Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi

Early Years

The Scriptures tell us that it is as difficult to trace the path a sage pursues as it is to draw a line marking the course a bird takes in the air while on its wings. Most humans have to be content with a slow and laborious journey towards the goal. But a few are born as adepts in flying non-stop to the common home of all beings - the supreme Self. The generality of mankind takes heart when such a sage appears. Though it is unable to keep pace with him, it feels uplifted in his presence and has a foretaste of the felicity compared to which the pleasures of the world pale into nothing.

Countless people who went to Tiruvannamalai during the life-time of Maharshi Sri Ramana had this experience. They saw in him a sage without the least touch of worldliness, a saint of matchless purity, a witness to the eternal truth of Vedanta. It is not often that a spiritual genius of the magnitude of Sri Ramana visits this earth. But when such an event occurs, the entire humanity gets benefited and a new era of hope opens before it.

About thirty miles south of Madurai in Tamil Nadu, India, there is a village called Tiruchuli with an ancient Siva temple about which two of the great Tamil saint-poets, Sundara-murti and Manikkavachakar, have sung. In this sacred village there lived in the latter part of the nineteenth century a pleader, Sundaram Aiyar by name,    with
his wife Alagammal. Piety, devotion and charity characterised this ideal couple. Sundaram Aiyar was generous even beyond his measure. Alagammal was an ideal Hindu wife. To them was born as their second son, Venkataraman ? who later came to be known to the world as Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi - on the 30th of December, 1879 was an auspicious day for the Hindus, the Ardra-darsanam day. On this day every year the image of the Dancing Siva, Nataraja, is
taken out of the temples in procession in order to celebrate the divine grace of the Lord that made Him appear before such saints as Gautama, Patanjali, Vyaghrapada, and Manikkavachakar. In the year 1879 too, on the Ardra day, the Nataraja Image of the temple at Tiruchuli was taken out with all the attendant ceremonies, and just as it was   about to re-enter, Venkataraman was born.
There was nothing markedly distinctive about Venkataraman’s early years. He grew up just as an average boy. He was sent to an elementary school in Tiruchuli, and then for a year’s education to a school in Dindigul. When he was twelve his father died. This necessitated his going to Madurai along with the family and living with his paternal uncle Subbaiyar. There he was sent to Scott’s Middle School and then to the American Mission   High        School. Though   highly intelligent, with a powerful memory, he was an indifferent student, not at all serious       about    his studies. He was a strong, healthy lad, and his schoolmates and other companions were afraid of his strength. If some of them had any grievance against him at any time, they would dare play pranks with him only when  he was asleep, for his sleep was unusually deep: he would not know of anything that happened to him during sleep. He would be carried away or even beaten without his waking up in the process.

From his childhood, Venkataraman intuitively felt that Arunachala was something grand, mysterious and almost unreachable. One day, in his sixteenth year, an elderly relative of his called on the family in Madurai. The boy asked him where he had come from. The relative replied, “From Arunachala.” The very name ‘Arunachala’ cast a spell on Venkataraman, and with an evident excitement he exclaimed, “What! From Arunachala! Where is it?” And he got the reply that Tiruvannamalai was Arunachala.
Referring to this incident the Sage says later on in one of his hymns to Arunachala:

Oh, great wonder! As an insentient hill it stands. Its action is difficult for anyone to understand. From my childhood it appeared to my intelligence that Arunachala was something very great. But even when I came to know through another that it was the same as Tiruvannamalai I did not understand its meaning. When, stilling my mind, it drew me up to it, and I came close, I found that it was the Immovable.

Quickly following the incident, which attracted Venkataraman’s attention to Arunachala, there was another event that aroused his deep spiritual leanings. He happened to see a copy of Sekkilar’s Periyapuranam which relates the lives of the famous sixty-three Saivaite saints. He read the book and was enthralled by it. This was the first book of religious literature that he read. The example of the saints fascinated him; and touched a deep chord in his heart. A longing arose in him to emulate the intense spirit of renunciation and love of God that marked the life of those saints.

