Darshan of the Jñani - 2 ~ Atma Vichara

Om Namo Bhagavathe Sri Ramanaaya

Many years and many adventures occurred for Lakshmana Swami in the ensuing

years. In 1960 a baby girl was born in Andhra Pradesh. She found her way to

Swami at the age of 14 and immediately became his disciple. Four years after

that, her ego had become dissolved; the dramatic process had started, in 1978,

whilst she was visiting her sister in Bangalore. Her only thought at that time

had been to get back to Swami, and so she managed somehow to return to her home

in Gudur, Andhra Pradesh where Lakshmana's ashram was based. It was after her

home-coming that the process had been completed under the auspices of Sri

Lakshman.

The lady in question is Saradamma, re-named Mathru Sri Sarada after the

destruction of her ego by the Grace of Swami, and about fourteen years ago

their house was built in Tiruvannamalai, where Lakshman now spends his days in

seclusion. However he gives three public darshans a year : at Karthikai Deepam,

at Christmas, and on New Year's Day.

So we roll the clock forward to December 7th, 2003. It was a cool morning with a

nip in the air, and I was trying to work out what cover to put over my shoulders

to keep out the cold. It was not so easy because I knew that whatever I put on

now would become too hot for comfort once the sun had ascended, and I think

I'd settled for a light fleecy cowl to wear over the head...

Picking our way over the dried up Samudra Lake is always for me a meditation in

itself, as the knowledge that Bhagavan himself had once ventured out this far

on one occasion adds a special sanctity to the occasion, a piquant touch with

which the day's events were to be well imbued.

Finding that we were early, I suggested that we have a cup of coffee first in

the Seshadri Swamigal Ashram, to which my companions agreed; rather stoically

in retrospect I think, as I'd completely forgotten about the activities of the

Karthikai Deepam Festival, and my mates had been too polite to throw this up as

a reason why we should not go. So we were soon battling, pushing, shoving and

being shoved by the huge crowds which were well in evidence even at this early

stage. Looking back on that morning now, I realise how the wandering mind which

plagues us oft in meditations, had been actively reflected in the

outward-projected world that day. And so it was that having been far too early

for the darshan, it now appeared that we would be late if we didn't make haste

— and so there was a hastening and quick-stepping to be in time for the

occasion.

A crowd of over a hundred people had gathered outside Swami's Residence, the

gates had opened just as we approached, and in file we entered in and took our

places. I remember as we settled down that there was the unmistakable sound of

mustard seeds jumping around in a cooking vessel nearby —the tempting aroma of

a tiffin snack being prepared.

I heard the creak of a door over to my left, and on that signal everyone stood

up, their hands in Namaskaaram as Swami approached. Being a small person, all I

could see was people's backs, and a twinge of remorse was felt at not being able

to see him walking in. After a respectful gap, the members sat down again, and

something like a deep ripple went through me as I realised I was looking

directly at Swami Lakshman. I was face to face with the man who had had his ego

dissolved by the Maharshi in 1949, as described in the previous posting — and it

continues to make deep reverberations through everything I am right up to this

very day.

Swami was seated in a chair, his slender body clothed in white dhoti and

matching top. His hands were very slender, thin and delicate. His countenance

was remarkable, his white beard reminding me so much of the Maharshi Himself —

his face was distant, as though fixed on the infinity with which we somehow

never permit ourselves to be aware; and yet there was also the unmistakeable

presence of Awareness, and often a twinkle would come into his eye which made

me want to laugh out loud with joy. For a good twenty minutes we all sat in

Silence as I saw that remarkable face morph and change into that of the

Maharshi, and then back into itself again. After some time his throat muscles

moved, and he opened his mouth to speak, saying quietly and softly, in English:

"I cannot add anything to what my Master Sri Bhagavan Ramana Maharshi taught me:

that during our meditation, when thoughts disturb, we must ask. Do whom do these

thoughts occur? Upon receiving the answer To me, we should immediately and

persistently take up the enquiry again with Who Am I? and Where is the Source

of this 'I' ? In that way, given time and patience and persistence, the

I-thought will go back to its Source. Remain there", at which point Swami went

on to relate the events which had been outlined in the previous post on this

short series.

It was a shock, both stunning and thrilling, to be sitting in the Presence and

hearing that this really was the correct way to do it; all that was needed was

to redouble the effort and practise and persevere. To be so close to the man

who had not been able to gain access to the Maharshi's Hall on that fateful

day; to be so close to the man whose ego-life had ended outside the New Hall.

Muruganar himself had come away from Bhagavan, as if on an invisible command

from The Maharshi, to sit right by his side, tenderly in watch during the last

moments of his samsara existence, as Lakshman's tenuous ego had plunged,

deeply to drown in the Heart-Self, thereafter to awaken into Eternal Bliss.

