After he had given his two brief replies to Sri Ramana he did not speak again for another 13 years

 

Sri Ramana’s face was smiling ‘with more radiance than that of innumerable lightning flashes fused into one.

In that ineffable bliss tears of joy welled down in unending succession, and they could not be resisted.’’* Finally, the ‘I’-thought went back to its source, the picture of Ramana Maharshi disappeared and the Self absorbed his whole being. From that moment on the Self shone alone and the ‘I’-thought, the individual self, never appeared or functioned in him again. Lakshmana had realised the Self in the presence of his Guru and his ‘I’-thought was permanently destroyed. Commenting on his realisation many years later Sri Lakshmana said, ‘“The ‘I’ went back to its source, the Self, and disappeared without trace. The Self remained alone. It is eternal peace and bliss.”’  (...)

The two men looked at each other for a few seconds, and then Ramana Maharshi asked him where he had come from. Sri Lakshmana answered that he had come from Gudur.
‘“That’s in Nellore District, isn’t it?’’ asked Ramana. Sri Lakshmana replied that it was and no more words passed between them. Sri Lakshmana had not spoken since the moment of his realisation.
After he had given his two brief replies to Sri Ramana he did not speak again for another 13 years.
*

Swamy ignored all these events and continued to sit quietly in his room. When he was inside the room he only ever wore a kaupina (two small strips of cloth, one tied around the waist and the other covering the genitals) but none of the thousands of mosquitoes who shared the room with him ever bothered to bite him. The only other occupant of the room was a squirrel which used to sit on his lap while he was in samadhi. Swamy used to keep some peanuts near him and whenever he emerged from his samadhi state the squirrel would eat a few out of his hand.

*
Swamy moved into the hut at the end of October 1950 and was soon spending nearly all his time in a state ‘of Self-absorption that was so intense that he rarely became aware of either his body or the world. He sat motionless in the padmasana position for 20 hours each day and lay down on the mat for the other four hours to give his back and leg muscles a chance to rest.
The hut was infested with poisonous snakes and scorpions but Swamy ignored them, and for the most part they ignored him. His only serious accident occurred when a scorpion bit him in the eye while he was resting on the mat. The eye swelled up immediately and for several days Swamy thought that he would lose the sight in that eye; he was in great pain, and obviously seriously injured, but it never occurred to him to seek medical treatment. After four days the swelling subsided and he discovered that his sight was unim- paired. To avoid a repetition of this accident a bench was provided for him so that he could have his rest away from the snakes and scorpions that crawled on the floor. In one of his rare moments of normal waking consciousness he made a half-hearted attempt to drive away the snakes by flicking water at them. The snakes drank the water and then danced in front of him, as if asking for more.
After that he left them alone.
*
A large party of 500 women, accompanied by a few men, walked to his hut and insisted that they too should be given darshan. This time Swamy refused to come out. The crowd, refusing to be deterred from its intention of having darshan, hit upon a novel way of getting to see him. The mud walls of the hut were quite low and the beams and supports for the leaf roof rested on top of them. The 500 women positioned themselves at strategic points around the hut and tried to lift the roof completely off the building so that they could peer over the walls and have a look at Swamy. When Swamy discovered what they were trying to do he admitted defeat and opened his door. His intention was to come out and see the women, but when the door opened, the weight of the pressing crowd, all eagerly converging on him, pushed him back into the hut. Within a few seconds he found himself trapped in a corner by about 60 agitated women. The women outside the hut were even more agi- tated because they had not been able to get in, and it was some time before some semblance of order was restored. Swamy sat in his corner and looked helplessly at the confused scene in front of him:

