The Spiritual Heart
My travels in Tiruvannamalia, India take me to the heart of the Holy Mountain and the teachings of Ramana Maharishi.
In South India there is a lonely hill that is revered in Hindu sacred tradition and legendary history. Arunachala, the Holy Mountain in Tiruvannamalia, rises up as some anomaly thrown up by the earth under the stress of some violent volcanic eruption in the dim ages before even the coal-bearing strata were formed. The peak is imposing, yet it offers no pretty panorama of balanced proportions. Rather, it is ungainly with sides jagged and broken, whose face is a mass of jumbled rocks and thorny scrubs. This granite rock has been dated to the earliest epoch of our planet’s crust, long before dinosaurs moved their ungainly forms through the primeval forests that covered our earth. Arunachala is as ancient as the planet earth itself. The Tami traditions not only speak of the vast antiquity of this and other hills, but they assert that it’s older than the Himalayas. It’s believed to be a remnant of the vanished continent of sunken Lemuria, of which indigenous legends still keep a few records. A great seer, who lived at the foot of the mountain, spoke of the lost continent that once stretched all the way across the Indian Ocean, embracing Egypt, Abyssinia, and South India. There are similarities in the religion, society and monuments of the Dravidians in South India and those who settled on the Nile. It is believed that the culture of lost Lemuria was carried westward to mingle in Eygpt with that of Atlantis, which disseminated its civilization to many a distant place in the near east.
In the Hindu tradition, an early reference to Arunachala can be found in the classical text, Rigveda, and has made Tiruvannamalai one of the greatest Saivite (Siva) sites in India, with a sprawling 24-acre temple complex at the base of the mountain that attracts hundreds of thousands of pilgrims. Aranachula is considered to be a manifestation of Shiva. The story goes that Siva was mourning the loss of his wife Sati and, while wandering nude in the forests of Daruvana, he aroused the wives of certain sages. The jealous sages cursed the god’s linga (phallus) to fall off. As it touched the earth it grew to immense size like a great shining column. The gods Brahma and Vishnu saw it when its top had reached upwards beyond the clouds and its lower end was buried deep in the earth. They decided to investigate. Taking the form of a boar Vishnu dived into the depths of the primeval ocean to reach the base of the column, and Brahma taking the form of a swan flew up to its top. When they returned Vishnu honestly confessed that he could not find the foundations, while Brahma boasted that he had reached the summit. At this moment Siva appeared, denounced Brahma as a liar, praised Vishnu for his honesty. At the request of Vishnu, Shiva left part of his linga in its tejas, or fire form, on the Arunachala hill.
Once a year, in the Tamil month of Karthigai (November/December), at precisely 6 pm as the sun sets and the full moon rises, Saivites light a huge cauldron with 3 tons of ghee mixed with camphor on top of the mountain that burns for 10 days and the column of fire can be seen from miles away. This fire ceremony has been going on for thousands of years. Immense good fortune is promised to the worshipper who beholds the first flame that leaps out of the cauldron on the dark December night. In Skanda Purana, Shiva said: “Though in fact fiery, the dull appearance of a hill on this spot is because of grace and living solicitude for the spiritual uplift of the worlds. Here, I always abide as the perfect being. Meditate then that in the Heart of the Hill surges the spiritual glory within which is contained all the world… what cannot be acquired without infinite pains – the true meaning of the scriptures’ mystic revelation – is easily got by all who either directly gaze at this hill or even concentrate their thoughts upon it, if afar. I ordain that residence within a circle of 30 miles of this hill will suffice to burn off all defects and blend a man with the Supreme Spirit.”
There is an air of deep mysticism around the temple, the hill and its environs and has long been associated with many yogis and siddhars. More recently, Sri Ramana Maharishi (1879-1950), perhaps modern India's greatest sage, lived here for 53 years. He is the great Advaita Vedanta master who taught Atma-Vichara, or Self-inquiry, as the direct path to Self-realization. He directed people to look inward rather than outward for liberation and urged them to look towards the spiritual heart and ask the question, "Who am I?"
