Stopped In Our Tracks

2009-10-19T12:22:00.012-04:00

It Is Bound to Affect the Whole of Human Consciousness · Thinking Is the Problem · You Are That Movement of Thought · The Courage to Be Yourself · Questioning the Movement of Thought · Birth and Death · Basic Needs · Discover Your Own Path Rejecting All Others · Silence Is Brahman · Thinking Cannot Solve Your Problems · Beauty · Philosophy of Life · You Will Never Know a Jivanmukta · This Has No Religious Content · Selflessness · This Is Not an Experience · It Is a Molecular Activity in the Brain Cells · Sensitivity and Total Attention · Religion Is Filth · You Cannot Be Aware · The Purpose of My Conversation · The Knowledge You Have About the Mind Is the Mind · Wanting Is Thinking · Monkeys Who Sit Around the Red Ocher · Burning of Thought Is Energy · There Is Nothing to Do · On Art and Artists · Your Life is Centered Around Eating · "Be Selfish and Stay Selfish" Is My Message · Divine Despair—an Involvement · Your Approach · They Interest Me · You Are Very Safe, You Can't Blast Me · You Don't Want This · Why Do I Talk? · Why Stop the Past? · It's Meaningless to Ask the Meaning of Life · Samskara · Conditioning Is Intelligence · Belief · Morality · Religious Business · Cultures Create a Lopsided Situation · Pleasure and Pain · Falling Asleep · Bliss and the Body · Deep Sleep and Turiya · You Have to Be Saved from the Very Idea That You Have to Be Saved · When You Know Nothing · Experiencing the Body · Who Is Crazy? · About God and Prayers | Editor's Note · Who Is This U.G.? · Introduction · Chalam · Sri Sripada Gopalakrishnamurti · Vazir Rahman · A Bonfire · Why Did This U.G. Happen to Me? · U.G. Arrives In Bangalore · You Put Me On a Pedestal · David Barry · Brahmachariji Brings the Brahmajnani · Where Is the Glow In My Face? · U.G. Took Away My Tiredness · Brahmachariji and U.G. · Brahmachariji Invites U.G. · U.G.'s First Visit to Brahmachariji's 'Cave' · There Is No Moksha, No Jivanmukti and No Atman · The Questioner Is the Question · I Report On U.G. to Chalam's Family · Dr. Desiraju · First Visit to Madras · Meeting With the Shankaracharya of Sringeri · Coffee Estate Guesthouse In Chikkamagaluru · The Natural State Is Being Able to Act Efficiently · The Basis of All Relationships Is the Same: What Will I Get? · Dr. Prabhu · Sastri Sadan In Bangalore—Viswanath · If Not Moksha, At Least a Transistor—Krishna Bhagavatar · If I Don't Torture You, Who Will?—Kalyani · Meeting New Friends—Indian Institute of World Culture · Kumar, U.G.'s Son · A Sardarji's Palm Reading · Consider Me As Part of the Furniture—Nagaraj · You Are the Only One Who Gives What I Need Free of Charge—Rochaldas Schroff · That Krishna and This Krishna Say the Same Things—the Swami of Udipi · B. L. Narayan · Sitaramayya—U.G.'s Father · Shanta of the Oasis School · Swami Poornanada Tirtha · Jnanasram and Jnanachakravarti · No Difference Between an Ashram and a Brothel · Chamundeswari Temple · Dr. Kameswari · This Is Not the Time and Place to Die—Kodai · Get Lost—Vision of J.K. · Kusuma—U.G.'s Wife · Valentine de Kerven · Appendix · Do What You Can and Forget All About It · My Actions Are Not Run By My Thoughts · Kangaroos and Baskets Full of Avocados · One Machine Gun Will Wipe You All Out · Keeping a Promise—a Rose for Aruna · Praise and Blame Are the Same to a True Sage · Going Public · Keeping Your Rules to Yourself Is Part of Wisdom · No Prior Appointments · If She Gives Me This House, I Will Turn It Into a Brothel · There Is a Lot to be Done By the Body—You Cannot Die! · Why Is the Moth Attracted to the Flame? · Dr. Sriramachandra Murty, U.G.'s Brother · The Aquarian Age—Mr. Raju · You and I Are Stray Dogs · The Body's Functioning Is Opposed to This Pleasure Movement · Before the Body Goes, God Must Die · It Will Not Do to Give Them Away to Your Neighbors · What If the Husband Dies After Marriage? · Isn't It a Registered Marriage? · Am I Not Better Than Rama? · Why Should You Become a Victim of Infamy? · I Said to the Sages: Drown and Never Rise Again · He Did Not Utter a Sentence to Comfort Her · Childhood Memories · I Used to Do Astral Travel, Too · Two Acres and Freedom · The Getup Is Nice · The Body Is Like an Animal · How Did I Come Into This World? · The Four Aims of Life · All My Ambitions Have Crumbled—Vinod · My Touch Will Multiply Life · Final Message: Drop Dead · If Einstein Were Here Right Now, I Could Shut Him Up In One Minute · If the House Has Cobras, It's Even More Acceptable · Either You Kill Me Or I'll Kill You · I Tried to Skip My Own Wedding · What Good Is It to Have All Those Lines? · Didn't You Say My Vibrations Were Horrible? · You Also Feel the Vibes of the Place · Because You Drank the Coffee, Your Ancestors Are Gratified · All Sounds Are the Same · I Am Only Speaking From a Practical Point of View · In Conclusion · Footnotes · Press

My Approach

I am not a thinker in the sense in which the word is used. In fact, I have been pointing out to those that come to listen to me that man's problems cannot be solved through thinking. There is no question of the world's problems being solved by the thinking of anybody. This is the essence of my communication to those that come to listen to me. At the same time, I point out that it is also not possible to communicate because no communication is possible and no communication is necessary.

So how do I go about this funny way? By making people realize that they cannot solve their problems through thinking. They are suffering and the suffering must come to an end. How can man put an end to his suffering? Naturally, it runs counter to all traditional approaches, both the Indian and Western religious approaches, and also the modern approaches, the psychologists. And through conversation and communication we try to understand that it is really not possible to understand or communicate what I am saying.

In other words, my objective in carrying on the conversation is to silence, in a way, and put them in a state of silence. And in that silence something can probably happen, and will certainly happen, that's all.

So I try to meet their arguments. They come with preconceived ideas, concepts and ideals, and then try to argue and debate with me. My approach is to suggest a counterargument and thereby neutralize their argumentative approach to the problem. This is all I do.

We all talk of the mind. The religious thinkers, the psychologists—all talk of the mind. So every individual has to discover for himself, by himself and without relying on any authority, be it religious, scientific or psychological. It has to be your discovery, otherwise it has no value.

The state of being I am describing is a state where there is no effort at all. I am just a mirror here reflecting things exactly.

2007-04-20T13:54:00.010-04:00

It Is Bound to Affect the Whole of Human Consciousness

The human race will somehow survive. But the only thing that one can do is to free himself, because it is a pure, unsullied and uncontaminated consciousness that is operating. So it is bound to affect all those who come into its orbit. You don't have to do a thing. You can sit in one corner of the world yet it is bound to affect the whole of human consciousness because it is the same, it is exactly the same. It has no frontiers, it has no boundaries. So it is bound to affect the whole human consciousness.

That is why I say that this so-called religious experience is an explosion. When this explosion takes place it is bound to affect the whole of human consciousness. You cannot measure it. It is not a thing to measure and statistically prove that so many people have been benefited by it. It is a very slow process. It takes time.

It is not a spectacular thing. You cannot produce results with all those that come into contact. Not all those that come into the presence of this consciousness have exploded. And this happens to one in a million. Not because of what he does or does not do but because it just happens. You call it grace, chance or...

2007-04-20T13:53:00.007-04:00

Thinking Is the Problem

What causes the pain there? It's not your inability to do... "I just can't do a thing," you begin to think. Thinking is the problem. Sadness is not the problem but thinking about sadness is the problem.

Stop thinking. Can you stop thinking? You are trying to stop. That means thinking. I am not suggesting that you should not think. Thought is you. If you are not thinking, you are not there. Nothing is there. What is there will begin to express itself. Let that express. Then there is no question. Just leave that alone. It will begin to act. You perpetuate sorrow through your thinking.

Nothing is wrong with you at all. You don't have the courage. Accepting whatever there is is courage. That is intelligence. "I don't want to be other than what I am." That is the courage. It is there! It is not a thing to be acquired.

2007-04-19T19:48:00.008-04:00

You Are That Movement of Thought

It is very difficult to understand the area between opposites. If I say I have no friends, it does not mean that I have enemies. If I say that I have no enemies, it does not mean that everybody is a friend to me. So how can you understand the state of being where you have neither friends nor enemies?

So you always swing like a pendulum from one end to the other. That is the movement of thought. It is always between these pairs of opposites. You cannot conceive a state of being where these pairs of opposites do not exist at all.

Q: But why is it so natural?

U.G.: Don't say it is so natural. It is so unnatural—the unnatural thing you have accepted as natural. That is our tragedy. You have never questioned that, because if you begin to question, your existence is at stake. You are that. You are not different from this movement of thought.

What is necessary for you is to understand the machinery that is functioning inside of you—the movement of thought. Supposing I tell you, "This is the way"—then where are you? You experience what I tell you. This knowledge you are going to use and create a state of being and think that you have experienced God, that you have experienced Reality, or that you have experienced truth. But that is not the truth. That is not God.

2007-04-19T19:46:00.006-04:00

The Courage to Be Yourself

You have never let desire just stay there without tampering. That is life. What can you do without desire? The more you want to tamper with it, the more it is suffering. You are always suffering because you want to be other than what you are. You just don't have the courage to be yourself. That means you have to be alone in this world—one without a second.

2007-04-19T19:44:00.006-04:00

Questioning the Movement of Thought

Somebody looked at the millipede and wondered how this small, tiny, little worm is able to walk with a thousand legs. So he asked the question, "How do you manage to walk? I find it so difficult to walk with my two legs." And so the millipede started thinking. And it died. In exactly the same way, the moment you begin to question the movement of thought inside of you, you will find that you are ending up in a very surprising situation, which is a very frightening thing for you.

2007-04-19T19:42:00.006-04:00

Birth and Death

There is no use of your talking as if you are born. You are never born and you never die. How can there be any death when you are not born? Neither your birth nor your death can become part of your experiencing structure. That experiencing structure must come to an end. Your body is not in a position to take it. Otherwise, you cannot die. The death always takes place in an unconscious state. You will never die in a conscious state. Why do you want to wait till your body becomes useless? You might as well die to the whole thing and begin to live, live in the sense that you understand that there is no beginning and no end.