Throughout much of 2003, the same instructions had been repeatedly told to me

here in green England, by an esteemed member of this list. I'd been in contact

with him over some period of time during last year over some linguistic

matters when in due course I'd been informed, via one of the group moderators,

that this member had already brought the vichara to its completion. My initial

reaction had been one of complete shock, as I'd always regarded him as being

more of a 'mate' or buddy than a jñani, and my first step had been to stop all

emails and contact in general, being afraid that on occasions I'd been much too

jaunty and had failed to show sufficient respect.

The point of all this is that the advice had been exactly the same. By this

member's persistent urging me on in this way, the soil of the mind had been

tilled and tended and the set seeds germinated. Now, sitting in front of

Lakshmana Swami, a further shower of Grace had descended, gently fertilizing

the process with its fecund atmosphere. A deep inner homage was paid to Swami

and soon he had relapsed back into silence.

I now found out what the early spluttering of seeds and smells of cooking was

all about; the darshan being almost at an end, servers were coming out with

stainless-steel buckets of prasad. Carefully stepping amongst the seated

pilgrims, a scoop of suuNtal made with chick-peas was ladled into each eagerly

outstretched hand. I can well remember the experience of the warm spicy snack

going into my mouth; I remember the flavours bursting and dancing around the

gymnasium of my palette during the slow chew, and I remember looking at Swami

in awe and wonder, whilst eating the prasad, in the knowledge that he was

feeding me in every way, by look and by mouth and indeed by all the sense

organs.

The darshan over, we left the house, and slowly began our trek back home, moving

over the grounds of the Government Arts College.

For some reason, as this reflective walk was in progress, I shut my eyes in

order to block out the mundane world, in an attempt to recapture the Swami

image on the screen of my mind, — although the experience had been so powerful

that it really didn't seem to make much difference whether the eyes were open

or closed. The Atma Vichara had already started, a living vibrant process far

removed from the perceived notion of its being a lifeless, harsh, and difficult

thing. It was a thrilling trek and joyous discovery, and I wanted to recreate

those precious moments of sitting in the Presence in my mind and to see

Lakshman again. I closed my eyes, but for some reason, the image of Swami

simply would not come.

In its place, the only picture I saw was that of Mathru Sri Sarada, Saradamma,

who is Swami's spiritual successor.

anbudan

---

Om Namo Bhagavathe Sri Ramanaaya

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Om Namo Bhagavathe Sri Ramanaaya

Many years and many adventures occurred for Lakshmana Swami in the ensuing

years. In 1960 a baby girl was born in Andhra Pradesh. She found her way to

Swami at the age of 14 and immediately became his disciple. Four years after

that, her ego had become dissolved; the dramatic process had started, in 1978,

whilst she was visiting her sister in Bangalore. Her only thought at that time

had been to get back to Swami, and so she managed somehow to return to her home

in Gudur, Andhra Pradesh where Lakshmana's ashram was based. It was after her

home-coming that the process had been completed under the auspices of Sri

Lakshman.

The lady in question is Saradamma, re-named Mathru Sri Sarada after the

destruction of her ego by the Grace of Swami, and about fourteen years ago

their house was built in Tiruvannamalai, where Lakshman now spends his days in

seclusion. However he gives three public darshans a year : at Karthikai Deepam,

at Christmas, and on New Year's Day.

So we roll the clock forward to December 7th, 2003. It was a cool morning with a

nip in the air, and I was trying to work out what cover to put over my shoulders

to keep out the cold. It was not so easy because I knew that whatever I put on

now would become too hot for comfort once the sun had ascended, and I think

I'd settled for a light fleecy cowl to wear over the head...

Picking our way over the dried up Samudra Lake is always for me a meditation in

itself, as the knowledge that Bhagavan himself had once ventured out this far

on one occasion adds a special sanctity to the occasion, a piquant touch with

which the day's events were to be well imbued.

Finding that we were early, I suggested that we have a cup of coffee first in

the Seshadri Swamigal Ashram, to which my companions agreed; rather stoically

in retrospect I think, as I'd completely forgotten about the activities of the

Karthikai Deepam Festival, and my mates had been too polite to throw this up as

a reason why we should not go. So we were soon battling, pushing, shoving and

being shoved by the huge crowds which were well in evidence even at this early

stage. Looking back on that morning now, I realise how the wandering mind which

plagues us oft in meditations, had been actively reflected in the

outward-projected world that day. And so it was that having been far too early

for the darshan, it now appeared that we would be late if we didn't make haste

— and so there was a hastening and quick-stepping to be in time for the

occasion.

