Stopped In Our Tracks

U.G.: Why do you ask me such useless questions? "Is there a God? What is the meaning of life? Is there rebirth? What will happen to us when we die?" Why do you torment yourself with such endless questions?

As for myself, I have no questions except questions about day-to-day affairs: "What is the way to the Cave of Mr. Brahmachari? When is such and such a plane flight?" Except for such questions, no other questions occur to me. Many great teachers have been answering your questions for centuries. Why are you not satisfied with them? You believe that I am a Brahmajnani and a jivanmukta and you want to know if what I have seen confirms your beliefs. As a matter of fact, all these questions are others' questions, not your own. If there is a question which you can call your own, it won't let you rest for one minute. There is no question apart from the questioner. The two are the same. If the question goes, the questioner goes with it. Because you don't want to come to an end, you hang on to your question forever. That's why you cannot stop the question even if you know there is no answer to it.

* * *
U.G.: Is there such a thing as enlightenment? As far as I am concerned, what is there are only bodily processes. That is the natural state. Your existence is a physiological state, not a psychological transformation. It is not a mental state of being unconscious one day and conscious the next day. If this natural state ever happens, it will explode every cell, every nerve and every gland. This is a chemical change, a strange alchemy within the body. Unless such an irreversible change occurs, there is no release for the body from the stranglehold of thought. You cannot imagine how deeply, into every cell, thought penetrates throughout the body.

* * *
Q: Why am I not in this natural state you are describing now?

U.G.: Because you are trying to understand what I am saying. Through thought and thinking you cannot understand anything. But that [thought] is the only instrument. When that [instrument] cannot be used, and there is no other instrument, what is there to understand? There is nothing to understand. That's what you need to know—that there is nothing at all to know. Here [in me] that is clear. Nobody knows how that became clear [to me], viz., that there is nothing to know. That's why I am unable to explain it to you. If the understanding that there is nothing to understand, nothing to know, arises in you, then you wouldn't be here with me for one moment. Then you wouldn't go to someone else either. Your search would stop, forever.

* * *
I listened to U.G. talk about many things to the same group of people in the same room for the next six evenings... When U.G. talked about the Calamity that happened to him, and told us about the irreversible chemical changes that occurred in his body during the following six days, describing the colors that surfaced on his skin in the places where there are ductless glands, Vidwan Seshachala Sarma asked if the marks were still present.

U.G. answered: "Many of them have subsided. Look and see if you can see some of them on my back." As he spoke, U.G. removed his shirt and showed his back. We could see some traces of colored bulges in blue and green colors. "That's it. There is no spiritual or metaphysical content in this. This is purely biological and physical."

"If the endlessly continuing thought process is cut off even once, even for a thousandth of a second, then thoughts can never be linked again. That break will create tremors throughout the body like a terrible earthquake. Like an atomic explosion it will shake, move and burn every nerve and blood cell in the body. With that the thinker is gone. The senses start functioning independently of each other. From then on all bodily processes are carried on automatically, like a machine. Only the 'you' who you think runs the machine is not there."

* * *
When I heard U.G.'s words, on the one hand I was amazed and astounded, and on the other hand, I had an unknown fear, an uneasiness, an anxious feeling as if the ground under my feet was slipping away.

Was there nothing? Were all my hopes for a spiritual life in vain? Were all my endeavors a waste of time? How true is the poem in Chalam's Sudha!

It is unwise to go round in a circle leading nowhere for some unknown, chasing mirages which delude us into thinking there is something which, if we strive for it, will be revealed. It's a futile waste of an invaluable lifetime.

One afternoon, I went to the Cave early before the crowd gathered there. I felt that I must talk to U.G. in person. I could not remain quiet with all the chaos created by the storm raging inside me. I saw U.G. standing on the upstairs balcony. It was 4 o'clock in the afternoon. I and Ranganatha Rao made our salutations as we climbed the stairs.

A smile flashed on U.G.'s face. All three of us sat on the balcony overlooking the big and tall peepul tree. There was a paved square bench around the tree. The peepul leaves were shining, reflecting the cool sunshine of the afternoon. U.G. was asking casually about the standard of living in Bangalore and the jobs in our factory. After a while, a question suddenly broke out of me: "U.G., you say there is no such thing as release or moksha. Then what is the meaning of self-realization?" He answered, "To realize that there is no such thing as atman, self or the ego is self-realization," and paused.

"All right. Ramana Maharshi also answered this question in the same way," I thought to myself. "If there is nothing, then who is it that knows this? For whom is the self-realization?" I asked U.G.

