Bhagavan Ramana Maharishi
Excerpts from
Bhagavan Ramana
The Life of Sri Ramana Maharshi
A Life Time-line
THE Scriptures tell us that it is as difficult to trace the path a sage pursues, as it is to draw a line marking the course a bird takes in the air while on its wings. Most humans must be content with a slow and laborious journey towards the goal. But a few are born adepts, flying non-stop to the common home of all beings: The Supreme Self. Mankind takes heart when such a sage appears, and though unable to keep pace with him, feels uplifted by his presence and has a foretaste of the felicity before which worldly pleasures pale into nothing. Countless people who went to Tiruvannamalai during the lifetime of Maharshi Sri Ramana had this experience. They saw in him a sage without the least touch of worldliness, a saint of matchless purity, a witness to the eternal truth of Vedanta. It is not often that a spiritual genius of Sri Ramana.s magnitude visits this earth. But when such an event occurs, all humanity benefits and a new era of hope opens before it.
Birth
About thirty miles south of Madurai is a village — Tiruchuli by name — with an ancient Siva temple about which two great Tamil saints, Sundaramurti and Manikkavacakar, have sung. In this sacred village there lived in the latter part of the nineteenth century an uncertified pleader, Sundaram Aiyar with his wife Alagammal. Piety, devotion and charity characterised this ideal couple. Sundaram Aiyar was generous even beyond his means. Alagammal was an ideal Hindu wife. On the 30th of December 1879, to them was born Venkataraman — who later came to be known to the world as Ramana Maharshi.
It was an auspicious day for Hindus, the Ardradarsanam day. On this day every year the image of the Dancing Siva, Nataraja, is taken out of the temples in procession to celebrate the divine grace of the Lord who made His appearance before such saints as Gautama, Patanjali, Vyaghrapada, and Manikkavacaka. In the year 1879, on the Ardra day, the Nataraja Image of the temple at Tiruchuli was taken out with all the attendant ceremonies — and just as it was about to re-enter, Venkataraman was born.
Early Years
There was nothing markedly distinctive about Venkataraman.s early life. He grew up just an average boy. He was sent to an elementary school in Tiruchuli, and then for a year.s education to a school in Dindigul. His father died when he was twelve years old. This necessitated moving to Madurai with the family to live with his paternal uncle, Subbaiyar. There he was sent to Scott.s Middle School and then to the American Mission High School. He was not at all serious about his studies, an indifferent student. But as he was a healthy and strong lad, his schoolmates and other companions were afraid of his strength. Any time some of them had any grievance against him, they would dare play pranks with him only when he was asleep. In this extremely deep sleep, he was rather unusual: he would not know of anything that happened to him during sleep. He would be carried away or even beaten without his waking up in the process.
Arunachala
It was apparently by accident that Venkataraman heard about Arunachala when he was sixteen years of age. One day an elderly relative called on the family in Madurai. The boy asked him where he had come from. The relative replied 'From Arunachala'. The very name 'Arunachala' acted as a magic spell on Venkataraman, and with evident excitement he put his next question, 'What! From Arunachala! Where is it?' And he got the reply that Tiruvannamalai was Arunachala.
Referring to this incident later, the Sage says in one of his hymns to Arunachala:
'Oh, great wonder! As an insentient hill it stands.
Its action is difficult for anyone to understand.
From my childhood it appeared to my intelligence that Arunachala was something very great.
But even when I came to know through another that it was the same as Tiruvannamalai I did not understand its meaning.
When, stilling my mind, it drew me up to it,
and I came close, I found that it was the Immovable.'
Its action is difficult for anyone to understand.
From my childhood it appeared to my intelligence that Arunachala was something very great.
But even when I came to know through another that it was the same as Tiruvannamalai I did not understand its meaning.
When, stilling my mind, it drew me up to it,
and I came close, I found that it was the Immovable.'
Quickly following the incident, which attracted Venkataraman.s attention to Arunachala, there was another event that also contributed to the turning of the boy's mind to the deeper values of spirituality. He chanced to lay his hands on a copy of Sekkilar's Periyapuranam, which relates the lives of the Saiva saints. He read the book and was enthralled by it. This was the first piece of religious literature he read. The example of the saints fascinated him; and in the inner recesses of his heart, something responded favourably. Without any apparent preparation, a longing arose in him to emulate the spirit of renunciation and devotion that constituted the essence of saintly life.
The Great Awakening
The spiritual experience for which Venkataraman was now devoutly wishing came to him soon, and quite unexpectedly. It was about the middle of the year 1896; Venkataraman was seventeen then. One day he was sitting up alone on the first floor of his uncle's house. He was in his usual health — there was nothing wrong with him. But a sudden and unmistakable fear of death took hold — he felt he was going to die. Why this feeling should have come to him he did not know. The feeling of impending death, however, did not unnerve him. He calmly thought about what he should do. He said to himself, "Now, death has come. What does it mean? What is it that is dying? This body dies". Immediately thereafter he lay down, stretching his limbs out and holding them stiff as though rigor mortis had set in. He held his breath and kept his lips tightly closed, so that to all outward appearance his body resembled a corpse. Now, what would happen? This was what he thought: "Well, this body is now dead. It will be carried to the burning ground and there burnt and reduced to ashes. But with the death, of this body am I dead? Is the body I? This body is silent and inert. But I feel the full force of my personality and even the voice of the 'I' within me, apart from it. So I am the Spirit transcending the body. The body dies but the Spirit that transcends it cannot be touched by death. That means I am the deathless Spirit". As Bhagavan Sri Ramana narrated this experience later on for the benefit of his devotees it seemed as though this was a process of reasoning. But he took care to explain that this was not so. The realization came to him in a flash. He perceived the truth directly. 'I' was something very real, the only real thing. Fear of death vanished once and for all. From then on, 'I' continued like the fundamental sruti note that underlies and blends with all the other notes. Thus young Venkataraman found himself on the peak of spirituality without any arduous or prolonged sadhana. The ego was lost in the flood of Self-awareness. All of a sudden the boy that used to be called Venkataraman had flowered into a sage and saint.
There was noticed a complete change in the young man's life. The things that he had cared for earlier completely lost their value. The spiritual values, which he had ignored till then, became the only objects of attention. School-studies, friends, relations — none of these had now any significance for him. He grew utterly indifferent to his surroundings. Humility, meekness, non-resistance and other virtues became his adornment. Avoiding company, he preferred to sit alone, all absorbed in concentration on the Self. He went to the Minakshi temple every day and experienced exaltation every time he stood before the images of the gods and saints. Tears flowed from his eyes profusely. The new vision was constantly with him. His was the transfigured life.