Word spread about the illuminated sage of Tiruvannamalia and many Western seekers came to visit. Frank Humphreys discovered Ramana in 1911, and wrote articles on him in The International Psychic Gazette. Paul Brunton first visited him in 1931 and claimed him to be “one of the last of India’s spiritual supermen,” a true yogi among many fakirs in his book, A Search in Secret India; Somerset Maugham modeled the spiritual guru in his 1944 novel, The Razor’s Edge, on Ramana. The French photographer, Henri Cartier-Bresson, was there at the time of his Maha Samadhi (death). Even the enlightened Indian sage, Paramahansa Yogananda, paid a visit. However, even as his fame spread, Sri Ramana maintained his belief in the power of silence only speaking on rare occasions, as well as his lack of concern for fame or criticism. His lifestyle remained that of a renunciate. He considered his own guru to be the Self, in the form of the sacred mountain Aranachula.
On the importance of Arunachala, Sri Ramana Maharishi wrote in Arunachala Mahatmyam: “While other holy places are sacred because they are the abodes of Lord Siva, Arunachala is Lord Shiva himself… It is this place that bestows jnana (Self-knowledge) and for those few who seek jnana, Arunachala always makes itself known through some means or other.” And so, after many years of hearing about Tiruvannamalai and Ramana Maharishi, Arunachala beckoned me and I experienced a very auspicious New Year 2010 under the full moon, Blue Moon and lunar eclipse.
Arunachaleswar Temple
The past few years, I’ve traveled to Mysore to study Ashtanga Yoga, but with the passing of the guru, Sri K Pattabhis Jois, on May 18, 2009, I decide to have a different kind of spiritual experience in India. I want to find a place, rather than a person, to be my teacher. My experience in the past with Native American culture and expeditions into wilderness taught me that the earth could be a spiritual teacher. I fly to Chennai and, after decompressing in the seashore temple town of Mahabalipuram, travel through a South Indian landscape of green rice paddies and coconut groves to the Holy Mountain. The cars slowly diminish and the road becomes populated with rural life – shepherds herd their goats, oxen pull heavily-loaded wooden carriages, women artfully balance anything on their heads from colourful plastic water jugs to 8 foot-long palm debris to be used for firewood. Sacred cows, homeless dogs and uniformed school children all jostle for space with bicycles, rickshaws, taxis and the odd lorry. I enter a world of people and animals working together in nature. Images of locals bringing their livestock back from fields at dusk look like a romantic cliché of a bygone era. Time stands still.
I phoned several hotels only to discover that Tiruvannamalai is, indeed, a thriving, pilgrimage centre with few rooms available, none near the Ramana Maharishi ashram. I take a room at the Trishul Hotel, a modern Indian lodge in hot, dusty, noisy downtown centre. Not wanting to waste a moment, I walk through mud lanes, the temple bazaars and throngs of beggars to arrive at Arunachaleswar Temple. The entrance is an impressive gopuram (monumental tower), ornately carved in true Dravidian style that marks the point where we must leave behind all that is time-bound and limited in order to seek that which is eternal and infinite. I feel stuck by how palpable spirituality is in India – the constant reminder to rise above the existential worries of everyday existence. A guard, brings me back to mundane reality and reminds me to remove my shoes, as is customary when entering holy places. I contemplate whether to pay a few rupees to someone to watch my shoes, or keep them really safe and stuff them in my bag. My feet get filthy crossing the street to the temple and I wonder about the meaning of this custom.
Inside this portal to the divine, I’m awestruck by the sheer enormity of the temple complex connected by extensive corridors and inner/outer prakarams, or rampart walls, pierced on four sides with colossal towers rising 66 m high. The era of its founding is unknown; the complex grew over several millennia. The gopurams were erected between the 10th and 16th centuries. It was later refurbished during the Vijayanagara era (14th -17th C). I pass by several mysterious linga shrines and glimpse at a pantheon of deities associated with Shiva, all puja-ed up and decorated with red bindis on their foreheads, covered in flowers and adorned in exquisite silk. On the outer edges, there are others that seem forlorn, sadly forgotten dressed in tattered cloth as if there are too many to dress each day. Strange anthropomorphic stones are dressed up as Gods against a background of swastikas – the ancient Hindu symbol of peace. They’re not exactly beautiful, more occultist or fetishistic, from some secret Tamil past. I vow to return in daylight to see the intricate carvings, especially the one of Lord Siva dancing in an elephant's skin. But there is a dark energy here that might be from visiting at night, or that the stone is dark grey, or the mysterious shrines with ancient deities.