‘‘There were no volunteers to help me, and since I was keeping mouna [silence] I couldn’t say anything. I just sat down and waited to see what would happen.” Eventually, the women formed them- selves into a line. One by one they all appeared before him, had his darshan, prostrated and then left. Swamy was sitting cross-legged on the floor with the soles of his feet sticking out on each side. One woman touched both soles simultaneously with her index fingers and then rubbed the fingers on her face, just under each eye. All the women behind her thought that this was a good idea and they all adopted the same practice when their turn came. Swamy didn’t like being touched and he tried to deter the women by closing his eyes, looking as severe as possible, and pretending that he was in samadhi. The rest of the women suddenly became afraid. Thinking that he was angry with them, and that he might put a curse on them if they offended him any more, the rest of the women restricted themselves to a darshan and a prostration. When the last of the women had prostrated and left he thankfully closed his door and went back to his life of solitude.
*
Swamy was not keeping away from devotees as a matter of principle; he told me that if any good devotees had come to his hut seeking Self-realisation he would have been happy to teach them.
Apparently none came during this period and so no teachings were given. Swamy says that the people who came to his hut were either curiosity seekers or people wanting their desires fulfilled. He had no interest in either category of visitor. Swamy has a particularly low opinion of the people who came to see him on darshan days. When he reminisces about this period he usually refers, disparagingly, to the people who came to see him as ‘the mob’.
*
In between the darshan days Swamy ignored all the casual visitors and sat quietly in his room; he never made any attempt to attract devotees. While he was sitting there he had become aware that eventually a young girl would come to him from East Gudur.
Swamy knew that this girl would be spiritually advanced and that she would be ready for Self-realisation when she came. He was content to sit quietly, awaiting her arrival. He had a rough idea of what she would look like because he had seen an image of her as a 10-12 year old girl while he was sitting in his hut. Swamy had no idea how long it would be before she came, he only knew that one day she would come to see him. Twice a year, on darshan day, he would scrutinise the line of people as it filed past his hut, but he never saw anyone whom he considered to be an advanced devotee, and none of the visitors corresponded to the image of the girl he had seen. The girl from East Gudur was Sarada, but Swamy was not destined to see her for more than 20 years.
*
Sri Lakshmana’s privacy was still occasionally disturbed by visitors who wanted to talk to him or have his darshan. One man came and called out to Swamy, “You are a jnani [one who has real- ised the Self] and I am also a jnani. You must come out of the hut and give me darshan.’’ Swamy would normally ignore such people when they came, but on this occasion he passed a note out through his window which read, “If we are both jnanis, who is there to give darshan, and to whom?’’. The man stayed about an hour and then went away. Other people were far more persistent. One such man turned up at 8 p.m. one evening in a slightly drunk condition.
“Swamy!” he cried, “I am your boyhood friend. You are now a great swami but I am a bad man. Why have things turned out like this? Make me like you.

Please give me your teachings.’ The man was in fact a childhood acquaintance of Swamy, but he had not known him very well. When he first started to shout outside the hut Swamy ignored him, but when it became clear that he was not going to leave without some sort of answer, Swamy wrote a s/oka from the Bhagavad Gita (chapter 6, verse 5) on a slip of paper and passed it out through the window. There was no light in or near Swamy’s hut so the man had to take the note to the toddy shop nearby to read It.

The verse read: ‘“‘Let a man lift himself by himself; let him not degrade himself; for the Self alone is the friend of the self and the Self alone is the enemy of the self.”’ The message, although appro- priate, was much too abstruse for a man who was partly drunk and who had no knowledge of spiritual philosophy. He returned to Swamy’s hut, shouted that he didn’t understand the message and asked Swamy to show him what he should do. This time Swamy made no reply. The man then became angry and started to abuse him. Finally, he threatened to burn the hut down if Swamy didn’t answer his questions. When Swamy still declined to give an answer he took out a matchbox and was about to strike a match when he saw a huge cobra on the roof of the hut. It was no ordinary snake; it appeared to him to have five heads. As the snake started sliding towards him he panicked, dropped his matchbox, and started running towards Gudur. The cobra followed him and apparently moved just fast enough to keep him in sight. The man looked over his shoulder several times, and each time he saw that the five-headed cobra was still pursuing him. On the last occasion he saw it he was half a mile from Swamy’s hut.
This man still lives in Gudur and he is still insisting that a five-headed cobra chased him all the way back to town. Whatever the truth of the matter it was certainly a traumatic experience for him.
He gave up drinking, reformed his character a little, and years later, when Swamy was more accessible, he visited the ashram a few times to have his darshan.
*
In 1959 a local advocate, who visited Swamy occasionally, lost his only son. The boy, aged four, died after a sudden illness. Full of grief he wrote to Swamy asking him to explain why his son had to die at such an early age. He also wanted to know if the boy’s death was inevitable and predetermined, and if so, what possible reason could there be for putting a child on this earth for less than five years. Swamy wrote him a fairly long reply which fortunately has been preserved.