A crowd of over a hundred people had gathered outside Swami's Residence, the

gates had opened just as we approached, and in file we entered in and took our

places. I remember as we settled down that there was the unmistakable sound of

mustard seeds jumping around in a cooking vessel nearby —the tempting aroma of

a tiffin snack being prepared.

I heard the creak of a door over to my left, and on that signal everyone stood

up, their hands in Namaskaaram as Swami approached. Being a small person, all I

could see was people's backs, and a twinge of remorse was felt at not being able

to see him walking in. After a respectful gap, the members sat down again, and

something like a deep ripple went through me as I realised I was looking

directly at Swami Lakshman. I was face to face with the man who had had his ego

dissolved by the Maharshi in 1949, as described in the previous posting — and it

continues to make deep reverberations through everything I am right up to this

very day.

Swami was seated in a chair, his slender body clothed in white dhoti and

matching top. His hands were very slender, thin and delicate. His countenance

was remarkable, his white beard reminding me so much of the Maharshi Himself —

his face was distant, as though fixed on the infinity with which we somehow

never permit ourselves to be aware; and yet there was also the unmistakeable

presence of Awareness, and often a twinkle would come into his eye which made

me want to laugh out loud with joy. For a good twenty minutes we all sat in

Silence as I saw that remarkable face morph and change into that of the

Maharshi, and then back into itself again. After some time his throat muscles

moved, and he opened his mouth to speak, saying quietly and softly, in English:

"I cannot add anything to what my Master Sri Bhagavan Ramana Maharshi taught me:

that during our meditation, when thoughts disturb, we must ask. Do whom do these

thoughts occur? Upon receiving the answer To me, we should immediately and

persistently take up the enquiry again with Who Am I? and Where is the Source

of this 'I' ? In that way, given time and patience and persistence, the

I-thought will go back to its Source. Remain there", at which point Swami went

on to relate the events which had been outlined in the previous post on this

short series.

It was a shock, both stunning and thrilling, to be sitting in the Presence and

hearing that this really was the correct way to do it; all that was needed was

to redouble the effort and practise and persevere. To be so close to the man

who had not been able to gain access to the Maharshi's Hall on that fateful

day; to be so close to the man whose ego-life had ended outside the New Hall.

Muruganar himself had come away from Bhagavan, as if on an invisible command

from The Maharshi, to sit right by his side, tenderly in watch during the last

moments of his samsara existence, as Lakshman's tenuous ego had plunged,

deeply to drown in the Heart-Self, thereafter to awaken into Eternal Bliss.

Throughout much of 2003, the same instructions had been repeatedly told to me

here in green England, by an esteemed member of this list. I'd been in contact

with him over some period of time during last year over some linguistic

matters when in due course I'd been informed, via one of the group moderators,

that this member had already brought the vichara to its completion. My initial

reaction had been one of complete shock, as I'd always regarded him as being

more of a 'mate' or buddy than a jñani, and my first step had been to stop all

emails and contact in general, being afraid that on occasions I'd been much too

jaunty and had failed to show sufficient respect.

The point of all this is that the advice had been exactly the same. By this

member's persistent urging me on in this way, the soil of the mind had been

tilled and tended and the set seeds germinated. Now, sitting in front of

Lakshmana Swami, a further shower of Grace had descended, gently fertilizing

the process with its fecund atmosphere. A deep inner homage was paid to Swami

and soon he had relapsed back into silence.

I now found out what the early spluttering of seeds and smells of cooking was

all about; the darshan being almost at an end, servers were coming out with

stainless-steel buckets of prasad. Carefully stepping amongst the seated

pilgrims, a scoop of suuNtal made with chick-peas was ladled into each eagerly

outstretched hand. I can well remember the experience of the warm spicy snack

going into my mouth; I remember the flavours bursting and dancing around the

gymnasium of my palette during the slow chew, and I remember looking at Swami

in awe and wonder, whilst eating the prasad, in the knowledge that he was

feeding me in every way, by look and by mouth and indeed by all the sense

organs.

The darshan over, we left the house, and slowly began our trek back home, moving

over the grounds of the Government Arts College.

For some reason, as this reflective walk was in progress, I shut my eyes in

order to block out the mundane world, in an attempt to recapture the Swami

image on the screen of my mind, — although the experience had been so powerful

that it really didn't seem to make much difference whether the eyes were open

or closed. The Atma Vichara had already started, a living vibrant process far

removed from the perceived notion of its being a lifeless, harsh, and difficult

thing. It was a thrilling trek and joyous discovery, and I wanted to recreate

those precious moments of sitting in the Presence in my mind and to see

Lakshman again. I closed my eyes, but for some reason, the image of Swami

simply would not come.

In its place, the only picture I saw was that of Mathru Sri Sarada, Saradamma,

who is Swami's spiritual successor.

anbudan

---

Om Namo Bhagavathe Sri Ramanaaya

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