* * *
The senses are functioning at their peak capacity all the time. They cannot go on. So every now and then—that is decided by the circumstances and not by any entity inside—the defenses must be cut out from outside challenges. So the eyes may be open but you see nothing, because the senses are tired.

This body, this nervous system, cannot stand that. It is its physical death. You come to the point of physical death. It is not the death of the mind, death of the psyche, or the death of thought. The body goes through the process of physical death, and why it comes back God alone knows.

2007-04-19T19:40:00.005-04:00

Basic Needs

Food, clothing and shelter—these are the basic needs. Beyond that, if you want anything, it is the beginning of self-deception.

2007-04-19T19:38:00.005-04:00

Discover Your Own Path Rejecting All Others

The path has to be yours. I don't want to use the term path, because it has mystical... My path, Ramakrishna's path, Jesus's path, or the Buddha's path—they are all worthless. Nobody can come into this unless or until all the other paths are rejected by him. Then it becomes his own path. So only if you reject all the other paths can you discover your own path.

Just look at yourself and find out what the hell you are doing with yourself, how you are kidding yourself all the time—how you follow the path of this man, that man and the other man. You are not interested in my path. The path is not going to lead you anywhere, and the path is not going to give you what that man has experienced.

2007-04-19T19:35:00.005-04:00

Silence Is Brahman

How can you understand that silence? Chaotic or otherwise—is it possible for you to capture that silence? When that silence starts operating through you, it is something extraordinary, something vital and living. This structure which is trying to understand the nature of it, capture it, contain it, or give expression to it, cannot co-exist with it.

The difficulty is you seem to know a lot about this state—you have imagination. You imagine it to be what is described as "Silence is Brahman" and begin to think about it. This imagination must go. That is something living, and the structure which is trying to capture it is a dead structure. You are all dead. You are not living human beings at all. You have never known one living moment in your life.

You are living the lives of your thoughts. All thoughts are dead, it doesn't matter whose thoughts, whether those of Shankara, of Ramanuja, or of the hundreds of sages, saints and saviors we have had and perhaps have still. It is useless to try to understand that. How can you capture it?

If there is any such thing as silence—chaotic or otherwise, living or dead—it will begin to express itself. When it expresses itself, you are not there. So you will never know the nature of that silence at all. What you call silence is not silence at all.

2007-04-19T19:32:00.004-04:00

Thinking Cannot Solve Your Problems

Q: You say that the silence will express itself. How is it that it failed in our case?

U.G.: Because you are waiting for the silence to express itself, or because you still have the knowledge of that silence.

Q: If the natural state is an equilibrium, how come this disturbance?

U.G.: Because you are pursuing and seeking a phony equilibrium which does not exist at all, and this is the thing which has been put into you by your culture and society. It is the knowledge of self or silence that is creating this disturbance. The idea or concept of silence you have about silence is causing this disturbance. You are that idea, and you want to understand how that idea has come into being.

Q: Is there a way to be thinking and at the same time be free from the limitations of thinking?

U.G.: No, that will be another, parallel movement of thought. It is a mechanical thing and can solve only mechanical problems, but you want to use it to understand something living. That is the problem. It is not intended for that. Human problems are something living. You cannot use thinking to solve those problems.

2007-04-19T19:31:00.005-04:00

Beauty

What is beauty? Where is beauty? Is it in the object or in the eye? You project your idea of beauty on the object you are looking at. That is all. There is a beautiful sunset there. The moment you even say to yourself that it is beautiful, you are not looking at it at all. Beauty is not in the object. It is not in the beholder's eye either. It is in the total abandonment of yourself.

So what is beauty? You really don't know. You wouldn't know what you are looking at, and in that state of not knowing, what is there fills the whole of your being. That you may call beauty, but there is nobody who describes that beauty and says he is enjoying it. If you capture that in terms of your experiencing structure then it is lost.

2007-04-19T19:29:00.005-04:00

Philosophy of Life

Q: What is your philosophy of life?

U.G.: None, whatsoever. Do you need a philosophy to live? Do you need to know the purpose of life and meaning of life to live? You are not living, for only a dead person is interested in asking such questions, not a living man. Whatever meaning you give to life, those ideas are picked up from here, there and everywhere. If it has any meaning, I would never know.

* * *
Q: How do you distinguish the living from the dead? You say that we are dead.

U.G.: Any question that comes from anybody is born out of death, not out of a living thing.

2007-04-19T19:28:00.005-04:00

You Will Never Know a Jivanmukta

Q: What are the features of a Jivanmukta or a jnani or a yogi?

U.G.: I wish I knew. If a Jivanmukta is sitting right in front of you, you will never know. You have no way of knowing whether a man is a Jivanmukta. You have a definition, a behavior pattern. If he fits into that framework you call him a Jivanmukta. If there is anyone like that, he will never know that he is a self-realized man or a Jivanmukta.

You have been told by somebody that I am a Jivanmukta. I may be a phony, a clever chap. I have picked up the art of elocution and all that. I have travelled around the world. Any actor could do that. How would you know?

2007-04-19T19:26:00.005-04:00

This Has No Religious Content

What I have been trying to say to those that come to listen to me, and to those that care to listen to me, is that what I have been saying has nothing whatsoever to do with religion. We have all been told, and some of us have been brought up with the belief, that by accepting certain beliefs and trying to live up to them in our daily life, and by due steps, we can aspire to become religious, or whatever you want to call it.

I am only describing a state of being which is a pure and simple physical and physiological state of being. It has no religious content. It has no mystical overtones at all. Probably, you want to discuss very serious subjects like attachment and detachment, refinement, sensitivity, and so on and so forth. I have precious little to say on those subjects. You will practice attachment or detachment for the rest of your life but will never be free from either attachment or detachment. You will always be caught up in the two.

2007-04-19T19:23:00.005-04:00

Selflessness

Selflessness is a great big myth. Anything you do—any movement in any direction on any level—is strengthening the self.

2007-04-19T19:21:00.005-04:00

This Is Not an Experience

This is not an experience. I cannot share it with you. If it is an experience I can at least try to make you experience it through words, through descriptions, through phrases, through painting and musical compositions and so on. You cannot capture this, contain this, or give expression to this. This is outside the range of experience. I don't know if you see the total helplessness of the situation.

2007-04-19T19:18:00.005-04:00

It Is a Molecular Activity in the Brain Cells

The eyes are there like two camera lenses. You don't have to do a thing at all. That is moving the lenses. It is just a reflection of that on the retina—like a mirror. You do not look into the index card system and say to yourself that it is a mountain. This is what I mean when I say that it is a pure and simple chemical activity, a molecular activity, in the brain cells. Nothing else. You don't have a religious mind. There is no mind apart from thought. There is nothing.

* * *
The mind is always closed in. As long as the mind is there, it is that which is preventing you from understanding things.

2007-04-19T19:09:00.007-04:00

Sensitivity and Total Attention

You can talk of total attention but it is not that. The object that is outside of you is demanding total attention, not you. When that demands total attention, you cannot even blink. When the eyes stay open for a long time they become dry and you may even go blind. That is a pathological condition. But there is a built-in mechanism—the other glands are activated and they supply the water. The sensitivity is the sensitivity of the senses. As long as you interfere with the senses, that is gone.

2007-04-19T19:06:00.004-04:00

Religion Is Filth

All the religions, no matter what country they come from, what all they teach you, all that is false. Because that is not real, that is falsifying you. There isn't anything you can do but you are still doing. There isn't anything to be done. You listen to some chap talking and to the descriptions of somebody. You open a book and read. There is nothing to be done whatsoever. If that is so, you wouldn't listen to anybody. You wouldn't read any books, except those you need to make a living. You wouldn't touch this stuff. If you touch it you need a detergent to wash your hands. It is so filthy because it is false. You will have nothing to do with it.

2007-04-19T19:02:00.004-04:00

You Cannot Be Aware

Do you know what you mean by the word aware? Probably you use it in the sense that I think, I feel, and so on. It is very important to understand. The dictionary says, the condition of being aware. You cannot be aware of anything. Somebody has fed people with this kind of bum dole. You have been fed so long on this bunk that anybody saying anything on this probably creates some kind of indigestion there. You want the same thing there.

What exactly do you mean by aware? You cannot be aware. There is no you. When there is an awareness, there is no you. It is not there. It is aware of itself. It sounds mystical but it is so. The anger or the feeling is aware of itself. The "you" separates you from that. That is the movement of thought. There is nothing else other than what you are looking at.

* * *
My emphasis is that awareness cannot be separated from the activity of the brain. It cannot be used as an instrument to understand anything, much less to bring about any change.

2007-04-19T18:57:00.008-04:00

The Purpose of My Conversation

Questioning is not a hallmark of intelligence. Cessation of questioning is intelligence. You do not seem to realize that it is not possible for you to break yourself free from the methods of thought that prevent you from seeing the limitations of all these concepts and direct experiences.

I have no answers for any metaphysical questions because I am not thinking metaphysically. I am not thinking in concepts. You may very well ask whether it is possible to use words without concepts. I say it is possible. There is no content to these words. These are not born out of any concept. They are just words. To imagine that there is a state of non-verbal conceptualization is just a myth. The purpose of this conversation is to enable you to break free from the methods of thought as a means to understand anything.

* * *
I cannot help you. You cannot help yourself. This is the situation. I want to push into... Maybe it helps.

2007-04-19T18:55:00.002-04:00

The Knowledge You Have About the Mind Is the Mind

The knowledge you have about the mind is the mind. If it is possible for you to be free from this knowledge, then there is no mind. The mind and the knowledge you have about the mind are one and the same. There may be something like the mind but you will never know that. It can't become part of your conscious thinking.

2007-04-19T18:09:00.001-04:00

Wanting Is Thinking

Wanting is thinking. As long as you want to do anything—"I want to understand myself," "I want to be free from this movement of thought"—it is thinking. You need thinking just to function in this world, but other than that, anything you want is thinking. You get the material for thinking always from somebody. Otherwise, there is no thinking.

* * *
Love is also thinking. "I love my wife," "I love my house," "I love my bank account"—all that is thinking. That is why I say that it is destructive. If there is any such thing as love, there is no thinking, no relationship. What you call love is just a vibration. If it is not reciprocated, it turns itself into either apathy or hatred.

2007-04-19T18:06:00.002-04:00

Monkeys Who Sit Around the Red Ocher

I was telling my friends yesterday about the simile we had in one of our books. Those who go to listen to spiritual discourses, those who read books of a religious nature, and those who are looking beyond for something, are like the monkeys who sit around the red ocher trying to warm themselves. You know what red ocher is. It is red in color, just like flame, but there is no warmth.

There isn't anything that you can get from any religious or spiritual discourses. What I have been trying to point out to those that come to listen to me, and care to listen to me, is that there is nothing to achieve, nothing to accomplish, and nothing to attain. What is it that you want and what is it that you are searching for? That is my question.