Leaving Home
Venkataraman.s elder brother observed the great change that had come upon him. On several occasions he rebuked the boy for his indifferent and yogi-like behaviour. About six weeks after the great experience came the crisis. It was the 29th of August 1896. Venkataraman.s English teacher had asked him, as a punishment for indifference in studies, to copy out a lesson from Bain's Grammar three times. The boy copied it out twice, but stopped there, realizing the utter futility of that task. Throwing aside the book and the papers, he sat up, closed his eyes, and turned inward in meditation. The elder brother who was watching Venkataraman's behaviour all the while went up to him and said: "What use is all this to one who is like this?" This was obviously meant as a rebuke for Venkataraman.s unworldly ways including neglect of studies.
Venkataraman did not give any reply. He admitted to himself that there was no use pretending to study and be his old self. He decided to leave his home, and he remembered that there was a place to go to, viz. Tiruvannamalai. But if he were to express his intention to his elders, they would not let him go. So guile had to be used. He told his brother that he was going to school to attend a special class that noon. The brother thereupon asked him to take five rupees from the box below and pay it as his fee at the college where he was studying. Venkataraman went downstairs; his aunt served him a meal and gave him the five rupees. He took out an atlas, which was in the house and noted that the nearest railway station to Tiruvannamalai mentioned there was Tindivanam. Actually, however, a branch line had been laid to Tiruvannamalai itself. The atlas was an old one. Calculating that three rupees would be enough for the journey, Venkataraman took that much and left the balance with a letter at a place in the house where his brother could easily find them, and made his departure for Tiruvannamalai. This was what he wrote in that letter:
"I have set out in quest of my Father in accordance
with his command. This (meaning his person) has
only embarked on a virtuous enterprise. Therefore,
no one need grieve over this act. And no money
need be spent in search of this. Your college fee has
not been paid. Herewith rupees two..
Sri Ramana, age 21
The Journey
There was a curse on Venkataraman's family — in truth, it was a blessing — that one out of every generation should turn out to be a mendicant. This curse was administered by a wandering ascetic who, it is said, begged alms at the house of one of Venkataraman's forbears, and was refused. A paternal uncle of Sundaram Aiyar's became a sannyasin; so did Sundaram Aiyar's elder brother. Now, it was the turn of Venkataraman, although no one could have foreseen that the curse would work out in this manner. Dispassion found lodging in Venkataraman's heart, and he became a parivrajaka.
It was an epic journey that Venkataraman made from Madurai to Tiruvannamalai. About noon he left his uncle's house. He walked to the railway station which was half a mile way. Fortunately the train was running late that day; otherwise he would have missed it. He looked up the table of fares and came to know that the third-class fare to Tindivanam was two rupees and thirteen annas. He bought a ticket and kept with him the balance of three annas. Had he known that there was a rail-track to Tiruvannamalai itself, and had he consulted the table of fares, he would have found that the fare was exactly three rupees. When the train arrived, he boarded it quietly and took his seat. A Maulvi, also travelling, entered into conversation with Venkataraman. From him Venkataraman learnt that there was train service to Tiruvannamalai, and that one need not go to Tindivanam, but could change trains at Viluppuram. This was a useful piece of information. It was dusk when the train reached Tiruchirappalli. Venkataraman was hungry; he bought two country pears for half an anna; and strangely enough even with the first bite his hunger was appeased. About three o'clock in the morning the train arrived at Viluppuram. Venkataraman got off the train there with the intention of completing the rest of the journey to Tiruvannamalai on foot.
At daybreak, he went into the town and was looking out for the signpost to Tiruvannamalai. He saw a signboard reading 'Mambalappattu' but did not know then that Mambalappattu was a place en route to Tiruvannamalai. Before making further efforts to find out which road he was to take, he wanted to refresh himself, as he was tired and hungry. He went up to a hotel and asked for food. He had to wait till noon for the food to be ready. After eating his meal, he proffered two annas in payment. The hotel proprietor asked him how much money he had. When told by Venkataraman that he had only two and a half annas, he declined to accept payment. It was from him that Venkataraman came to know that Mambalappattu was a place, on the way to Tiruvannamalai. Venkataraman went back to Viluppuram station and bought a ticket to Mambalappattu for which the money he had was just enough.
It was sometime in the afternoon when Venkataraman arrived at Mambalappattu by train. From there he set out on foot for Tiruvannamalai. About ten miles he walked, and it was late in the evening. There was the temple of Arayaninallur nearby, built on a large rock. He went there waited for the doors to be opened, entered and sat down in the pillared hall. He had a vision there — a vision of brilliant light enveloping the entire place. It was no physical light. It shone for some time and then disappeared. Venkataraman continued sitting in a mood of deep meditation, till he was roused by the temple priests who were wanting to lock the doors and go to another temple three quarters of a mile away at Kilur for service. Venkataraman followed them, and while inside the temple he got lost in samadhi again. After finishing their duties the priests woke him up, but would not give him any food. The temple drummer who had been watching the rude behaviour of the priests implored them to hand over his share of the temple food to the strange youth. When Venkataraman asked for some drinking water, he was directed to a Sastri.s house, which was at some distance. While in that house he fainted and fell down. A few minutes later he rallied round and saw a small crowd looking at him curiously. He drank the water, ate some food, and lay down and slept.
Next morning he woke up. It was the 31st of August 1896, the Gokulastami day, the day of Sri Krishna.s birth. Venkataraman resumed his journey and walked for quite a while. He felt tired and hungry. So he wished for some food first, and then he would go to Tiruvannamalai, by train if that was possible. The thought occurred to him that he could dispose of the pair of gold earrings he was wearing and raise the money that was required. But how was this to be accomplished? He went and stood outside a house, which happened to belong to one Muthukrishna Bhagavatar. He asked the Bhagavatar for food and was directed to the housewife. The good lady was pleased to receive the young sadhu and feed him on the auspicious day of Sri Krisna.s birth. After the meal, Venkataraman went to the Bhagavatar again and told him that he wanted to pledge his earrings for four rupees in order that he may complete his pilgrimage. The rings were worth about twenty rupees, but Venkataraman had no need for that much money. The Bhagavatar examined the ear-rings, gave Venkataraman the money he had asked for, took down the youth.s address, wrote out his own on a piece of paper for him, and told him that he could redeem the rings at any time. Venkataraman had his lunch at the Bhagavatar's house. The pious lady gave him a packet of sweets that she had prepared for Gokulastami. Venkataraman took leave of the couple, tore up the address the Bhagavatar had given him — for he had no intention of redeeming the earrings — and went to the railway station. As there was no train till the next morning, he spent the night there.
