Stopped In Our Tracks

It was in the first years of my acquaintance with U.G. Prior to 1973, for four years, U.G. and Valentine had been coming every winter to Bangalore and staying there for three or four months at a time.

In 1973, U.G. wrote to me suggesting that I should look for a permanent residence for them, and thus avoid having to find a house each time they visited Bangalore. Henry, a friend of U.G.'s from England, had a house and a business office in Bombay, and U.G. and Valentine had been guests in their house ever since they started visiting India after the Calamity. However, Henry's business in Bombay had closed and U.G. needed another place to stay. Henry felt that U.G. should not be inconvenienced, so he offered three hundred pounds a year to U.G. for accommodations elsewhere. This was the same amount of money he had been giving to Sri Anandamayi Ma and Sri Ramana Maharshi's Ashram. U.G. suggested that we should use those funds to pay for the new house in Bangalore.

My friend Sivaram showed me a new three story-house called Sastri Sadana in Basavanagudi, facing the Anjaneya Temple. The construction of the house was nearing completion. After talking to the owner, Mr. Viswanatha Sastri, I wrote to U.G. describing the location and other details of the house. I offered to rent the house if he wanted me to. A reply came at once asking me to go ahead.

Later, Valentine told me that U.G., on one of his morning walks the previous year, happened to notice the same house while it was under construction. Apparently, he already had the feeling that they two would be living in that house, long before he had any idea that I would rent it for him. After receiving my letter in Switzerland, he even described to Valentine the surroundings of the house in minute detail. I was surprised to hear this from her.

For a person like U.G. who says, "If a thought enters my head, it has to take effect," this coincidence is nothing extraordinary. But for someone like me, who does not observe events such as these often, they are indeed marvelous. U.G. makes fun of me for saying such things. He says, "Chandrasekhar is writing a book of all the miracles and marvels that I have never performed." One day, Julie heard this and said smiling, "Chandrasekhar himself is a miracle. What's wrong with writing about your miracles?" How true! When I look back and reflect on whatever happened to me after U.G. entered my life, my whole life looks like a marvel.

In those days, every word that U.G. uttered sounded wonderful. It was child's play for U.G. to upset ancient truths and demolish, in a second, beliefs which seemed sacred and precious.

U.G. made statements such as:

Liberation means total extinction. It means the extinction of you as you know yourself and as you experience yourself. Why would anyone desire such a thing?

Bliss, wisdom, permanent happiness, jivanmukti, rebirth—all such ideas are all stories concocted by you. Mere illusions. It's a waste of time to seek such nonexistent things.

When we heard such pronouncements of U.G., the ground under our feet which we so trusted seemed to cave in. All our illusions were destroyed and we tried to run away from ourselves in fright without ever looking back.

Is there any way out? All this—the incessant striving and search—is all this a waste of time?

No. There is one solace. That is U.G. himself. If he weren't as he is, there would be no need to write any of this.

In the early days of my association with U.G., I collected much information about U.G. with the intention of writing his biography. I kept a journal believing that it would be useful for this purpose some time later.

"Why do you want to tell my story?" asked U.G. one day.

"You are a unique product of human history. Everyone must know about you."

"How has this been of use to you? How did your acquaintance with me all these years help you?"

I didn't expect such a straight question from U.G. I kept pondering for awhile.

"If it didn't help you, it's an illusion to think that it would help someone else," U.G. said, brushing aside my good intention. It was hard to figure out what U.G. meant by "being of use."

"What I am saying is that there is nothing to understand, and there is no need to understand. If you get the hang of this you will never want to see my face again. Not only that, you won't go to anyone else either, seeking the meaning of life. That will be the end of your search," said U.G.

That is what U.G. meant by being "useful." Was there no other usefulness, then? The same question haunted me even after I returned home that night.

That night was the holy night of Shivaratri. It was truly the Shivaratri (it is customary to keep a watch on that night). I still remember giving form to thoughts which arose in my mind that night. Thus twenty years ago I resolved that if I ever published U.G.'s biography, I should include these two poems: