Stopped In Our Tracks
Stories of U.G. In India from the Notebooks of K. ChandrasekharTranslated and Edited by J.S.R.L. Narayana Moorty 2d/3d Series
U.G.'s First Visit to Brahmachariji's 'Cave'
In December 1969, that morning we all gathered in Brahmachariji's Cave, waiting for U.G.'s arrival. I was anxiously awaiting my first meeting with U.G. There was a big peepul tree in the yard of the Math, and there used to be a two-story house near the tree. All those surroundings have changed now beyond recognition. There is a legend that the head of the Sringeri Pitha, Sri Chandrasekhara Bharati Swami used to meditate in an ancient cave under that house. When Sri Vidyatirtha Swami permitted Brahmachariji to live in that Cave, Brahmachariji got a two-story house built on the same rocks and made it habitable.
Around 10:00 a.m. a car stopped in the vicinity of the Cave. As soon as I saw the figure clad in white alighting from the car, I had a strange feeling that I was looking at a very familiar person. "That's U.G.," said someone. "Hello," said U.G. touching both Brahmachariji's hands. I looked at him intently. Although he looked simple in his white dress, there was some powerful dignity emanating from U.G. His black hair covered his ears. He had a broad forehead indicating a richness of intellect. His large ears hidden behind his hands, which were trying to arrange his hair, reminded me of a sculpture of the Buddha.
His fair complexion seemed fairer in the cool sunshine of December. He appeared almost indistinguishable from the Europeans who were with him. However simple and natural he seemed, there was something strange about him. In his gestures and movements there was the innocence of a child. Most striking of all were his eyes! Although his lips were smiling, there was an uncanny depth to his eyes. I felt as though I was looking into an abyss, as though I was slipping into the depths of an ocean. I stared at him for a while, spell-bound.
As soon as U.G. sat on a stone seat in the Cave, some of the friends in our company were ready to shower him with their questions. "I am tired from traveling. We will talk more when we meet again in the evening," said U.G., avoiding the questions, and making some small talk. Valentine, a Swiss lady who had been U.G.'s friend for many years, however, did not sit still for even a moment. She was walking around the Cave, examining its surroundings as though she were familiar with them.
Around 10:00 a.m. a car stopped in the vicinity of the Cave. As soon as I saw the figure clad in white alighting from the car, I had a strange feeling that I was looking at a very familiar person. "That's U.G.," said someone. "Hello," said U.G. touching both Brahmachariji's hands. I looked at him intently. Although he looked simple in his white dress, there was some powerful dignity emanating from U.G. His black hair covered his ears. He had a broad forehead indicating a richness of intellect. His large ears hidden behind his hands, which were trying to arrange his hair, reminded me of a sculpture of the Buddha.
His fair complexion seemed fairer in the cool sunshine of December. He appeared almost indistinguishable from the Europeans who were with him. However simple and natural he seemed, there was something strange about him. In his gestures and movements there was the innocence of a child. Most striking of all were his eyes! Although his lips were smiling, there was an uncanny depth to his eyes. I felt as though I was looking into an abyss, as though I was slipping into the depths of an ocean. I stared at him for a while, spell-bound.
As soon as U.G. sat on a stone seat in the Cave, some of the friends in our company were ready to shower him with their questions. "I am tired from traveling. We will talk more when we meet again in the evening," said U.G., avoiding the questions, and making some small talk. Valentine, a Swiss lady who had been U.G.'s friend for many years, however, did not sit still for even a moment. She was walking around the Cave, examining its surroundings as though she were familiar with them.