If you are searching for anything, if you want anything, then the first thing you must do is to throw away—lock, barrel and stock, and book, bell and the candle—the stuff you are hanging on to. You have to throw the whole lot into the cocked hat. Otherwise, there isn't any chance for you to be yourself. If you follow any path, it doesn't matter what that path is, it is leading you astray.

It is putting you on the wrong path. If you make anything out of what I have been saying, then you are lost, body and soul. And if there is a God, out of sheer mercy He should save you all, and save you from me and persons like me.

One thing I make very clear: I am not here to liberate you at all. What is it that you want to liberate yourself from? You are trying to ask for a thing which you have.

2007-04-19T17:47:00.002-04:00

Burning of Thought Is Energy

Burning of thought is energy. That is life, combustion of thought. Another kind of energy is created by the will—the thought sphere, the antenna. Sensations are also thoughts. Anger is energy. You will never be free from thoughts. Alchemy is burning of thought. Since I don't know what I am saying, I say I am not telling you the same thing as the "Old Man" (J. Krishnamurti). What I am saying is not the product of thinking. These words are just coming out. I am describing the state of being. It requires a tremendous courage to be yourself.

2007-04-19T17:44:00.001-04:00

There Is Nothing to Do

As long as you ask yourself the question, "Why not me, why should this happen to somebody else?" there isn't any chance of your making it. I have to use the words "making it" because you are all trying to make it, whatever it is you want to make. It's a thing which you cannot reach or make, a reachable or gettable thing.

All this search—the search for this non-existent thing, that thing called enlightenment—seems futile to me. And the futility of this search is what I have been trying to communicate to those that come to see me and care to listen to me. I also explain that the so-called enlightenment, self-realization, God-realization, or what you will, is a pure and simple physical and physiological state of being. It is just the pulse, beat and throb of life.

There is nothing to do. You are all the time interested in doing something. That is the one thing where you don't have to do a thing. If you can be that, just be that, you are in that state. You are not in my state or somebody else's state. That is your state. That is the natural state. That is the way you are all functioning. What prevents that to give expression to it is this movement of thought. You are all thinking about it. That is the thing which you can never capture through thinking.

2007-04-19T17:41:00.002-04:00

On Art and Artists

She is a painter. She can understand what I am trying to point out. If she wants really to paint how you look like, she will never be able to do that. She is projecting the idea. She has abstracted from the object that is there: "This is probably the way the person is like..." So she is putting the idea or abstraction of what she is looking at onto the canvas and she says, "This is the picture." So she cannot...

If she were a real artist, she will never be able to paint or make a portrait of him, it is impossible. That's the real artist. These are not the artists—not these people who put you on canvas. These are just technicians, I am sorry. So there is no such thing as an artist at all. He is just a technician. He or she has learned the technique of painting. They are just technicians, artisans, like the carpenters, masons, etc.

2007-04-19T17:34:00.001-04:00

Your Life Is Centered Around Eating

Q: I think that your talking carries your message.

U.G.: No, the talking is always emphasizing that there is no message. That is the talking. If that is what you call a message, then yes. The message is that there is no message.

Q: Is there any conscious effort on your part in giving expression to...

U.G.: How can there be any conscious effort? Whatever comes out of me is the expression of that state. There is no conscious effort at all. I am not conscious of anything at any time except when there is a need for it.

Q: There is this Charvaka Siddhantam (the Charvaka doctrine) that you have only to eat and be merry.

U.G.: ...and borrow money and never repay. The Charvaka emphasizes the reality of the world. Here he is something like a revisionist. But I say this reality which you have taken for granted is not so real as it appears to be. Quite the opposite, I am not recommending that you should drink, eat and be merry.

Q: Do you mean to say that anything one does is a waste of time?

U.G.: Eating is not a waste of time. The whole of your life is centered around eating, Sir! Your working there in the office for eight hours and making money—the whole thing is centered around eating. Your education, your marriage also—so that somebody could cook for you, your children, so that they can maintain you in your old age—everything is the extension of the same activity.

Q: All activities, then, are for the sake of nothing but eating...

U.G.: That's all. How much can you eat? Why do you want such a huge bank balance? You want your children, great-grandchildren—all of them to be secure. Ultimately, your house, your food, your pleasures—that is all you are concerned with.

2007-04-19T17:33:00.002-04:00

"Be Selfish and Stay Selfish" Is My Message

I am not saying anything against your bank balance or concern for yourself. I want you to do that...

Man is always selfish and will remain selfish as long as he practices selflessness. I have nothing against selfish people, because that is a reality. I don't want you to talk about selflessness. That has really no basis at all.

"Tomorrow" you will be a marvelous man. When tomorrow arrives you push it to day after tomorrow, or next life, but until then you will stay selfish. I have never said to anybody, "Don't be selfish."

"Be selfish and stay selfish"—that is my message. Wanting enlightenment is selfishness. Charity is selfishness.

2007-04-19T17:30:00.002-04:00

Divine Despair—an Involvement

The change is only tomorrow. You can't do anything about that. When tomorrow arrives you push to day after tomorrow, next life. That is where this Existentialism comes into the picture. It creates a despair in you. If you are really interested in bringing about change, you will find that you cannot really do anything.

The absurdity of wanting to change dawns on you. On that foundation, they have built this tremendous structure of thought called despair.

There are two schools of thought—religious and atheistic. J.P. Sartre, the French writer, belongs to the latter one. They also talked of divine despair. It is always related to hope. One cannot exist without the other—hope of things changing for the better, hope of finding some guru who can enlighten you...

Q: Is it possible to do anything without any involvement?

U.G.: It is possible. That means there is no relationship at all. All relationships are based on involvement. There are only temporary relationships, as with your landlord. They are purely temporary.

Q: We get involved, unfortunately, with everything we do. If I marry, I get involved. If I don't marry, I get involved.

U.G.: To practice non-involvement is meaningless. You are just not involved, that's all. There is no emotional content in the involvement. I have neither rights nor duties.

2007-04-19T17:26:00.002-04:00

Your Approach

You can never say anything about what I am saying. If there is to be any understanding about what is being said here, it must express itself there. Then you will not talk about me. You will not explain me to somebody. You will explain yourself. That will be something new, something radical, something extraordinary.

The ideal situation should be not to remember these things, not to recapitulate things, not to discuss these things with yourself or with somebody or ruminate. You just walk out. You will never come back. If you listen to me year after year, you are only clarifying your thoughts. It is useless. If you go out without recalling anything that is talked about, that would be the best thing. Don't recall anything. Can you do that?

2007-04-19T17:09:00.002-04:00

They Interest Me

Sometimes I read the Time magazine. Even there I am not involved, I am not involved with what I am reading. I don't even know what I am reading sometimes. It is very strange—when I read crime fiction, the suspense doesn't interest me at all. I am not involved with the build up of suspense. Just read the sentences and action... That is why I see mythological movies—Hanuman flying across the ocean and carrying Sanjeeva Parvata, his tail—those are the things that interest me. I read Chandamama—interesting stories, comic stuff.

2007-04-19T15:03:00.002-04:00

You Are Very Safe, You Can't Blast Me

U.G.: What I am saying will create and intensify the neurotic situation there. Don't listen to me. Fortunately, you have a very thick skin. Nothing is going to penetrate that. You are safe. Gowdapada provides the gloves, the Bhagavad Gita provides a coat jacket. Brahmasutras provide a leather bullet-proof trousers so you are safe.

Q: You are condemning whatever has been said before. Don't you think you may also be condemned and blasted...?

U.G.: If you have the guts, I will be the first person to salute you. You can't do that because you are relying upon the Gita and the Upanishads—not upon yourself. If you have the guts, you will be the only person who can make what I am saying false. You don't have to say that. I myself am saying that what I am saying is false, as far as you are concerned. A Gowdapada could do it, but he is not here. You are reading and repeating what Gowdapada had said. It is a worthless statement, as far as you are concerned.

Q: It is a hopeless situation.

U.G.: The situation is not hopeless. You want to be in that hopeless situation because you don't want to be free from selfishness, from fear, jealousy, envy, etc. The hope is in selfishness, the hope is in greed, in anger, in jealousy, and not in the practice of opposites.

2007-04-19T14:56:00.003-04:00

You Don't Want This

Anything I do to help you would be adding to your misery, that's all. You add one more misery to those you already have by listening to me. To that extent, it is doing no good to you.

* * *
Freeing yourself from any one of these things is the end of you. Please, in your interest, out of compassion I am telling you—this is not what you want. This is not something you can make happen. It is not in your hands. Whomsoever it chooses, it hits him. If you really want moksha, that can happen now. Everybody will attain moksha just a few minutes or hours, as the case may be, before the black van arrives to reduce the body to ashes.

What you want you can get elsewhere. "Go to the temple. Go around the tree. Hang from the tree. Repeat this mantra and put on ashes." Then somebody comes along and says, "Do this and give me a week's wages of yours." Some other fellow comes along saying, "Don't do all that. What I am saying is more revolutionary: be choicelessly aware," and then builds schools, organizations and tantric centers...

2007-04-19T14:52:00.001-04:00

Why Do I Talk?

My dialogue has no meaning at all. You may very well ask me why the hell I am talking. I assure you that it is not at all in the nature of self-fulfillment in my case. What I am doing is not a motiveless thing. Your coming here creates a sort of motive. I feel that I must help you, that you are suffering, that you want some answers to your questions. There is a temporary motive. It is to make clear that there is nothing to understand.

2007-04-19T14:50:00.002-04:00

Why Stop the Past?

Why should you stop the past from interfering with the present? You have been brainwashed by all those holy men, gurus, teachers and the so-called enlightened people that the past should die, should come to an end. "If you attain this, life would be hunky-dory—full of sweetness." You have fallen for all that romantic stuff. If you try to suppress the past and try to be in the present, it will drive you crazy. You are trying to control something which is beyond your control.

It is not only your past. It's the entire past, entire existence of every human being and every form of life. It is not such an easy thing. It is like trying to stop this flow of the river through all those artificial means. It will inundate the whole thing.

What is it that you can do? Anything you do in any direction, at any level, is perpetuating that.

2007-04-19T14:47:00.003-04:00

It's Meaningless to Ask the Meaning of Life

U.G.: Why talk of the meaning of life? Why do you want to mystify? You are here somehow. There may not be any meaning. You obviously see no meaning in life. Everything you do seems absolutely meaningless.

Q: There must be some goal, aim...

U.G.: The moment the baby is born the goal is to survive—that is the instinct. To feed itself, survive and reproduce one like itself. That seems to be the way of life. Life is expressing itself, that's all.

The body is responding to the stimuli—the pulse, beat and throb of life. When those things stop, then what you call clinical death takes place. But life is still continuing, but not in the way you want. The form disintegrates into the constituent elements and that becomes the basis for another form of life. Anyway, that is no consolation to you because the instrument you are using to understand the meaning of life is interested only in continuing.