Advent At Arunachala
On the morning of the 1st of September, 1896, he boarded the train to Tiruvannamalai. The travel took, only a short time. Alighting from the train, he hastened to the great temple of Arunacalesvara. All the gates stood open — even the doors of the inner shrine. The temple was then empty of all people — even the priests. Venkataraman entered the sanctum sanctorum, and as he stood before his Father Arunacalesvara he experienced great ecstasy and unspeakable joy. The epic journey had ended. The ship had come safely to port.
The rest of what we regard as Ramana's life — this is how we shall call him hereafter — was spent in Tiruvannamalai. Ramana was not formally initiated into sannyasa. As he came out of the temple and was walking along the streets of the town, someone called out and asked whether he wanted his tuft removed. He consented readily, and was conducted to the Ayyankulam tank where a barber shaved his head. Then he stood on the steps of the tank and threw away into the water his remaining money. He also discarded the packet of sweets given by the Bhagavatar's wife. The next to go was the sacred thread he was wearing. As he was returning to the temple he was just wondering why he should give his body the luxury of a bath, when there was a downpour which drenched him.
Life in Tiruvannamalai
The first place of Ramana's residence in Tiruvannamalai was the great temple. For a few weeks he remained in the thousand-pillared hall. But he was troubled by urchins who pelted stones at him as he sat in meditation. He shifted himself to obscure corners and even to an underground vault known as Patala-lingam. Undisturbed he used to spend several days in deep absorption. Without moving he sat in samadhi, not being aware of even the bites of vermin and pests. But the mischievous boys soon discovered the retreat and indulged in their pastime of throwing potsherds at the young Swami. There was at the time in Tiruvannamalai a senior Swami by name Seshadri. Those who did not know him took him for a madman. He sometimes stood guard over the young Swami, and drove away the urchins. At long last he was removed from the pit by devotees without his being aware of it and deposited in the vicinity of a shrine of Subrahmanya. From then on there was some one or other to take care of Ramana. The seat of residence had to be changed frequently. Gardens, groves, shrines — these were chosen to keep the Swami. The Swami himself never spoke. Not that he took any vow of silence; he had no inclination to talk. At times the texts like Vasistham and Kaivalyanavanitam used to be read out to him.
A little less than six months after his arrival at Tiruvannamalai Ramana shifted his residence to a shrine called Gurumurtam at the earnest request of its keeper, a Tambiranswami. As days passed and as Ramana's fame spread, increasing numbers of pilgrims and sight-seers came to visit him. After about a year's stay at Gurumurtam, the Swami — locally he was known as Brahmana-swami — moved to a neighbouring mango orchard. It was here that one of his uncles, Nelliyappa Aiyar traced him out. Nelliyappa Aiyar was a second-grade pleader at Manamadurai. Having learnt from a friend that Venkataraman was then a revered Sadhu at Tiruvannamalai, he went there to see him. He tried his best to take Ramana along with him to Manamadurai. But the young sage would not respond. He did not show any sign of interest in the visitor. So, Nelliyappa Aiyar went back disappointed to Manamadurai. However, he conveyed the news to Alagammal, Ramana's mother.
Mother's Plea
The mother went to Tiruvannamalai accompanied by her eldest son. Ramana was then living at Pavalakkunru, one of the eastern spurs of Arunachala. With tears in her eyes Alagammal entreated Ramana to go back with her. But, for the sage there was no going back. Nothing moved him — not even the wailings and weepings of his mother. He kept silent giving no reply. A devotee who had been observing the struggle of the mother for several days requested Ramana to write out at least what he had to say. The sage wrote on a piece of paper quite in an impersonal way thus :
"In accordance with the prarabdha of each, the One
whose function it is to ordain makes each to act.
What will not happen will never happen, whatever
effort one may put forth. And what will happen will
not fail to happen, however much one may seek to
prevent it. This is certain. The part of wisdom
therefore is to stay quiet."
Disappointed and with a heavy heart, the mother went back to Manamadurai. Sometime after this event Ramana went up the hill Arunachala, and started living in a cave called Virupaksa after a saint who dwelt and was buried there. Here also the crowds came, and among them were a few earnest seekers. These latter used to put him questions regarding spiritual experience or bring sacred books for having some points explained. Ramana sometimes wrote out his answers and explanations. One of the books that was brought to him during this period was Sankara's Vivekachudamani which later on he rendered into Tamil prose. There were also some simple unlettered folk that came to him for solace and spiritual guidance. One of them was Echammal who having lost her husband, son, and daughter, was disconsolate till the Fates guided her to Ramana's presence. She made it a point to visit the Swami every day and took upon herself the task of bringing food for him as well as for those who lived with him.
After her return to Manamadurai, Alagammal lost her eldest son. Two years later, her youngest son, Nagasundaram paid a brief visit to Tiruvannamalai. She herself went there once on her return from a pilgrimage to Varanasi, and again during a visit to Tirupati. On this occasion she fell ill and suffered for several weeks with symptoms of typhoid. Ramana showed great solicitude in nursing her and restoring her to health. He even composed a hymn in Tamil beseeching Lord Arunachala to cure her of her disease. The first verse of the hymn runs as follows : 'Oh Medicine in the form of a Hill that arose to cure the disease of all the births that come in succession like waves! Oh Lord! It is Thy duty to save my mother who regards Thy feet alone as her refuge, by curing her fever.' He also prayed that his mother should be granted the vision divine and be weaned from worldliness. It is needless to say that both the prayers were answered. Alagammal recovered, and went back to Manamadurai.
Sri Bhagavan and his Mother
But not long after she returned to Tiruvannamalai; a little later followed her youngest son, Nagasundaram who had in the meanwhile lost his wife leaving a son. It was in the beginning of 1916 that the mother came, resolved to spend the rest of her life with Ramana. Soon after his mother's arrival, Ramana moved from Virupaksa to Skandasramam, a little higher up the hill. The mother received training in intense spiritual life. She donned the ochre robe, and took charge of the Ashrama kitchen. Nagasundaram too became a sannyasin, assuming the name Niranjanananda. Among Ramana's devotees he came to be popularly known as Chinnaswami (the Younger Swami). In 1920 the mother grew weak in health and ailments incidental to old age came to her. Ramana tended her with care and affection, and spent even sleepless nights sitting up with her. The end came on May 19, 1922, which was the Bahulanawami day, in the month of Vaisakha. The mother's body was taken down the hill to be interred. The spot chosen was at the southernmost point, between Palitirtham Tank and the Daksinamurti Mantapam. While the ceremonies were being performed, Ramana himself stood silently looking on. Niranjanananda Swami took his residence near the tomb. Ramana who continued to remain at Skandasramam visited the tomb every day. After about six months he came to stay there, as he said later on, not out of his own volition but in obedience to the Divine Will. Thus was founded the Ramanasramam. A temple was raised over the tomb and was consecrated in 1949. As the years rolled by the Ashrama grew steadily, and people not only from India but from every continent of the world came to see the sage and receive help from him in their spiritual pursuits.