I arrive at the inner sanctum and pay 20 INR for ‘Special Darsan’ and am led to the front of the long queue by a priest. Darsan is the act of seeing and being seen by the Gods. It can be the beholding of an auspicious deity, person, or object. The experience is thought to be reciprocal and results in the blessing of the viewer and protects Hindus against demons and evil realities of mortal life. At the altar, Puja is made. Incense is burned, spirits evoked, flowers laid on a phallic Siva lingham, or ‘wand of light’. I’m blessed and receive Siva’s trademark horizontal line of white ash. I try to get out of the way of my own ignorance surrounding these ceremonies, and remain open to receive any blessings, or energy, that is meant for me, and trust that I will absorb what is intended.
In another hall, a group of devotees await another ‘special’ darsan, this time from the temple elephant. Children shyly hold out rupees that are adeptly accepted with its trunk and promptly given to its trainer (who I later found out was quite cruel), something it has done every day for the past 40 years. Children cower and squeal with delight as the trunk gently lands on their head. Everything is symbol of all that is human aspiring to be Divine, and all that is divine incarnating in the manifest world of shape and form. The temple has a spiritual weight perhaps accumulated from the prayers of millions of pilgrims dating back thousands of years. It’s the most functional and well-used temple I’ve been in and I see why it made of materials that last the stretches of time. There is something quite comforting about walking barefoot on the smooth granite floors, warm from the heat of the sun, treading the same path as millions of others, getting lost in the larger humanity.
On the way out, I visit the Pathala Linga shrine beneath the Thousand-Pillared Hall, where Sri Ramana Maharshi stayed when he first arrived in Tiruvannamalai. Absorbed in Samadhi, he didn’t notice the insects stinging him and vermin eating his body. Eventually, a local saint, Seshadri Swamigal, discovered him in the vault and had him removed and taken to the mountain where he remained to the end of his mortal life.
The Mountain Path
I get up early after a noisy night of surreal dreams, eat an iddly breakfast and take a rickshaw to the Sri Ramana Maharishi ashram. It’s a beautiful morning to climb Arunachala. The mountain path leads the way on a steady incline. My senses awaken to the song of birds, sweet fragrances of flowers, gentle wandering breezes and under early morning sunlight the entire hill takes on a pink glow. My lungs fill with fresh air and I feel a true connection with nature that gives me a great sense of joy. I walk mindfully on the path aware of the rise and fall of each footstep, in silence my bare feet feel the warm stone. I am totally conscious, immersed in the moment. I think how incredible it is that Sri Ramana Maharishi walked this very path decades ago. My footsteps blend into his and the path is wrapped in an aura of silence.
Towards the top, large rock slabs provide a perfect resting place with a spectacular vista of Tiruvannamalai. I sit down on a scorched boulder and contemplate the scene. From this height, the huge Arunachaleswar temple is the size of a toy structure, set amid straight streets and bazaars in the centre of this little township. The nine stately gate-towers rise in sculptural magnificence out of the square compound behind high enclosing walls. Year after year, Sri Ramana must have sat here and gazed at the same panorama, watching humanity from this lofty height and the life he had left behind. The world seems more remote and I feel a sense of detachment that allows me to feel like a witness, an observer, being both in and out of the world at the same time.
A little higher up, Sri Ramana’s hermitage, Skandashram, comes into view. It’s an enchanting spot, sheltered by a coconut grove and set against the steep cliffs of Arunachala. Two small rooms were built into a natural cave below giant boulders. The Maharishi lived here with his mother, Alagammal, until her death on May 19, 1922. It was at the end of that year that he permanently made his home at the bottom of the Hill in what is now Ramanashram. Alagammal cooked for her son and in his presence also attained liberation. Her room is now a shrine and her Samadhi is down below in the ashram.
The construction of Skandashram was a bit controversial as it involved quarrying of stone from the face of Arunachala and wouldn’t be allowed today. Not appropriate if you consider the mountain to be Siva himself. Under the auspices of the Reserve Forest it has become increasingly difficult even for sadhus to spend time in caves on the hill. In Thiruvanamalai: The Power and Glory of The Mountain Path, A.D.M. Panneerselvam writes:
"Here follows yet another proof to show that the Mountain itself is Lingam. No one can dare to carry on quarrying on the Hill for its (granite) stones. And Aranachula proclaimed it to the world through an incident. Once the devotees of Bhagavan Ramana Maharshi cut a stone slab from the hill and honoured their guru by seating him on it. And Ramana, the saint of the first order, had to suffer from cancer. It was a sport of Lord Siva."