Death is inevitable to every born individual. Similarly, birth is inevitable to every dead person. Why do you grieve over inevitable happenings? You are saying that he is your child. Supposing that the child lived for 65 years in his previous life and lived for 5 years in his present life, his span of life would be 70 years in the aggregate. What do you call him? Your father or your child! In the previous life he was the child of one person, in his present life he is your child and in the future life he... [will] be the child of another. So it is not desirable to weep for his death under the illusion that he is your child. God has given him and has taken him back. Don’t grieve. Think that the whole universe is one family. Every second, millions of people take birth and millions die. If one were to weep for all the dead persons... [one] will have to wail ceaselessly for days and nights throughout life. Is it possible? See! How many difficulties are to be faced with this body. It has to be washed thrice. It has to be fed. It has to be clothed. Its endless desires have to be satisfied. The dead are more happy. | They do not grieve. Will anyone weep... [when] he goes to sleep. We are in the three states [waking, dreaming and deep sleep]. We are having the gross inert body in the waking [state], the subtle body in the dream [state], and the cosmic body in sushupti [deep sleep]. Is not the one who transcends all these three states and dissolves himself in the Supreme Self really liberated? Is it wisdom to seek permanence of this inert body either to oneself or to others? Think [it] over. At the time of death, the mind forgets the existing body and enters into another body. Whether [you] will it or not what is destined to happen will certainly happen as ordained by God. Hence it is advisable to leave all sorrows to God and live in peace.’
*
Sarada had no religious inclinations at all during her childhood but she did have a curiously ascetic nature. She had an aversion to wearing good clothes and she had little or no interest in the food that was given to her. When she was taken shopping to buy clothes she would always prefer to buy cheap, coarse material; if her clothes became torn she would prefer to pin them together rather than have them properly mended. These habits were a source of embarrass- ment to her family. Her dark skin (the rest of her family were light-skinned) and her cheap clothes led many people to believe that she was a servant rather than a member of the family. Sarada didn’t care what impression she made on people; she was unperturbed by her parents’ embarrassment, and equally unaffected by the people who looked down on her because of her appearance. Her indiffer- ence even extended to her diet since she cannot ever remember having any interest in food (...)
Although she was indifferent to food and clothes her temperament was far from placid. She was always getting into heated arguments with her brothers and sisters. In the inevitable fights that ensued, she would compensate for her smallness and weakness by fighting ferociously. On many occasions she drew blood by scratching her opponents with her fingernails.
*
After she and her sister had been at- tending the darshans for four weeks they had a heated argument in their house which reduced Sarada to tears. The subject was a trivial domestic matter but Sarada says that the argument was an im- portant milestone in her life: from that day on her feeling of disgust towards the mundane events of everyday life increased, and a strong desire to be detached from all human affairs started to grow in her.
At the conclusion of the argument Sarada wrote a letter to Swamy.
Om Namo Bhagavate Sri Ramanaya. Om Namo Bhagavate Sri Lakshmanaye. Sri Lakshmana Swamy. There is no happiness in this world. In nothing is there any happiness. I should not be attached to anything. Bhagavan, you are my only refuge. I have no support except you. I am surrendering to you. You are my father, mother and Guru, and if you do not exist, then I do not exist either. I am writing this letter in much agony; please show me your grace. I am not compelling you, excuse me, but you are my only refuge. I am giving my life to you, for you are everything to me. No one is loving me except you, and except for you no one is pitying me. I am surrendering to you. Lakshmana Bhagavan. Surrender, surrender, surrender.

SARADA Sri Lakshmana was impressed with the letter and he told his mother that Sarada’s dispassion was very good. However, since it was not his practice to reply to devotees’ letters, the letter went unanswered.
*
Sarada was now free to resume her meditation again since she had no more intruding worries to disturb her. Her mind was constantly turned towards Swamy, and everything else, including her schoolwork, was ignored. On the 23rd of July Sarada came to Swamy and told him: “I cannot read my school books any more because I am always thinking of you. The teachers are now getting angry with me. I want to stop going to school.” Swamy sympathised with her problem and promised to ask her father if she could leave school.
The following day he found an opportunity to speak to Ramana- dham and explained the situation to him. Her father had been hoping that Sarada would complete her 10th standard year, but after listening to Swamy’s request, he allowed her to leave immediately. Sarada’s school career came to an end the same day.

*
After Swamy had given her the lecture on detachment he asked her again about her decision not to marry. When Sarada confirmed her decision Swamy told her, “Then you can get enlightened”.
Sarada thought that Swamy would not be continually asking this question unless he doubted her sincerity. In order to finally convince him she told him, “When I look at Swamy it is as if I am looking at God. I am always in bliss in your presence, but when you ask me about marriage I get angry. I shall remain in brahmacharya [the state of celibacy] or I shall die. I shall not go back on my word for I don’t want that life of a dog.”
*
Unable to bear the separation any longer, Sarada sat down and wrote a letter to Swamy asking him to allow her to come and see him again.