Early Disciples
In 1903 there came to Tiruvannamalai a great Samskrit scholar and savant, Ganapati Sastri known also as Ganapati Muni because of the austerities he had been observing. He had the title Kavyakantha (one who had poetry at his throat), and his disciples addressed him as nayana (father). He was a specialist in the worship of the Divine Mother. He visited Ramana in the Virupaksa cave quite a few times. Once in 1907 he was assailed by doubts regarding his own spiritual practices. He went up the hill, saw Ramana sitting alone in the cave, and expressed himself thus : "All that has to be read I have read; even Vedanta sastra I have fully understood; I have done japa to my heart's content; yet I have not up to this time understood what tapas is. Therefore I have sought refuge at your feet. Pray enlighten me as to the nature of tapas." Ramana replied, now speaking, "If one watches whence the notion 'I' arises, the mind gets absorbed there; that is tapas. When a mantra is repeated, if one watches whence that mantra sound arises, the mind gets absorbed there; that is tapas." To the scholar this came as a revelation; he felt the grace of the sage enveloping him. He it was that proclaimed Ramana to be Maharshi and Bhagavan. He composed hymns in Samskrit in praise of the sage, and also wrote the Ramana-Gita explaining his teachings.
Ramana's first Western devotee was F.H.Humphreys. He came to India in 1911 to take up a post in the Police service at Vellore. Given to the practice of occultism, he was in search of a Mahatma. He was introduced to Ganapati Sastri by his Telugu tutor; and Sastri took him to Ramana. The Englishman was greatly impressed. Writing about his first visit to the sage in the International Psychic Gazette, he said : 'On reaching the cave we sat before him, at his feet, and said nothing. We sat thus for a long time and I felt lifted out of myself. For half an hour I looked into the Maharshi's eyes, which never changed their expression of deep contemplation.... The Maharshi is a man beyond description in his expression of dignity, gentleness, self-control and calm strength of conviction.' Humphry's ideas of spirituality changed for the better as a result of the contact with Ramana. He repeated his visits to the sage. He recorded his impressions in his letters to a friend in England which were published in the Gazette mentioned above. In one of them he wrote, 'You can imagine nothing more beautiful than his smile.' And again, 'It is strange what a change it makes in one to have been in his Presence!'
Friend of Animals
It was not all good people that went to the Ashrama. Sometimes bad ones turned up also — even bad sadhus. Twice in the year 1924 thieves broke into the Ashrama in quest of loot. On the second of these occasions they even beat the Maharshi, finding that there was very little for them to take. When one of the devotees sought the sage's permission to punish the thieves, the sage forbade him, saying : "They have their dharma, we have ours. It is for us to bear and forbear. Let us not interfere with them." When one of the thieves gave him a blow on the left thigh, he told him : "If you are not satisfied you can strike the other leg also." After the thieves had left, a devotee enquired about the beating. The sage remarked, "I also have received some puja," punning on the word which means 'worship' but is also used to mean 'blows'.
The spirit of harmlessness that permeated the sage and his environs made even animals and birds make friends with him. He showed them the same consideration that he did to the humans that went to him. When he referred to any of them, he used the form 'he' or 'she' and not 'it'. Birds and squirrels built their nests around him. Cows, dogs and monkeys found asylum in the Ashrama. All of them behaved intelligently — especially the cow Laksmi. He knew their ways quite intimately. He would see to it that they were fed properly and well. And, when any of them died, the body would be buried with due ceremony.
Sri Ramanasramam
The life in the Ashrama flowed on smoothly. With the passage of time more and more of visitors came — some of them for a short stay and others for longer periods. The dimensions of the Ashrama increased, and new features and departments were added — a home for the cattle, a school for the study of the Vedas, a department for publication, and the Mother's temple with regular worship, etc. Ramana sat most of the time in the hall that had been constructed for the purpose as the witness to all that happened around him. It was not that he was not active. He used to stitch leaf-plates, dress vegetables, read proofs received from the press, look into newspapers and books, suggest lines of reply to letters received, etc. yet it was quite evident that he was apart from everything. There were numerous invitations for him to undertake tours. But he never moved out of Tiruvannamalai, and in the later years out of the Ashrama. Most of the time, every day, people sat before him. They sat mostly in silence. Sometimes some of them asked questions; and sometimes he answered them. It was a great experience to sit before him and to look at his beaming eyes. Many did experience time coming to a stop and a stillness and peace beyond description.
Epilogue
Ramana Maharshi seldom wrote; and what little he did write in prose or verse was written to meet the specific demands of his devotees. He himself declared once : "Somehow, it never occurs to me to write a book or compose poems. All the poems I have made were on the request of someone or other in connection with some particular event." The most important of his work is The Forty Verses on Existence. In the Upadesa Saram, which is also a poem, the quintessence of Vedanta is set forth. The sage composed five hymns to Arunachala. Some of the works of Sankara like Vivekacudamani and Atma-bodha were rendered into Tamil by him. Most of what he wrote is in Tamil. But he wrote also in Sanskrit, Telugu, and Malayalam.
The philosophy of Sri Ramana — which is the same as that of Advaita-Vedanta — has for its aim Self-realization. The central path taught in this philosophy is the inquiry into the nature of Self, the content of the notion 'I'. Ordinarily the sphere of the 'I' varies and covers a multiplicity of factors. But these factors are not really the 'I'. For instance, we speak of the physical body as 'I'; we say, 'I am fat', 'I am lean' etc. It will not take long to discover that this is a wrong usage. The body itself cannot say, 'I' for it is inert. Even the most ignorant man understands the implication of the expression 'my body'. It is not easy, however, to resolve the mistaken identity of the 'I' with egoity (ahankara). That is because the inquiring mind is the ego, and in order to remove the wrong identification it has to pass a sentence of death, as it were, on itself. This is by no means a simple thing. The offering of the ego in the fire of wisdom is the greatest form of sacrifice.
The discrimination of the Self from the ego, we said, is not easy. But it is possible. All of us can have this discrimination if we ponder over the implication of our sleep-experience. In sleep 'we are', though the ego has made its exit. The ego does not function there. Still there is the 'I' that witnesses the absence of the ego as well as of the objects. If the 'I' were not there, one would not recall on waking from one's sleep-experience, and say; "I slept happily. I did not know anything". We have, then, two 'I's' — the 'pseudo-I' which is the ego and the true 'I' which is the Self. The identification of the 'I' with the ego is so strong that we seldom see the ego without its mask. Moreover, all our relative experience turns on the pivot of the ego. With the rise of the ego on waking from sleep, the entire world rises with it. The ego, therefore, looks so important and unassailable.
