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.'
Quickly following the incident, which attracted Venkataraman.s attention to Arunachala, there
was another happening 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 that Venkataraman was now wishing devoutly for 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..
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
Vivekacudamani 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.

Mother's Return
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
Kavya-kantha (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.

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.
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 not impossible. 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.