2007-04-19T14:30:00.001-04:00

Samskara

Samskara is conditioning. Tradition is another word for it. That is what you are, what you call you. You cannot change it. Modify it and it continues. The whole thing is pathological. You separate the pathological and psychological. But actually there is only the pathological. Samskara is pathological conditioning.

2007-04-19T14:29:00.002-04:00

Conditioning Is Intelligence

It is not possible for you to be without conditioning. No matter what you do, you are conditioned. The unconditioning that the spiritual gurus are talking about in the market place is a bogus affair. You will find out. Anything you do is conditioning. What you have to be free from is the desire to be free from conditioning. Conditioning is intelligence. This conditioning I am talking about is happening in a different way—not the ideations and mentations.

2007-04-19T14:26:00.002-04:00

Belief

Belief is an extension of yourself, not an abstraction. It is like the habit of drinking or smoking. The more you try to stop it, the stronger grows the habit. You talk of faith when you are not sure. Belief—where is the need for faith? When belief is not producing the results you expect of that, you introduce what is called faith. You must have faith in that belief. That means hope.

2007-04-19T14:19:00.003-04:00

Morality

Only a man who is talking of moral things is the one who can be immoral. Since there is no such thing as immorality for me, I do not preach morals. That's all. I cannot take any moral position. The one who talks of morals and devotion is a humbug.

2007-04-19T14:11:00.001-04:00

Religious Business

The whole religious business is nothing but moral codes of conduct. It is a social thing—nothing religious about it. There is no difference between the policeman and the religious man. The religious man puts the policeman inside you. It is more difficult to handle the policeman inside you. You can corrupt the policeman out there.

2007-04-19T14:07:00.002-04:00

Cultures Create a Lopsided Situation

All these cultures, oriental or occidental, have created this lopsided situation for man and turned him into a neurotic individual. For example, kindness—in the very nature of things it is not possible to emphasize only kindness and selflessness.

Violence is part of nature. You have to kill something to survive. One form of life lives on another form of life. But you have condemned killing. Our culture has emphasized the one and only kindness. That is why this suffering of man, tremendous sorrow for man, because he is trying to have the one without the other.

2007-04-19T14:05:00.002-04:00

Pleasure and Pain

Both extremes—pleasure and intense pain—are painful for the body. The response is the same as far as the body is concerned. The body has no independent existence as it is not separate from what you call pleasure or pain. The vibrations may be different. The intensity of each vibration may be different. You demand a particular sensation, so you divide them—good and bad.

2007-04-19T14:01:00.003-04:00

Falling Asleep

When there is great suffering and depression, you go to sleep, you fall asleep. It is nature's way of taking care of the situation. It's the same with doing the Gayatri Japa. Since you can't stop doing that you go to sleep. Why do you smoke cigarettes? It also does the same as Ram Nam. Having a glass of beer or a cigarette is the same as repeating Ram Nam. You attach significance to Ram Nam.

2007-04-19T13:58:00.002-04:00

Bliss and the Body

The body is interested in its survival and reproducing one like itself. The only way it can reproduce itself is through the use of thought. So thought is very essential for the survival of the living organism. The body is not interested in spiritual activity or psychological activity. None of the spiritual experiences are of any value to the body. On the other hand, they create a tremendous strain. The bliss, beatitude, love, compassion—all those that the religious man had placed before us are only adding to the strain of the body.

2007-04-19T13:52:00.003-04:00

Deep Sleep and Turiya

Why are you talking of deep sleep? If there is any such thing as deep sleep, it is not possible for any individual who is in deep sleep to know anything about that. So don't talk about deep sleep. Deep sleep is the death of the whole body—not the fancy dying to your yesterdays. The body goes through what is called a clinical death at the moment when there is deep sleep. At that moment there is no body there. The body may or may not come back from that deep sleep. If, due to some strange chance, it comes back to life and is able to renew itself, the whole life—genetically programmed life—is there. After this deep sleep there is no more sleep for the body

* * *
You are talking of the turiya state where there is no division. Do you know what you are talking about? All your sadhana is the very thing that is creating the division there. Through knowing you think, you will become. Maybe that fellow who talked about it was in a state of bliss. What good is that? If you experience that, it is false. If you touch the man, it is false.

The atman is created by that junk Mandukya Upanishad. You don't have to get drunk to understand sobriety.

2007-04-19T13:47:00.005-04:00

You Have to Be Saved from the Very Idea That You Have to Be Saved

You have to be saved from the very idea that you have to be saved. If it has to happen, it has to happen now. The chance is here, now, not tomorrow. But you say it is a hopeless situation. My words..., they don't operate. No chance. Whoever is interested in spiritual matters is a candidate for the lunatic asylum. The line of demarcation between the mystic and the madcap is very thin. This one madcap is a clinical case and the other is on the way.

2007-04-19T13:15:00.002-04:00

When You Know Nothing

When you know nothing, you say a lot, but when you know something, there is nothing to say.

2007-04-19T13:08:00.002-04:00

Experiencing the Body

This body you see—whose body is it? I have no way of saying to myself, "This is my body." I have no way of directly experiencing this body for myself. Not experiencing funny little things called separation of the body—that is a neurological disorder. Many people have experienced the separation of their body. A neurological disorder can bring about the separation of the body—as if you are something different, you experience your own body. That is not what I'm talking about. I cannot separate myself at all because there is nothing here to separate myself from.

2007-04-19T12:53:00.002-04:00

Who Is Crazy?

There was a psychiatrist, a leading psychiatrist, who came to see me in Marseilles. We talked for hours and hours and days. He wanted to be with me all the time. He was one of the top-notch psychiatrists and psychologists. One day, I think he remained with me for 24 hours. He talked, talked and talked. "This is a textbook case, a mental case, you know. I should put you in the hospital for the way you talk," he said, "but there is one question I really don't know, whether I am insane or you are insane."

So he left his job after that encounter with me. Luckily, he had some other degree. He had specialized in tropical medicine and left psychiatry. "What I am doing in the hospital is something terrible," he said. He went away because he thought that if he had remained with me for long he would go crazy. I never saw him again.

2007-04-19T12:48:00.001-04:00

About God and Prayers

To have only pleasure without a moment of pain is just not possible. That is why you have invented enlightenment, eternal happiness, God, ultimate pleasure. What is that quotation, "When you talk to God, it is called prayer, and when God talks to you, you are called crazy." All your interests are materialistic.

Why do you pray to God? What do you want him to give you? Why should he? It is like the man who loses in his business. Somebody else is gaining, like in the stock market. On whose side should God be? How many millions of gods have you invented! We have seventy crores of gods. Double the number now—we have to find new animals for their vehicular movements, the old species are extinct now.

How can such a God, who is supposed to be all merciful, answer your prayers? That God is a crook. If he wants you to pray to give you whatever you want, something is funny there. He should give to everybody without prayer. The one who prays gets the goodies and the one who doesn't pray, like me, loses everything. What kind of God is he?

Editor's Note

2007-04-18T02:57:00.001-04:00

K. Chandrasekhara Babu has been a longstanding friend of U.G. in India. Soon after his meeting U.G. in 1969, Chandrasekhar started a journal and has maintained it all these years. The journal now comprises many volumes. We thought that some of the contents of these volumes would be of interest not only to U.G.'s Indian audiences, but also to his international readers. Our main interest in bringing out this book is to make some otherwise inaccessible material, particularly concerning events surrounding U.G.'s movements in India from about the time of his Calamity, available to the reader.

It was hard to keep any strict chronological order in the journals, as the journals flash back and forth in time. However, to give the reader a sense of the time, we have, wherever possible, included a time reference in each excerpt. The Contents reflects the range of topics of narration in the text.

Book One is the journal, followed by excerpts from book reviews and radio or TV interviews with various well-known personalities. Book Two, excerpts from U.G.'s dialogues, is Chandrasekhar's compilation based on various audio tapes.

Thanks to Wendy Moorty for her invaluable editorial assistance.

Who Is This U.G.?

2007-04-18T02:52:00.001-04:00

Not confined to a place
he is always on the move.
Unbound by tradition
he is above morals and
rules of conduct.

At times more demonic than
Kamsa, Hiranyakasipu and
Jarasandha,
at other times
a guileless youth
attracting young maidens,
he never lets go of his
uniqueness.

He may be in the company of
celebrities and lunatics
debauchees and drunkards,
but he remains untarnished.
He is unmoved by blame and praise.
He is as ferocious as Rudra
spewing the fire of dissolution.

He belongs to no fraternity
ashram or association.
Reaching over the globe
he is unique in the way
he spreads his tenets.
Subtle in his manner,
he never misses an occasion
to achieve his ends.

Not caught in a groove
He condemns sages and saints
and ridicules them all.
He scolds and scoffs
those that gather,
yet wins them back.

Mysterious is he
in helping true aspirants.
Unheard, unknown and unseen,
brilliant are his ways
into the hearts of men.

Majestic in adversity,
simple in opulence,
he is unaffected and unattached.
Sex or crime,
family or money—
he discusses freely anything
from disease to divinity.