But this is really a fortress made of cards. Once the process of inquiry starts, it will be found to crumble and dissolve. For undertaking this inquiry, one must possess a sharp mind — much sharper than the one required for unravelling the mysteries of matter. It is with the one-pointed intellect that the truth is to be seen (drsyate tu agraya buddhya. It is true that even the intellect will have to get resolved before the final wisdom dawns. But up to that point it has to inquire — and inquire relentlessly. Wisdom, surely, is not for the indolent!
The inquiry 'Who am I?' is not to be regarded as a mental effort to understand the mind's nature. Its main purpose is 'to focus the entire mind at its source'. The source of the 'pseudo-I' is the Self. What one does in Self-inquiry is to run against the mental current instead of running along with it, and finally transcend the sphere of mental modifications. When the 'pseudo-I' is tracked down to its source, it vanishes. Then the Self shines in all its splendour — which shining is called realization and release.
The cessation or non-cessation of the body has nothing to do with release. The body may continue to exist and the world may continue to appear, as in the case of the Maharshi. That makes no difference at all to the Self that has been realized. In truth, there is neither the body nor the world for him; there is only the Self, the eternal Existence (sat), the Intelligence (cit), the unsurpassable bliss (ananda). Such an experience is not entirely foreign to us. We have it in sleep, where we are conscious neither of the external world of things nor of the inner world of dreams. But that experience lies under the cover of ignorance. So it is that we come back to the phantasies of dream and of the world of waking. Non-return to duality is possible only when nescience has been removed. To make this possible is the aim of Vedanta. To inspire even the lowliest of us with hope and help us out of the Slough of Despond, is the supreme significance of such illustrious exemplars as the Maharshi.
Last Days & Mahanirvana
The golden jubilee of Ramana's coming to stay at Tiruvannamalai was celebrated in 1946. In 1947 his health began to fail. He was not yet seventy, but looked much older. Towards the end of 1948 a small nodule appeared below the elbow of his left arm. As it grew in size, the doctor in charge of the Ashrama dispensary cut it out. But in a month's time it reappeared. Surgeons from Madras were called, and they operated. The wound did not heal, and the tumour came again. On further examination it was diagnosed that the affection was a case of sarcoma. The doctors suggested amputating the arm above the affected part. Ramana replied with a smile : "There is no need for alarm. The body is itself a disease. Let it have its natural end. Why mutilate it? Simple dressing of the affected part will do." Two more operations had to be performed, but the tumour appeared again. Indigenous systems of medicine were tried; and homeopathy too. The disease did not yield itself to treatment. The sage was quite unconcerned, and was supremely indifferent to suffering. He sat as a spectator watching the disease waste the body. But his eyes shone as bright as ever; and his grace flowed towards all beings. Crowds came in large numbers. Ramana insisted that they should be allowed to have his darsana. Devotees profoundly wished that the sage should cure his body through an exercise of supernormal powers. Some of them imagined that they themselves had had the benefit of these powers which they attributed to Ramana. Ramana had compassion for those who grieved over the suffering, and he sought to comfort them by reminding them of the truth that Bhagavan was not the body : "They take this body for Bhagavan and attribute suffering to him. What a pity! They are despondent the Bhagavan is going to leave them and go away — where can he go, and how?"
The end came on the 14th of April, 1950. That evening the sage gave darsana to the devotees that came. All that were present in the Ashrama knew that the end was nearing. They sat singing Ramana's hymn to Arunachala with the refrain Arunachala-Siva. The sage asked his attendants to make him sit up. He opened his luminous and gracious eyes for a brief while; there was a smile; tear of bliss trickled down from the outer corner of his eyes; and at 8:47 the breathing stopped. There was no struggle, no spasm, none of the signs of death. At that very moment, a comet moved slowly across the sky, reached the summit, of the holy hill, Arunachala, and disappeared behind it.
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Extracts about Ramana MaharishiKrishna Bikshu in Ramana Leela describes the little boy like this: "The child Venkateswara was unique. He seldom spoke or quarreled. There was a close relative, Meenakshi of his age. He would not suckle his mother's breast if Meenakshi did not also suckle milk; he was so indifferent about his feeding. He had a sweet and gentle smile but behind it was a determined nature." (Little Meenakshi had no mother of her own.)
Venkataraman nursed till he was five. About a year later, Alagammal gave birth to a third baby boy who was named Nagasundaram. Two years after that, a baby girl named Alamelu completed the family.
When Venkateswara began school, his name was noted as Venkataraman and this name stuck. A close relative used to call him Ramana or, at times, Nayana Ramani. Nayana means father in Telegu but is also used as a term of endearment. Venkataraman began to address his father as Nayana and after a time the entire village came to know Sundaram by this name.
Venkataraman was much more interested in games and sports than in academics. As Krishna Bikshu humourously put it, Venkataraman "remembered that there was such a thing as education only upon seeing the teacher's face!" Luckily, his memory was so superb that he was able to get by with the bare minimum of effort.
Only Tamil was taught at the Tiruchuzhi village school. Sundaram wanted his sons to be educated in English so they would be qualified to get into government service, so when Nagaswami, and two years later Venkataraman, reached the sixth standard (approx age 11) they were sent to live with one of Sundaram's younger brothers, Subbu Iyer, in Dindigul where there was a school where English was taught.
The brothers enjoyed gymnastics, football, and wrestling. Nagaswami was so good at tree climbing that he was known as Monkey. Venkataraman was exceedingly well coordinated and athletic, and won every game or race he entered. This earned him the nickname Thanga-kai (Golden Hand).
One unusual thing about young Venkataraman was how unrousable he was when asleep. He could be shouted at, carried to distant spots, and even soundly thrashed while asleep, and he would not wake up. He did not look for trouble, but if the need arose, he was quite unsparing in a fight. The other boys came to realise that the only way to "triumph" over Venkat was to beat him up while he was deeply asleep. (How exactly they managed to slip past Sundaram and Alagu to remove Venkataraman from his bed and carry him away is not reported!) Venkataraman would know nothing of these beatings until he was informed of them the next day. One can only assume it was rather a hollow victory for his beaters.
