dreams/visions

04-01-2001, 09:55 AM

The following fascinating story ends with an interesting dream/vision.
Thought it may make for good reading.
Harsha
How The Maharshi Came To MeBy Chhaganlal V. Yogi
It was in this darkest period of my life that I first heard of Sri
Ramana Maharshi. At that time I seemed to be heading swiftly towards
total scepticism. The world appeared to me to be full of injustice,
cruelty, greed, hate and other evils, the existence of which
logically led me to a strong disbelief in God. For, I argued, did He
truly exist, could anything dark or evil ever have flourished? Doubt
upon doubt assailed me like dark shadows which dogged my footsteps. I
had, as a consequence, lost whatever little reverence I might have had
for sadhus and sannyasins. I found myself slowly but surely losing my
interest in religion. The very word itself eventually became a
synonym in my mind for a clever ruse to delude the credulity of the
world. In short, I began to live a life lacking optimism and faith. I
was not happy in my disbelief, for my mind took on the aspect of
turbulent waters, and I felt that all around me there was raging a
scorching fire which seemed to burn up my very entrails.
One day, while travelling as usual on the train to the office, I
happened to meet a friend who had spent over a decade in Europe and
America. I hadn't met him for quite a long time and sometimes used to
wonder where he had disappeared to. In answer to a query about his
recent activities he said that he had been to Sri Ramanasramam and
immediately launched into a description of what went on there. While
he was trying to describe to me his experience of the darshan of Sri
Bhagavan he drew out from his pocket a small packet which he extended
to me. I wondered what it contained. He explained that it contained
something extremely precious - some vibhuti, holy ashes brought from
the ashram. He insisted on my accepting them. His kind invitation did
not interest me in the least. On the other hand, it amused me.
I said scornfully, "Pardon me, but I think that all this sort of thing
is mere sham and humbug, so I trust you will not misunderstand me if I
refuse to accept."
He then argued that by refusing his gift, I was not merely insulting
him, I was also insulting the vibhuti.
I thought that this was rather comical, but to placate him I replied,
"Well, if that be so, to please you I will take a pinch of these
ashes on the condition that you will allow me to do whatever I like
with them."
Unsuspectingly, he nodded his head in assent and passed the packet
over to me. A smile appeared on his lips as he watched me take a
pinch out of it. This smile was the preface to a zealous exposition
on Sri Bhagavan and his miraculous greatness. While he was lost in
his missionary enthusiasm, I surreptitiously let the ashes fall onto
the floor of the compartment. To be quite frank, it was a relief when
my friend had concluded what I had then considered to be a puerile and
unnecessary lecture. At the end of it I remarked, "I have an utter
contempt for these so-called saints."
My friend refused to give up. He insisted on impressing on me that Sri
Ramana Maharshi was not a 'so-called' saint, but an authentic sage
acknowledged as such by great savants all over the world. He
suggested that for my own benefit I read about him in some of the
available literature. To start me off he gave me a book entitled Sri
Maharshi, which had been written by Sri Kamath, the editor of The
Sunday Times in Madras.
I must confess that despite my prejudices the book evoked in me an
interest in Sri Bhagavan. After completing this small book, I was
sufficiently curious to borrow another book about him from a
different friend. It was the second edition of Self-Realisation, the
earliest full-length biography of Sri Bhagavan. From then on, my
interest grew without my being aware of it. A little later I felt
compelled to write to Sri Ramanasramam to ask for all the literature
on Sri Bhagavan that was available in English. As I began to study it
with great avidity, I found that my outlook on life began to undergo a
subtle transformation, but only a partial one. At the back of my mind
there still lurked a heavy doubt, resembling a cloud, that stained
the gathering illumination. My old scepticism did not wish to yield
place so easily to this new faith, which was apparently being
inculcated in my mind. My scepticism tried to challenge my new faith
by arguing, "So many books are wonderful to read, but their authors,
more often than not, are not as wonderful to know. It is possible for
men to teach truths which they are unable to live themselves. What,
then, is the use of books, however wonderful?"
To counter this doubt I decided to correspond directly with Sri
Bhagavan. Over the next few months I wrote several letters to him,
all of which were answered by his ashram with a rare punctuality.
However, although they breathed the teachings of the Master, they
hardly gave me a glimpse into the nature of the daily life lived by
him. Because of this I began to be haunted by a desire to visit the
ashram to see for myself what went on there. To fulfil that desire I
paid my first visit to Sri Ramanasramam in the Christmas holiday of
1938.
At first I was terribly disappointed because nothing seemed to strike
me in the way I had expected. I found Sri Bhagavan seated on a couch,
as quiet and unmoving as a statue. His presence did not seem to
emanate anything unusual, and I was very disappointed to discover
that he displayed no interest in me at all. I had expected warmth and
intimacy, but unfortunately I seemed to be in the presence of someone
who lacked both.
>From morning till evening I sat waiting to catch a glimpse of his
grace, of his interest in me, a stranger who had come all the way
from Bombay, but I evoked no response. Sri Bhagavan merely seemed
cold and unaffected. After pinning such hopes on him, his apparent
lack of interest nearly broke my heart. Eventually, I decided to
leave the ashram, knowing full well that if I did, I would be more
sceptical and hard-headed that before.
The Veda Parayana was chanted every evening in Sri Bhagavan's
presence. It was considered to be one of the most attractive items in
the daily program of the ashram, but in my depressed state it fell
flat on my ears. It was the evening of the day that I had decided to
leave. The sun was setting like a sad farewell, spreading a darkness
over both the hill and my heart. The gloom deepened until the
neighbourhood disappeared into the blackness of the night. In my
sensitive state the electric light which was switched on in the hall
seemed like a living wound on the body of the darkness. My mind,
which was deeply tormented, felt that the psychic atmosphere in the
hall was stuffy and choking. Unable to bear it any longer, I walked
outside to get a breath of fresh air. A young man called Gopalan came
up to me and asked me where I had come from.
