simple realities of life One tried, as it were, to reach the heart of the masses from the circumference, with variety as the starting-point; while, to the other, the starting-point was the recognition of the One without a second. It was natural that the leader of All-India politics should differ from the solitary saint in the point of view that he accepted as the basis of activity. One represented the peripheral and the other the central compromise of the same abstract principle. The Mahatma emphasised and voiced the master sentiment of the nation, while the Guru stood for the neutral principle.
The Mahatma represented the rare case in which the logic of the emotions coincided in its essential aspects with the logic of pure reason. The test of both these kinds of logic was in action and this was the sure point of contact between the Guru and the Mahatma As at Varkala, Gandhiji had “untouchable” children with him at Sabarmati. The Mahatma still stood for Hindu-Muslim Unity. Both of them were keenly interested in cottage industries; and the type of saintliness both represented had marks of a common lineage. Although, therefore, in the interview with the Guru the Mahatma seemed to differ from him in what concerned Hindu Dharrna and Varnashrama and the dogmatic aspects of Satyagraha, theoretical differences converged until they met in practice. The Guru ardently subscribed to the Khaddar campaign. After exchanges of mutual veneration the Mahatma took leave of the Guru.
The Satyagraha struggle terminated in a partial victory for the cause of the masses. On the land which was the scene of the historic event, the Guru erected a school for the poor children of the locality. It stands there to commemorate the noble efforts of many youthful souls, who suffered.
The Guru liked to see continuity in human endeavour, and, as continuity is the essential factor in a principle he discountenanced events which were mere expressions of seasonal enthusiasm. While the waves seemed to advance and recede at the circumference, the centre remained undisturbed At Varkala the winds wafted their message as usual and the gurgling streams interpreted the continuity of the Gum’s silent hours The Brahmachari who read by the bed-side of the Guru, had his usual course of grammar and pronunciation The inner brilliance kept the Guru self absorbed, while his influence spread into action all round He showed in his life that principle and practice were related to one another like the stem and branches of a great tree Withdrawn into the central core of all practice, he remained silent His life was a continuous commentary on the words of the Bhagavad Gita:
“Mentally renouncing all actions, the sovereign dweller in the boy resteth serenely in the nine gated city, neither acting nor causing to act” (V-13)
The Guru represented the principle which stands, as it were inactive and still, at the centre of practice whose proper place is at the frontier or the circumference. Practice was concerned with particular events, while the principle as the dynamic centre which gave continuity and coherence to the seperate events. The principle stood colourless and neutral in comparison to the particular act that was to be accomplished, but it was the silent and simple principle that lent support and benediction to every righteous cause. At Varkala, which was his new abode, the Guru became more and more the representative of the Principle with a capital ‘P’
Varkala was not a populous place. The blackened rocks that cut into the greenness of the sloping hills, looked hard and unyielding. The seekers after ease and pleasure had therefore deserted this place and lived nearer the sea-coast where the abundance of fish, moisture and fertility favoured the proliferation of human life. Away from the competition and strife of daily life the Guru sat on the bill top, removed from the highways of business. To him the neglected spot had its aspects of sublime beauty. Hidden behind the apparently unchanging fixity of the rocks, the meditative eyes of the Guru could see the Principle of change and becoming. The ancient breezes that rose far away on the ocean’s breast, greeted him where he sat. The star-lit nights were rich with the distant murmur of the waves At the foot of the barren rocks, hidden amongst the growth of fern, crystal springs perennially formed themselves into gurgling streams The virgin beauty of the spot could not be discovered by the vulgar eye of haste or greed To the Guru, as he himself used to say, it was the ‘Punya Bhoomi’ (holy land), where the signs of human pettiness and greed were not in evidence.
A stranger would have thought that the Guru was inactive, or that he was resting without much work A longer or shorter stay at the Ashram soon changed that notion It was true that at early dawn, before even the contour of the hills became visible, the Guru, who had finished his morning ablutions, sat still on a raised couch while one of the Brahmacharis read, in musical tones, parts from an elevating scripture His long staff and lantern with half-raised wick, and his sandals which he left on the threshold of his little dwelling-room, seemed to add to the still picture of meditation. So did the morning shadows at the foot of the mango grove.. It was true that most of the day he spent talking to various kinds of visitors, young and old, on topics that made a hasty man impatient while he stood listening to him. It was true that after his midday meal he shut himself up or sat under the shade of the mango tree. It was true that he retired soon after nightfall and lay down on his couch while someone read or sang to him. But the Guru was still wakeful. His voice would come unmistakably when the reader made a mistake that had to be corrected. Grammar and pronunciation were not neglected. The style was not left uncriticised. No sublime height was left unappreciated, while still he appeared to be lazy. Separate days mingled thus, their boundaries, in a Peace that was ever active within him. It was a state of continued Yoga. It was a life of dedication to a principle which he shared with the sun and stars. The world of actions was only an outer zone of shadow compared to the brilliance of the light that burnt within him.
It was not that he did not engage in activity. The attitude of strenuous activity was a natural counterpart of the Yoga which he practised day and night As a result of this ever-wakeful attitude, he always did what others forgot to do, and even this kind of activity generally kept him more occupied than most people On a rainy morning, when all the inmates liked to stay longer indoors, he was already getting the water-ways clear of the obstructing earth that the flood overnight had deposited. In the midday heat when the building overseer who volunteered to supervise the erection of the new school building, was absent, he was there present himself to direct the stone breaking and carting operations He was at the timber-yard at night to put away valuable timber that the workmen had neglected to store away in safety. The poor boys of the Sanskrit school had helped to wash the mossy greenness of the parapet-wall that surrounded the temple of Sarada, and he was there helping to make and distribute to the children milk-pudding with his own hands. It was a peaceful routine of activity, some strenuous, some calm, which the continuous principle that he stood for, made him engage in without ado. Life was to him a continous day of harmonised activity. It was not that he believed that all must work hard, but it was rather that man could not remain without activity “What can one do? “, he used to say “our hands and feet and finger-tips are all asking for work. They are like restless horses. We should be ill if we did not give enough work to them.” He would therefore stubbornly insist, saying he would cook his own food or wash his own clothes, when a devotee tried to deprive him of the chance He would walk miles and miles to escape from some of the helpful attentions of his devotees.
Occasionally there came a visitor who was a knight-errant in some frontier cause connected with the principles that the Guru symbolised Perhaps it was one coming from the ancient temple-city of Madura, where, since the time of his breaking away from the leader, in the fashion we have referred to several years before, he fought the slow but winning battle against popular superstition and darkness. Or he came from the island of Ceylon or from the Kanarese-speaking country of Mangalore on the coast towards Bombay. Some others returned to the Master with fruits and flowers from Kashi (Modern Benares), or, farther still, from Haridwar. They touched the feet of the Leader and remained with him imbibing afresh his Message before they travelled back to their chosen frontier. The spirit of reconciliation filled the atmosphere in the Ashram when any such came, and the inmates, young and old, rejoiced in the sense of life that came from the alternation of seperation and return of the members of the great family of the Guru The frontier was the real seat of activity The Guru himself appeared inactive, and unconcerned with affairs as such.