Another unusual thing about Venkataraman was the imperviousness of his body to bumps and scrapes. When things happened to him which would normally have left some sort of marks, not the smallest scratch was left on him. For example, he and his friends played a game in which Venkataraman would roll up in a ball and be tossed from person to person. Sometimes they successfully caught him, and sometimes they missed. This game never left a bruise on him. Some years later, during his time living near the temple (in nothing more than a loin cloth) he would enter a deep state of samadhi in an area where carts were stored, and come to awareness of his external circumstances much later, having somehow moved quite a distance underneath these carts. Again, not a mark was left on him.
In 1891, Subba Iyer was transferred to Madurai. Nagaswami and Venkataraman moved with him and attended the Scott Middle School there.
In 1892, Sundaram Iyer, who was only 47, fell seriously ill. His brother and Venkataraman and Nagaswami went to him immediately, but he died within four days, on February 18. Alagammal was left with the four children who at that time ranged in aged from 4 to 14. For some hours after his father's death, Venkataraman contemplated the matter of how his father's body was still there, but the 'I' was gone from it. This was perhaps a forecasting of what was to happen two years later.
Sri Ramana later described his inquiry on that day, and Paul Brunton recorded it:
“On the day his father died he felt puzzled and pondered over it, whilst his mother and brothers wept. He thought for hours and after the corpse was cremated he got by analysis to the point of perceiving that it was the ‘I’ which makes the body to see, to run, to walk and to eat. “I know this ‘I’ but my father’s ‘I’ has left the body.”
After the ceremonies following the death of Sundaram, Subbu Iyer returned to Madurai with Nagaswami and Venkataraman, and Alagammal stayed back with her two younger children. Their responsibility was taken over by Nelliappa Iyer, younger brother of Subbu Iyer.
At this point, Nagaswami made an effort to become a more serious student, but Venkataraman did not evidence a speck more interest. Apparently, even as a teenager, Venkataraman did not require a large amount of sleep. He and Nagaswami would slip out of bed in the middle of the night, arrange pillows under the covers to resemble their sleeping selves, quietly leave the house to join up with friends at the river for two or three hours of fun, and then sneak back into the house.
(This late night mischievous streak (if it can be called that!) in Bhagavan was still present in him years after he took his place as the Sage of Arunachala. The ashram staff were very strict about no one disturbing him during times when he was meant to be resting. As a result, someone would go around late at night with a flashlight to be sure Sri Bhagavan's attendants were not keeping him up. Sri Bhagavan could always sense the approach of one of these protectors of his sleep and he would silently gesture to his attendants, to whom he was recounting interesting stories.The attendants would lie down until Sri Bhagavan gave another signal, and then the joyful recounting and listening would begin where it left off.)
In Ramana Leela, Krishna Bikshu describes this interesting incident: "From his very childhood, Venkataraman's words had an authority of their own. Abdul Wahab, a Muslim, was the captain of the football team of the boys. Once Venkataraman went to Wahab's house and on learning that they ate non-vegetarian food, expressed his revulsion. With that pronouncement, Wahab gave up non-vegetarian food forever! Wahab later served in the Police Department and retired as a Superintendent of Police."
Interestingly, Sri Bhagavan's capacity to convey the necessity of vegetarianism lasted throughout the lifetime of his physical body, and carries on to this day. Arthur Osborne wrote about the way a spiritual aspirant, coming within Sri Bhagavan's sphere, would mysteriously lose all desire to eat meat without making any effort to do so.
After the Scott's Middle School, Venkataraman attended the American Mission High School. One November morning in 1895 he was on his way to school when he saw an elderly relative, Ramaswami Iyer, son of Lakshmana Iyer of Tiruchuzhi. When Venkataraman made friendly enquiries into where Ramaswami had come from, the answer was "From Arunachala."
Krishna Bikshu describes Venkataraman's response: "The word "Arunachala" was familiar to Venkataraman from his younger days, but he did not know where it was, what it looked like or what it meant. Yet that day that word meant to him something great, an inaccessible, authoritative, absolutely blissful entity. Could one visit such a place? His heart was full of joy. Arunachala meant some sacred land, every particle of which gave moksha. It was omnipotent and peaceful. Could one behold it? "What? Arunachala? Where is it?" asked the lad. The relative was astonished, "Don't you know even this?" and continued, "Haven't you heard of Tiruvannamalai? That is Arunachala." It was as if a balloon was pricked, the boy's heart sank."
About a month or two later, Venkataraman found and read a copy of Sekkilar's Periyapuranamwhich his uncle had borrowed. Seemingly out of nowhere, a deep spiritual longing arose in him. (Prior to this time, he had been quite irreverent with regard to spiritual matters.) Arthur Osborne described Venkatarman's response to reading this book about the lives of the sixty-three Saivite Saints:
"Venkataraman picked it up and, as he read, was overwhelmed that such faith, such love, such divine fervour was possible, that there had been such beauty in human life. The tales of renunciation leading to Divine Union inspired him with awe and emulation. Something greater than all dreamlands, greater than all ambition, was here proclaimed real and possible, and the revelation filled him with blissful gratitude." [Ramana Maharshi and The Path of Self-Knowledge]
The Awakening
A year passed, during which time Nagaswami got married. Then, on the afternoon of July 17, 1896, Venkataraman had a life-changing experience. Here is an account of how he later reported it:
"It was in 1896, about 6 weeks before I left Madurai for good (to go to Tiruvannamalai - Arunachala) that this great change in my life took place. I was sitting alone in a room on the first floor of my uncle's house. I seldom had any sickness and on that day there was nothing wrong with my health, but a sudden violent fear of death overtook me. There was nothing in my state of health to account for it nor was there any urge in me to find out whether there was any account for the fear. I just felt I was going to die and began thinking what to do about it. It did not occur to me to consult a doctor or any elders or friends. I felt I had to solve the problem myself then and there. The shock of the fear of death drove my mind inwards and I said to myself mentally, without actually framing the words: "Now death has come; what does it mean? What is that is dying? This body dies."
And at once I dramatised the occurrence of death. I lay with my limbs stretched out still as though rigor mortis has set in, and imitated a corpse so as to give greater reality to the enquiry. I held my breath and kept my lips tightly closed so that no sound could escape, and that neither the word "I" nor any word could be uttered. "Well then," I said to myself, “this body is dead. It will be carried stiff to the burning ground and there burn and reduced to ashes. But with the death of the body, am I dead? Is the body I? It is silent and inert, but I feel the full force of my personality and even the voice of I within me, apart from it. So I am the Spirit transcending the body. The body dies but the spirit transcending it cannot be touched by death. That means I am the deathless Spirit. All this was not dull thought; it flashed through me vividly as living truths which I perceived directly almost without thought process. "I" was something real, the only real thing about my present state, and all the conscious activity connected with the body was centered on that "I". From that moment onwards, the "I" or Self focused attention on itself by a powerful fascination. Fear of death vanished once and for all. The ego was lost in the flood of Self-awareness. Absorption continued in the Self continued unbroken from that time. Other thought might come and go like the various notes of music, but the "I" continued like the fundamental sruti note which underlies and blends with all other notes."