Sri Lakshmana Bhagavan. You are God who gives bliss. I cannot leave you even for a minute. You are my mother, father, Guru, God. Whatever you say I will do. I wish to stay always with you, and I am only happy when I am with you. I have no other direction to go. I cannot forget your name, and I shall always be thinking about your name and form. You are the foundation for me, and my burden is yours forever. If I realise the Self I shall have no business with you.Till then I have to stay with you. You attracted my mind, and now you have stolen it.

At the conclusion of the letter she composed a poem:

In my difficulties you will hear my words and you will help me. In leaving me you cannot go anywhere for you are the Self. Please don’t cast me aside. I am surrendering my life to you. What use is this life without looking at your form?

Bala took the letter to Swamy, but Swamy’s only comment was that the poem was very good.
Sarada’s exile lasted nearly a week. On the 8th of July, when she was paying her first permitted weekly visit to the ashram, Swamy told her that he had only been testing her devotion again. He said that he had wanted to see what her reaction would be if he appeared to take the Old Woman’s side in her long-running dispute with her. Swamy said that she had passed the test well. From then on he always sided with Sarada when she got into fights with the Old Woman.
*
Ramanadham came to the ashram early the following morning. When Swamy told him that he wanted to adopt Sarada as his daughter he raised no objection. The adoption ceremony, which took place immediately, was brief and informal. Swamy assembled everyone who was in the ashram and then addressed the following question to Sarada: “‘Are you going to stay with me always, from today onwards?’’. Sarada replied “Yes’’. Swamy continued, “From today I am taking you from Ramanadham as my adopted daughter. From today onwards you are my daughter.” Then Swamy addressed the Old Woman: ‘From today onwards Sarada is your grand-daughter. Look after her. Give her hot water and attend to her other needs.” The Old Woman deliberately looked away from Swamy’s face while he was speaking to her and his words had no effect. She made no attempt to supply Sarada with any of her needs, nor did she lessen her attempts to drive her from the ashram.
*
At the beginning of October 1978 Sarada’s sister, who lived in Bangalore, became ill] and Sarada was asked to go and look after her for a few days. She left on the 18th, planning to spend only a few days there, but her sister’s condition did not improve and she was unable to return to Swamy until December. (...)

It was during her stay in Bangalore that Sarada first started to go into Kevala nirvikalpa samadhi. She says that at first she had no idea what these states were; the first few times that it happened she thought that she was only falling into a very pleasant sleep. In between these states her mind, which had been quiet and relatively thought-free for several months, suddenly started getting some very strange desires.

During all her years with Swamy she had only ever had one or two cheap outfits to wear, and she had never paid much attention to her personal appearance. Now, in Bangalore, she suddenly started to look at her sister’s expensive clothes with a strong desire to be dressed in a similar way. At one point her mind even developed a strong craving for siddhis. Sarada watched these desires with great interest, but she never made any attempt to fulfil them. She says that for the last few months of that year she was in a completely detached state. This enabled her to witness all her thoughts, desires and emotions dispassionately, without ever becoming involved in them.
In the last few weeks that she was in Bangalore she spent nearly all her time either in a thought-free state, or in a state of samadhi.

She stopped meditating on Swamy, stopped performing puja to his picture, and spent many hours of each day lying on her bed. Her sister thought that she was just being lazy; on one occasion she told Sarada, “‘You live in an ashram, and you are supposed to be a devotee, but you don’t meditate any more and you have stopped doing puja. What kind of devotee are you? You just lie on your bed all day and do nothing.’’ When the remark was made, Sarada was so deeply immersed in one of her thought-free states that she was incapable of either explaining what was happening to her, or of giving any kind of answer at all.

When Deepam day arrived that year (12.12.78) Sarada roused herself from her thought-free state and celebrated the festival by drawing a picture of Arunachala; she put Swamy’s picture and a symbolic light on top of it. As she concentrated on Swamy and Arunachala she entered a thought-free state again; her mind subsided into the Heart and she had a temporary experience of the Self.

The following day she decided that she could not stay in Bangalore any longer and she told her sister that she had to see Swamy urgently.

She says that during all the time that she was in Bangalore the world had appeared to her as if it was a dream. With a desire to see Swamy uppermost in her mind she decided that the dream had to end.