He roams the world
undaunted.
He looks ordinary
but draws people to him.
He is the embodiment of immeasurable
spiritual power.
HE IS U.G.

~~~~~~~~

I took the pen
to condemn, demolish
and tear apart
his teachings and utterances,
piece by piece.
I wanted to destroy
the very basis
of his thought.

How come, then, this poem?

-Brahmachari Sivarama Sharma

Introduction

2007-04-18T02:48:00.001-04:00

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:

I

You say there is no faith, no mind
You do not accept a single teacher
You reject Shiva and his powers
You teach us to see ourselves as Shiva
You stress that release is empty
You forbid practices vehemently
You smile at me in pity when I ask you how I will attain that State
I wrote your story in Telugu, who knows how defective it is
With this I give myself to you
Please accept this gift, U.G.

II

You loosened my worldly bonds and formed my character
When everyone made fun of me you stood by me as my shadow
When all those I trusted let me down
You held me by my hand and took me to the shore
When my life was dreary you gave me a new one.
You patted me on my shoulder, gave me strength and made me stand like a man
I salute you and your magnificence.

Chalam

2007-04-18T02:37:00.001-04:00

October 15, 1964 was an unforgettable day in my life. That was the day when I first met Mr. Chalam, who was firmly implanted in Arunachala.

It was the day when my friendship through correspondence, which began in my student days, took me in my nineteenth year into his presence. I said to him incidentally, "I sometimes feel like writing something."

Chalam looking steadily into my eyes asked, "For whose sake?" I was stunned. I had never asked myself that question. True, whom should I write for? For others or for myself? After a while Chalam spoke again, "'Is it just for ourselves that we write, because we can't live without writing?' That question must keep arising till we feel that way." Exactly 28 years later I feel that I have the right answer to that question.

Ever since I made friends with U.G., Chalam and Nartaki shared my enthusiasm, my joys and sorrows and vibrated with me. Chalam is no longer with us. Nartaki has settled down in Arunachala. When a draft of what I wrote about U.G. was read to him, Chalam nodded his head in satisfaction and said, "Good." I was amazed at myself. Chalam talked about U.G. in every letter he wrote to me in those days.

Chalam travelled to Bangalore to see U.G. year after year, disregarding his own ill health. Because U.G. noticed something special about Chalam, he travelled to Arunachala when Chalam was on his death bed. This pleased Chalam and other inmates of Ramanasthan (the house where Chalam lived in Tiruvannamalai). Here are some of Chalam's letters to me:

i.
Arunachala
January 4, 1973

Chandrasekhar:

I was happy to read your letter. Although I never had any such experience, I can picture how great it would be when a saint's love alights on us and mingles with us intimately.

People living here with 'Shau' [Chalam's daughter Sowris, a devotee of Sri Ramana Maharshi] lack the proper perspective. They suffer too much from their loving familiarity. I suppose that Sri Krishna deluded people without letting them know who he really was.

I wish you would make a recording of your days and nights with U.G. Perhaps it is difficult to write from such a perspective.

With the blessings of Iswara,
Chalam

ii.
Arunachala
January 10, 1973

Chandrasekhar:

Your letter is exciting. Don't hesitate. Iswara is getting a great deed done through you. It's enough if you remain as an instrument.

Shau is conveying this suggestion to you. You should put him in a mood and put a tape recorder in front of him. It doesn't matter in what language he speaks. If you first record what he says, then we can think of the rest.

My idea is that you should record every day whatever is happening there, just as in the book Day by Day with Bhagawan and just as M. recorded the Daily Routine of Paramahamsa. I know it is difficult to do that.

I tried to do the same in Ramanasthan. But I was unable to. Unless orders come from above, these things are not possible for ordinary men like you and me. However it may be, a great relief in these matters is that there won't be any regret that 'we couldn't do them' because these matters are not in our hands.

The title U.G. suggested is very good. What couldn't be done if he wishes it.

I feel that we are on the brink of exciting times. So be it. We too will follow you from here jumping and hopping....

With Iswara's blessings,
Chalam

Sri Sripada Gopalakrishnamurti

2007-04-18T02:33:00.001-04:00

It was December 1976, 3 o'clock in the afternoon, at Secunderabad railway station. Sri Sripada Gopalakrishnamurti came running just as our train for Bangalore was scheduled to leave in half an hour. He had the draft of U.G.'s biography that I had written. Handing it to me he said, "It's great. But you must collect more details of U.G.'s life," and gave me a copy of the book he wrote on Sri Jillellamudi Amma.

"Have you ever seen Amma?" I said I hadn't. What I had heard about her before was through Chalam. "You must meet her. I think U.G. and Amma are the two great teachers of today. I feel that their teachings are the same. Somehow we must arrange for these two masters to meet."

It was wonderful to see Mr. Sripada's face glow with enthusiasm and joy as he was saying this, regardless of his advanced age. However, he passed away without his wish being ever fulfilled. I heard that year, when U.G. was staying in the Oasis School in Hyderabad, Sri Sripada had several discussions with U.G. regarding death and the afterlife.

The picture of Mr. Sripada bringing the manuscript of U.G.'s biography to the train station was firmly imprinted in my mind.

Vazir Rahman

2007-04-18T02:30:00.001-04:00

In writing U.G.'s story, my friend Vazir Rahman helped me to steer away from the traditional style of writing, and polish the writing somewhat by urging me to render U.G.'s words into simple and clear Telugu. I still remember the days of our spending hours together in Kodambakam. Our common interests were Chalam and U.G. We also listened to music when we were bored. That was in 1976 when I was going through an orientation course in the Indian Institute of Technology in Madras. We two used to meet every weekend.

In March 1980, the article I wrote on U.G. was published in the Sunday Supplement of Andhra Prabha Daily. I sent a clipping of that article to Vazir. Here is part of what Vazir wrote about that article:

Madras
March 17, 1980

Dear Friend:

I have your kind letter and the press cutting. I read the article carefully twice. You know how I am—I am never satisfied easily. I always find something lacking in what I read, if it doesn't come close to my own ideas. Your effort and the interest you have shown in your article are evident. It looks good to a degree. But if you ask me my final opinion, I would say that you should polish it some more.

Another thing. Philosophers like U.G. use language in an ingenious way. They wield unimaginable meanings through their words. If they use language in so many nuances, it means that their language is alive. Notice that neither U.G. nor J.K. use language artificially. They can express any complex idea in colloquial language and in a conversational style. I feel that the live quality of their language is the essence of their ideas.

Please review your essay keeping in mind what I said above. You have moved away from a conversational style to an artificial language loaded with heavy Sanskrit. As a result, instead of being lively, your writing has become heavy and acquired the style of a philosophical lecture.

I am writing all this just so you won't fall into this sort of pitfall when you write your larger originally contemplated book.

Yours,
V.R.

Vazir Rahman passed away in 1983, before he ever could see how many other big defects slipped into my larger work. He sent me a copy of his poetic work Sahasi as soon as it was published. In it are included poems—"Sport" and "At the End"—inspired by U.G. When U.G. heard the paragraph Vazir wrote about him at the end of the book, he said, "He summed it up very well."

This is all—nothing remains. It has to happen. One early dawn, a red-tailed bird drinking oil. Suddenly it must fly into emptiness. That's all—at the end, nothing remains. You flew singing thus Vazir! The Daring One! You left me here alone. Where did you go tonight? To the other shore? What is there? A big nothing (lit. donkey's egg)!

A Bonfire

2007-04-18T02:27:00.001-04:00

It was the night of September 13, 1992, Yercaud. The world didn't know yet that U.G. is staying in an abandoned house in a remote area, in Yercaud, India. Can anyone imagine a better heaven on earth than Switzerland? What can one say about the fact that U.G. now fixed his residence in this country in Yercaud near Salem, abandoning in one moment his 28-year-long association with Switzerland and the garden-like valleys of the Alps in Gstaad-Saanen? It is not because he lacks the economic means to satisfy his needs in Switzerland. When he consents to stay, there are innumerable friends who can arrange for royal comforts in a moment's notice. Then why is he coming to Yercaud? What's there for him on this mountain? He could at least stay in Bangalore. No, apparently there is no place for him there either.

The day before arriving in Yercaud, the visage U.G. manifested in Poornakutee (our residence in Bangalore) reminded one of Shiva at the scene of Daksha's sacrifice. All things which belonged to U.G. in Poornakutee were moved to Yercaud. Things collected over many years—files, photos, video and audio tapes—all of them were moved at U.G.'s insistence. He caused a bonfire in my heart: I used to cherish these objects every day, considering them to be U.G.'s archives. He trampled ruthlessly on my devotion. He sold the benches and almirahs in my own presence. He scattered everything without giving me a moment's time to realize what was going on.

It's all over. Nothing is left for me. All my dreams are shattered. Will Bangalore remain only a past nightmare? Why? Why is this happening?

It's useless to try to find the meaning behind U.G.'s actions. It is perhaps his intention not to leave for later generations even a trace of his coming into this world. Nothing must remain. U.G. is very clear that no one will benefit from collecting memorabilia and keepsakes pertaining to him.

In a Doordarshan interview with U.G., Deepak Vohra asks him: "U.G., I have one final question: How do you imagine the world should remember you after five hundred years?" U.G.'s reply is unique in world history: "I will feel blessed if the world burns away with my body all the memories and memorabilia pertaining to me."

U.G., you are your own equal. There has been and will be no one like you in this world. As I was sitting in the living room of the building in Yercaud, my mind became restless and chaotic. My mind was dreading that something untoward will surely happen. There was a heavy wind blowing outside the bungalow. It was penetrating through the closed door spaces and striking my spine. Murty, U.G.'s handyman, was kindling the fires in the fireplace. Murty had let go of his entire Bangalore life and had dedicated himself to U.G.'s service.

U.G. was sitting leaning against the wall. Whenever the fire glowed in the fireplace, U.G.'s face glowed red with it. Other friends in the room—the Major, Prabhakar and Suguna, my wife—all sat scattered on the floor with arms around their legs. Everyone looked pale. Mahesh sat on my right side leaning against the wall and looking pitifully at me. The scene looked like Yama's court ready for a trial. In the middle of it I sat with closed eyes like a sacrificial goat at the altar.

"Why can't Chandrasekhar understand? An ashram-like atmosphere can't grow around me," roared U.G. Mahesh sat up collecting himself. "Neither my tapes nor books nor letters must be in anyone's control. I am going to return all those photos to those who have taken them. Nothing must remain after me. I won't let even Chandrasekhar know where I am and what I am doing. It's all over. After Valentine's death, everything is disintegrating."

A flame flared in the fireplace when some of the kindling caught fire. A loud crackling sound of a piece of firewood. U.G.'s white clothing. U.G.'s body shone like a flame covered with snow.

Mahesh said after a little while, "U.G. I couldn't have written your biography if Chandrasekhar had not collected all of the correspondence and kept it in one place. That was necessary."

"Who benefits from those biographies? I said this before. Autobiographies are pure lies. And biographies are double lies. O.K. you wrote something. But what is he doing? Why should he collect all these? To burn them with me when I die?" U.G.'s eyes were showering coals on me. The fire in the fireplace seemed cooler. There was a conflagration in myself. There was an oven in my heart. Mahesh looked like an executioner from Yama. My body trembled when I realized why this soldier holding a drawn sword and waiting for a wink of the eye from the master had come from Bombay.