A sadhu gives me a plant to chew and my thirst is quenched. The path descends steeply towards to Virupaksha Cave, past a waterfall with cool, crystal water that splashes out of a crevice in the rocks. The cave is in the shape of the mystic syllable “Om.” It is named after the great 13th C. saint, Virupaksha Deva, who spent most of his life here. He supposedly lived to be 450-years old and when he was finally ready to give up his body, he transformed to sacred ash. His remains are preserved inside the cave. Sri Ramana lived in this cave from 1899 to 1916. On one of the rare occasions that he spoke, and as an explanation as to why he taught through silence, he revealed that the blazing column of light in the shape of Arunachala communicated to him in silence and commanded him to be silent. It directed him to look within; gaze steady into the Self with the inner eye, and there liberation would be found.
An iron gate leads to a pleasant seating area where visitors can relax outside the cave. A Brahmin attendee performs his many tasks of the day. There is a small outer room with a collection of Sri Ramana’s books and the entrance to the cave. Inside, I see a mound covered with flowers that I later understand to be Virupaksha Deva’s ashes. I can feel heat radiating from the mound. Some places are so imbued with spiritual force that it can be felt as a pressure on the body, and this place is certainly one of them. It is a very powerful. I feel sucked into the warm womb of darkness and find a cushion on an elevated platform. An unbelievable serene sensation comes over me. I feel the energy of the cave supporting me on my spiritual path. I am able to sit in silence, a practice that I try to do each morning for many years, but in London my mind gets very agitated.
The Maharishi spent countless hours of intense spiritual absorption here, locked within the folds of his own spiritual heart. He sat as immobile as a rock, cross-legged in meditation. It was here that he wrote his first book, ‘Who am I?’ about Self-Inquiry, the non-dualist path to enlightenment and liberation. Its premise is similar to much Hindu and Yogic philosophy in so much as they maintain that all living beings desire to be happy, without misery, and what prevents us from attaining our natural state of bliss is the ego which perpetuates a notion of separateness, and hence, suffering. All enlightened masters have managed to see through this maya (delusion) to merge with the higher Self, Absolute Truth, or God.
To do this, Sri Ramana instructed people to look to the source from which every thought arises and ask the question, ‘Who am I?’ He knew that those did this would come in contact with the ‘spiritual heart,’ which he said lies “two digits to the right from the centre of the chest”, and the mind will subside and return back to its source. He came to the conclusion that the mind projects all thoughts. He said, “If we can set aside all thoughts and see, there will be no such thing as mind remaining separate; therefore, thought itself is the form of the mind. Other than thoughts, there is no such thing as the world. The place where even the slightest trace of the 'I' does not exist is Self. Self, itself, is the world; Self, itself, is 'I'; Self, itself, is God; all is the Supreme Self. The true Bhagavan resides in your Heart as your true Self. This is who, I, truly am."
I feel overwhelmed to actually be able to sit in Ramana’s cave and to walk the same path up the mountain that he did. Visitors come and go, but these distractions don’t disturb me. Occasionally, the wind carries the distant sounds of the bustling city into the cave to remind me how much humanity loves material existence. We have lost the reverence for spiritual life worshipped among the ancients. It seems our preoccupation with the external world has created all the problems that threaten our social fabric, peace of mind, and even our continued existence. A man sits in the same position Ramana did when he meditated – in a wide lotus with arms stretched on his knees and his head slightly lifted to one side. Perhaps the spirit of the great sage is inside his body? I feel so good there is no reason to leave. I have found my teacher. A voice tells me to stay in Tiruvannamalai and climb to the cave each day as my sadana, my spiritual practice. I decide to forgo my plans to tour through Tamil Nadu and do as little as possible. Do my yoga practice and climb the mountain. This is my first lesson. Walking back down the glorious mountain path my heart is bursting with joy. The path is coppery gold and the sky opal-coloured as the sun sinks into its nightly home. I wonder what kind of challenges the mountain will present to me. I hear it can be kind or make you walk through the fire.
