Post by Sumi on Jan 13, 2012 12:25:45 GMT 5.5
Courtesy: Shri Sundararajan
Source: www.periva.org
Paul Brunton’s search for his
Master<http://mahaperiyavaa.wordpress.com/2011/03/15/paul-bruntons-search-fo...> - part 6
Source: www.scribd.com/full/32932002?access_key=key-p1hlknsquce8fyorlqi
His Holiness does not reply till after an interval of protracted silence.
“Yes. I know of only two masters in India who could give you what you wish.
One of them lives in Benares, hidden away in a large house, which is itself
hidden among spacious grounds. Few people are permitted to obtain access to
him; certainly, no European has yet been able to intrude upon his
seclusion. I could send you to him, but I fear that he may refuse to admit
a European.”
“And the other ?” My interest is strangely stirred.
“The other man lives in the interior, farther south. I visited him once and
know him to be a high master. { *though it is mentioned that Swamigal had
met Ramana mahairishi Imy other references are that they never met.
Other knowledgeable can throw light on this- Sundararajan*} Recommend that
you go to him.”
“Who is he ?”
“He is called the Maharishee. I have not met him, but know him to be a high
master. Shall I provide you with full instructions, so that you may
discover him?”
A picture flashes suddenly before my mind’s eye. I see the yellow-robed
friar, who has vainly persuaded me to accompany him to his teacher. I hear
him murmuring the name of a hill. It is: “The Hill of the Holy Beacon.”
“Many thanks, Your Holiness,” I rejoin, “but I have a guide who comes from
the place.”
“Then you will go there?”
I hesitate.
“All arrangements have been made for my departure from the South
to-morrow,” I mutter uncertainly.
” In that case I have a request to make.”
“With pleasure.”
“Promise me that you will not leave South India before you have met the
Maharishee.”
I read in his eyes a sincere desire to help me. The promise is given.
A benignant smile crosses his face.
“Do not be anxious. You shall discover that which you seek.”
A murmur from the crowd which is in the street penetrates the house.
“I have taken up too much of your valuable time,” I apologize. ” I am
indeed sorry.”
Shri Shankara’s grave mouth relaxes. He follows me into the ante-room and
whispers something into the ear of my companion. I catch my name in the
sentence. At the door I turn to bow in farewell salutation. His Holiness
calls me back to receive a parting message: “You shall always remember me,
and I shall always remember you!”
And so, hearing these cryptic and puzzling words, I reluctantly withdraw
from this interesting man, whose entire life has been dedicated to God from
childhood. He is a pontiff who cares not for worldly power, because he has
renounced all and resigned all. Whatever material things are given to him,
he at once gives again to those who need them. His beautiful and gentle
personality will surely linger in my memory.
I wander about Chingleput till evening, exploring its artistic, old-world
beauty, and then seek a final glimpse of His Holiness before returning
home. I find him in the largest temple of the city. The slim, modest,
yellow-robed figure is addressing a huge concourse of men, women and
children. Utter silence prevails among the large audience. I cannot
understand his vernacular words, but I can understand that he is holding
the deep attention of all present, from the intellectual Brahmin to the
illiterate peasant. I do not know, but I hazard the guess that he speaks on
the profoundest topics in the simplest manner, for such is the character I
read in him.
And yet, though I appreciate his beautiful soul, I envy the simple faith of
his vast audience. Life, apparently, never brings them deep moods of doubt.
God is; and there the matter ends. They do not appear to know what it means
to go through dark nights of the soul, when the world seems like the grim
scene of a jungle-like struggle; when God recedes into shadowy nothingness;
and when man’s own existence seems nothing more than a fitful passage
across this small, transient fragment of the universe which we call Earth.
We drive out of Chingleput under an indigo sky gemmed with stars. I listen
to palms majestically waving their branches over the water’s edge in an
unexpected breeze.
to be continued
Sundararajan
Yogah karmasu kausalam - Gita 2-50
Source: www.periva.org
Paul Brunton’s search for his
Master<http://mahaperiyavaa.wordpress.com/2011/03/15/paul-bruntons-search-fo...> - part 6
Source: www.scribd.com/full/32932002?access_key=key-p1hlknsquce8fyorlqi
His Holiness does not reply till after an interval of protracted silence.
“Yes. I know of only two masters in India who could give you what you wish.
One of them lives in Benares, hidden away in a large house, which is itself
hidden among spacious grounds. Few people are permitted to obtain access to
him; certainly, no European has yet been able to intrude upon his
seclusion. I could send you to him, but I fear that he may refuse to admit
a European.”
“And the other ?” My interest is strangely stirred.
“The other man lives in the interior, farther south. I visited him once and
know him to be a high master. { *though it is mentioned that Swamigal had
met Ramana mahairishi Imy other references are that they never met.
Other knowledgeable can throw light on this- Sundararajan*} Recommend that
you go to him.”
“Who is he ?”
“He is called the Maharishee. I have not met him, but know him to be a high
master. Shall I provide you with full instructions, so that you may
discover him?”
A picture flashes suddenly before my mind’s eye. I see the yellow-robed
friar, who has vainly persuaded me to accompany him to his teacher. I hear
him murmuring the name of a hill. It is: “The Hill of the Holy Beacon.”
“Many thanks, Your Holiness,” I rejoin, “but I have a guide who comes from
the place.”
“Then you will go there?”
I hesitate.
“All arrangements have been made for my departure from the South
to-morrow,” I mutter uncertainly.
” In that case I have a request to make.”
“With pleasure.”
“Promise me that you will not leave South India before you have met the
Maharishee.”
I read in his eyes a sincere desire to help me. The promise is given.
A benignant smile crosses his face.
“Do not be anxious. You shall discover that which you seek.”
A murmur from the crowd which is in the street penetrates the house.
“I have taken up too much of your valuable time,” I apologize. ” I am
indeed sorry.”
Shri Shankara’s grave mouth relaxes. He follows me into the ante-room and
whispers something into the ear of my companion. I catch my name in the
sentence. At the door I turn to bow in farewell salutation. His Holiness
calls me back to receive a parting message: “You shall always remember me,
and I shall always remember you!”
And so, hearing these cryptic and puzzling words, I reluctantly withdraw
from this interesting man, whose entire life has been dedicated to God from
childhood. He is a pontiff who cares not for worldly power, because he has
renounced all and resigned all. Whatever material things are given to him,
he at once gives again to those who need them. His beautiful and gentle
personality will surely linger in my memory.
I wander about Chingleput till evening, exploring its artistic, old-world
beauty, and then seek a final glimpse of His Holiness before returning
home. I find him in the largest temple of the city. The slim, modest,
yellow-robed figure is addressing a huge concourse of men, women and
children. Utter silence prevails among the large audience. I cannot
understand his vernacular words, but I can understand that he is holding
the deep attention of all present, from the intellectual Brahmin to the
illiterate peasant. I do not know, but I hazard the guess that he speaks on
the profoundest topics in the simplest manner, for such is the character I
read in him.
And yet, though I appreciate his beautiful soul, I envy the simple faith of
his vast audience. Life, apparently, never brings them deep moods of doubt.
God is; and there the matter ends. They do not appear to know what it means
to go through dark nights of the soul, when the world seems like the grim
scene of a jungle-like struggle; when God recedes into shadowy nothingness;
and when man’s own existence seems nothing more than a fitful passage
across this small, transient fragment of the universe which we call Earth.
We drive out of Chingleput under an indigo sky gemmed with stars. I listen
to palms majestically waving their branches over the water’s edge in an
unexpected breeze.
to be continued
Sundararajan
Yogah karmasu kausalam - Gita 2-50