A Presence Etched in My Heart

Today is Guru Purnima, the day when spiritual seekers turn their minds and hearts to their Guru in a special way. Sri Ramakrishna taught that God alone is the teacher of all. It is God’s power and wisdom that is passed on from one generation to the next through the unbroken link of Guru-Disciple lineage. I have often been asked to share my memories of my Guru, Swami Vireswaranandaji Maharaj (1892-1985), who was a disciple of Holy Mother Sri Sarada Devi.

Sharing one’s reminiscences of a holy person can be complicated and tricky. The process becomes relatively easy if there are dramatic events to narrate or if it is possible to create sufficient space between the narrator and the holy person. There was nothing very dramatic about the time I got to spend with Swami Vireswaranandaji Maharaj. It was most meaningful to me personally, of course, but there was, as far as I can see, nothing in it that will “wow” others. It is impossible for me, as his disciple, to distance myself from him in order to view his life objectively. He is just too close to my heart for that kind of analysis. His is a presence etched in my heart—a presence that is at once strengthening and assuring, loving and compassionate. How can anyone write about these things, not to mention how little we actually know—far less understand—the inner life of an illumined soul! Words, words, and more words. Can words convey anything at all?

I joined the Ramakrishna Math in Mumbai as a novice in May 1976 and, three months later, Maharaj came on his annual visit. My first meeting with him took place sometime toward the end of August. I wish I remembered the exact date! I did a sashtanga pranam. He asked me my name, what I had studied, and so on and, with a sweet smile on his face, said, “The Math needs educated young men like you!” Within a week he graciously gave me mantra-deeksha. The picture below was taken in 1976. Maharaj is standing with a cane and a shawl on his left shoulder. I am on the extreme left.

During that 1976 visit and all his subsequent annual visits to Mumbai until 1980, I was given the opportunity to serve Maharaj. I did small errands such as wash his clothes, hang them out on a line for drying, carry his food plate, do the dishes, and do whatever else his regular attendants asked me to do. I was also his translator, when he initiated devotees needing instructions in Hindi or Marathi. Although it would have been possible to seek out opportunities to go and speak with him personally, I never felt like doing it. I think timidity was certainly a reason but, more than that, I wasn’t able to think of any specific question to ask him. I was content seeing him from a distance and listening to him whenever he spoke to groups of devotees.

During my two years at the Training Center in Belur Math, I got the opportunity to bow down at Maharaj’s feet everyday. I felt greatly blessed when I was assigned the duty to go to his quarters everyday for a year to maintain the list of his disciples which, by then, numbered in thousands. The work consisted primarily of updating the addresses which filled some fourteen or fifteen registers, and this had to be done manually. Those were the pre-computer days, after all. During these daily visits, I also typed some of Maharaj’s letters, and on a few occasions, I was able to see him and get his blessings.

Maharaj told us on more than one occasion the importance of regularly reviewing our own life. He asked us to review the day’s events every night before going to bed, so we know what we did right that day and where we went wrong. This helps us to not repeat our mistakes and brings about real improvement in our lives.

In July 1983 I was in Belur Math at the time of Guru Purnima, a special occasion for me as it was not often that I got to see Maharaj on this sacred day. As every year, thousands had gathered in the Math since early morning for his darshan, flowers in hand to offer at the feet of their Guru. Maharaj had practically no rest that day and he was very tired. In the evening I did pranam to him along with other swamis and brahmacharins. When I was about to leave, I was called in by one of his attendants. He said Maharaj wouldn’t be able to visit the temples that evening but had asked to report to him how the temples were decorated. I was thrilled to be assigned this work and decided to do it to the best of my ability as my own little offering to my Guru. Soon I discovered it was not as easy as it seemed at first sight. For starters, I had no idea what kind of details he was interested in. Secondly, my knowledge of the names of flowers was pathetic. Thirdly, the temples were crowded even at that hour, and it was not possible to stand for a long time in front of the altar. I went to each of the four temples—those dedicated to Sri Ramakrishna, Holy Mother, Swami Vivekananda and Swami Brahmananda—mentally noting the clothes, the flowers, the garlands, and whatever other special things I noticed. I asked help from others for the names of some of the flowers that I didn’t know. When I finally reached Maharaj’s quarters and kneeled down in front of him, I began to narrate to him everything in great detail. There was an amused expression on his face. He allowed me to go on for some time and then interrupted with, “You liked it? Was it good?” I said, “Yes, Maharaj.” He nodded and said with a smile, “Good!” That was it. I knew that more details were not needed. I did a sashtanga pranam at his feet, told him that I would be leaving for Chennai the next day, and came out of his room.

Trivial as this bit of opportunity I had to serve him that day—on what turned out to be my last meeting with him—it now has become profoundly significant to me personally. As I look back at that incident of more than twenty-seven years ago, my eyes are filled with tears. During that last meeting, my Guru had asked that I go to all the temples in Belur Math, to observe everything carefully, and to narrate to him what I had seen. Visiting those temples—and others as well—is now endowed with special significance to me. I remember that I am doing it on the orders of my Guru. I try to observe everything carefully and then narrate it as best I can. This narration now occurs through lectures and writings that have become a part of my life. In a way I had not thought of before, I am still carrying out the last duty that my guru graciously gave me. Now I only wait for the day when I’ll see his smiling form beckon me with these words, “You liked what life gave you? Was it good?” I will say, “Yes, Maharaj.” He will nod and say, “Good! Now come to me, my child.”
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The blog will remain suspended for the next few weeks this summer and will resume in September. ... ST