After this, Venkataraman lost interest in his school-studies, friends, and relations.
He later described this period:
"The consequences of this new awareness were soon noticed in my life. In the first place, I lost what little interest I had in my outer relationship with friends and relatives and went through my studies mechanically. I would hold an open book in front of me to satisfy my relatives that I was reading, when in reality my attention was far away from any such superficial matter. In my dealings with people I became meek and submissive. Formerly if I was given more work than other boys I might complain, and if any boy annoyed me I would retaliate. None of them would dare make fun of me or take liberties with me. Now all that was changed. Whatever work was given, whatever teasing or annoyance there was, I would put up with it quietly. The former ego that resented and retaliated had disappeared. I stopped going out with friends to play games and preferred solitude. I would often sit alone, especially in a posture suitable for meditation, and become absorbed in the Self, the Spirit, the force or current which constituted me. I would continue in this despite the jeers of my elder brother who would sarcastically call me "sage" or "yogi" and advise me to retire into the jungle like the ancient Rishis." [The Path of Self-Knowledge]
The change in Venkataraman was quite noticable to those around him. His uncle and his older brother Nagaswamy were particularly critical of his impractical attitude toward life, and his neglect for his studies.
All this came to a head on August 29th, about six weeks after his absorption into the Self. His English teacher had asked him to copy out an exercise in Bain's Grammar three times, as a punishment for his indifference towards his school work. Venkataraman had written it out twice when the utter futility of the exercise hit him and he pushed away the work, sat cross-legged, and turned within.
Nagaswami, annoyed at the sight, asking, “What use is all this to one who is like this?” (Meaning, if you are going to behave like a sadhu, what right do you have to enjoy the comforts of this home?)
Venkataraman did not answer, but recognized the truth in his brother’s words.
The Journey
He got to his feet, knowing he had to leave home then and there, and go to Arunachala. Aware that his uncle and brother would prevent him if he told them of his plan, he said he had to attend a special class on electricity at school.
Not realizing he was providing his brother with the means to travel to Arunachala, Nagaswami said to Venkataraman, "Then take five rupees from the box downstairs and pay my college fees on the way."
Downstairs, he hurriedly ate a meal prepared by his aunt. With no one noticing, he took out an atlas and saw that the nearest station to Tiruvannamalai was Tindivanam. (There was actually a closer one, but the old atlas did not show it.) He calculated the cost of his journey, took thee rupees and left the remaining two with a note which read: "I have set out in quest of my Father in accordance with his command. This (meaning his person) has only embarked on a virtuous enterprise. Therefore, no one need grieve over this act. And no money need be spent in search of this. Your college fee has not been paid. Herewith rupees two."
note left by Venkataraman
An old Maulvi noticed the silent youth and asked him where he was going. When Venkataraman told him, the Maulvi realised the boy was unaware that a new line had been opened up to Tiruvannamalai, via Villupuram Junction. He told Venkataraman that he too was going that way and that they should change trains at Villupuram Junction. Venkataraman sank back into samadhi. Later, he found the Maulvi had vanished.
Feeling hungry when the sun was setting, he bought two country pears. Surprisingly, at the first bite, he felt satisfied.
At about three o'clock the next morning, he got down at Viluppuram. He waited till daybreak and then walked into the town. Tired and hungry, he asked for food at a hotel but had to wait until noon for the food to be ready. At this point in his journey, he had only two and a half annas left. He offered two annas to the hotel owner for his meal, but the man refused to accept any payment. Venkataraman then returned to the station and spent his remaining money on a ticket to Mambalappattu, a place on the way to Tiruvannamalai. He reached Mambalappattu at about 3 in the afternoon. From there, he set out, intending to walk the remaining distance of about thirty miles.
After he had walked about ten miles, he reached the temple of Arayaninallur. Night had fallen and he sat down outside the temple to rest. When the priest opened the temple for puja, Venkataraman entered and sat in the pillared hall. A brilliant light pervaded the entire temple which he first thought must have been emanating from the image of God in the inner sanctorum. He searched for the source, but found it was not a phyical light. When it disappeared, he sat in deep meditation until the temple priests who needed to lock up the temple roused him. He asked them for food and was refused, though they suggested he might get food at the temple in Kilur where they were headed for service. Venkataraman followed, and sank again into samadhi in the temple. Late in the evening when the puja ended, he asked for food and was refused again. The temple drummer who had been watching this exchange asked the priests to give his share to the boy. When he asked for water, he was directed to a Sastri’s house. He set out with his rice on a leaf plate but fainted from exhaustion and fell down, spilling the rice. When he came to he picked up the scattered rice, not wanting to waste a single grain, ate it, and then slept on the bare ground.
The nect morning was August 31, 1896, the Gokulashtami day (a festival day honouring Lord Krishna's birth). Hungry, Venkataraman stopped at a house which happened to be the home of Muthukrishna Bhagavatar. The Bhagavatar and his widowed sister were only too glad to feed the beautiful Brahmin youth. To the widowed sister, it seemed as if Krishna himself had come asking for food. She made him a large plate of food, and though he felt full after the first two bites, she stood over him and lovingly insisted that he finish all she had given him.
Venkataraman still had another twenty miles to go, but at this point lacked the strength to walk that far. The only thing he had of any value was his ruby earrings, which he pledged for four rupees with the Bhagavatar who gave him a receipts so he could return and claim the earrings. By then, a sumptuous lunch was ready, and Venkataraman was fed a second time, and given a packet of sweets to take with him
The next morning the kind couple fed him well. It was August 31st, the Gokulastami day, the day of Sri Krishna’s birth. Venkataraman asked Bhagavatar for a loan of four rupees on the pledge of his earrings so that he could complete his pilgrimage. Bhagavatar agreed and gave Venkataraman a receipt he could use to redeem his earrings.
Venkataraman continued on his journey, tearing up the receipt right away because he knew he would never have any need for the earrings. At the train station he learned there would be no trains until the next day so he spent the night there.
Advent at Arunachala
A. R Natarajan, in Timeless in Time, describes Venkataraman's arrival:
It was the morning of the 1st of September, 1896, when Ramana reached his Father's home, Arunachala. The command had been obeyed. The search had ended. Thereafter there was no parting ever.