U.G. said again, "Why do you write letters to everyone informing them that I am here? Why do you hesitate to say 'I don't know where U.G. is,' to anyone who asks for me? The other day Julie called me on the phone in Bangalore. I told her, 'There is no place here for even Chandrasekhar and Suguna. What makes you think that I will let you stay?'"

God, what is going to happen? You dragged me here to show me this terrible form? It's all going—all my hidden fears, endless deluded hopes, colorful dreams, the beautiful dreams I had made up about my future—all of them were being shattered. They were all burning away. It was not U.G. in front of me. It was an active volcano on fire. Near it were solid rocks melting like lumps of wax. The tears in my eyes were evaporating before they trickled down.

"Chandrasekhar is the cause of all these miseries," U.G.'s voice sounded like thunder in the sky.

Far away, the bells of the Convent of Carmel rang, as if they were warning me, "These are your last moments, get ready." The crime I had committed knowingly or unwittingly, the emotions that had been mingled with my blood, the flaw of considering U.G. as my own, that he was my life outside of me, my subliminal hope of becoming the high priest for the temple of U.G.'s teaching—all passed through my mind clearly.

The criminal in me drooped his head. "Whatever has been going on so far cannot continue any more. It must all end here and now. This moment." The swing of his hand gathered strength and his resounding voice shook the bungalow. The executioner's sword flashed in the light of the dying fire.

"Here, now, this moment. It has to end now, Chandrasekhar!" Mahesh's howl mingled with my death scream.

Slowly the fire in the fireplace died down. The flames that shone red settled down in the ashes. The sky for once breathed in relief. The assembly came to a close. All the witnesses exited as though they were innocent. U.G. went into his room leaving me to my fate. My mind had never known such a terrible onslaught. Although I lay on my bed, I could not sleep. A series of thoughts whirled around like snakes in my mental snake pit. I got up from my bed and walked outside. Blackie, the dog, saw me and crawled around me wagging her tail. What had happened that night? How come the world was still sleeping so peacefully? To whom should I tell of my turmoil and my internal struggle? Why was I bothered about all this? Who is this U.G.? Who am I? What is the connection between us? True, what is he to me? What am I to myself?

I was walking to the edge of an abyss in the dark. I could see, four thousand feet below, the city of Salem flickering with lights, as though the sky had with all its stars collapsed on the ground.

I asked U.G. on the night of my arrival in Yercaud: "Why doesn't the truth of your words apply in our lives? Our minds can see reason and consent to the logic, but we lag behind in carrying it out in action. Why is that?" U.G.'s answer blasted my brains: "because you are afraid of losing me if those words work. Because of that fear you try to use those words securely, as gloves on your hands, to protect yourselves."

Those words of U.G.'s whirled around in my head, "You are afraid of losing me," and I felt as though they were mocking me.

It's true: U.G. is my life, my everything. Who is it that still lives after losing U.G.? I? Who am I? I have no alternative: I must solve this puzzle.

U.G. is no one to me. There is this connection, this blunt bond that entangles me, and unless this is broken, I am not free. U.G. and I—the memories I have treasured so much, the memories which I thought were special to both of us, my countless experiences—if U.G. himself is nothing to me, why should I bother with them? Why should I hoard them? For whom? Never. I should expel all of them. I should tear myself, break myself open, destroy myself, plunder all my memory treasures which I had so carefully hoarded, and scatter them to the dust and the wind. I must stand alone, helpless as a destitute without a past, while all these memories are shamelessly crushed under the feet of every village pig.

The sacrifice has started, the serpent sacrifice of Janamejaya. All the serpents, the thought-serpents that have been hiding inside my head, in my blood and in every nerve of mine, must all be dropped into this sacrificial fire. There is no protection for any of them. All of them must be consumed. All my memories must assume the form of letters and be offered in the sacrifice of this book.

I don't know how long I stood outside that night, by the side of the abyss, in the dark, under that tree. Utter silence around me. An abyss inside of me and an abyss outside. Utter darkness all around.

"Is this all there is to my life?" The question arose in me all of a sudden. "If you let that question arise, then you have no scope to live." No sooner I had heard this than all the darkness disappeared. A cloud curtain crossed the abyss touching me softly.

Why Did This U.G. Happen to Me?

2007-04-18T02:24:00.001-04:00

It was September 20 of 1992. Just a while ago U.G. spoke to me on the telephone. I have been waiting for three days for his call. Just today they installed a new telephone in U.G.'s cottage in Yercaud.

"When are you coming here?" asks U.G.

"When would you like us to come?"

"You don't need to come. You are not needed," says U.G. in a joking voice. "The owner of this house is offering to build a special ashram for me. He says he will call it 'U.G. Ashram.' I vetoed it saying 'Never.'"

I told him I was going to Hyderabad. "Don't invite my daughter Bharati here." U.G.'s admonition made me smile.

What sort of a person is this? Is he a Jivanmukta? Is he an Atmajnani? I was reminded of what Marissa, an Italian friend of U.G., said many years ago. Those were the early days of her acquaintance with U.G. After hearing from her about U.G. and after meeting him, her father apparently said: "Damned be the day you met that man called U.G. Your life will never be the same again." I have no doubt that these words are literally true, not just in Marissa's case, but with everyone who has met U.G. "Why did this U.G. happen to me? It seems as though that I have voluntarily invited the devil into my house at my own expense." There is not a day on which Mr. Brahmachari Siva Rama Sarma, who had undergone tremendous upheavals after meeting U.G., does not wail: "By inviting him to Bangalore, I bought a total disaster for myself." "But isn't that a great blessing? Does that happen to everyone?" some inquire thoughtfully.

"On whomsoever I bestow my grace, him I shall rob of all that he has." It's amazing to notice in how many ways and in how many contexts U.G. demonstrates the truth of this statement of his. Be that as it may, the number of Brahmachari's friends such as myself, who regard the "disaster" that happened to him as a great blessing, is increasing day by day.

U.G. Arrives in Bangalore

2007-04-18T02:17:00.002-04:00

When was it that I met U.G. in Bangalore for the first time? It was long ago, in December of 1969. Even now I am deeply saddened when I think of my condition before I met U.G.

What sort of life did I live! I wasn't interested in worldly values. My goal in life was to strive for some undefined spiritual experiences. I was wandering around visiting different gurus and ashrams, listening to their various teachings, and running around ceaselessly with the belief that there was something to be found somewhere.

Those were the days when, at last, there was a respite in Ramanasthan, (my elderly friend Mr. Chalam's residence) in Arunachala presided over by Sowris (Chalam's daughter). I tasted a new life in the compassionate company of the sage Chalam.

Those were the days when I dedicated my entire life to the worship of the Lord of Arunachala. Ever since I found my refuge in Chalam in 1964, how many times did I run to Ramanasthan each year! Shau (Sowris) was my revered deity; she was for me the Lord of Arunachala in person. As the devout Prahlada said in the myth of Bhagavata, I longed to stay in the remembrance of the Lord even while drinking, eating, talking, sleeping or engaged in any other activity. Nothing concerned me except my worship of and meditation on the Lord of Arunachala.

Extraordinary experiences and visions occurred during my meditation. I felt as if my liberation was close at hand, that there wasn't much more to be striven for, that I had 'crossed the bridge,' and almost arrived at the point of self-realization. What enthusiasm!

I had been working at a job in Bangalore. Some friends and I ran the Sankara's School of Culture and a hostel for college students. Not caring about the consequences for my family, which depended for their livelihood on the salary that I earned, I lived in Arunachala that year (1969). A series of letters from my friends and well-wishers trying to persuade me to return to Bangalore did not move me out of Arunachala.

When I look back after 27 years, that year of 1969 seems unthinkable even now: how I walked crazily into danger without looking back or ahead, and how many shocks had I experienced!

In just two months of my stay in Ramanasthan, I came to realize the extent of my spirituality. I saw how much were my spiritual experiences weaker compared to the strength of my sexual urges. My sexual and romantic passions gradually clouded the presence of the Lord of Arunachala in my heart, where I mistakenly believed I had permanently established Him. This struck a great blow to my ego, which believed that I had become very holy. In a word, my spirituality was quickly transformed into a sexcapade.

"The source for both God and sex is the same. As long as you think of God, there is always sex in its shadow," says U.G. I now understand the value of this saying. But in those days I was very confused. "Why am I so deluding myself? The mind which freed itself from so many attractions, why is it pining so much for such a trifle? Is this a test? O Lord, please give me strength. Please get me out of this mire." Just as I was praying thus, I felt that I was sinking deeper into the mire.

That evening, I spoke to 'Father' (Mr. Chalam) who was sitting alone: "Father, I want to talk to you about something." Chalam looked at me with attention. A poem from Chalam's work Sudha crossed my mind: "My life came to the point of saying, 'Lady, let me go,'" I quoted without much elaboration. From the little I said that sage of love immediately understood my condition much more clearly than I had myself. He looked at me intently for a moment and said in a quivering voice, "But you don't have a lady here..." "Yes, I do. That is why I have this torment," I said. There were a few moments of silence. Then Chalam said emphasizing each word: "Present all this precisely to Iswara. He will take care of it. You don't worry."

Iswara (God) resides in Sowris, also called Shau. My unshakable faith in the idea that Iswara, in person, was conducting through Sowris all the affairs (of Ramanasthan) had already been shaken. Regardless of how much I wanted to keep my faith, there was only betrayal and rebellion in me.

I had doubts about all my beliefs and all the truths which I had adopted as the foundation of my life. But why should such doubts and aberrations occur in me when I had dedicated myself to spiritual practice, when I had resolved to myself that I had no other goal in life than self-realization? Was this the result of the impressions of my past lives? Must I suppress them? Must I go on battling these phantoms? What was the advantage of that?

"Watch Jagadish Bhai. See how carefree he is? He is carefree because he has submitted himself totally to Iswara," said Chalam. Jagadish renounced everything twenty five years ago when he was still only twenty, and like Bhagavan (Sri Ramana Maharshi), wore a loin-cloth and had firmly implanted himself in Arunachala. Only the day before he was complaining, "These kids are shouting saying, 'M.G.R., M.G.R.' I can't meditate in the middle of all this noise. I am even dreaming of the shouting about M.G.R." I was shocked at the manner in which Jagadish complained about his problems. Was that all? Must all that renunciation and spiritual practice come to naught in the face of some noise about M.G.R.?

Soon after that I broke away from Ramanasthan and left Arunachala. After almost four months of absence, I returned to this world, to Bangalore, to my usual mechanical life, and to my job, which I managed to retain with friends' help. All those who knew me expressed concern over my welfare, but ridiculed me behind my back. They considered me as sort of crazy and gave me counsel to try and save me. That was a hellish torture. I spent hours alone, sitting on a pile of boulders behind the Ramakrishna Ashram, pondering over the state of my life. My mind was filled with disgust at the very thought of spirituality or spiritual practice. Around that time, when I became tired of Vedanta, the teachings of J. Krishnamurti attracted my attention. His Commentaries on Living became my routine reading material.