Darsan & Satsangs
Back to reality at the foot of the mountain, I find a small room in a guest house surrounded by green rice paddies, and a great view of Arunachula, for £1 a night, hire an Indian push bike, and settle into rural life in Tiruvannamalai. There are very interesting people there, spiritual tourists, many in the 50s, 60s and 70s who have come here for decades. The atmosphere is spiritually charged with people practicing some form of yoga or another. Sadhus in saffon-coloured lungis and matted dreads are everywhere, sitting under giant banyan trees beside sacred tanks, begging along the streets or attending seva where they are fed at ashrams. The Ramanashram attracts a steady flow of devotees, Indian and Western who sit in the great meditation hall, walk clockwise around Sri Ramana’s samadhi, visit the excellent bookshop, and venture out into the nearby chai stalls. (These days the ashram has installed a mobile phone blocker in the Hall and some people are wary of dangerous emissions.) Women make delicious thali lunches in their houses for 50 INR; there are also excellent restaurants with internet access. People smile and it’s all very shanti. Everywhere Arunachala dominates the horizon, its triangular shadow constantly falls across my path, its peak often plumed with a milky-white cloud that stretches towards the heavens.
I see a mural of Gandhi that says, “The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated.” The Arunachala Animal Rescue Sanctuary is a clinic set up by an American man in his 70s. In the past few years, he has gathered up the many homeless dogs and spayed them, given them rabie shots, returned the healthy ones to the streets, and provides a home for the sick ones so they receive ongoing medical attention to the end of their days. As a result, there are 2,000 fewer homeless and starving dogs than there would have been without the clinic. He does exceptionally good work. The dogs are not in cages, but are together in compounds, and even though some are in a very poor way they wag their tails and look at me with unconditional love. It is a pure heart connection. Sri Ramana was also a great friend to the dogs.
I offer to do some karma yoga and end up helping five dogs dying of distemper. It’s very difficult work. They are in pain, shaking with a nervous disorder. They are scared and can’t eat by themselves and the terrible stench of urine and death is nauseating. A totally dedicated vet attends to their needs, day and night, and I do my best to alleviate their suffering by helping them to eat, talking to them so they know they are not alone. I play music, put jasmine flowers under their noses, stroke them and send loving kindness through Reiki. What Arunachala has thrown up is a challenge to deepen my sense of Ahimsa, of practicing kindness towards others, and truly cultivating a sense of compassion and love.
On Christmas morning, I cycle around the mountain and visit the temples and charismatic chai shops en route. One small temple has an interesting priest so I sit down hoping for some spiritual encounter. We banter about some Sanskrit yoga terms for about an hour or two, since I don't speak Tamil and he doesn’t speak English. I show him photos on my iPhone. Then this 60-year old priest, all Siva-ed up with three streaks of white ash on his forehead and a blood red bindi covering his agna chakra, rolls some excellent ganga as Siva worshippers do. Suddenly, he is giving me a massage and I can feel my body tense up. But, he is respectful and it feels more tantric than sexual, as if I am being tuned with the vibrations of Arunachala. Next, he tells me that the blanket we're sitting on is his bed and wants me to come back and sleep with him that night!! He points to the mountain and says “Siva,” which I interpret that to mean if I come back I could experience the sexual power of the great yogi ascetic. I laugh because I’ve seldom been asked out on a date in the past few years and what does the universe provide for me but some aged pundit!! He ties a Siva bracelet on my wrist and asserts that I am now his. Although it has been my practice to accept what the universe provides for me, I’m relieved when three pilgrims arrive into the temple and I can make a narrow escape. But, in India, where illusion is so palpable it can be difficult to discern the truth, a persistent thought arises asking me if I’m really going to give up an opportunity to have tantric sex with Siva? Would Pavrati have done that? A stronger thought insists that the experience would be nothing more than bad sex with an opportunistic sleaze bag!
One of the most popular things to do in Tiruvannamalai is to receive darsan with a local woman believed to have the light. Westerners pack out her shala, sitting cross-legged on the floor, in hope of being blessed. She is a small, mysterious woman who doesn’t look particularly happy. She arrives and sits down in a chair in the centre of the room and meditates, then stands up and looks each individual in the eye, as if peering into their soul, her eyes slowly moving from one end of the room to the other and back again, then she leaves silently as she came. I see a glimmer of light under her gaze while others seem overwhelmed by her presence. I understand that the external guru inevitably points us to the guru within, but my deep discerning mind questions this willingness to imbue others with spiritual powers in this way. Sri Ramana always directed people to look inward rather than seeking outside themselves for Realization.