Once came the poet Rabindranath Tagore, on one of his southern tours, to visit the Guru. In honour of the great poet of Bengal the people in the vicinity of the hermitage arranged a kingly reception. Elephants were requisitioned. He was to be brought in procession as far as the foot of the hill of the Ashram. Musical accompaniments were arranged. The Guru stood in the verandah of his rest-house and himself ordered the best carpets that the hermitage possessed, to be brought out to adorn the foot of the seat of the honoured guest. The people thronged with the guest, anxious to hear the conversation between the Guru and the seer of Santiniketan. Each of the crowd thought himself the chosen follower of the Gum, and, as space was limited, it took some time to establish silence for the conversation. The two veteran leaders greeted with joined palms, and sat down facing one another. The seer of Bengal broke the deep silence that marked their meeting, and complimented the Guru on the “great work” he was doing for the people. The Guru’s reply was not delayed. “Neither have we done anything in the past nor is it possible to do anything in the future. Powerlessness fills us with sorrow “. His words sounded an enigma to some. Others thought he was just joking. Still others examined the logic of the statement. A characteristic silence followed the remark. The crowd looked at one another for a meaning, but it was the Guru’s face itself that gave the silent commentary to the words. Deep silence and earnestness sat on his features. Smiles of curiosity and the rival expectations of the people were drawn into the neutral depths of silence by the suggestion that was on the features of the Guru. All was expressed silent for a minute or two. The climax of the interview was reached in silence where all met in equality. Usual conversation followed and the poet and the crowd retired.
The apparently unproductive Principle which the Guru stood for, was all the time ripening fruitful results all round. Some were merely seasonal expressions of his message. Others had continuity beyond the limit of seasonal cycles. They began in. the shape of reading-rooms in the name of the Guru, which later developed into places of worship. The social and economic institutions were spontaneously aggregated round this central nucleus of religion. Humble individuals, trained in persistent effort, once touched by the Guru, were at the bottom of each such new sprout. They carried the pictures of the Guru in procession. They arranged popular conferences in which men and women took part, and searched for the direction of progress at which the Guru pointed Those who had special political or social disabilities, answered the rallying call of the leaders more than others. Soon, hundreds of little nuclei of institutions were scattered all over the country in Travancore, Cochin and British Malabar Later, they spread into Ceylon and the Madras Presidency
Prominent among the permanent organisations that grew, as it were in the shade of the parent Principle, was one started in connection with the management of the original river-side temple of Siva at Aruvippuram. The Guru sometimes sat at its annual deliberations, and he directed the course of its growth from year to year for more than thirty years of his life. Sometimes he protested and would have nothing to do with it. At other times he accepted its invitation and blessed its efforts. Its membership grew from a number of two digits to one of six. Although the Guru did not place much faith in big organisations which were obliged to work at the dull level of the popular mind, the voiceless people whose rights were trodden under the feet of special interests, found a powerful organisation here to voice their rights. Beneficial results accrued from year to year. This association still flourishes and its ponderous name signifies. “The Association for the Propagation of the Dharma of Sri Narayana “.
The peripheral limits of the Guru’s influence were where his principles lashed in the form of waves against the rocks of die-hard conservatism and public opinion reflecting the dead formalities traditional life. This was the region of actual conflict. This was the frontier where the cause advanced and receded in succession. This was the region where the leaders arose and became ‘men of the hour’. They worked in the dust-clouds of controversy. They believed in mass meetings and demonstrations. They adopted tactics and made compromises. Youthful enthusiasis found food for imagination in this work. They joined in numbers the ranks of the older leaders. They used the name of the Guru and owed their leadership in varying degrees to his moral and intellectual guidance. He commended and ridiculed them as occasion demanded, as they visited him now and then to spend a day or two at the Ashram.
By this time the Guru had become a social force that could no more be neglected. He had the right to prescribe a deviation from customary practice. He could even alter marriage and funeral rites and enact forms. It was accepted that he was working for the good of the people. Protests and murmurs of dissent were raised, but the vital voice of truth and justice carried all before it. After a time, even these murmurs died in the silent victory that belonged to the Principle that burnt in his heart.
Once, a beautiful European girl stood by an Indian student who had not long before returned to India from his studies. Intimacy had grown between them while in Europe, and, true to her word, she had crossed the ocean and come to the man of her choice. The father of the young man, who was much respected in the neighbourhood, had spent many a sleepless night thinking what would happen to the family traditions if his son married an imported woman from a strange shore. The atmosphere of panic prevailed. Was the family to break away for ever from the rest of the relatives, whom they loved, by this mingling of blood? Debates where held in nooks and corners. The wise people shook their heads. Ill omens were imagined. The troubled father at last came to the Guru for advice.The Guru saw no harm The wedding could take place in the Ashram itself The public were invited. And there the couple stood, the brave girl, radiant in an Indian saree, by the bridegroom who was then professor at a university The Guru, who sat on a platform built as the base of a mango-tree hung with jasmine festoons, sorrounded by a crowd of several thousands of people of all religions, after a few simple formalities consecrated the marriage.
In the absence of a proper “bride’s party “, the Guru specially asked an Englishman who was present, to say a few words as a representative of the bride’s people, Rival social and religious representatives met on that happy and significant occasion and feasted together. The clouds that seemed to threaten disaster, only brought joy in all hearts as they departed from the Ashram. It was the silent Principle that the Guru represented, that had again won a calm victory. This was only one of many smaller victories of the same kind which were almost of weekly occurrence at the Ashram.
Meanwhile, the youthful enthusiasts were preparing the ground for a more serious clash with vested interests and conservative opinion. Events seemed to accumulate, as it were underground, for a long time before they found characteristic expression in what is now a fairly famous event known as the Vaikam Satyagraha struggle. In this, the Guru’s efforts came into contact with those of Mahatma Gandhi. As the Guru’s attitude in this campaign was not clearly understood , we shall here give a brief account of the main happenings and circumstances with a view to studying his general attitude in relief.
As in many other parts of the world, some religious institutions, instead of being consecrated by a living symbol of justice and righteousness, had degenerated, and the temple walls had become the ramparts for the protection of vested interest. The traditional respect of the people for the name of God and religious duty began to be exploited by a minority. Public benefactions were being diverted into unlawful channels. Those who could not claim holiness, were reduced to the humility of waiting outside the institutions that their money supported, while those who were already not specially needy, feasted within the walls. Dirt and demoralisation spread its contagion Myth and fiction having their justification in special circumstances in the past, overcovered simple realities beyond all recognition. Even some important roads were thus reserved for particular sections of the public, not to speak of the right share in the advantages of the public institutions.
With the general awakening to popular rights that followed in the wake of the nationalist movement in India, the nation was beginning to search its own conscience. Among the sore spots in the national consciousness was the question of caste privileges which had been for a long time mixed up with social and religious duties One seemed to lend justification to the other, until, in the dull background of the popular mind, one became confused with the other. Long lapses of time made them inseparable from the primitive stem of popular belief, and they came to be spoken of under the sonorous title of Varnashrama Dharma. Not only did the hereditary priests reserve to themselves the right to interpret this Dharma or duty, but, what was more, they reserved the right to decide when they were right. Thus, by a vague sort of justification which was more felt than found reasonable, an unjust domination remained unaffected by the ebb and flow of popular opinion.
Dayananda, Keshab Chandra, Vivekananda and other pioneers of reform in India had for a long time protested in their own ways against this injustice, but it was Mahatma Gandhi to whom belongs the credit of inducing the nation as a whole to include items like ‘the removal of untouchability’ in the national programme, and trying to clean the national conscience It was, however, from the point of view of All India politics that the Mahatma looked at the question.
Some of the youthful followers of the Guru were impatient for results. It was some time since they had started a movement for the throwing open of Hindu temples to all sections irrespective of caste or birth. They linked their efforts with those of Mahatma Gandhi and the National Congress. They went to see the Mahatma who advised them to try the special method of fighting the situation, which he called Satyagraha. It was a kind of passive resistance with ethical principles and a philosophy which had evolved in connection with the personal life of the Mahatma in his work in South Africa and India. ‘Soul Force’ was its watch word, and it sought to obtain real results by the use of weapons which belonged purely to the emotional world. Even the nearest followers of the Mahatma were liable to be mistaken in their interpretation of this method which Gandhi’s mind had conceived and perfected through various stages of trial and error in his life.