Self-Realization

Venkataraman did not have to wait for long, nor had he to strive for it. It was about the middle of the year 1896; Venkataraman was not yet seventeen. One day he was sitting up alone on the first floor of his uncle’s house. He was in his usual robust health. But a sudden and unmistakable fear of death took hold of him. He felt he was going to die. Why this feeling should have come to him he did not know. The feeling of impending death, however, did not unnerve him. He calmly thought about what he should do. He said to himself: ‘Now, death has come. What does it mean? What is it that is dying? This body dies.’ Immediately he lay down stretching his limbs out and holding them stiff as though rigor mortis had set in. He held his breath and kept his lips tightly closed, so that to all outward appearance his body resembled a corpse. Now, what would happen? This was what he thought:

Well, this body is now dead. It will be carried to the burning ground and there burnt and reduced to ashes. But with the death, of this body am I dead? Is the body I? This body is silent and inert. But I feel the full force of my personality and even the voice of the “I” within me, apart from it. So I am the Spirit transcending the body. The body dies but the Spirit that transcends it cannot be touched by death. That means I am the deathless Spirit.

As Bhagavan Sri Ramana narrated this experience later on for the benefit of his devotees it looked as though this was a process of reasoning. But he took care to explain that this was not so. The realization came to him in a flash. He perceived the truth directly. ‘I’ was something very real, the only real thing. Fear of death had vanished once and for all. From then on, ‘I’ continued like the fundamental sruti note that underlies and blends with all the other notes.

Thus young Venkataraman found himself on the peak of spirituality without any sadhana what so ever. The ego was lost in the flood of Self-awareness. All of a sudden the boy who used to be called Venkataraman had been transformed into a sage and saint. He was now a full-fledged Jnani with perfect Self-knowledge.

A complete change occurred in the young sage’s life. The things that he had valued earlier now lost their value. The spiritual values that were ignored till then became the only objects of his attention. School, studies, friends, and relations – none of these had now any significance for him. He grew utterly indifferent to his surroundings. Humility, meekness, non-resistance and other virtues became his adornment. Avoiding company he preferred to sit alone, all-absorbed in concentration on the Self. He went to the Meenakshi Temple every day and experienced an exaltation every time he stood before the images of the gods and the saints. Tears flowed from his eyes profusely. The new vision was constantly with him. 

The Call of Arunachala

Venkataraman’s elder brother observed the great change that had come upon him. On several occasions he rebuked the boy for his indifferent and yogi-like behaviour. About six weeks after the great experience the crisis came. It was the 29th of August 1896. Venkataraman’s English teacher had asked him, as a punishment for indifference in studies, to copy out a lesson from Bain’s Grammar three times. The boy copied it out twice but stopped there, realizing the utter futility of that task. Throwing aside the book and the papers, he sat up, closed his eyes and turned inward in meditation. The elder brother who was watching Venkataraman’s behavior all the while went up to him and said: “What use is all this to one who is like this?” This was obviously meant as a rebuke for Venkataraman’s unworldly ways including the neglect of his studies. Venkataraman did not give any reply. He admitted to himself that there was no use pretending to study and be his old self. He decided to leave his home and he remembered that there was a place to go to, viz. Tiruvannamalai. But if he expressed his intention to his elders, they would not let him go. So he had to use guile. He told his brother that he was going to school to attend a special class that noon. The brother thereupon asked him to take five rupees from the box below and pay his college. Venkataraman went downstairs; his aunt served him a meal and gave him the five rupees. He took out an atlas which was in the house and noted that the nearest railway station to Tiruvannamalai mentioned there was Tindivanam. Actually, however, a branch line had been laid to Tiruvannamalai itself. The atlas was an old one, and so this was not marked there. Calculating that three rupees would be enough for the journey, Venkataraman took that much and left the balance with a letter at a place in the house where his brother could easily find it, and made his departure for Tiruvannamalai. This was what he wrote in that letter:

I have set out in quest of my Father in accordance with his command. It is on a virtuous enterprise that this has embarked, therefore let none grieve over this act and let no money be spent in search of this. Your college fees have not been paid. Two rupees are enclosed herewith.