"That is why I say that even that self-realization is a myth." U.G. smiled as he said this. I couldn't think of a response. How could I proceed further if my feet were tied down like this?

U.G. was looking at me intently. Was self-realization all false? Or was this reply an evasion? How true were his words? Why should I believe them? My mind continued to question. Didn't all those wise men, prophets and avatars announce that we should know ourselves? All that they ceaselessly emphasized—that to know ourselves is our sole aim in life, and that to attain unity was the goal of our life—was all that false? Were all the assurances given by them merely writing on water? Were all the teachings which great sages ranging from the ancient Buddha to the more recent Ramakrishna and Ramana Maharshi taught in a unanimous voice—were all of them lies?

U.G. responded, "I don't know what they taught. If you ask me, all I can say is that all those people are misleading you. What they said and taught might be true for them. But you know yourself that those teachings don't operate in your daily life and in your own experience. They all deceived themselves thinking that they had achieved something, and they deceived others and are still continuing to do so. This was evident to me even when I was young. Since then I have lost all my beliefs. To question the beliefs and teachings which you have taken as true is to question those who taught them. You are not ready to throw out as bogus all those whom you have revered. You are afraid that that will put an end to your very existence."

There was trembling inside of me when I heard U.G.'s words. What was the use of my living if those whom I trusted as my teachers and whom I adored—Shau and Ramana Bhagawan—were false? How would it benefit anyone? The birds were flying through the sky in flocks. From the peepul tree came noises of various kinds of birds. My mind was groaning with untold agony. Suddenly U.G. turned to me. He said, "Why are you so concerned about all these things? You are young and you must still marry. You must rise in your job. Why bother with all this nonsense?" For a moment I was stunned. My face blushed like the setting sun at his words.

"I don't have much interest in those. I feel all those pleasures are momentary," I said in a low tone.

U.G. said, "If you think they are momentary, then you must think that the pleasure of self-realization is permanent. Right?" There was a mischievous smile on his lips.

I turned pale at these words. "It's not permanent?" thought a big demon in myself.

Looking at me compassionately, U.G. said, "You must believe my words. There is nothing permanent. Permanent happiness and infinite wisdom are illusory notions created by the nostril-closing phonies who endlessly discuss 'This is real and that is unreal,' and who have nothing better to do. You trust those people and lose your interest in things which are real, and then search for non-existent things. If that is not slipping into a lowly state, what is?"

All the ancient sages who had taken residence in my blood boiled in anger at U.G.'s words. All the scriptural testimonies they had quoted remained as mere prattling in my mind. There remained one last weapon in my endless arsenal: "You say that there is no God. You say that God is an illusion which man has created out of fear. Then you don't think there is a power beyond the reach of the mind that orders this universe?"

U.G. answered: "I will say with certainty that there is no superior power outside of man and different from him. If there is any such power, that power is not different from you. The lowly mosquito that is sucking your blood is the expression of that divine power. That is why I say it is irrelevant to discuss the question of God. But I am not advocating, like Ramaswami Naicker (a South Indian leader who advocated political rights of non-Brahmins), the destruction of temples or burning of scriptures. Nothing is gained by doing such things."

We could hear the sound of Vedic recitation (of Rudra Patha) from someone's house far away. Some ladies were under the peepul tree, perambulating around the tree with folded hands. I felt like parodying a Gurajada poem: If men keep saying, "Oh God," how will the country prosper?

It was getting dark. U.G. said in a low voice, "These questions are not new. Many have asked them before. In reality, they are not your questions. Besides these, do you have any question that is your own, that is not anyone else's?"

I started to think. "'Who am I?' Is that my own question? Isn't it Bhagawan's question? Yes. How can that question be mine? Just because I became identified with Shau's song which said, 'Who am I, Bhagawan, indeed, who am I, Bhagawan?' does the question then become mine? What is that question, the one question that will not let me rest, that will not let me get entangled, the question that will haunt me, torment me, that will burn me alive—what is that question?" I leaned against the wall and remained staring into nothingness. The street lamp flashed on, dispelling the darkness. I woke up from my reverie and looked for U.G. by my side. U.G. had gone inside, and I heard him talking with the friends there.

"If there is any help I can give you, it is this: to help you formulate your own question by yourselves. Beyond that, I cannot help anyone. Beyond that, no one needs any help," U.G. was saying to someone. While I was listening to these words, I felt as if a thousand lights went on all at once.