However, her sister had not fully recovered from her illness and this prevented her from leaving for another three days; she was not able to leave for Gudur until the evening of the 16th.

She returned to Gudur by bus and spent most of the journey ina state of samadhi, or near samadhi. This was rather inconvenient because she had to change buses in Tirupati. She was conscious enough to get off the bus there with her bag, but then she relapsed into a thought-free state again. A friendly fellow-traveller found her some time later, standing by the side of the road, staring vacantly into space. When he discovered that Sarada was heading for Gudur he put her on the correct bus. Sarada stayed conscious long enough to pay her fare and then relapsed into a full samadhi state for the remainder of the three-hour trip.

She was met by her family in Gudur and escorted to their house. They tried to entertain her by telling her all the latest news and gossip, but she was unable to keep her attention on what they were saying, and she was unable to make any kind of reply herself. Eventually her family just assumed that she was very tired and let her go to bed.

The next morning, at 10 a.m., she went to the ashram, sat down in front of Swamy and tried to tell him about the thought-free states that she had been experiencing. She was still deeply immersed in such a state and she found it hard to speak. Swamy tried to engage her attention by telling her about a few of the events that had been going on in the ashram in her absence, but Sarada couldn’t concentrate on anything he said. When she told Swamy that she wasn’t capable of paying attention he stopped trying to engage her in conversation. He had been watching her intently ever since she arrived and he could see that the Self was trying to pull the ‘I’-thought towards it. A few minutes later a party of visitors came to look at the ashram. Swamy went into his house because he didn’t want to see them, but Sarada remained sitting on his veranda. She remained there for the next two hours, immersed in a state of kevalu nirvikalpa samadhi. Sometimes her eyes were half open, but she wasn’t aware of seeing anything because her mind had completely subsided into the Heart. When she kept her eyes open for any length of time the ‘I’-thought would rise from the Heart to the brain, but Sarada soon discovered that she could easily make it subside again by closing her eyes.

At about midday Bala brought Swamy and Sarada some food. Swamy called Sarada into the house because he thought that she should have something to eat, but Sarada found that she was incapable of moving by herself. Eventually, Bala and Swamy had to help her into the house. Sarada found it very difficult to eat; the first time she tried she only managed to lift her hand half-way to her mouth. After a few false starts, and with Swamy’s help, she finally managed to swallow a little food and drink a little water. She spent the rest of the day, and all of the following night, in samadhi. During the course of the day Swamy helped her to walk up and down his veranda a few times, but for the rest of the time he allowed her to remain undisturbed.

The next morning she came out of samadhi with a strong awareness that her I’-thought was still existing. She remembered the peace of the previous day and night when she had been in samadhi, with the ‘I’-thought temporarily gone, and she decided to see if she could enter the same state again. She closed her eyes and within a few minutes her I’-thought subsided into the Heart and she went back into samadhi again. The ‘l’-thought emerged from the Heart several times during the day, but each time it subsided Sarada was convinced that she had realised the Self. She was still able to talk and Swamy, thinking that her realisation was near, placed a small tape-recorder near her to record her words. Sarada spoke in short, quiet sentences, with frequent pauses as she was overwhelmed by the bliss of the Self.

I have no body. I have no ‘I’. I am not the body. How I am talking I do not know. Some power is talking through me.

Swamy asked her if she was looking and she replied:

Even though I am looking, I am not looking. Where is the ‘T° to look. When the mind enters the Heart there 1s no I’ to tell that there ts no ‘I’. My I is dead.

Swamy then asked her how she was feeling.

My whole body 1s filled with peace and bliss. I cannot describe it. Everything is filled with peace. The Self is pulling me towards it and I am not able to open my eyes. The whole body is weak.
Swamy remarked, ‘‘It is like an elephant entering a weak hut. The hut cannot stand the strain. Is it beyond time and death?” It is beyond time and death as there is no mind. As the "I" is dead I don’t wish to eat anymore. I am not able to eat. However tasty the food I cannot eat. I have no desire to eat. Everything is filled with peace and bliss. I am content with my realisation. I have recognised my own Self, so I am content.

Swamy then told her that her ‘I’ was not yet dead and that she had not yet reached the final state. Sarada replied:

As the ‘I’ is dead there is no you.

‘‘Have you no mother or father?” asked Swamy.

No father, no mother, no world. Everything is peace and bliss.