Venkataraman did not sign the note. Instead, he concluded with four short dashes.

There was a curse on Venkataraman’s family – in truth, it was a blessing – that one member out of every generation should turn out to be a mendicant. This curse had been administered by a wandering ascetic who, it is said, begged alms at the house of one of Venkataraman’s forbears, and was refused. A paternal uncle of Sundaram Aiyar’s became a sannyasin; so did Sundaram Aiyar’s elder brother. Now, it was the turn of Venkataraman, although no one could have foreseen that the curse would work out in this manner. Perfect dispassion found a place in Venkataraman’s heart, and he left the confines of his uncle’s house to make the universe his home.

It was an epic journey that Venkataraman made from Madurai to Tiruvannamalai. About noon he left his uncle’s house. He walked to the railway station which was half a mile away. Fortunately the train was running late that day; otherwise he would have missed it. He looked up the table of fares and came to know that the third-class fare to Tindivanam was two rupees and thirteen annas. He bought a ticket and kept with him the balance of three annas. Had he known that there was a rail-track to Tiruvannamalai itself, and had he consulted the table of fares, he would have found that the fare was exactly three rupees. When the train arrived, he boarded it quietly and took his seat. A Maulvi who was also traveling entered into conversation with Venkataraman. From him Venkataraman learnt that there was train-service to Tiruvannamalai and that one need not go to Tindivanam but could change trains at Viluppuram. This was a piece of useful information. It was dusk when the train reached Tiruccirappalli. Venkataraman was hungry; he bought two country pears for half an anna and strangely enough even with the first bite his hunger was appeased. About three o’clock in the morning the train arrived at Viluppuram. Venkataraman got off the train there with the intention of completing the rest of the journey to Tiruvannamalai on foot.

At daybreak he went into the town and looked for the signpost to Tiruvannamalai. He saw a signboard reading ‘Mambalappattu’ but did not know then that Mambalappattu was a place en route to Tiruvannamalai. Before making further efforts to find out which road he was to take, he wanted to refresh himself, as he was tired and hungry. He went up to a hotel and asked for food. He had to wait till noon for the food to be ready. After eating his meal, he proffered two annas in payment. The hotel proprietor asked him how much money he had. When told by Venkataraman that he had only two and a half annas, he declined to accept payment. It was from him that Venkataraman came to know that Mambalappattu was a place on the way to Tiruvannamalai. Venkataraman went back to Viluppuram station and bought a ticket to Mambalappattu for which the money he had was just enough.

t was sometime in the afternoon when Venkataraman arrived at Mambalappattu by train. From there he set out on foot for Tiruvannamalai. About ten miles he walked, and it was late in the evening. There was the temple of Arayaninallur nearby, built on a large rock. 

He went there, waited for the doors to be opened, entered and sat down in the pillared hall. He had a vision there – a vision of brilliant light enveloping the entire place. It was no physical light. It shone for some time and then disappeared. Venkataraman continued sitting in a mood of deep meditation till he was roused by the temple priests who had to lock the doors and go to another temple three quarters of a mile away at Kilur for service. Venkataraman followed them, and while inside the temple he got lost in samadhi again. After finishing their duties the priests woke him up but would not give him any food. The temple drummer who had been watching the rude behaviour of the priests implored them to hand over his share of the temple food to the strange youth. When Venkataraman asked for some drinking water, he was directed to a Sastri’s house which was at some distance. On the way to that house he fainted and fell down. A few minutes later he rallied and saw a small crowd looking at him curiously. He drank some water, ate some food, and lay down and slept.