According to the Mahatma’s advice a Satyagraha camp was established at Vaikam, one of ancient temple-towns of Travancore state, where the injustice was keenly felt Volunteers arrived from various parts of South India. Constant directions came from the Mahatma, who was at Ahmedabad. The Guru’s land and centre at Vaikam was placed at the disposal of the Satyagraha committee, and the Guru’s followers supplied much of the manpower required for the campaign. The Guru encouraged and visited the camp, but as usual took no direct part in the campaign. More men and money poured in from all parts of India and the campaign, which was the first clear expression of the pent-up feelings of the people against a long standing blot, soon took on grave proportions Batches of volunteers went to the road that the Travancore government reserved for the high- castes, and stood facing the police constables who were posted there to obstruct them from entering the road Without retaliation the men suffered privations month after month, standing at their post in the heat and ram and even flood, hoping to raise the right emotion in the conservatives that would bring victory to the cause The tension of public opinion grew from day to day, and still they kept on under keen provocation from the rival camp.
At last, Mahatma Gandhi himself came to Travancore to inspect, and, if possible, terminate the situation He talked with all the parties interested in the question, and came to Varkala to speak to the Guru It was thus that the silent sage of Varkala met for the first time the historic figure of Sabarmati.
The Mahatma represented a wave of reform that, starting in a political ideal, tried to make the people spiritual He believed in Satyagraha as a special weapon of self-purification for the masses They were, therefore, called upon to believe in this doctrine The thought of the welfare of the masses haunted him day and night He sought to serve their cause with all the earnestness that was at the command of his frail body When his plans failed or produced a re-action, he took the blame on himself and confessed before the public that he had committed a ‘Himalayan blunder’, and implored the mercy of God in the most supplicant terms
To the Guru, the elements of continuity of the Principle were more important than the particular extensive application of a doctrine or method to a given situation that arose Rules served their purpose for a time and had to yield place to others. Each situation called for its own special intelligence and there was no one panacea. The mind was to be left free to thread its own way through the maze of situations that presented themselves before it, and rules were straight lines compared to the zigzags and curves of the course of right action. He emphasised only two platforms of thought. One was that of the every-day world of neutral facts, and the other that which belonged to the Otherworldly Reality beyond. He carefully avoided preaching or lending his assent to special philosophies or standpoints to serve temporary or temporal purposes, lest such creations should continue to haunt the minds of the ignorant after the creeds had ceased to serve an immediate cause, and thus add to the heavy load of superstitions with which the poor people confused their honest brains. Popular agreement in a course of action was not to be the result of faith in a doctrine or the appreciation of a special philosophy, but the natural outcome of tangible realities of everyday life interpreted as simply as possible for the sake of the people.
The Mahatma saw special use in declaring himself a Hindu and a Vaishnava, besides preaching the doctrines of Satyagraha and soul-force He also believed in a Varnashrarna Dharma which he elaborated and interpreted in his speeches and writings. The Guru was content to call himself a man, and to call upon man to recognize God and the simple realities of life One tried, as it were, to reach the heart of the masses from the circumference, with variety as the starting-point; while, to the other, the starting-point was the recognition of the One without a second. It was natural that the leader of All-India politics should differ from the solitary saint in the point of view that he accepted as the basis of activity. One represented the peripheral and the other the central compromise of the same abstract principle. The Mahatma emphasised and voiced the master sentiment of the nation, while the Guru stood for the neutral principle.
The Mahatma represented the rare case in which the logic of the emotions coincided in its essential aspects with the logic of pure reason. The test of both these kinds of logic was in action and this was the sure point of contact between the Guru and the Mahatma As at Varkala, Gandhiji had “untouchable” children with him at Sabarmati. The Mahatma still stood for Hindu-Muslim Unity. Both of them were keenly interested in cottage industries; and the type of saintliness both represented had marks of a common lineage. Although, therefore, in the interview with the Guru the Mahatma seemed to differ from him in what concerned Hindu Dharrna and Varnashrama and the dogmatic aspects of Satyagraha, theoretical differences converged until they met in practice. The Guru ardently subscribed to the Khaddar campaign. After exchanges of mutual veneration the Mahatma took leave of the Guru.
The Satyagraha struggle terminated in a partial victory for the cause of the masses. On the land which was the scene of the historic event, the Guru erected a school for the poor children of the locality. It stands there to commemorate the noble efforts of many youthful souls, who suffered.
The Guru liked to see continuity in human endeavour, and, as continuity is the essential factor in a principle he discountenanced events which were mere expressions of seasonal enthusiasm. While the waves seemed to advance and recede at the circumference, the centre remained undisturbed At Varkala the winds wafted their message as usual and the gurgling streams interpreted the continuity of the Gum’s silent hours The Brahmachari who read by the bed-side of the Guru, had his usual course of grammar and pronunciation The inner brilliance kept the Guru self absorbed, while his influence spread into action all round He showed in his life that principle and practice were related to one another like the stem and branches of a great tree Withdrawn into the central core of all practice, he remained silent His life was a continuous commentary on the words of the Bhagavad Gita:
“Mentally renouncing all actions, the sovereign dweller in the boy resteth serenely in the nine gated city, neither acting nor causing to act” (V-13)
From The Past To The Future
There are two distinct orders of greatness One of them expends itself in the region of contemporary life, while the other belongs to that order which leaves behind it “foot prints on the sands of Time “. It was to this second order that the Gum’s life belonged more than the first. What such a type of greatness lost in the extent of its dominion, it gained by invading regions of Time, Thought and Pure Reason Surviving lightning flashes that seem to efface it for a while, such greatness enters the horizon to stay there like a guiding-star The silent lustre of its message belongs as much to the past as to the future, and links up the past and future with one vital bond We shall here take a short retrospective survey.
Imagine a great country to vast continent of India, being subjected to constant waves of invasion during the course of several thousand years The influx came mainly from the North-West Imagine in this process a constant sifting and selecting of the population, one set of traditions giving way before another, a third gaining over a fourth, and so on, overcovering again and again the special sprouts of culture that protected leisure fostered here and there Out of all the discordant music which thus resulted, imagine one period when there seemed to be a pause and a rapid assimilation of the conflicting elements into one clear expression, of which the name of the Great Buddha was the inner symbol. This silent epoch was followed by. a great pulsation of human endeavour. India united in the religion of kindness, and art, literature, science and philosophy put forth their finest blossoms
Following the great unision that was thus attained, there arose a vast tidal wave of civilisation that swept the length of the land, carrying its seeds across to Ceylon and Siam, and along the chain of islands situated in the Indian and Pacific oceans; authorities have traced this influence as far away as the Hawaian Islands This tidal wave receded after a time, and shrank within India itself, leaving in various protected parts, on islands and in the seclusion of mountainous tracts, remnants of the days of expansion and growth. As flowers blossom in seclusion, these remnants of the past lay hidden from the public gaze.
The touch of the first adventurous mariner on the coast of India marked the beginning of a new order of things. From the sea-coast imported cultures of diverse qualities began to be absorbed rapidly. New models of greatness were before the public eye. Moral standards built up in the course of ages crumbled down into ruin, and the masses were face to face with new facts which required revision and re-adjustment. The rich traditions of old India began to be overcovered with the debris of its own greatness.
Saint after saint arose in different parts of India pained by the vision of the beautiful vessel, in which their fore-fathers withstood the waves, drifting helplessly away from their reach. Some stood on the foreshore imploring heaven, others were overwhelmed with emotion and gave vent to their feelings after the style of tragic heroes Others went to martyrdom. Few had the courage and the presence of mind to plunge into the waters and do something practical to save the situation. Between the advancing and retreating waves of conflicting influences only a sturdy swimmer could survive. The task was difficult. To light the torch again from the dying embers of past glory and pass it on beyond the borders of the new, so that the best of the past could survive in the future, this was the primary task the Guru felt called upon to perform.