Why do I have to eat when there is no ‘I’? The body is inert, it cannot eat. A corpse will not eat. It is like that because the ‘I' is dead. As I cannot eat I cannot talk. Who is talking I do not know.

‘‘Then who is talking?” asked Swamy. Sarada remained silent and so Swamy answered his own question. “‘The Self is talking.” Sarada continued:

Even though I am seeing, I am not seeing. Even though I am talking I am not talking. Whatever I do I am not doing it because the 'I’ is dead. I have no body. All the nerves are filled with peace and bliss. All is Brahman. All is bliss. In the veins instead of blood, love and bliss are flowing. A great power has entered into me.

Three months before Swamy had told Sarada, “Even though I sleep I am not sleeping’’. Sarada remembered this, repeated Swamy’s words and said that she was finally able to understand what he had meant. Sarada continued to talk:

I have no thought of doing anything. I have no fear of death. Before, I feared death, but not anymore. I don’t care about death. I have nothing more to do. I shall give up the body.

Swamy asked her to stay but Sarada answered:

What is death to die now? The body is inert, how can it die? My ‘I is dead, what is there left to die’? Why then fear death?

Swamy then reminded her that her ‘I was not dead and that she was not yet in the final sahaja state. Swamy then stopped the tape we were listening to and talked a little about the state that Sarada was experiencing when she spoke these words.

‘‘Anyone whose mind completely subsides into the Heart for a short time can talk like an enlightened person. Their experience of the Self is the same as that of a realised person. However, their ‘I' thought is not dead and it is likely to re-emerge at any time. Such an experience is not the final state because it is not permanent.” He then played the final portion of Sarada’s comments on her experience.

I am everywhere. J am not the body. I have no body so J have no fear. I am immobile. Whatever I may do I am immobile. I am shining as the Self. Everything is a great void [maha-sunya]. How can I describe the Self in words? It is neither light nor dark. No one can describe what it is. In the past, present and future no one can describe what it is. It is difficult to describe. Self is Self, that is all.

Throughout that day Sarada’s mind kept sinking into the Self, but on each occasion it came out again. At 4 p.m. the ‘I’-thought went from the Heart to the brain and started to bang against the inside of her skull. Sarada said later that it was like an axe trying to split her head open from the inside. Since she was not able to bear the pain she came forward, took Swamy’s hand and placed it on her head. The ‘I’-thought went back to the Heart, but again it was only a temporary subsidence. Three minutes later it rose again and once again started to bang against the inside of her skull. Sarada came forward, placed her head on Swamy’s feet and a few seconds later the ‘I’-thought returned to its source and died forever.

With her ‘I’-thought permanently gone Sarada had realised the Self. Swamy says that in the final few minutes her ‘I’-thought was trying to escape and take birth again, and that had he not been present, the ‘I’-thought would have killed her and escaped.

In the first few minutes after realisation Swamy thought that Sarada was going to give up her body. Her arms and legs went stiff and cold and her blood circulation stopped. Swamy shook her to try and revive her, but she was unable to open her eyes. It occurred to Swamy that if she did give up the body, not only would her family be very angry with him, but he might even be arrested for murder. Eventually he took her to her parents’ house in Gudur, but it took five days before Sarada was able to sustain consciousness of her body for any length of time. Throughout this period she was continually saying that she wanted to give up the body, and Swamy had to use all his powers of persuasion to keep her alive.

Swamy gave her the new name of Mathru Sri Sarada; Mathru means mother and Sni is an honorific prefix. He was most anxious that she stay in the body because he felt that she could offer invaluable help to devotees who were seeking the Self. However, he had great difficulty in keeping her alive; Sarada continued to show no interest in retaining her body and for the next twelve months Swamy was engaged in a daily battle to keep her in contact with the world.
Almost every day Sarada would lose body consciousness and withdraw into the Self. Each time she did it she would say that she no longer wanted her body and that she was going to give it up.
*

Saradamma asserts that the world is nothing but the mind. The logical inference from this is that nani’s do not perceive the world at all since they no longer have a mind. Saradamma confirms that this is so in the following exchange. 

Question: You make two statements: one, the world ts nothing but the mind, and two, the realised person has no mind. If both these statements are true how do you see the world since you no longer have a mind? 

Saradamma: I don’t see the world, I only see the Self. Seeing the Self everywhere I look is such a fundamental property of my being that I sometimes forget that devotees are not also seeing what I am seeing. When this happens it is only when they speak that I am reminded that they all have minds, and that when they look at the world they are only looking at their minds. 