You Put Me On a Pedestal

2007-04-18T02:14:00.001-04:00

One morning I was trying to call U.G. on the phone. I hadn't succeeded even after an hour. I was tired of trying, so I hung up the receiver and sat down. Just then the telephone rang. "Hello," said U.G. "Hello U.G., I have been trying your number for half an hour."

"We too have been trying on this end. The important thing I wanted to tell you was that our Major got an electric shock while he was ironing clothes a while ago. He yelled so loud that we all thought that he might have died. He is still trembling from the shock. He was ironing my clothes. He squeezed them, dried them and started ironing them. He ignored my request not to do it. He thinks that he will get some spiritual vibrations if he washes my clothes. When I assure him that the only shock he will get is an electric shock and that there are no spiritual vibrations or other vibrations, he still doesn't listen to me." So U.G. goes on. You can't extract spiritual undertones from his words, no matter how much you try.

"There are no moral values in what I say; nor is there any social utility. There is no spiritual or religious content either." No matter how vehemently he asserts this, it is hard for us to accept it.

How strange! There is no wise man who can listen when U.G. keeps repeating, "I am not a jivanmukta; nor am I an evolved being." People such as Mr. Vedantam Satyanarayana, a friend of U.G., try to pull him into an argument saying, "You say you don't know what state you are in. What you say indicates the Advaita state described in Vedanta texts. If you could just come down to our level and...." Then U.G. complains pointing out, "Where do you think I live? I live right next to you. You put me on a pedestal, on a height. What can I do?" They do not pay attention. I have been observing this sort of exchange for twenty years, ever since I had met U.G. for the first time.

David Barry

2007-04-18T02:03:00.001-04:00

U.G. inevitably comes to mind whenever I see the Vedanta Book House, a book shop in Chamarajapeta in Bangalore. It was in this shop that I first heard of U.G. I know well the owner of the book store, Mr. Ashwattha Narayana. One morning when I went there to see if there were any new books in the store, as if he had been waiting for me, he said, "Come in. You came just at the right moment. The gentleman here says he needs books explaining the philosophy of Sri Ramana Maharshi." He introduced me to an American gentleman named David Barry who lived in Ojai, California. We learned a lot about each other in about ten minutes. The interest Barry showed not only in the Vedanta of Ramana Bhagawan, but also in other Vedanta texts impressed me.

"How long have you been in India?" I asked him.

"The last time, I came from Switzerland with a great man called U.G. Krishnamurti. But I stayed behind in this country," he replied.

When I heard the name Krishnamurti, I mistook it for J. Krishnamurti. "No, no. Not J.K. This man's name is U.G. I do know J.K. pretty well. U.G. is a brand new jivanmukta. If you compare the two, U.G. far surpasses J.K.," said Barry. Then he talked about his acquaintance with J.K. and U.G., and the manner in which U.G. criticized J.K. After listening to all that he said about U.G., I thought he was some disciple of U.G.

Some days later, when I had met U.G., our conversation turned to Barry. "He is the only man who is my first and last disciple." I couldn't stop laughing when U.G. spoke this way.

My acquaintance with Barry, which started in the Vedanta Book House, did not stop there. I took Barry to the Sankara School of Culture which we ran at that time, and introduced him to all my friends there. All the things which Barry described about U.G. that day interested us very much: U.G.'s Calamity, the strange way in which his senses functioned independently of each other as a result of the chemical changes that took place in his body, the colors that emerged in the places of the yogic chakras, the visitations of personages such as the Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed and Shiva, the manner in which he attained naturally the 'half-woman' state (attributed to Shiva), nullifying the difference between the male and female sexes (a state which occurred as a result of a hormonal imbalance in his body). When Barry was describing all these in a dramatic fashion, we listened to him with rapt attention.

We couldn't believe all the wonderful things that had happened to U.G. Can such things happen to any one in this day and age? Even if they did happen, can such a strange person be a true jivanmukta, if he regarded such unique experiences as natural occurrences and did not give any importance to them? Was the Calamity a real event in U.G.'s life? When did it happen?

"The Calamity occurred in the year 1967 on July 9, exactly on his 49th birthday. There is a beautiful place called Saanen in Switzerland. When U.G. sat under a chestnut tree on that day, it happened," said Barry.

"What happened?"

"Enlightenment," said Barry. He talked casually as though he was describing a natural event such as a sunrise.

How strange! Could enlightenment happen in someone's life as an event like a fruit falling from a tree? Then too, that it happened on that day, his 49th birthday?

Apparently the Kaumara Nadi had already predicted that U.G. would attain self-realization on his 49th birthday. Barry was an eye witness to all that happened to U.G. after that.

"Barry's staying with us in the days of my Calamity was in some ways of great use to us," I heard U.G. state on a later occasion.

"I used to have strange visions. 'Vision' not in the sense of seeing something 'out there.' Rather, my whole consciousness, my existence suddenly assumed the form of the Buddha. I was not there. In my place it was either the Buddha or Shiva—sometimes it was some women's forms—with disheveled hair and naked breasts—even my sex organs were changed.

"Just for a moment. The moment I looked at that and asked what it was, the division disappeared.

"What is all this? Why is it happening like this? Who are all these forms? There was no fear, only curiosity. Because Barry was there, and because he knew Hindu, Greek, and Chinese myths, he was able to interpret and comment on all these phenomena. He would look for parallels for the things that happened to me in those myths," says U.G.

I can never forget the scene of three years later, one morning, when U.G. was prodding this best disciple of his with a stick with thorns on it, threatening him. Barry by nature is slow in doing things, and generally lazy. U.G. does not tolerate any dullness or laziness among the people around him. Indeed, efficiency and promptness are synonyms for U.G. "This machine does not know laziness," maintains U.G., referring to his body. "If your heart gets lazy and stops beating for a few minutes, what will happen to you?" he asks.

That day as U.G. was goading Barry for his laziness, Barry's imposing figure was grumbling pitifully, pleading, "Is this how you show your compassion?" while he gave U.G. a frightened look. The scene made us all laugh along with U.G.

Brahmachariji Brings the Brahmajnani

2007-04-18T02:00:00.001-04:00

After Barry left, all the friends in the hostel talked for a long time about the things they had heard from him about U.G.

That same night, about 9 p.m., suddenly Mr. Brahmachari, a spiritual teacher who later became a friend of U.G., appeared outside the hostel. "I don't have much time. I am just arriving from Mysore to tell you of an important event. Tomorrow morning a Brahmajnani is coming to our 'cave.' Take a leave of absence in your offices, come to the Cave and meet him," he summoned. Who is this Brahmajnani that was going to sanctify Mr. Brahmachari's Cave? Normally Brahmachariji did not invite anyone to the Cave.

"He is U.G. Krishnamurti. Everyone calls him U.G." These words of Mr. Brahmachari resounded in my ears. I couldn't believe myself hearing them. "Who? U.G.? The man who recently arrived from Switzerland?" I asked, containing my amazement and excitement with great difficulty. Mr. Brahmachari turned pale: "How do you know him? When did you meet him?" "I have heard about him. But I haven't met him yet. I am going to see him tomorrow morning," I briefly reported to him what had happened earlier with Barry.

"So the publicity has started even before he has arrived in Bangalore. I met him in Mysore. When he told me he was coming to Bangalore, I invited him to the Cave."

"What sort of a man did he appear to be when you saw him?" I asked Mr. Brahmachari.

"I have no doubt that he is a true Brahmajnani. Wisdom dawned on him in a peculiar way. If you look at his eyes, it is absolutely certain that he is a jivanmukta. No matter how long I observed him, I could not find him blinking. His skin is soft and smooth like silk. Why try to know the taste of the curry when you are going to eat it? You will see him tomorrow." So saying, he left hurriedly.

That night I marveled: "What is this? Is this a dream or is it true? Or is this an illusion of Vishnu?" Such was the state of my mind. "I heard about him this morning. And tonight I have this news. Are these events coincidental? Or is this a grace from a mysterious force? Or is this merely my good fortune?" I pondered for a long time. "Tonight is a long night. When will it be dawn?" I laughed at my own craziness and dropped off into sleep...

Where Is the Glow In My Face?

2007-04-18T01:56:00.001-04:00

It was October 19, 1992. The Major's Maruti car was racing from Yercaud toward Mysore. The Major and U.G. were in the front seats, and I and Suguna were in the back. U.G.'s innocent question, "Why are we going to Mysore?" caused the Major to laugh. Our friends in Mysore did not know that U.G. was coming there. U.G. had no need to see anyone there. Rather, just because we had wanted to see how this circuitous route to Bangalore actually went, we had started on it. It was 1:00 p.m. by the time we stopped at Chamarajanagar on the way to Mysore. We sat at a small table in a restaurant called Sringar. Although it was an inexpensive restaurant, it looked clean.

One of the persons who was sitting at a table next to us was staring rather intently at U.G. The gentleman looked as if he was struggling with the dilemma of whether or not to talk to U.G. At last he got up, walked to U.G. and asked politely, "Excuse me Sir, I don't know who you are. But I see a glow in your face. What are you?" Indeed, it is not easy to identify a Brahmajnani in crumpled clothes, untidy hair, and with the tired face of someone who has traveled for six hours. The gentleman didn't seem to be satisfied with the answer given to him by U.G. He said, "You are not an ordinary man. I see a great glow around your face. I am an employee in the L.I.C. (Life Insurance Corporation). I am also the President of the Brahma Kumari Sangha." He introduced himself thus and requested U.G.'s address which U.G. gave him.

The man's name was Nagaraj. The last look of his while walking away from U.G. told me how deeply he was attracted to U.G.

U.G. Took Away My Tiredness

2007-04-18T01:54:00.002-04:00

The car started moving again toward Mysore. On the way, the Major asked U.G. quietly, "Why did that man Nagaraj feel that way when he saw you? He said he saw some glow."

"How should I know? I even went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror to see if I would find anything. There was no glow or any such thing. I don't know why he felt that way," said U.G. smiling. We all broke into laughter.

"Changing the subject, you made me eat seven dosais (pancakes with potato stuffing) today. I am used to having a nap after my lunch. If I happen to doze off while I am driving, that would be the end of all of us. Whatever suits you...," warned the Major smiling through his thick mustache.

U.G. became drowsy after a little while. While the Major and I were talking, U.G. took a short nap and then sat up, awake. U.G. smiled and said, "Lulled by the car's bouncing I fell asleep. I slept on your behalf also."

I observed the Major's face when he replied, "Very good, I am happy," and there was not a trace of tiredness in him. I thought that he would want to sleep for a few hours after arriving in Mysore. But, instead, he drove us directly back to Bangalore by 7 p.m. having driven non-stop for 12 hours through heavy traffic. I had never seen the Major drive so long without stopping and resting en route. I congratulated him saying, "How was that possible? You established a new record for yourself."

"U.G. took away my tiredness and drowsiness. He said it himself that he slept my share of the sleep too. It's strange. From that moment my tiredness was gone. Otherwise, it would have been impossible to drive 450 kilometers non-stop," said the Major.