Of all the channels through which ancient thought reached the masses of India, the fountain source was the Sanskrit language This was the tongue that had preserved, recorded in the form of inflections and sounds, and epitomised in symbol, the best thought of the ages. From the ancient chant that burst from the lips of our early ancestors, when the disc of gold that hid the face of Truth. was removed to reveal to them their first surprise, Sanskrit culture had flowed through regions enriched by the writings of great minds like Vyasa, Valmiki and Kalidasa, and at the present day it continues to kindle, in the heart of the modern votary of this mother of languages, rich and ancient emotions. Spurred by the sounds, the human spirit soared at its noblest and highest Sanskrit combined the primitive and the pure into one magic spell.
This was the source to which the Guru turned to bring fresh life and re open the weak eyelids of the people At the time of his advent this great river that had nourished the spiritual life of the whole population for many thousands of years, was all but absorbed completely in the sand of its bed, like some of the holy rivers of South India. The once rich tributaries of patronage that this culture enjoyed, stood over-drained. Sea-borne influences shook and distorted its quiet growth. It was more the shell or bark of the culture that remained, and the votaries of Sanskrjt worshipped the forms and formalities of its dead relics rather than live in the spirit of its culture The Sanskrit schools, instead of reviving in the pupils the purest memories of the past, had become degraded into institutions where the ancient chants and formulae were repeated parrot-like. They turned out men to whom holiness was a profession and whose other worldly absorption u is strangely influenced by shining nickel or silver Surface pools and stagnant waters of petty utilitarianism had contaminated the once pure and healthy springs which had their origin deep in the rock bottom of the past The problem was to rid the nourishing source of the contaminating influences and to draw only the purest. The Guru showed how this could be done.
He had in fact prepared himself for this task from his early years. As a boy he had imbibed the best of the past both in the Sanskrit and in the Tamil writings. These were the two ancient languages which were connected with the history of thought among the masses of South India. In latter years these two streams of culture approached until they united into one, like the confluence of two great rivers, and one thought became in essentials the same as the other Saints like Thiruvalluvar and Thayamanavar echoed the best in the Vedic culture Long filteration and purification through centuries had made the essential characteristic of these cultures one and the same The Guru had early bathed himself in these influences, and had made their spirit his own He tried to impart to others what he himself had imbibed, so that, enriched in background, young men could advance to fresh fields of adventure ad triumph It was in this sense that the Guru fulfilled the role of a true educator.
The spiritual life of the Guru had never acted as a hindrance to the performance of such a task It was true that while at Aruvippuram he was passing still through the agony of the birth of the mystic experiences which were constantly trying to break through stony obstacles But even in those days he had preserved his role of educator intact In fact this was one of his personal occupations or hobbies that ran uninterrupted through his life
Wherever he was, there were a few young men who waited on him in the mornings to read and have passages elucidated. The Guru’s voice fell on their ears in half-meditative, gentle, musical tones as he put completely original interpretations and out-of- the-ordinary meanings into what they read. The result was an attitude of intellectual wakefulness- in his pupils like that in his own mind. It was a subtle personal influence that he thus exercised constantly and continuously . Many young men were thus influenced
Among their number was one, - a poor lad of a village near Trivandrum, who came to the Guru to have certain doubts cleared. The Guru helped him and he became so attached to the master that he left his home and his relatives and went with the Guru as a Brahmachari His name was Kumaran. After some years of training the Guru took him to Bangalore and later sent him to Calcutta to complete his course of advanced Sanskrit studies. On his return from his studies this young man was trained to organise the people, and for many years he filled the office of General Secretary to the big association .started in the name of the Guru, of which we have already had occasion to speak. What was more than this, he became a poet whose poems have become now a part of the literature of that part of the country and mark a distinct literary epoch. Those who know the character and distinction of this poet, can trace unmistakably the subtle influence the Guru exerted on his writings, whose educational influence was thus subtle but fruitful.
It was a model attitude, a global expression that the Guru was responsible for in his educational work. The technicalities and details did not concern him as directly as this attitude which he tried to impart. It was this which was his great secret, and it belonged as much to a synthesis of the past as to discriminative analysis of the future It is a paradox to call this essential quality a “secret “, for it was a secret only in one sense, in that all did not possess it at a given place and time In the sense that essentially the same quality was possessed by individuals of divergent races and cultures at different epochs in the history of the world, this secret was nevertheless a “public” one.
It was no other than the secret of religion, whose natural expression was in a certain stillness or silence. This was the same secret that gave the master-touch to the work of art. This was the secret of the professor and of the Pandit. This secret of stillness it was, that filled thousands of temples with images of the Buddha in meditation, or again gave the touch of religion to the expression of a Madonna This again was the secret into which Leonardo da Vinci dipped his brush to complete the features of his Jesus.
This secret of stillness is not merely the special possession of gifted individuals It is the secret unconsciously shared by phenomena in the natural world. The fly-wheel of a giant machine appears motionless; a top sleeps while it spins in perfect poise. There is silence in the full flood. Even a heartbeat has a significant pause. All these belong to an inactivity which is only apparent but is always dynamic and positive. It was this secret of Stillness, Silence or Neutrality that the Guru possessed in rare abundance, and which made him the source of energy, physical, mental and spiritual. It was the secret of such a stillness or silence that made him the most successful educator and helper of men. This was the secret that made him the Guru.
The essential mystic experience of the Guru had passed through various phases by this time. It had taken the form of supplication and melting devotion of the most unconsolable type while he performed Tapas on the banks of the torrent river at Aruvippuram. At Varkala the emotions had become softer and more tender. The kind Mother was the ideal of the soul, and he was the child seeking consolation in the thought of the mother. As the pearly nautilus changes its cell, he had outgrown these earlier stages and left them behind.
By the year 1912 the Guru had again changed his headquarters. He wandered farther North. After several tours in which he became publicly recognized as a Guru, between the limits of Cape Cemorin and Mangalore, he fixed on Alwaye as his abode. On the brink of the river under a simple roof made of dry palm leaves he again settled down, absorbed in meditation.
He was no more a devotee in the usual sense of the word The silence of the full flood had entered his heart He sat as it were idly watching the calm level of the winding river on whose surface were being traced without cessation varying patterns produced from the uneven bed of rock and sand over which the clear waters glided. He could see, far off, the river forking into two beyond the thin mist and the rich vegetation, as he sat with his mind feeding as it were on the nectar of his own heart. Only now and then a boat laden with bananas and vegetables, gently transported along the river to the weekly fair by some neighbouring cultivator, reminded one of the busy world of men. All else was calm at the Asram and the Guru was the centre of this calmness.
It would be vain to attempt to record here even a little of the nature of the state which he thus again entered As he sat in the calm strength gained through years of Tapas. Time’s narrow limits shrank within him, bringing to his ken the vast expanse of years. Ancient and immemorial truths, that have their being in regions far away, dawned upon him, making the present consciousness radiant with a brilliance beyond words. He thus describes the feeling:
The dawn of knowledge comes
Like the brilliance united
Of ten thousand suns.
This light it is
That, with its keen saw,
Can tear asunder the darkness,
Truth-hiding, impermanent,
Of maya:
And victorious reigns!
Primordial Sun Supreme!
The roots of Maya had thus been cut in him and the dawn of Truth was now no ambition of the future. The luring vision of enlightenment had led him nearer and nearer the Truth. Now it had become part of his own experience, harmonised and united with the, rest of his being. The thirsty traveller in a vast desert was, as it were, overtaken by an overwhelming flood He had gained an entry into a world of sound, of music that tailing on his ear made his eves open He accomplished what he himself predicted for others:
The blue dome on high
Shall radiant resound!
And that day
Through its portals wide shall fly
All this visiorary magic of the world.
Then too that still small voice,
That bridges the gulf between the known and the knower,
Shall cease its tiny trumpet
And . . . all sound absorbed,
Pure space remain
Self-radiant !
