Guru

Swami Ramanagiri whose life sketch appeared in the July, 1977 issue of this periodical is my Guru. How he attracted and accepted me as a chela is a strange story.

At the time Bhagavan Ramana’s nirvana was approaching, Swamiji was staying in Almora in the Himalayas. About two weeks before the event Swamiji had a psychic message from Bhagavan, his Guru; about his impending nirvana. Swamiji made haste to reach Tiruvannamalai and the Ashram. After the Mahasamadhi of Bhagavan he wanted to go back to the Himalayas. En route he was persuaded by a friend, to spend a few days at Madras with him. One day as he was walking along the beach he had a vision of Bhagavan who, signalling with his hand, directed him to proceed further South and stay there. This led him to Tiruvanmiyur, a fishing village then, but a part of the fast-growing city of Madras now.

Here he sat on the beach immersed in samadhi. His host, not knowing where his revered guest had gone, grew anxious. A search was organised and Swamiji was at last located sitting on the beach under the scorching sun, deep in samadhi. When he came back to the physical plane he was requested to return to his host’s residence. But Swamiji said that Bhagavan had directed him to stay there at the seaside, and so stay there he would. So his host decided to put up a hut with dried cocoanut palm leaves for him on the beach. Arrangements were made by his host for food to be sent to him daily.

Often the fisherfolk would swarm around Swamiji and he gave the food to them. On other occasions he would be in samadhi totally unaware of the needs of his body. It was this continued neglect which brought on the tuberculosis which ultimately consumed his body. At first he refused treatment but was persuaded by his host, whom he treated as his father, to go back to the city for treatment.

At this time in 1950, I was stationed in Delhi. One day in Sept.-Oct. my immediate superior paid a visit to Delhi and stayed with me as my guest. On the first morning of his visit, he finished his ablutions early and took out from his bag a photograph of Swamiji, placed it on the table, lighted a few incense sticks and sat down for meditation. One look at the photograph and my heart seemed to stand still. I was absolutely captivated by the radiant personality in the photograph and I wanted to know all about him.

My guest, after completing his meditation, told me the story of Swami Ramanagiri. I then asked him eagerly: “Will you take me to him?” To this, he replied: “Yes, when you next come to Madras.”

Most unexpectedly, and to my great good fortune, I was transferred to Madras in January, 1951. On reporting for duty there, almost the first thing I asked my superior was when he would take me to the Swamiji. He said he was going to him that very evening and that I could come with him.

Hardly able to contain my excitement I went through the work of the day and immediately rushed to the officer’s chamber. Imagine my consternation when I found it empty: And imagine too my feelings when the watchman told me that my superior officer had left early. Feeling sullen and angry I waited around restlessly not knowing what to do in this predicament. And then, slowly, a question formed in my mind. Why should I not go and see the Swamiji by myself? After all, to meet a sannyasi, no formal introduction is necessary, Having convinced myself of the rightness of my proposed action, I started off. Fortunately, my destination was within walking distance,

Swami Ramanagiri - Peer Wertin

click to see a large image

I came to know later that when my superior reached the Swamiji, the latter who was observing the vow of silence at that time, wrote on a slate: ‘Someone wanted to come with you. Why did you not bring him?" My superior, also an ardent devotee of the Swamiji, then realised that in his eagerness to meet Swamiji he had forgotten all about poor me. He therefore offered to fetch me, but the Swamiji wrote on the slate: “Don’t worry. He will come by himself."

A little later I walked in. When I saw Swamiji, I felt so thrilled that my head began to reel and I became confused. “My God, I am in the presence of Christ!" were the words that formed in my mind (Swamiji had a really remarkable resemblance to Jesus in all aspects). This lasted for some minutes.

I do not remember if I even made a namaskar. I saw Swamiji write on the slate: "This is the person" and show it to my boss. I didn’t know what all this writing was about and, frankly, I was not even interested, I just sat there in awe and reverence for some time and, after a time, I made a pranam and left.

It was only during the next few days that I realised I had said or done nothing during my first visit to the Swamiji. What had I achieved? Nothing. I had to speak to him and get accepted as a disciple. This was imperative. So, a few days later I went to see the Swamiji again. This time I found he was not observing silence and that I could talk to him. But there were already two other people there and he was talking to them. But, strangely, I found I was not feeling impatient, only indescribably happy to be in his presence.

But, as time passed and it grew dark, a sudden fear assailed me. Would this meeting also prove fruitless? I looked towards the Swamiji. He had suddenly become serious and was looking out of the window. Then I saw him close his eyes. I also closed my eyes. Everything became very still. I had not known such deep silence and calm before. Then, abruptly, I felt jolted by what I can only call a shock in my heart which shook me and, simultaneously, a tremendous pull from the Swamiji like that of a jet engine sucking air. My whole being seemed to go totally still but I felt no panic, only a great peace enveloping me. My Guru had pierced my heart and taken my mind in very deep into it. Mentally I asked Swamiji: "Will you please take me as your disciple?" The answer “Yes” was also an unspoken one. But it was a very firm and unhesitating “Yes."}

After this experience, it seemed as if the Swamiji and I both opened our eyes simultaneously and looked at each other. The Swamiji bent towards me with a bewitching smile and peered into my eyes as if enquiring if I got his message and if I was happy and satisfied with it. What joy and relief that look gave me! I knew I had been accepted as a disciple. That was enough. I offered a pranam and left.

How he led me from then on is, of course, another story!