Next morning he woke up. It was the 31st of August 1896, the Gokulashtami day, the day of Sri Krishna’s birth. Venkataraman resumed his journey and walked for quite a while. He felt tired and hungry. So he wished for some food first, and then he would go to Tiruvannamalai, by train if that were possible. The thought occurred to him that he could dispose of the pair of gold earrings he was wearing and raise the money that was required. But how was this to be accomplished? He went and stood outside a house that happened to belong to one Muthukrishna Bhagavatar. He asked the Bhagavatar for food and was directed to go and ask his sister. The good lady was pleased to receive the young sadhu and feed him on the auspicious day of Sri Krishna’s birth. After the meal, Venkataraman went to the Bhagavatar again and told him that he wanted to pledge his earrings for four rupees in order that he may complete his pilgrimage. The rings were worth about twenty rupees, but Venkataraman had no need for that much money. The Bhagavatar examined the earrings, gave Venkataraman the money he had asked for, took down the youth’s address, wrote out his own on a piece of paper for him, and told him that he could redeem the rings at any time. Venkataraman had his lunch at the Bhagavatar’s house. The pious lady gave him a packet of sweets that she had prepared for Gokulashtami. Venkataraman took leave of the couple, tore up the address the Bhagavatar had given him – for he had no intention of redeeming the earrings – and went to the railway station. As there was no train till the next morning, he spent the night there. On the morning of the 1st of September 1896, he boarded the train to Tiruvannamalai. The travel took only a short time. Alighting from the train, he hastened to the great temple of Arunachaleswara. All the gates stood open – even the doors of the inner shrine. The temple was then empty of all people – even the priests. Venkataraman entered the sanctum sanctorum, and as he stood before his Father Arunachaleswara he experienced great ecstasy and unspeakable joy. The epic journey had ended. The ship had come safely to port.

The rest of what we regard as Ramana’s life – this is how we shall call him hereafter – was spent in Tiruvannamalai. Ramana was not formally initiated into sannyasa. As he came out of the temple and was walking along the streets of the town, someone called out and asked whether he wanted his tuft removed. He consented readily, and was conducted to the Ayyankulam tank where a barber shaved his head. Then he stood on the steps of the tank and threw away into the water his remaining money. He also discarded the packet of sweets given by the Bhagavatar’s wife. The next to go was the sacred thread he was wearing. As he was returning to the temple, not even considering the luxury of a bath for his body, there was a short, heavy downpour and he was thoroughly drenched.

Residing at the Holy Hill

The first place of Ramana’s residence in Tiruvannamalai was the great temple. For a few weeks he remained in the thousand-pillared hall. But urchins who pelted stones at him as he sat in meditation troubled him. He shifted himself to obscure corners and even to an underground vault known as Patala-lingam. Undisturbed he spent several days in deep absorption. Without moving he sat in samadhi, unaware of even the bites of vermin and pests.

But the mischievous boys soon discovered even this retreat and indulged in their pastime of throwing   potsherds  at  the

young Swami. There was at the time in Tiruvannamalai a senior Swami by name Seshadri. Those who did not know him took him for a madman. He sometimes stood guard over the young Swami, and drove away the urchins. At long last he was removed from the pit by devotees without his being aware of it and deposited in the vicinity of a shrine of Subrahmanya. From then on there was some one or other to take care of Ramana. The seat of residence had to be changed frequently. Gardens, groves, shrines – these were the places chosen to keep the Swami who himself never spoke. Not that he took any vow of silence; he just had no inclination to talk. At times texts like Vasistham and Kaivalya Navaneetam used to be read out to him. 

A little less than six months after his arrival at Tiruvannamalai, Ramana shifted his residence to a shrine called Gurumurtam at the earnest entreaty of its keeper, one Tambiranswami. As days passed and as Ramana’s fame spread, increasing numbers of pilgrims and sightseers came to visit him. After   about

a year’s stay at Gurumurtam, the Swami – locally he was known as Brahmana-Swami – moved to a neighboring mango orchard. It was here his paternal uncle, Nelliyappa Aiyar, traced him out. He was a pleader at Manamadurai. Having learnt from a friend that Venkataraman was then a revered Sadhu at Tiruvannamalai, he went there to see him. He tried his best to take Ramana along with him to Manamadurai. But the young sage would not respond. He did not show any sign of interest in the visitor. So, Nelliyappa Aiyar went back disappointed to Manamadurai. However, he conveyed the news to Alagammal, Ramana’s mother.