Not having a mind, Saradamma travels through life unencumbered by any mental baggage. The implications of this are sometimes quite surprising. 

Saradamma: Sometimes I go to Bangalore and visit my sister who lives there. While I am away from the ashram I completely forget about it because there is no mind to keep reminding me of its existence. When I come back to the ashram it is very strange. Even though everything is familiar, it is almost as if I am visiting the place for the first time. Since I do not have a mind, there is nothing in me to provide continuity with the past. The Self only exists in the present moment, and since it has no residue of the past attached to it, each experience is new and fresh. When I am in my sister’s house in Bangalore, that household is all that exists for me. When I am here, only the ashram exists. Wherever I am there is no attachment to the past and no anticipation of the future.

*

Saradamma frequently stresses that the Self cannot be described in words, but on many occasions she tries to describe the indescribable. 

The first account in this chapter was written by Saradamma herself in Telugu only ten days after her realisation. It is a glowing account of the jnani’s experience of the Self. 

Saradamma: When I opened my eyes after realisation there was only peace inside and out. I knew that I was the Self and that when I uttered the word ‘I’, this ‘I’ meant only the Self. Even though I may see, I am not seeing; even though I may hear, I am not hearing; even though I may talk I am not talking. When I wake up I am not really waking and when I sleep I am not really sleeping. Sleep, waking and dream are passing before the Self but they cannot touch it. Whatever I may do I am not doing it. I have no sin and no virtue, no sleep and no waking, for I am always in the state of sahaja samadhi. Whatever I may do I am always in that State. 

If there is a mind then there is a world. If there is no mind then there is no world and no body. There is nothing except the Self and the Self has no name and no form. It 1s eternal peace. I am ever content. I have been able to gain the most valuable thing in the world, for all the riches in the world cannot buy or balance the Self. Even though I did not know that it was possible to get it I attained it, for without my knowing it, the Self killed the ‘I’. Everything is the Self and nothing is apart from it; this is my experience and I do not slip from that state. I am shining as the Self and there is no doubt about my experience.

*

Since her Self-realisation Saradamma’s link with her body and the world has been very tenuous and unstable; on many occasions she has withdrawn into the Self and completely lost bodily and worldly consciousness. She calls these withdrawals ‘going into samadhi’. Because of the misleading connotations of the word samadhi, I have substituted the expression ‘Self-absorption’ in the following description of these periodic withdrawals. 

Saradamma: Although my experience of the Self never varies, sometimes awareness of the body and the world fluctuates. I have no interest in keeping this body and sometimes I go into a state of complete Self-absorption where the body and the world cease to exist. This body is a useless appendage for me. The Self does not need a body and sometimes the feeling arises, “Why should I keep it anymore? Every day it needs feeding, washing and clothing. It is a sick weak body, full of pain. Why should I prolong its existence?” When these feelings about the body arise, or when there is a great pain, then I withdraw into the Self. Sometimes I also do it if I am by myself and I feel an urge to dive deep into the peace and bliss of the Self. On these occasions I close my eyes. Then I direct attention within and there is a feeling that I can only describe as ‘closing up’. I cannot describe either the process or the experience even in Telugu because one who has not realised the Self cannot possibly understand it. 

There are several stages or levels of absorption which I can withdraw to. In the first few stages there is a partial loss of body consciousness and the body feels like an inert lump of stone. All pain and touch sensations disappear but I can still hear what people are saying, and with a little effort I can still manage to speak to them. 

In these first few levels it is relatively easy to open the eyes and resume normal body consciousness again, but as I withdraw more and more, it gets progressively more and more difficult to reverse the process. After a long or deep period of Self-absorption it is sometimes very difficult to open the eyes and direct attention outwards rather than inwards; it often takes many attempts before I finally succeed. These periods of Self-absorption are so attractive that Swamy often has to plead with me to get me to come out of them. He knows that if I stay in this state for a long time there is a possibility that I might give up the body. 

The experience of peace, bliss and self-sufficiency is the same whether I am absorbed in the Self or not, but when I am freed from the shackles of the body, and when I know that in that state I need nothing, I am often most unwilling to resume body consciousness again.

*

Saradamma usually describes her experiences of the Self by using such words as ‘peace’, ‘bliss’ and ‘love’. In the following brief exchange she reaffirms that her experience of the Self is continuous and asserts that its real nature is peace and bliss. 

