Leaving the House for Arunachala
Venkataraman's uncle and elder brother became critical of his changed mode of life, which seemed to them utterly impractical. Then came the tangible crisis on August 29, 1896. Venkataraman was then studying in tenth standard, preparing for his public examination. His teacher had given him an exercise in English grammar to be written three times. He copied it out twice and was about to do so for the third time when the futility of it struck him so forcibly that he pushed the papers away and, sitting cross-legged, abandoned himself to meditation. His elder brother who was watching this, scolded him for behaving like a yogi while still staying in the family and pretending to study. Such remarks had been made constantly during the last few weeks, and had gone unnoticed. But this time they went home. "Yes", thought Venkataraman, "What business have I here?" And immediately came the thought of Arunachala that had caused such a thrill in him a few months ago. He decided then and there to discover the fabulous and legendary Arunachala of his dreams.
Venkataraman knew that it was necessary to use some guile because his family would never otherwise let him go. So he told his brother that he had to attend a special class at the school. Unintentionally providing him with funds for the journey, his brother said, "Take five rupees from the box and pay my college fees." Venkataraman took only three rupees, no more than what he thought was necessary for reaching Tiruvannamalai. In the note he left (which fortunately is preserved), he wrote in Tamil:
"I have set out in quest of my Father in accordance with His command. It is on a virtuous enterprise that 'this' has embarked, therefore let none grieve over this act and let no money be spent in search of 'this'. Your college fees have not been paid. Two rupees are enclosed." The note ended with the word 'Thus', and a dash — in place of his signature.
It is significant that the opening sentence in the note began with I, but later Venkataraman used 'this' in reference to himself. Thus, what left Madurai for Tiruvannamalai was not the spirit, which had already got absorbed in the Lord, but the body, now viewed as distinct from the spirit. The personality which began with I, got merged into 'this', and at the end there was no person left to sign; hence the note remained unsigned. The note made it clear that the writer was driven by a Divine command, which had to be obeyed.
Reaching Tiruvannamalai on the early morning of September 1, 1896, after a series of trials and tribulations, Venkataraman went straight to the great Arunachaleswara temple and stood before his Father. His cup of bliss was now full to the brim. It was the journey's end, and his homecoming.
Tranced Years and Fresh Moorings
Coming out of the temple, the youth got his head shaven and threw away all his belongings and clothes except for a strip he tore off his dhoti to serve as a loincloth. Thus renouncing everything, he went back to the temple complex and got immersed in the Bliss of Being, sitting motionless, day after day, night after night.
One Seshadri Swami, a learned ascetic of high spiritual attainment, took it upon himself to look after Brahmana Swami, as Venkataraman began to be called. Some schoolboys started throwing stones at him as they were intrigued to see someone not much older than themselves sitting like a statue. And as one of them put it later, he wanted to find out whether he was real or not. To avoid the situation, Brahmana Swami took shelter in the Patala Lingam, an underground small Siva shrine within the enormous temple complex, where ants and vermin fed on his flesh during the weeks he spent there. But the young Swami, absorbed in bliss, remained unmoved.
When some devotees discovered the Swami in the vault, oblivious of the dreadful condition he was in, with worm-infested wounds and oozing pus, they removed him to a nearby shrine within the temple complex. From then on, he continued to move within the complex to various other shrines and groves away from curious onlookers. In all these places, he was looked after by mendicants, devotees from the town, temple functionaries and others. He continued to remain absorbed in the Self and was virtually dead to the world: he had to be shaken by the shoulders before he would accept water or food, which some devotees brought for him.
Years later, the Maharshi recalled how he had been forcibly administered a bath by a motherly devotee, the first in four months after his arrival in Tiruvannamalai. It was twelve months later that another such devotee gave him a second bath. Likewise, his hair remained uncut and his face unshaven for some eighteen months. He told Suri Nagamma: "The hair had got matted and woven like a basket. Small stones and dust had settled in it and the head used to feel heavy. I had long nails and a frightful appearance. When some people pressed me to have a shave, I yielded. When my head was shaven clean, I began to wonder whether I had a head or not, I felt so light."
In February 1897, the young Swami was removed to the Gurumurtam - a math, some distance away from the town, where he lived for about nineteen months. He continued to remain Self-absorbed and was looked after mainly by a sadhu named Uddandi Nayanar and his friend Annamalai Thambiran. Pilgrims and sightseers began to throng the math and many would prostrate themselves before the Swami, some with prayers for boons and some out of pure reverence.
As the crowd became large, a bamboo fence was put around the Swami's seat to prevent the public from touching him. There was no difficulty about food, as several devotees wished to supply it regularly; the more pressing need was to keep away the crowd of sightseers and visitors.
About this time, a Malayalee sadhu named Palaniswami, living in great austerity, was devoting his life to the worship of Lord Vinayaka. One day his friend Srinivasa Iyer told him, "Why do you spend your life with this stone swami? There is a young swami in flesh and blood at the Gurumurtam. He is steeped in tapas like the young Dhruva. If you go there and attach yourself to him, your life will attain its purpose." When Palaniswami went to the math, he was stirred to his depths at the very sight of the Swami and felt that he had discovered his saviour. He devoted the remaining twenty-one years of his life serving the Maharshi as his attendant.
As the Swami's body was utterly neglected, it got weakened to the limits of endurance. When he needed to go out, he had barely the strength to rise. Many times it so happened that he would raise himself by a few inches and then sink back again.
One Venkatarama Iyer, head accountant in a government office in the town, used to visit the Swami everyday before going to his work. One day, he placed before him a sheet of paper and a pencil and besought him to write his name and place of origin. When the Swami made no response to his pleading, he declared that he would neither eat nor go to office till he received the desired information. Then Sri Ramana wrote in English 'Venkataraman, Tiruchuzhi'. His knowledge of English came as a surprise.
Courtesy – Face To Face With Sri Ramana Maharishi
Published by: Sri Ramana Kendram, Hyderabad 
No comments:
Post a Comment