This was the vision that had come to him at this time. All thoughts of devotion vanished at this spot, self-effaced. Sin and evil and suffering had no place in the scheme to which the vision belonged, Good and bad, truth and falsehood faded before the uniting principle. The visible world melted and formed part of the vision. It was not a vision that came to pass away. It was one into which on entered to live there for ever. Here was a state in which all colours and shades mingled into one white light.
It is like trying to describe the nature of light in, terms of darkness to fly to state exactly the nature and character of this state. Some have tried to describe it as Nirvikalpa Samadhi. Others describe it as the state of the Paramahamsa. The Buddhists have the word Nirvana and the conception of the Boundless Light or Amitabha into which the individuality merges its identity In more unsophisticated language some others call it the attainment of the Supreme Bliss or Happiness. Some attain this only after death, and then it is Salvation or Heaven. This corresponds to the conception of Moksha in Sanskrit, and according to, its conception a man can attain Moksha while still living here on earth, this is called the state of Jeevan Mukti. By whatever special name this state is known, it is one same experience. This experience is in more modern language called Cosmic Consciousness. It may be described as the experience of the whole, which leaves no remainder. It is the vision of the Supreme Unity that characterises all the states referred to. There is, a happy expression in Sanskrit which describes the essential nature of this state in the least controversial form, and that expression is Advaita, which means the state in which there is no second to speak about. The Vedas sum up in the boldest possible terms this conception of Advaita when they state:—“ Tat-twam-asi” (That thou art). It was this same eternal and universal principle of which the Guru’s life was an expression. His writings revealed the same philosophy- In the Guru’s One Hundied Verses to Self which he dictated to his followers at this time, he sounds the same note of the ancient discovery:
Primordial Knowledge
Its own true nature seeking,
Thus manifests Itself
As earth and sky.
This state of Advaita consciousness continued it the Guru, and, as before, expressed itself in the form of activities that bore the stamp of Advaita. The Advaitashrarna at Alwaye was its first expression. Here was established a Sanskrit Patasala, a boarding school where the children lived the life of Brahmacharya and learnt some Sanskrit and English and other subjects. The Guru himself took a keen interest in planning and constructing the new school building. Here, Christians and Mahommedans and high and low of the Hindu met and lived in unity. They bathed in the river. in the morning, and grew brighter every day under, the spell of the broadening ideals that the institution represented This was the way in which the Guru wished the people to practise the principle of Advaita. The reader has already been introduced to this institution in a previous chapter.
The Guru’s work had slowly broadened out all these years. Not a week passed without his being invited by a deputation from some village in the interior where the people had built a new temple or school under his guidance. Now it was a popular leader of the poor who desired his presence at a mass meeting, or, again, there was a long-standing dispute or faction over the formalities of a religious ceremony which divided the village into two bitter parties causing much bad blood, which the Guru was requested to come and settle Possibly it was a family discussion, arising from an incapacity for impartial appreciation of points of justice which the Guru could alone supply and bridge Manifold were the ways in which he became intimately related to the people- He was thus loved and respected as a leader within a growing circle of devotees To come into touch with him was to be influenced by him for life. =
There are two distinct orders of greatness One of them expends itself in the region of contemporary life, while the other belongs to that order which leaves behind it “foot prints on the sands of Time “. It was to this second order that the Gum’s life belonged more than the first. What such a type of greatness lost in the extent of its dominion, it gained by invading regions of Time, Thought and Pure Reason Surviving lightning flashes that seem to efface it for a while, such greatness enters the horizon to stay there like a guiding-star The silent lustre of its message belongs as much to the past as to the future, and links up the past and future with one vital bond We shall here take a short retrospective survey.
Imagine a great country to vast continent of India, being subjected to constant waves of invasion during the course of several thousand years The influx came mainly from the North-West Imagine in this process a constant sifting and selecting of the population, one set of traditions giving way before another, a third gaining over a fourth, and so on, overcovering again and again the special sprouts of culture that protected leisure fostered here and there Out of all the discordant music which thus resulted, imagine one period when there seemed to be a pause and a rapid assimilation of the conflicting elements into one clear expression, of which the name of the Great Buddha was the inner symbol. This silent epoch was followed by. a great pulsation of human endeavour. India united in the religion of kindness, and art, literature, science and philosophy put forth their finest blossoms
Following the great unision that was thus attained, there arose a vast tidal wave of civilisation that swept the length of the land, carrying its seeds across to Ceylon and Siam, and along the chain of islands situated in the Indian and Pacific oceans; authorities have traced this influence as far away as the Hawaian Islands This tidal wave receded after a time, and shrank within India itself, leaving in various protected parts, on islands and in the seclusion of mountainous tracts, remnants of the days of expansion and growth. As flowers blossom in seclusion, these remnants of the past lay hidden from the public gaze.
The touch of the first adventurous mariner on the coast of India marked the beginning of a new order of things. From the sea-coast imported cultures of diverse qualities began to be absorbed rapidly. New models of greatness were before the public eye. Moral standards built up in the course of ages crumbled down into ruin, and the masses were face to face with new facts which required revision and re-adjustment. The rich traditions of old India began to be overcovered with the debris of its own greatness.
Saint after saint arose in different parts of India pained by the vision of the beautiful vessel, in which their fore-fathers withstood the waves, drifting helplessly away from their reach. Some stood on the foreshore imploring heaven, others were overwhelmed with emotion and gave vent to their feelings after the style of tragic heroes Others went to martyrdom. Few had the courage and the presence of mind to plunge into the waters and do something practical to save the situation. Between the advancing and retreating waves of conflicting influences only a sturdy swimmer could survive. The task was difficult. To light the torch again from the dying embers of past glory and pass it on beyond the borders of the new, so that the best of the past could survive in the future, this was the primary task the Guru felt called upon to perform.
Of all the channels through which ancient thought reached the masses of India, the fountain source was the Sanskrit language This was the tongue that had preserved, recorded in the form of inflections and sounds, and epitomised in symbol, the best thought of the ages. From the ancient chant that burst from the lips of our early ancestors, when the disc of gold that hid the face of Truth. was removed to reveal to them their first surprise, Sanskrit culture had flowed through regions enriched by the writings of great minds like Vyasa, Valmiki and Kalidasa, and at the present day it continues to kindle, in the heart of the modern votary of this mother of languages, rich and ancient emotions. Spurred by the sounds, the human spirit soared at its noblest and highest Sanskrit combined the primitive and the pure into one magic spell.
This was the source to which the Guru turned to bring fresh life and re open the weak eyelids of the people At the time of his advent this great river that had nourished the spiritual life of the whole population for many thousands of years, was all but absorbed completely in the sand of its bed, like some of the holy rivers of South India. The once rich tributaries of patronage that this culture enjoyed, stood over-drained. Sea-borne influences shook and distorted its quiet growth. It was more the shell or bark of the culture that remained, and the votaries of Sanskrjt worshipped the forms and formalities of its dead relics rather than live in the spirit of its culture The Sanskrit schools, instead of reviving in the pupils the purest memories of the past, had become degraded into institutions where the ancient chants and formulae were repeated parrot-like. They turned out men to whom holiness was a profession and whose other worldly absorption u is strangely influenced by shining nickel or silver Surface pools and stagnant waters of petty utilitarianism had contaminated the once pure and healthy springs which had their origin deep in the rock bottom of the past The problem was to rid the nourishing source of the contaminating influences and to draw only the purest. The Guru showed how this could be done.
He had in fact prepared himself for this task from his early years. As a boy he had imbibed the best of the past both in the Sanskrit and in the Tamil writings. These were the two ancient languages which were connected with the history of thought among the masses of South India. In latter years these two streams of culture approached until they united into one, like the confluence of two great rivers, and one thought became in essentials the same as the other Saints like Thiruvalluvar and Thayamanavar echoed the best in the Vedic culture Long filteration and purification through centuries had made the essential characteristic of these cultures one and the same The Guru had early bathed himself in these influences, and had made their spirit his own He tried to impart to others what he himself had imbibed, so that, enriched in background, young men could advance to fresh fields of adventure ad triumph It was in this sense that the Guru fulfilled the role of a true educator.