The mother went to Tiruvannamalai accompanied by her eldest son Nagaswamy. Ramana was then living at Pavalakkunru, one of the eastern spurs of Arunachala. With tears in her eyes Alagammal entreated Ramana to go back with her. But, for the sage there was no going back. Nothing moved him – not pitiable sobs of his mother. He kept silent and sat still

A devotee who had been observing the struggle of the mother for several days requested Ramana to write out at least what he had to say. The sage wrote on a piece of paper quite in an impersonal way:
	The Ordainer controls the fate of souls in accordance with their prarabdhakarma (destiny to be worked out in this life, resulting from the balance-sheet of actions in past lives). Whatever is destined not to happen will not happen, try as you may. Whatever is destined to happen will happen, do what you may to prevent it. This is certain. The best course, therefore, is to remain silent.
	Disappointed and with a heavy heart, the mother went back to Manamadurai. Sometime after this event Ramana went up the hill Arunachala, and started living in a cave called Virupaksha after a saint who dwelt and was buried there. Here also the crowds came, and among them were a few earnest seekers. These latter used to put him questions regarding spiritual experience or bring sacred books for having some points explained. Ramana sometimes wrote out his answers and explanations. One of the books that were brought to him during this period was Sankara’s Vivekachudamani which later on he rendered into Tamil prose. There were also some simple unlettered folk that came to him for solace and spiritual guidance. One of them was Echammal who, having lost her husband, son, and daughter, was disconsolate till the Fates guided her to Ramana’s presence. She made it a point to visit the Swami every day and took upon herself the task of bringing food for him as well as for those who lived with him. In 1903 there came to Tiruvannamalai a great Sanskrit scholar and tapasvin known Ganapati Sastri. By the age of 21 he had mastered Sanskrit, intently delved into all the major Puranas and Vedas, engaged in austere tapas at several holy places and had been awarded the title Kavyakantha (one who had poetry in his throat) by an august assembly of scholars and poets in North India. His father had initiated him into the secrets of the worship of the Divine Mother and he intently pursued the path set down by the ancient scriptures of the land. Ganapati had visited Ramana in the Virupaksha cave a few times, but once in 1907 he was assailed by  doubts  regarding   his   own spiritual practices. He ran up the hill, saw Ramana sitting alone in the cave, threw himself on the ground before the sage and appealed to him, saying, “All that has to be read I have read; even Vedanta Sastra I have fully understood; I have done japa to my heart’s content; yet I have not up to this time understood what tapas is. Therefore I have sought refuge at your feet. Pray enlighten me as to the nature of tapas.” Ramana silently rested his gracious eyes on Ganapati for some fifteen minutes, and then replied: If one watches whence the notion ‘I’ arises, the mind gets absorbed there; that is tapas. When a mantra is repeated, if one watches whence that mantra sound arises, the mind gets absorbed there; that is tapas. To the poet-scholar this came as a revelation, a new spiritual path opened to mankind, and he felt the grace of the sage enveloping him. He then proclaimed that henceforth Brahmana Swami, which Ramana was then called, should be addressed as Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi. He thoroughly surrendered himself to the Guru, composed Sanskrit hymns in his praise and also wrote the Ramana Gita, which explains Ramana’s teachings. From that day on the young sage was known as Ramana Maharshi, the Maharshi, or just Bhagavan by his devotees.