Saradamma: I am always shining as the Self. I am always peace and bliss and nothing can shake me from that state. If I appear to be angry or sad it is only so in the eyes of other people. To me these images are merely emotions which appear and disappear on the screen of the ever-peaceful Self. 

Question: Do you always experience the bliss of the Self, the ananda?

Saradamma: Always! Always! In fact I don’t experience it, I am it.  I am that ananda, it is I.

*

When she is talking about the Self Saradamma often calls it ‘the Heart’. Usually she uses this term as a synonym for the Self but sometimes She also uses it to indicate the Heart-centre on the right side of the chest. This centre is the one which Swamy spoke about as being the source of the ‘I’-thought. In the following conversations she talks about this centre and her experience of it both before and after her Self-realisation. 

Question: I heard Swamy talking about your experience of the Heart-centre. Was this permanent and how did it affect you afterwards? 

Saradamma: When the mind dies in the Heart it is dead forever.  It never rises again. I cannot say what my experience of this state is because it cannot be described in words. But I can say a little about how this affected me. There are now no worries, no fears and no desires; the experience itself I cannot describe. 

Before Self-realisation [ sometimes went into samadhi. As I went into and came out of these states there was an awareness of the Heart-centre on the right side of the chest. However, since realisation, I know that the Heart cannot be located in the body. The Heart is the Self and it is immanent in all things.

It is the source of everything and it is neither inside the body nor outside. It is everywhere.
*
Swamy: In sound sleep the mind (the ‘I’) enters into the Heart but it remains in an ignorance of the Self which cannot be described in words. Just before waking, the mind, which is the ‘I’-thought, rises from the Heart to the brain in a split second through a passage called the amrita nadi. Then the mind experiences the world through the five senses and thinks that it is real. In Self-realisation, the pure mind, without thoughts and problems, returns back to the Heart-cave through this same passage.

As the mind tries to pass through the narrow way, the Self pulls the mind towards it and kills it After the death of the ‘I’ the Self will remain, one without a second; it is eternal peace and bliss. As there is no mind, there is no world, no birth and no death. Just as ornaments are not apart from the gold they are made of, even so, the world is not apart from the Self. As the Self is all-pervading, it is beyond time, directions and the three states of waking, dreaming and sleeping.
*
Saradamma: If you are always thinking about worldly things your mind becomes dirty. From a spiritual point of view the mind is like a mirror; it is only useful when it is clean. If you keep a mirror outside it will get so covered with dust and mud that you cannot see your face in it. If you keep the mirror inside a cupboard it stays clean and you can use it whenever you need it. When the mind wanders among worldly things a layer of vasanas (mental activities) forms on it which prevents it from reflecting or being aware of the light of the Self within. If you stop the mind from wandering and keep it turned towards God, then no outside influences can deposit any vasanas on it. This is the mental equivalent of keeping the mirror in the cupboard. Sometimes you have to use your mind. On such occasions, take it out of the cupboard, let it do its job, and then put it back again. When you don’t need to use your mind, put it back in the cupboard by thinking of God, otherwise it will get dirty.
*

Sitting for many hours in meditation is not necessarily good. Sometimes excessive meditation just dulls the mind and leaves it in a permanent state of tamas. A thought-free state is not necessarily good either because there is a tamasic thought-free state in which there is no peace or bliss, only a semi-conscious stupor. No progress is being made when one is in this state.
*
Saradamma: If you love one person more than another this is not true love; it is an attachment created by desire. To love all things equally, seeing the Self in all of them, is true love. When the Self ts realised, and sometimes even before, one can feel this love animating and flowing through the body in the same way that blood flows through the veins and arteries. It is love which binds the universe together and sustains it. Without love it would be nothing more than a collection of inert matter.

It is the same with the human body; without love, or the Self, the body would just be an inert lump.
All love is the same love, but love other than the love of God is a waste. When two people love each other and get married, what are they loving? They are loving each other’s minds and bodies. If a man loved the Self in his wife he would not grieve when her body dies because he would know that nothing has really happened to the Self. When two people marry and give all their love to each other they are building a wall around themselves. They have no love left for God or the Self, and because of this they can never see and love the Self, which is immanent in all things. Couples who only love each other can never realise the Self because they are preoccupied with their minds and bodies and have no love left for God.

From a spiritual point of view the ideal man-woman relationship is one in which the couple live as brother and sister, and instead of wasting their love on each other, they give it all to God.

from the book No Mind — I Am the Self The lives and teachings of Sri Lakshmana Swamy and Mathru Sri Sarada by David Godman