The spiritual life of the Guru had never acted as a hindrance to the performance of such a task It was true that while at Aruvippuram he was passing still through the agony of the birth of the mystic experiences which were constantly trying to break through stony obstacles But even in those days he had preserved his role of educator intact In fact this was one of his personal occupations or hobbies that ran uninterrupted through his life
Wherever he was, there were a few young men who waited on him in the mornings to read and have passages elucidated. The Guru’s voice fell on their ears in half-meditative, gentle, musical tones as he put completely original interpretations and out-of- the-ordinary meanings into what they read. The result was an attitude of intellectual wakefulness- in his pupils like that in his own mind. It was a subtle personal influence that he thus exercised constantly and continuously . Many young men were thus influenced
Among their number was one, - a poor lad of a village near Trivandrum, who came to the Guru to have certain doubts cleared. The Guru helped him and he became so attached to the master that he left his home and his relatives and went with the Guru as a Brahmachari His name was Kumaran. After some years of training the Guru took him to Bangalore and later sent him to Calcutta to complete his course of advanced Sanskrit studies. On his return from his studies this young man was trained to organise the people, and for many years he filled the office of General Secretary to the big association .started in the name of the Guru, of which we have already had occasion to speak. What was more than this, he became a poet whose poems have become now a part of the literature of that part of the country and mark a distinct literary epoch. Those who know the character and distinction of this poet, can trace unmistakably the subtle influence the Guru exerted on his writings, whose educational influence was thus subtle but fruitful.
It was a model attitude, a global expression that the Guru was responsible for in his educational work. The technicalities and details did not concern him as directly as this attitude which he tried to impart. It was this which was his great secret, and it belonged as much to a synthesis of the past as to discriminative analysis of the future It is a paradox to call this essential quality a “secret “, for it was a secret only in one sense, in that all did not possess it at a given place and time In the sense that essentially the same quality was possessed by individuals of divergent races and cultures at different epochs in the history of the world, this secret was nevertheless a “public” one.
It was no other than the secret of religion, whose natural expression was in a certain stillness or silence. This was the same secret that gave the master-touch to the work of art. This was the secret of the professor and of the Pandit. This secret of stillness it was, that filled thousands of temples with images of the Buddha in meditation, or again gave the touch of religion to the expression of a Madonna This again was the secret into which Leonardo da Vinci dipped his brush to complete the features of his Jesus.
This secret of stillness is not merely the special possession of gifted individuals It is the secret unconsciously shared by phenomena in the natural world. The fly-wheel of a giant machine appears motionless; a top sleeps while it spins in perfect poise. There is silence in the full flood. Even a heartbeat has a significant pause. All these belong to an inactivity which is only apparent but is always dynamic and positive. It was this secret of Stillness, Silence or Neutrality that the Guru possessed in rare abundance, and which made him the source of energy, physical, mental and spiritual. It was the secret of such a stillness or silence that made him the most successful educator and helper of men. This was the secret that made him the Guru.
The essential mystic experience of the Guru had passed through various phases by this time. It had taken the form of supplication and melting devotion of the most unconsolable type while he performed Tapas on the banks of the torrent river at Aruvippuram. At Varkala the emotions had become softer and more tender. The kind Mother was the ideal of the soul, and he was the child seeking consolation in the thought of the mother. As the pearly nautilus changes its cell, he had outgrown these earlier stages and left them behind.
By the year 1912 the Guru had again changed his headquarters. He wandered farther North. After several tours in which he became publicly recognized as a Guru, between the limits of Cape Cemorin and Mangalore, he fixed on Alwaye as his abode. On the brink of the river under a simple roof made of dry palm leaves he again settled down, absorbed in meditation.
He was no more a devotee in the usual sense of the word The silence of the full flood had entered his heart He sat as it were idly watching the calm level of the winding river on whose surface were being traced without cessation varying patterns produced from the uneven bed of rock and sand over which the clear waters glided. He could see, far off, the river forking into two beyond the thin mist and the rich vegetation, as he sat with his mind feeding as it were on the nectar of his own heart. Only now and then a boat laden with bananas and vegetables, gently transported along the river to the weekly fair by some neighbouring cultivator, reminded one of the busy world of men. All else was calm at the Asram and the Guru was the centre of this calmness.
It would be vain to attempt to record here even a little of the nature of the state which he thus again entered As he sat in the calm strength gained through years of Tapas. Time’s narrow limits shrank within him, bringing to his ken the vast expanse of years. Ancient and immemorial truths, that have their being in regions far away, dawned upon him, making the present consciousness radiant with a brilliance beyond words. He thus describes the feeling:
The dawn of knowledge comes
Like the brilliance united
Of ten thousand suns.
This light it is
That, with its keen saw,
Can tear asunder the darkness,
Truth-hiding, impermanent,
Of maya:
And victorious reigns!
Primordial Sun Supreme!
The roots of Maya had thus been cut in him and the dawn of Truth was now no ambition of the future. The luring vision of enlightenment had led him nearer and nearer the Truth. Now it had become part of his own experience, harmonised and united with the, rest of his being. The thirsty traveller in a vast desert was, as it were, overtaken by an overwhelming flood He had gained an entry into a world of sound, of music that tailing on his ear made his eves open He accomplished what he himself predicted for others:
The blue dome on high
Shall radiant resound!
And that day
Through its portals wide shall fly
All this visiorary magic of the world.
Then too that still small voice,
That bridges the gulf between the known and the knower,
Shall cease its tiny trumpet
And . . . all sound absorbed,
Pure space remain
Self-radiant !
This was the vision that had come to him at this time. All thoughts of devotion vanished at this spot, self-effaced. Sin and evil and suffering had no place in the scheme to which the vision belonged, Good and bad, truth and falsehood faded before the uniting principle. The visible world melted and formed part of the vision. It was not a vision that came to pass away. It was one into which on entered to live there for ever. Here was a state in which all colours and shades mingled into one white light.
It is like trying to describe the nature of light in, terms of darkness to fly to state exactly the nature and character of this state. Some have tried to describe it as Nirvikalpa Samadhi. Others describe it as the state of the Paramahamsa. The Buddhists have the word Nirvana and the conception of the Boundless Light or Amitabha into which the individuality merges its identity In more unsophisticated language some others call it the attainment of the Supreme Bliss or Happiness. Some attain this only after death, and then it is Salvation or Heaven. This corresponds to the conception of Moksha in Sanskrit, and according to, its conception a man can attain Moksha while still living here on earth, this is called the state of Jeevan Mukti. By whatever special name this state is known, it is one same experience. This experience is in more modern language called Cosmic Consciousness. It may be described as the experience of the whole, which leaves no remainder. It is the vision of the Supreme Unity that characterises all the states referred to. There is, a happy expression in Sanskrit which describes the essential nature of this state in the least controversial form, and that expression is Advaita, which means the state in which there is no second to speak about. The Vedas sum up in the boldest possible terms this conception of Advaita when they state:—“ Tat-twam-asi” (That thou art). It was this same eternal and universal principle of which the Guru’s life was an expression. His writings revealed the same philosophy- In the Guru’s One Hundied Verses to Self which he dictated to his followers at this time, he sounds the same note of the ancient discovery:
Primordial Knowledge
Its own true nature seeking,
Thus manifests Itself
As earth and sky.
This state of Advaita consciousness continued it the Guru, and, as before, expressed itself in the form of activities that bore the stamp of Advaita. The Advaitashrarna at Alwaye was its first expression. Here was established a Sanskrit Patasala, a boarding school where the children lived the life of Brahmacharya and learnt some Sanskrit and English and other subjects. The Guru himself took a keen interest in planning and constructing the new school building. Here, Christians and Mahommedans and high and low of the Hindu met and lived in unity. They bathed in the river. in the morning, and grew brighter every day under, the spell of the broadening ideals that the institution represented This was the way in which the Guru wished the people to practise the principle of Advaita. The reader has already been introduced to this institution in a previous chapter.