Mother Alagammal

Ramana’s mother, Alagammal, after her return to Manamadurai, lost her eldest son. Two years later, her youngest son, Nagasundaram paid a brief visit to Tiruvannamalai. She herself went there once on her return from a pilgrimage to Varanasi, and again during a visit to Tirupati. On this occasion she fell ill and suffered for several weeks with symptoms of typhoid. Ramana showed great solicitude in nursing her and restoring her to health. He even composed a hymn in Tamil beseeching Lord Arunachala to cure her of her disease. The first verse of the hymn runs as follows: “Oh Medicine in the form of a Hill that arose to cure the disease of all the births that come in succession like waves! Oh Lord! It is Thy duty to save my mother who regards Thy feet alone as her refuge, by curing her fever.” He also prayed that his mother should be granted the vision divine and be weaned from worldliness. It is needless to say that both the prayers were answered. Alagammal recovered and went back to Manamadurai. But not long after she returned to Tiruvannamalai; a little later her youngest son, Nagasundaram, who had meanwhile lost his wife leaving behind a son, followed her. It was in the beginning of 1916 that the mother came, resolved to spend the rest of her life with Ramana. Soon after his mother’s arrival, Ramana moved from Virupaksha to Skandasramam, a little higher up the hill. Here the mother received intense training in spiritual life. She donned the ochre robe and took charge of the Ashram kitchen. Nagasundaram too became a sannyasin, assuming the name Niranjanananda. Among Ramana’s devotees he came to   be   popularly known as 

Chinnaswami (the Younger Swami). In 1920 the mother grew weak in health and ailments incidental to old age came to her. Ramana tended her with care and affection, and even spent sleepless nights sitting up with her. The end came on May l9, 1922, which was the Bahulanavami day, in the month of Vaisakha. The mother’s body was taken down the hill to be interred

he spot chosen was at the southernmost point, between Palitirtham Tank and the Daksinamurti Mantapam. While the ceremonies were being performed, Ramana himself stood silently looking on. Niranjanananda Swami took his residence near the tomb. Ramana, who continued to remain Skandasramam, visited the tomb every day. After about six months he came to stay there, as he said later on, not out of his own volition but in obedience to the Divine Will. This was the genesis of Sri Ramanasramam. A temple, called Matrubhuteswara Mandiram was raised over the Mother’s Samadhi (tomb) and was consecrated in 1949. As the years rolled by the Ashram grew steadily, and people not only from India but from every continent of the world came to see the sage and receive help from him in their spiritual pursuits. 

Reminiscences

Ramana’s first Western devotee was F. H. Humphrys. He came to India in 1911 to take up a post in the Police service at Vellore. Given to the practice of occultism, he was in search of a Mahatma. His Telugu tutor introduced him to Ganapati Sastri, and Sastri took him to Ramana. The Englishman was greatly impressed. Writing about his first visit to the sage in the International Psychic Gazette, he said: 

Humphreys’ ideas of spirituality changed for the better as a result of his contact with Ramana. He repeated his visits to the sage and recorded his impressions in his letters to a friend in England that were published in the Gazette mentioned above. In one of them he wrote, “You can imagine nothing more beautiful than his smile.” And again, “It is strange what a change it makes in one to have been in his presence!”

The Sastriar told me to look the Maharshi in the eyes, and not to turn my gaze. For half an hour I looked Him in the eyes, which never changed their expression of deep contemplation… I could only feel His body was not the man; it was the instrument of God, merely a sitting motionless corpse from which God was radiating terrifically. My own sensations were indescribable… He is a man beyond description in His expression of dignity, gentleness, self-control, and calm strength of conviction.