I attend satsang, question and answer sessions about the spiritual path, particularly the Advaita path of Self-Inquiry. Mooji, a disciple of another revered Advita master, Papaji, is here, but in retreat with hundreds of his devotees. There are other silver-haired pony-tailed gurus driving around on Enfield Bullets. A Swiss German fellow is particularly good. He’s been in India for decades, sits like a rock in perfect Siddhasana, and truly seems to be a clear channel giving such insightful response that, for a moment, enlightenment seemed attainable. In one session, he speaks about the different forms of yoga – Hatha, Bhakti, Karma and Jnana yoga – and stresses the importance that when Hatha yogis are doing yoga their heart must open and the mind must discriminate. If not, it’s cold liberation. If Jnanis don’t incorporate the body, the knowledge will remain in the head. If the mind doesn’t stabilize for Bhakti yogis then they won’t succeed. The point is not to keep getting better and progressing – the techniques are tools that allow one to abide in the Self, to be in the present, in I-awareness. But, it’s not just being in the moment or the present, put having presence, which is timeless. The ultimate aim of these practices is to help you connect to your Self.
He reminds us that devotion should be a genuine yearning for moska, freedom and liberation, not an endless search. From the Advaita perspective what we are looking for is already here. We already are sat-chit-ananda, divine knowledge, existence and bliss, if we only knew it. What we need to do is get out of the way. Peel the layers of skin around the onion and remove the layers of delusion perpetuated by the ego that make us think we are separate from reality. The important task, he says, is to observe the mind continuously, as it takes us away from the Self and becomes entangled. The search is a gentle reminder to look in the right direction, where attention is possible. Otherwise, we’ll repeat the same patterns over and over until the universe hits us on the head. Listen to deep inner guidance. Make the intent to be honest and true to our Self. Guidance will come and circumstances will arrange themselves accordingly.
The ultimate guru is your own Self. The external guru is a manifestation of your inner guru and points your attention back to your Self. If you sincerely want to abide in the Self, the universe will provide and you will realise that you create your own suffering. Ramana Maharshi said, " God, Guru and Self are one and the same… Your true nature is that of infinite spirit. The feeling of limitation is the work of the mind. When the mind unceasingly investigates its own nature, it transpires that there is no such thing as mind. This is the direct path for all."
Giri Pradakshina
Giri Pradakshina is an ancient ritual where thousands of Siva devotees circumambulate Arunachala as an act of bhakti (love) for Siva and ultimate union with the Self. While it can be done at any time, certain times are considered more powerful. New Year’s Eve is particularly auspicious this year because it’s full moon, blue moon and lunar eclipse. Arunachala has always been renowned as the bestower of liberation, the destroyer of the ego, the remover of the false notion 'I am the body' - as the jnana-Guru par excellence. The whole hill is sacred. It is Siva himself. Just as we identify ourselves with a body, so Siva has chosen to identify himself with his hill. It is out of compassion to those who seek him that he has chosen to reveal himself in the form of a hill visible to the eye. According to Ramana, the word pradakshina has a very precise meaning: “The letter pra stands for removal of all kinds of sins; da stands for fulfilling desires; the syllable kshi stands for freedom from future births, na stands for giving deliverance through jnana.”
I join the throngs of saffron-clothed jnanis, or sadhus, and pilgrims walking the eight-mile circuit, barefoot, with the mountain on the right. It’s a festive occasion and the path is dotted with curious shrines and miniature temples, ancient tanks and sacred lingas stones. Food stalls offer exquisite Indian treats that taste like ambrosia from the gods. Priests perform puja in the temples. Flowers adorn statues of Nandi, the bull, who is Siva’s vehicle, and his son Ganesh. Fire is lit at altars and flames leap up towards the heavens. Arunachula is the blazing wild Hill of Fire - the fire of knowledge, jnanagni, - that burns all our worldly desires to ashes. I pass my hand through the flames and pray for guidance on my spiritual path, to destroy the ego and rest in my spiritual heart, to live the truth, and to have compassion for all living beings.
The act of walking around Arunachala is considered the highest form of satsang, and even those who don’t understand the spiritual implications of the act will benefit. The Tamil poet, Sri Sadhu Om, eloquently describes the spiritual benefits of Giri Pradakshina: “A cow grazing round and round its peg, does not know that the length of its rope is thereby decreasing. Similarly, when you go round and round Arunachala, how can your mind know that it is thereby subsiding? When the cow goes round more and more, at one point it will be bound tightly to its peg. Similarly when the mind lovingly goes more and more round Arunachala, which is Self, it will finally stand still in Self-abidance, having lost all it movements [vrittis].”