Heart brimming with love, Ramana went straight away to the Arunachaleswara temple. The temple was the very centre of attraction of the pilgrims. But strangely it was empty though all the doors were open. None was there in the inner shrine too. The Lord was waiting to receive his son, born to proclaim his glory and power, to proclaim the direct path for Self-knowledge. Ramana could go into the sactum sanctorum unhindered. Just the Father and the son together in holy union never again to part physically. "Father, I have come," Ramana said. More words were superfluous. Thanks to the overflowing grace of Arunachala the schoolboy became the enlightened jnani Ramana at Madurai. This had happened on July 17, 1896. Now the physical separation too ended. It could not be otherwise as his task as a universal guru was to be performed from this one place.
He embraced the linga in ecstasy. The burning sensation that had started back at Madurai (which he later described as “an inexpressible anguish which I suppressed at the time”) merged in Arunachaleswara.
As Ramana left the temple, someone asked him if he wanted to have his hair cut. He readily agreed and was taken to Ayyankulam tank where a barber shaved off his beautiful hair. Next, Ramana threw away his sacred thread and the money which he had left and the sweets which had been given to him the previous day. In this way, he renounced attachment to caste and to money.
Early Life at Arunachala
On his first day in Tiruvannamalai, Venkataraman had no food. The next day, Maunaswami of the Gopura Subrahmanya shrine saw the boy in the thousand pillared hall and asked one of his followers to brging his some food. Course rice, salt, and a pickle were served to Venkataraman. After that, Maunaswami made sure he was fed.
He stayed in the temple for several months, sitting quietly in meditation. He never spoke to anyone, and if people came up to him, he moved away. He never asked for food, but if he was aware of anyone offering him food, he would accept it. His first few weeks were spent in the thousand-pillared hall but local urchins would not leave him alone. They threw stones at him and ridiculed him, so he shifted to other spots in the temple and then to the Patala-lingam vault, a place the urchins were afraid to enter. He spent his days there absorbed in such deep samadhi that he was unaware of the bites of vermin and pests. The mischievous boys continued to taunt him there, throwing things down into the vault.
A local saint named Seshadri Swami found him in the underground vault and tried to protect him.
He stayed for about six weeks in the Patala-lingam, and then was carried out and cleaned up. For the next two months he stayed in the Gopura Subramanya Shrine. Maunaswami continued to make sure he had food. He shared his own food with Brahmana Swami, as Venkataraman was then known, especially fruits and milk collected after abhishekam to Uma Devi. One of the senior priests was concerned that the young boy's milk contained water, tumeric, sugar, fruit, and camphor, so he arranged for plain milk to be given to Brahmana Swami.
Next he moved to Vahana Mantapam (the place where the temple vehicles were stored). In Timeless in Time, A. R. Natarajan includes this description by Sri Ramana of his time there:
"I would edge through the narrow passaage between the vahanas, the tallest in that mantapam or the interiormost, to escape attention. I would seat myself under the belly of a vahana. I would lose consciousness of the body then and sometimes find, when awake, that I had got to the 10th row. I must have crept into it like a lizard. Whether I did so or something carried me in I did not know. Strangely enough, on not a single occasion did these crawlings or movements produce even a scratch on my person."
In December, large crowds gathered in Tiruvannamalai and in the Arunachalaswara temple for the Kartigai festival. This brought more attention than ever to Brahmana Swami. Among the crowd was a Saivite renunciate named Uddandi Nayanar. Until this time, Uddandi Nayanar's sadhana had led neither to peace nor to realisation of the Self, but when he saw the young swami immersed in samadhi, he felt a sense of certainty that by serving him, he (Nayanar) might be able to experience the Self. Nayanar decided to stay under a tree near the iluppai tree Ramana was living under at that point and devote himself to protecting the young swami from the crowds and from the urchins who were so determined to disturb him. He watched over Ramana at all times, except when he went to get food for the two of them.
Next, he was invited to stay in a mango orchard next to Gurumurtam, a temple constructed over the Samadhi of Daivasikamani, about a mile out of Tiruvannamalai. Pooja was being performed at Gurumurtam then by Annamalai Tambiran. When Tambiran saw Ramana under the iluppai tree, he was so struck by him he returned for his darshan as often as he could manage. It occured to him that if he could persuade the young swami to shift from under the tree to Gurumurtam, he would be able to have his darshan even more frequently, and it would be a better situation for the swami because he would not be troubled by so many people. He took the matter up with Nayanar and together they implored the Swami to move. Perhaps because Gurumurtam was closer to Arunachala, Swami agreed and in February, 1897, he moved to Gurumurtam where he became known as the Swami of Gurumurtam.
There, the Swami's indifference to physical comfort increased. He made no effort to clean himself, his thick hair became matted, and his nail were long and curved. Despite earlier assurances that he would be less troubled by crowds if he moved to Gurumurtam, people came to see him in such droves, many hoping that miracles would be performed and their desires fulfilled. Barriers had to be constructed to protect Swami, and arguments would break out because everyone wanted to earn spiritual merit by having Swami consume food offerings brought by them. Swami, who ate almost nothing, could not possibly consume all that the hundreds of people so badly wanted to witness him eating. Despite all the commotion, Swami would only open his eyes once a day, at which point a tumblerful of mixed offerings would be poured into his mouth. He would then close his eyes and resume his meditation.
Naturally, Tambiran's devotion increased as he cared for Swami, and once he even attempted to worship him. Swami tried to put a stop to this right away by writing a note on the wall with a piece of charcoal. Tambiran, unable to understand (or perhaps just so moved to worship Swami that he could not help himself) persisted, until Swami made the point even clearer by going out at pooja time which was when Tambiran would switch from temple worship to Swami worship.
Swami's birth name was still unknown at this time and he was simply known as Brahmana Swami or Gurumurtam Swami. Not too long after he wrote the note on the wall, an official in the local taluka office named Venkatarama Iyer who came for Swami's darshan every day decided he was going to discover the Swami's original name. He pressed Tambiran, but got nowhere with that because Tambiran did not known it himself. Venkatarama Iyer then told the Swami that he would not leave without learning Swami's name, even if this cost him his job. He handed Swami a piece of paper and a pencil. Swami wrote in English, "Venkataraman, Tiruchuzhi".
sources used:
Bhagavan Ramana by T. M. P. Mahadevan, M.A., Ph.D.
Bhagavan Sri Ramana, A Pictorial Biography compiled and designed by Joan and Matthew Greenblatt
Living with the Master, Reminiscences by Kunjuswami
Ramana Leela by Krishna Bikshu
The Path of Self-Knowledge by Arthur Osborne
Timeless in Time by A.R. Natarajan
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Courtesy :
http://www.arunachala.org/ramana/life/
http://bhagavan-ramana.org/life.html
-- For information & photos and also Ramana Bhaktas for their photos