The Guru’s work had slowly broadened out all these years. Not a week passed without his being invited by a deputation from some village in the interior where the people had built a new temple or school under his guidance. Now it was a popular leader of the poor who desired his presence at a mass meeting, or, again, there was a long-standing dispute or faction over the formalities of a religious ceremony which divided the village into two bitter parties causing much bad blood, which the Guru was requested to come and settle Possibly it was a family discussion, arising from an incapacity for impartial appreciation of points of justice which the Guru could alone supply and bridge Manifold were the ways in which he became intimately related to the people- He was thus loved and respected as a leader within a growing circle of devotees To come into touch with him was to be influenced by him for life. =
Later Reminiscences
We shall conclude this humble attempt to present the main attitude and happenings in the Guru’s life with some simple personal reminiscences pertaining to his last years. It was at Trichur, in one of the Ashramas he had founded, that the coming event of his passing seemed to cast its earliest shadow. As the writer of this narrative entered the enclosure of the little garden facing which he sat, the Guru was seen in a special state. It had been his habit on previous occasions to converse. Every time he began such a conversation, he had touched upon some profound philosophic theme. For many years he had thus kept up, with interruptions of months and even years, the chain of an argument he had begun. The writer remembered his last conversation in which he had treated of the problem of philosophy in simple language. Quite like a scientific philosopher he had said: “Matter is divisible. Nothing has indicated anything to the contrary. Imagine a body subjected to division and sub-division ad infinitum: We can imagine that we thus reach what one would be tempted to conceive as ‘nothing’. But it is something still. This is the primordial substance, This is God or whatever you may choose to call it. This is one way of arguing the point.” Then he added: “There are other ways of arriving at the same point. They appear more complicated and involve postulates less easily acceptable to the world, but there is nothing wonderful or secret or difficult about this knowledge. It is the simple essence of Vedanta.”Such or similar were his last words on a previous occasion. This time it was different. As the writer entered and stood by the Guru expecting the usual conversation for a few minutes, he witnessed something unusual. The Guru shut his eyes and sat self-absorbed without a word. Some inner vision caused a gentle glow of vitality to play about his face, venerable with all the outward marks of old age; it reminded one of a simple child’s countenance, softly smiling, peaceful and absorbed.
To the mind of the present writer this was no mere accidental attitude. The Guru had purposely meant it to indicate the closing and the culmination of his long years of conversation. Silence expressed the secret of them all much better than words. This silence was the culminating point of his life. This silence was his joy It was in the lows core of this silence that he wished to live All murmur of message was absorbed in this silence The emptiness of sights and sounds and sensations lay buried in degradation in its sublime presence.
Thus was the last lesson in Vedanta given by the Guru. He was then travelling in the Cochin State. The Sanskrit school that he had founded at Alwaye, stood in need of constant financial support and now he was thinking of providing a small endowment so that in the event of his passing away that part of his work could continue unhindered. The villages of Cochin and Travancore everywhere received him with kingly honours. They decorated the streets, took him in processions sometimes miles long, and placed whatever money they could contribute at his feet. The Guru would accept willingly from some. To some others he would suggest the amount they could reasonably pay. To a third person he would refuse or return part of his offering. In this tour he was evidently preparing for the coming events. The other institutions, the Ashram at Aruvippuram and the one at Varkala, with the big English School which he had founded, could stand on their own legs. It was his Sanskrit child that was rather weakly with bad days facing it, which was now holding his last attention
Towards the end of the year 192?, then his labours had come to as sort of finish, the Guru was definitely unwell His complaint was old-age, which had laid its hands on him. The writer remembers meeting him at Palghat where he was under treatment There were with him several doctors besides representatives of the various public and religious bodies that he had founded, from the various parts of Travancore, Cochin and Malabar. The time was early, and the Guru had a bad night’s rest- As the writer stood before him, he was resting, seated on his bed and supporting himself erect with his now emaciated arms. His breathing was difficult and he could not speak except in monosyllables. “These”, he said, meaning the sounds of his obstructed breath, “have come to escort “. The people came to visit him and expected that, being superhuman as they believed him to be, he would not feel any pain when he was ill. As if to contradict this idea, the Guru was heard to cry like a child at every cause. While the crowd of villagers waited outside, they could hear the Guru’s voice from inside murmuring like a distressed child, “O Mother! O Mother! “, again and again conveying to them, through the tone in which it was uttered, a message that rang in their ears ever after, and containing the same attitude, the same essence of devotion and simplicity to which he he dedicated the rest of his life.
As the image of Jesus carrying his cross has served as a symbol of his love and service to humanity, so also great masters make even their sickness and suffering serviceable to their fellow beings. The life of the Guru was in every detail of it an example of the principle which he enunciated as follows:—
Acts that one performs
For one’s own sake,
Should also aim the good
Of other men.
In fact this maxim may be said to form the keystone of his whole life. By apparently trying to be selfish he on many an occasion impressed a useful principle or habit on the many who came in contact with him. He would insist that the barber who shaved him, had the sharpest razor, and would see that the best methods were used in the art. He would complain of his chauffeur who did not gently put on his brakes when he came to an uneven of the road. He would teach him to be proud of his car, and find fault with him if he had omitted to observe a new kind of car in which a visitor had come to see the Guru. He would say that he preferred a garland of gold to one of roses if, while on a tour, people greeted him with empty applause and theoretical loyalty and devotion. He would insist on good cooking more with a view to reforming the food habits than for his own sake. He would insist on small details in building, and order an alteration in spite of expense, in order to set a better example in architecture. He would like to hear music in order that he could patronize musicians. Himself an adept in the art of healing, he missed no opportunities, whenever he was ill, to call together a little group of medical men of different schools of medicine in order to discuss with them the various bearings of the ease and make them discuss the details. In the system of medicine called the Ayurvedic, which is the ancient Sanskrit system, there lay, buried and forgotten, gems of ancient experience which he found valuable to unearth and apply, suffering himself to he the subject of the experiment.
His last illness was rich in such opportunities. He would find some point in which one system failed and in which some one else knew better. Suffering and bedridden as he was, he would argue the minutest details with his doctors and those who attended on him. He went to Palghat and travelled about four hundred miles North-East to Madras, carried in stretchers and transported from place to place, from one doctor to another, from the care of One devotee, who loved to keep him under his care, to another. Then he came back to Travancore from where a strong deputation had arrived to take him to the head-quarters at Varkala.. One of the stations on the way was Alwaye, where on the platform were gathered all the students young and old of the Sanskrit School and Ashram for which he had given long labours. The coming event was still unknown to them but a deep emotion at the illness of the Guru sat on the features of each one.
He arrived at Varkala. Some of the symptoms of the illness which the experts of one school of medicine had declared incurable, were demonstrated to be curable by others of a different school. For some time the Guru seemed quite well. The radiant glow on his features had never disappeared. He still retained his good humour, and, although he was weak in body, he never yielded or compromised except where it was necessary. He guided the deliberations regarding his property and regal affairs with a perfect sense of justice and awareness of all shades of opinion. He regained a stage in which he took little walks on his own and, though highly emaciated, was still the same alert, radiant, and kind Guru. It was in this condition that the present writer left him on his voyage to Europe.
His 73rd birthday was celebrated by a select group of friends, representatives of different nations, and religions in September, 1928, in the beautiful city of Geneva. For the first time the Guru’s message was proclaimed in the West. Strangers, united in worship feasted together and discussed informally the significance of the ideals of universal appeal which the Guru’s life had symbolized.
On the 20th September 1928 about a week after this event, the Guru entered Maha-Samadhi or the Great Union, peacefully and silently at Varkala. In one of his last writings he wrote:
Love, kindness and compassion
Are all, in substance, same.