This echoes Yogic philosophy that states that the purpose of yoga is to still the mind, as an agitated wandering mind causes suffering. In Patanjali’s Yoga Sutras, verse 1.2 says, “Citta Vritta Nirodhah”, which means ceasing the fluctuations in the mind. Yoga is the control of the thought waves of the mind. It is the ability to direct the mind exclusively towards and object and sustain focus in that direction without any distractions.
The full moon peers down from an indigo sky, illuminating the dark ever-present silent shape of Arunachala. I am enchanted by its spiritual power. Its very presence gives me the strength to continue to walk its base. This unbeautiful mountain takes my heart and holds me captive. It imprisons me from the first moment my eyes glance at it until the last reluctant turning away of my head.
As I finish writing on 14 April, 2010, I realise that today is the anniversary of Sri Ramana Maharishi’s death. Sixty years ago, he shed his mortal coil. In November 1948, a tiny cancerous lump was found on his arm and was removed by the ashram doctor. Soon, another growth appeared and another operation performed by an eminent surgeon. The doctor told him that a complete amputation of the arm was required to save his life, but Ramana refused. He remained peaceful and unconcerned. As his condition worsened, he continued to be available for his thousands of visitors, even when his attendants urged him to rest. Reportedly, his attitude towards death was serene. To those who begged him to cure himself for the sake of his devotees, Sri Ramana is said to have replied, “Why are you so attached to this body? Let it go. Where can I go? I am here.”
By April 1950, Sri Ramana was too weak to go to the hall, and visiting hours were limited. Visitors would file past the small room where he spent his final days to get one final glimpse. Swami Satyananda, the attendant at the time, reports, “On the evening of 14 April 1950, we were massaging Sri Ramana's body. At about 5 o'clock, he asked us to help him to sit up. Precisely at that moment devotees started chanting ‘Arunachala Siva, Arunachala Siva’. When Sri Ramana heard this his face lit up with radiant joy. Tears began to flow from his eyes and continued to flow for a long time. Sri Ramana’s breathing became gradually slower and slower and at 8:47 p.m. it subsided quietly.”
The French photographer, Henri Cartier-Bresson, who was staying at the ashram prior to Sri Ramana’s passing, recounts the event: “It is a most astonishing experience. I was in the open space in front of my house, when my friends drew my attention to the sky, where I saw a vividly-luminous shooting star with a luminous tail, unlike any shooting star I had before seen, coming from the South, moving slowly across the sky and, reaching the top of Arunachala, disappeared behind it. Because of its singularity we all guessed its import and immediately looked at our watches – it was 8:47 – and then raced to the Ashram only to find that our premonition had been only too sadly true: the Master had passed into parinirvana at that very minute.”
The luminous star was seen in India as far away as Madras and Bombay and millions mourned Ramana Maharshi’s passing. A long article about his death in the New York Times concluded: “Here in India, where thousands of so-called holy men claim close tune with the infinite, it is said that the most remarkable thing about Ramana Maharshi was that he never claimed anything remarkable for himself, yet became one of the most loved and respected of all.” Indeed, despite the fame that surrounds him, Sri Ramana, did not publicise himself as a guru, never claimed to have disciples, and never appointed any successors. Instead, he remained in one place for 54 years, offering spiritual guidance to anyone of any background who came to him, and asking nothing in return. He viewed all who came to him as the Self rather than as lesser beings. He considered humility to be the highest quality. He said the deep sense of peace one felt around a jnani was the surest indicator of their spiritual state, that equality towards all was a true sign of liberation, and that what a true jnani did was always for others, not themselves.
I look at the photograph of Sri Ramana on my desk, a colour portrait of him against an emerald green background. His expression is so calm and serene. It radiates pure, unselfish love. I look into his brown eyes and my heart melts. I feel the depths of his compassion and humility. He has the kindest face I’ve ever seen. It creates a yearning in me to be kind. My heart opened in the presence of Arunachala and I’m most grateful. Sri Ramana taught in silence much of his life and it is believed he still teaches from beyond. At the time of his death he comforted his devotees with the words, “Where can I go? I am here.” You know what? I actually believe him. He continues to teach from his silence. I feel his presence from beyond and it gives me a serene sensation of peace.
© Heather Elton 2010