Not only good people went to the Ashram. Sometimes bad ones turned up also – even bad sadhus. Twice in the year 1924 thieves broke into the Ashram in quest of loot. On the second of these occasions they even beat the Maharshi, finding that there was very little for them to take away. When one of the devotees sought the sage’s permission to punish the thieves, the sage forbade him, saying:
“They have their dharma, we have ours. It is for us to bear and forbear. Let us not interfere with them.” When one of the thieves gave him a blow on the left thigh, he told him: “If you are not satisfied you can strike the other leg also.” After the thieves had left, a devotee enquired about the beating. The sage remarked, “I also have received some puja,” punning on the word in Tamil (poosai) which means ‘worship’ but is also used to mean ‘blows’. The spirit of utter    harmlessness   that   permeated  the  sage  and his
environs made even animals and birds make friends with him. He showed them the same consideration that he did to the humans that went to him. When he referred to any of them, he used the form ‘he’ or ‘she’ and not ‘it’. Birds and squirrels built their nests around him. Cows, dogs and monkeys found asylum in the Ashram. All of them behaved intelligently – especially the cow Lakshmi. He knew their ways quite intimately. He would see to it that they were fed properly and well. And, when any of them died, the body would be buried with due ceremony.

		Life in the Ashram flowed on smoothly. With the passage of time more and more visitors came – some of them for a short stay and others for longer periods. The dimensions of the Ashram increased, and new features and departments were added – a home for the cattle, a school for the study of the Vedas,  a   department   for
publication, and the Mother’s temple with regular worship, etc. Ramana sat most of the time on a couch in what is known at the Old Hall, a silent witness to all that happened around him. It was not that he was not active. He used to stitch leaf-plates, dress vegetables, read proofs received from the press, look into newspapers and books, suggest lines of reply to letters received, etc., yet it was quite evident that he was apart from everything. His speech had the quality of silence, his movements that of stillness. There were numerous invitations for him to undertake tours. But he never moved out of Tiruvannamalai, and in the latter years not even out of the Ashram. Most of the time, everyday, people sat before him, mostly in silence. Sometimes some of them asked questions; and sometimes he answered them. It was a great experience to sit before him and to look at his beaming eyes. Many did experience time coming to a stop and a stillness and peace beyond description.

The golden jubilee of Ramana’s advent at Tiruvannamalai was celebrated in 1946 and a published souvenir was brought out to mark the occasion. In 1947 his health began to fail. He was not yet seventy, but looked much older. Towards the end of 1948 a small nodule appeared below the elbow of his left arm. As it grew in size, the doctor in charge of the Ashram dispensary cut it out. But
in a month’s time it reappeared. Surgeons from Madras were called, and they operated. The wound did not heal, and the tumour came again. On further examination it was diagnosed that the affliction was a case of osteosarcoma, an extremely painful form of bone cancer. The doctors suggested amputating the arm above the affected part. Ramana replied with a smile: “There is no need for alarm. The body is itself a disease. Let it have its natural end. Why mutilate it? Simple dressing of the affected part will do.” Two more operations had to be performed, but the tumour appeared again. Indigenous systems of medicine were tried, and homeopathy too. The disease did not yield to treatment. The sage was quite unconcerned and was supremely indifferent to suffering. He sat as a spectator watching the disease waste the body. But his eyes shone as bright as ever and his grace continued to flow towards all beings. Crowds came in large numbers. Ramana insisted that they should be allowed to have his darshan. Devotees profoundly wished that the sage should cure his body through an exercise of supernormal powers. Some of them imagined that they themselves had had the benefit of these powers which they attributed to Ramana. Ramana had compassion for those who grieved over the suffering, and he sought to comfort them by reminding them of the truth that Bhagavan was not the body: “They take this body for Bhagavan and attribute suffering to him. What a pity! They are despondent that Bhagavan is going to leave them and go away – where can he go, and how?”

		The end came on the 14th of April 1950. That evening the sage gave darshan to the devotees that came. All that were present in the Ashram knew that the end was nearing. They sat singing Ramana’s hymn to Arunachala with the refrain ‘Arunachala-Siva’. The sage asked his attendants to make him sit up. He opened his luminous and gracious eyes for a brief while; there was a smile; a tear of bliss trickled down
from the outer corners of his eyes; and at 8:47 the breathing stopped. There was no struggle, no gasping, none of the signs of death. At that very moment, a brilliant star-like object slowly moved across the sky, reached the summit of the holy hill, Arunachala, and disappeared behind it. It was seen in many parts of India, even as far as Bombay (Mumbai)