Man’s true distinction
To this quality belongs . ..
Like water in a desert flowing
Or a flower devoid of fruit or fragrance
Is lie without this gift
and he with love endowed,
May not he even be
Kamadhenu
Giver of plenty,
Born on earth in human form
Or yet, verily,
That Commentator great
Of Advaita, non-dual, unequalled, supreme
The GURU… ?
We shall conclude this humble attempt to present the main attitude and happenings in the Guru’s life with some simple personal reminiscences pertaining to his last years. It was at Trichur, in one of the Ashramas he had founded, that the coming event of his passing seemed to cast its earliest shadow. As the writer of this narrative entered the enclosure of the little garden facing which he sat, the Guru was seen in a special state. It had been his habit on previous occasions to converse. Every time he began such a conversation, he had touched upon some profound philosophic theme. For many years he had thus kept up, with interruptions of months and even years, the chain of an argument he had begun. The writer remembered his last conversation in which he had treated of the problem of philosophy in simple language. Quite like a scientific philosopher he had said: “Matter is divisible. Nothing has indicated anything to the contrary. Imagine a body subjected to division and sub-division ad infinitum: We can imagine that we thus reach what one would be tempted to conceive as ‘nothing’. But it is something still. This is the primordial substance, This is God or whatever you may choose to call it. This is one way of arguing the point.” Then he added: “There are other ways of arriving at the same point. They appear more complicated and involve postulates less easily acceptable to the world, but there is nothing wonderful or secret or difficult about this knowledge. It is the simple essence of Vedanta.”Such or similar were his last words on a previous occasion. This time it was different. As the writer entered and stood by the Guru expecting the usual conversation for a few minutes, he witnessed something unusual. The Guru shut his eyes and sat self-absorbed without a word. Some inner vision caused a gentle glow of vitality to play about his face, venerable with all the outward marks of old age; it reminded one of a simple child’s countenance, softly smiling, peaceful and absorbed.
To the mind of the present writer this was no mere accidental attitude. The Guru had purposely meant it to indicate the closing and the culmination of his long years of conversation. Silence expressed the secret of them all much better than words. This silence was the culminating point of his life. This silence was his joy It was in the lows core of this silence that he wished to live All murmur of message was absorbed in this silence The emptiness of sights and sounds and sensations lay buried in degradation in its sublime presence.
Thus was the last lesson in Vedanta given by the Guru. He was then travelling in the Cochin State. The Sanskrit school that he had founded at Alwaye, stood in need of constant financial support and now he was thinking of providing a small endowment so that in the event of his passing away that part of his work could continue unhindered. The villages of Cochin and Travancore everywhere received him with kingly honours. They decorated the streets, took him in processions sometimes miles long, and placed whatever money they could contribute at his feet. The Guru would accept willingly from some. To some others he would suggest the amount they could reasonably pay. To a third person he would refuse or return part of his offering. In this tour he was evidently preparing for the coming events. The other institutions, the Ashram at Aruvippuram and the one at Varkala, with the big English School which he had founded, could stand on their own legs. It was his Sanskrit child that was rather weakly with bad days facing it, which was now holding his last attention
Towards the end of the year 192?, then his labours had come to as sort of finish, the Guru was definitely unwell His complaint was old-age, which had laid its hands on him. The writer remembers meeting him at Palghat where he was under treatment There were with him several doctors besides representatives of the various public and religious bodies that he had founded, from the various parts of Travancore, Cochin and Malabar. The time was early, and the Guru had a bad night’s rest- As the writer stood before him, he was resting, seated on his bed and supporting himself erect with his now emaciated arms. His breathing was difficult and he could not speak except in monosyllables. “These”, he said, meaning the sounds of his obstructed breath, “have come to escort “. The people came to visit him and expected that, being superhuman as they believed him to be, he would not feel any pain when he was ill. As if to contradict this idea, the Guru was heard to cry like a child at every cause. While the crowd of villagers waited outside, they could hear the Guru’s voice from inside murmuring like a distressed child, “O Mother! O Mother! “, again and again conveying to them, through the tone in which it was uttered, a message that rang in their ears ever after, and containing the same attitude, the same essence of devotion and simplicity to which he he dedicated the rest of his life.
As the image of Jesus carrying his cross has served as a symbol of his love and service to humanity, so also great masters make even their sickness and suffering serviceable to their fellow beings. The life of the Guru was in every detail of it an example of the principle which he enunciated as follows:—
Acts that one performs
For one’s own sake,
Should also aim the good
Of other men.
In fact this maxim may be said to form the keystone of his whole life. By apparently trying to be selfish he on many an occasion impressed a useful principle or habit on the many who came in contact with him. He would insist that the barber who shaved him, had the sharpest razor, and would see that the best methods were used in the art. He would complain of his chauffeur who did not gently put on his brakes when he came to an uneven of the road. He would teach him to be proud of his car, and find fault with him if he had omitted to observe a new kind of car in which a visitor had come to see the Guru. He would say that he preferred a garland of gold to one of roses if, while on a tour, people greeted him with empty applause and theoretical loyalty and devotion. He would insist on good cooking more with a view to reforming the food habits than for his own sake. He would insist on small details in building, and order an alteration in spite of expense, in order to set a better example in architecture. He would like to hear music in order that he could patronize musicians. Himself an adept in the art of healing, he missed no opportunities, whenever he was ill, to call together a little group of medical men of different schools of medicine in order to discuss with them the various bearings of the ease and make them discuss the details. In the system of medicine called the Ayurvedic, which is the ancient Sanskrit system, there lay, buried and forgotten, gems of ancient experience which he found valuable to unearth and apply, suffering himself to he the subject of the experiment.
His last illness was rich in such opportunities. He would find some point in which one system failed and in which some one else knew better. Suffering and bedridden as he was, he would argue the minutest details with his doctors and those who attended on him. He went to Palghat and travelled about four hundred miles North-East to Madras, carried in stretchers and transported from place to place, from one doctor to another, from the care of One devotee, who loved to keep him under his care, to another. Then he came back to Travancore from where a strong deputation had arrived to take him to the head-quarters at Varkala.. One of the stations on the way was Alwaye, where on the platform were gathered all the students young and old of the Sanskrit School and Ashram for which he had given long labours. The coming event was still unknown to them but a deep emotion at the illness of the Guru sat on the features of each one.
He arrived at Varkala. Some of the symptoms of the illness which the experts of one school of medicine had declared incurable, were demonstrated to be curable by others of a different school. For some time the Guru seemed quite well. The radiant glow on his features had never disappeared. He still retained his good humour, and, although he was weak in body, he never yielded or compromised except where it was necessary. He guided the deliberations regarding his property and regal affairs with a perfect sense of justice and awareness of all shades of opinion. He regained a stage in which he took little walks on his own and, though highly emaciated, was still the same alert, radiant, and kind Guru. It was in this condition that the present writer left him on his voyage to Europe.
His 73rd birthday was celebrated by a select group of friends, representatives of different nations, and religions in September, 1928, in the beautiful city of Geneva. For the first time the Guru’s message was proclaimed in the West. Strangers, united in worship feasted together and discussed informally the significance of the ideals of universal appeal which the Guru’s life had symbolized.
On the 20th September 1928 about a week after this event, the Guru entered Maha-Samadhi or the Great Union, peacefully and silently at Varkala. In one of his last writings he wrote:
Love, kindness and compassion
Are all, in substance, same.
Man’s true distinction
To this quality belongs . ..
Like water in a desert flowing
Or a flower devoid of fruit or fragrance
Is lie without this gift
and he with love endowed,
May not he even be
Kamadhenu
Giver of plenty,
Born on earth in human form
Or yet, verily,
That Commentator great
Of Advaita, non-dual, unequalled, supreme
The GURU… ?
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