"Bombay," I replied.
He asked me if I had been introduced to the Master, and when I replied
that I had not, he was most surprised. He immediately led me to the
office, introduced me to the Sarvadhikari and then proceeded with me
to the hall where he introduced me to Sri Bhagavan. When he heard my
name Sri Bhagavan's eyes turned to me, looked straight into mine and
twinkled like stars. With a smile beaming with grace he asked me if I
were a Gujerati. I replied that I was. Immediately he sent for a copy
of the Gujerati translation by Sri Kishorelal Mashruwala of Upadesa
Saram, a few copies of which had only just arrived. He then asked me
to chant the Gujerati verses from the book.
"But I am not a singer," I answered, hesitating to begin. But when it
became clear that I was expected to perform, I got over my initial
hesitation and began to chant verses from the book. I had sung about
fifteen when the bell for the evening meal rang. All the time I was
chanting I could feel Sri Bhagavan keenly observing me. It seemed
that the light of his eyes was suffusing my consciousness, even
without my being conscious of it. His silent gaze brought about a
subtle but definite transformation in me. The darkness, which a few
minutes before had seemed heavy and unbearable, gradually lightened
and melted into a glow of well-being. My erstwhile sadness completely
disappeared, leaving in my heart an inexplicable emotion of joy. My
limbs appeared to have been washed in an ocean-tide of freedom.
That evening I sat close to Sri Bhagavan in the dining room. In my
exalted state the food I ate seemed to have an unusual and unearthly
taste. I quite literally felt that I was participating in some
heavenly meal in the direct presence of God. After having such an
experience I, of course, abandoned all thought of leaving the ashram
that night. I stayed on for three days longer in order to widen the
sacred and extraordinary experience which had already begun, an
experience of divine grace which I felt would lead me in the
direction of spiritual liberation.
During the three days of my stay in the proximity of the Divine
Master, I found my whole outlook entirely changed. After that short
period I could find little evidence of my old self, a self which had
been tied down with all kinds of preconceptions and prejudices. I
felt that I had lost the chains which bind the eyes of true vision. I
became aware that the whole texture of my mind had undergone a change.
The colours of the world seemed different, and even the ordinary
daylight took on an ethereal aspect. I began to see the foolishness
and the futility of turning my gaze only on the dark side of life.
In those few days Sri Bhagavan, the divine magician, opened up for me
a strange new world of illumination, hope and joy. I felt that his
presence on earth alone constituted sufficient proof that humanity,
suffering and wounded because of its obstinate ignorance, could be
uplifted and saved. For the first time I fully understood the
significance of 'darshan'.
While I lay in bed in the guest room of the ashram, the encounter
which had taken place on the train in Bombay replayed itself in my
mind. I recalled the blind audacity which had prompted me to drop the
thrice-holy vibhuti in contempt onto the floor of the railway
carriage. Today, even one speck of such vibhuti is a treasure to me.
"O Master," I thought to myself, "what a miracle of transformation!
Why did it take half a lifetime before I could meet you? Half a
lifetime of blundering, of failing and falling. But I suppose, my
Master, that you would say that time is a mental concept. For I feel
that in your sight your bhaktas have, throughout all time, always
been with you and near you. As these thoughts were passing through my
mind, I slowly fell into a deep sleep. The next morning I arose in a
rejuvenated state; there was a new vigour in my limbs and an
awareness that my heart was permeated with light. On the third day of
my visit I sadly took leave of Sri Bhagavan. I was still human enough,
still caught in the sense of time and space, for the parting to leave
me with a feeling of aching and emptiness in the heart. But there was
no despair. Something assured me that I would be returning to the feet
of the Master sooner than I could imagine.
My intuition turned out to be correct. In the following years repeated
visits seemed to be miraculously and easily arranged by the Master. He
seemed to know that I felt an occasional need to be close to him
physically. In the years that followed, each succeeding visit
deepened the light within, toned up my nerves and suffused my senses
with an increasing experience of exhilaration.
In 1945 I decided to wind up my printing press in Bombay in order to
go and settle at Sri Ramanasramam. I had no pre-arranged plan for
closing down my business; I merely relied on Sri Bhagavan. And he in
turn responded to my devout prayer.
In the early hours of the morning, while I was still in my bed and
only half awake, I saw a vision in which Sri Bhagavan appeared before
me. By his side stood a gentleman whom I recognised as a friend of
mine. He had neither been to the ashram nor had he ever exhibited any
faith in Sri Bhagavan or me:
Bhagavan: You want to sell your press, don't you?
Me: Yes, Bhagavan, but I must find a buyer.
Bhagavan: (showing my friend standing by his side) Here is the buyer.
He will buy your press, so sell it to him.
Me: Since Sri Bhagavan has been kind enough to show me the buyer, may
he also favour me by stating the amount at which I should execute the
sale?
Sri Bhagavan then showed me five figures on the opposite wall which
were shining like a neon sign. The amount indicated to me was quite
reasonable, neither low or exorbitant.
Sri Bhagavan and my friend then disappeared from my sight and the
vision ended. By itself the vision was astonishing enough, but there
was more to come. When I entered my press that day at 11 a.m., my
friend from the vision was waiting there for me. Of course, he had
come to see me about some other work and had no idea that he had been
singled out as a prospective buyer. Feeling that Sri Bhagavan had sent
him to me, I told him about the vision that had come to me a few hours
before. He listened to me very attentively. When I had finished my
tale he simply commented, "I will buy your press at the price
indicated by your Guru."
There was no limit to my joy. My desire to sell was fulfilled by his
grace and the sale was completed in less than a minute.