We thought of the scolding we would get if U.G. got wind of this conversation. So instead I included a narrative of the incident in this book.

Brahmachariji and U.G.

2007-04-18T01:39:00.004-04:00

The next morning Mr. Brahmachari appeared in Poornakutee, our house in Bangalore. "How come you went to Mysore while I came here from Mysore to see you?" he frowned upon U.G. People call him also Swami Sarma. Usually we all call him Brahmachariji.

U.G. and Brahmachariji are both unique. You feel that perhaps Krishna and Arjuna were like this in ancient times.

It's commonly believed that the more adoring a devotee becomes the more his thinking powers deteriorate. This doesn't mean that Swamiji is a great devotee of U.G. Nor is he afraid of him. It is typical of Swamiji to fearlessly express himself. It is common for U.G., on the other hand, to tease the Swamiji about the logic of what he says. When these two get together, it is great entertainment for those who gather around them. Nagaraj used to say, "You two are made for each other."

I asked Swamiji that morning: "Swamiji, where did you see U.G. the first time? How did you bring him to Bangalore? You must tell me precisely. I must record everything you say permanently in my book."

Brahmachariji and I have known each other for about twenty five years, ever since he started residing in his Cave. Mr. Brahmachari's real name is Siva Rama Sarma. He was brought up in a wealthy family from Mysore. In midlife, he became increasingly detached, and dedicated himself to spiritual life for four decades. He founded the Jnanasram in Bannerughatta. There are facts about him which would amaze even those who knew him merely as the Bannerughatta Swamiji. Only people who know him intimately are aware that he graduated as an M.Sc. in Chemical Engineering and passed the I.A.S. (Indian Administrative Service) examination. As he disliked government jobs, he took a position in the Indian Institute of Technology (in those days Tata Institute) and worked as an assistant professor for some years.

All his brothers are millionaires, and they have also been adept in political intrigue. They made their millions no matter what political party was in power, and they always capitalized whenever political power changed hands. U.G. teases Brahmachariji by saying, "Those same qualities your brothers have are active in your blood too." He also mocks at him at times saying, "You don't live like them. Instead, you adopted this sort of life and lost both the worldly and otherworldly goods." It is surprising to notice Brahmachariji, who would usually react violently to anyone saying derogatory things about him, smilingly accepting U.G.'s heckling, mocking and teasing. "He is finished. After he came to me, he has changed a lot. He has become like a cobra whose fangs have been removed," says U.G. laughing.

When he talks about U.G., Swamiji becomes animated, and his anger and emotion express themselves eloquently more in Kannada than in English. It is amusing to see that when U.G. tries to stop him by jokingly saying, "Kannada beda" (No Kannada), Swamiji always asserted himself with his broken Tamil, "Sariyapocci, iduda venda" (All right, but we don't want this).

Brahmachariji Invites U.G.

2007-04-18T01:37:00.001-04:00

"First, Dr. Ramakrishna Rao wrote a letter to me in 1969," recounted Swamiji, as though he was recalling that letter. "He not only narrated the unique happenings that had happened to U.G. He also wrote: 'You haven't met a person like him before in your life. Ordinary terms like Brahmajnani and jivanmukta have to be given new meanings in order to describe this man.' He also sent me a copy of U.G.'s horoscope."

Dr. Ramakrishna Rao was a boyhood friend of Swamiji. He was a Professor of Philosophy in Mysore University. Swamiji has a great belief in astrology. He believes, on the basis of his own personal experience, that we can know a person's true character more clearly through an examination of his horoscope rather than from his friends' opinions and accounts of him. He showed the horoscope sent by Professor Ramakrishna Rao to a close friend and well-wisher, Mr. Devudu Narasimha Sastry.

Few do not know the name of Mr. Narasimha Sastry in the Kannada region. He is a great scholar. He not only knew well both Kannada and Sanskrit, but was also an astrologer and a devout man. Mr. Sastry's residence was near the Sankara Math in Bangalore, and was also close to the Cave of Mr. Brahmachari.

After examining the horoscope of U.G., Mr. Sastry said candidly, "No doubt there is something great about this gentleman. However, company with this man is not beneficial to you. That is all I want to say. The rest is up to you." Brahmachariji was confused. He knew it was useless to ask "Why, or how?" Brahmachariji wailed laughing, "In spite of Mr. Sastri cautioning me so clearly, if I still went to Mysore to see this great man, what could all this be except my fate?"

Professor Ramakrishna Rao used to live in Saraswatipuram. Brahmachariji was visiting him there. There was a water tank near his house. Suddenly Brahmachariji saw in a small crowd a man in white pajamas and shirt and a full-statured foreigner of medium height. "From the description Ramakrishna Rao gave in his letter, I identified the former person as U.G. On the bank of the tank I noticed that U.G.'s chest was more elevated on the left side," he recalled.

U.G. took Brahmachariji to Professor Ramakrishna Rao's house, and they talked for quite a while. If the acquaintance which started thus had ended with that meeting, then there would be no need for this story.

When U.G. told Brahmachariji that he was thinking of going to Bangalore, the latter invited him to his place. "Ever since I invited U.G. to my Cave, my life has become like that of the person who invited the passing goddess of pestilence to visit his house, " sighed Mr. Brahmachari.

U.G.'s First Visit to Brahmachariji's 'Cave'

2007-04-18T01:35:00.002-04:00

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.

There Is No Moksha, No Jivanmukti and No Atman

2007-04-18T01:31:00.001-04:00

Later, I heard U.G.'s voice ringing like a bell as I was climbing the stairs of the Cave. In the library room upstairs about twenty pairs of eyes were riveted on U.G. sitting in a corner. I found room for myself and sat at the threshold of the room on a reed mat. Outside was the cool sunshine of the winter afternoon, and the sound of the peepul tree leaves moving with the wind. "There is no moksha, no jivanmukti, and no atman. And there is no such thing as self-realization. Those are all lies. There is only the natural state. I don't like to use your terms such as enlightenment, jivanmukti, nirvana, or moksha to refer to this state. Those terms suggest some other meanings. They sound weird to me. When I talk about the natural state, it is not the state of someone who has attained self-realization or God-realization. It is not something created through self-effort. This natural state is always living and spontaneous. This happens to one in a billion, accidentally. It does not result from your effort. It is acausal. And why this natural state happens to that one and not anyone else, I don't know."

Q: When did this happen to you?

U.G.: In my forty-ninth year.

Q: Then are you saying that none of the spiritual practices you did for so many years, that none of the means you adopted, were useful in attaining that natural state?

U.G.: Without a doubt. Not only that. I would say that they were obstacles. I am saying that it is a wonder that the state occurred in spite of my doing all those things.

First of all, what is all the search and seeking for? It is your search that takes you away from the natural state you always are in. All your seeking is in the wrong direction. Wouldn't you remain in your natural state forever if your search stopped?

It is foolish to try to purify your consciousness through some practices in order to attain the natural state. That consciousness is so pure that all the experiences you consider as sacred and holy are a contamination of it. They are an unbearable filth, intolerable contamination. Once the barriers within your consciousness are broken—not because of any act of will or volition on your part—once the flood gates are open, everything will be washed away, all experiences—good and bad, sacred and profane, divine or demonic—all divine visions, all ultimate states will be washed away from the consciousness. Krishna consciousness, Buddha consciousness, God consciousness, sages, saints and prophets, Jesus, Mohammed, Mahavira, enlightened men, yogis—all of them must be washed away in that flood.

It is only then that consciousness becomes clear. There is a song called "The Saints Go Marching In" in Christian devotional literature. I change it to "The Saints Go Marching Out." Their very existence is filth. When all that is flushed out, when consciousness remains pure and clean, no contamination, no filth will ever touch it again. After that your past will never stick to you, or bother you, and that will be the end of you.

While I was listening to U.G.'s words, all the things which Barry told me about, such as the way in which the Calamity happened to him, ran through my head. Suddenly, images of Shau (Sowris), and the manifestation of Iswara in her in August 1951, flashed through my mind.

There was a commotion in the room—the group of friends was smothering U.G. with questions. My own mind was filled with questions. What's going on here? What's the truth of the matter? Whom should I trust? Shau says, "There is God. Seek Iswara's refuge from moment to moment." And U.G. was saying, "God consciousness, Buddha consciousness, extraordinary visions, are all equal to dirt. Until they are all flushed out, consciousness will not become clear." I continued to listen to U.G. while my mind struggled with these thoughts.

The Questioner Is the Question

2007-04-18T01:25:00.001-04:00

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.

I Report On U.G. to Chalam's Family

2007-04-18T01:12:00.002-04:00

It was January 1, 1970. I was traveling by bus from Bangalore to Arunachala. The events of the past week were rolling around in my mind like a series of movie pictures. I felt a sense of longing when I recalled the last day on which I had said goodbye to U.G.

U.G. was talking to some friends upstairs. "U.G., goodbye," I said, joining my hands together. Saying, "You are leaving?" U.G. came close to me in one big step.

"I am leaving tomorrow morning for Arunachala," I said. He already knew that I was friends with Chalam.

"Please say hello to Mr. Chalam and his family. When I was living in Gudivada, I knew Mr. Chalam. Mr. Chalam's wife, Mrs. Ranganayakamma used to write to me a lot of letters, some crazy letters," he said, quickly reaching for my hands, pressing them and letting them go. Then, again, he put both his hands on my shoulders, and squeezing, slid his hands down to my elbows and instantly let them go. He said, "O.K., you go now," and without another word moved toward other friends as though nothing had happened. I was speechless for some moments, as if I had a shock, and stood motionless.

From my shoulders to the tips of my fingers I felt a strange numbness from U.G.'s touch. "What happened? Why am I feeling like that?" I was thinking to myself as I was going down the stairs to leave. In all the years since this occurrence, I noticed U.G. doing similar interesting things like this to a few others. "I don't know anything. Whatever you feel is your own illusion. There is no energy transmission, nothing," says U.G. if you ask him about it.

It was evening by the time I arrived in Arunachala. When I arrived at Ramanasthan, Chalam, Shau and other friends were out on a walk. I went looking for them. I found them at the Drowpadi temple. I was eager to relate my U.G. story to 'Father' and Shau. Shau made me talk a lot. I showed her the photo of U.G. which Valentine gave me. She said, "We see his body, but for him his body was burnt long ago." These words impressed everyone. "What is his full name?" Shau asked.

"Uppaluri Gopala Krishnamurti," I said.

"What? Uppaluri? Father, he seems to be the grandson of Mr. Tenali Venkatappayya," she said, as she showed the photo to Mr. Chalam. In two minutes the question was settled. The unknown person, U.G., was found to be a close relative of Shau; they are cousins. "We saw him long ago in my childhood. At that time he was of the age of Ravi [Chalam's eldest son]. Ever since we were children we used to do yoga and meditation. We used to address each other by our relationship. My mother tried her best to marry us in those days," said Shau with great mirth.

At that time 'Amma' (Mr. Chalam's wife, Mrs. Ranganayakamma) was in a life-and-death crisis in Arunachala. "Amma, apparently your Uppaluri Gopala Krishnamurti came to Bangalore. It seems he has become a great guru. Chandrasekhar brought us the news that he said hello to you," spoke Shau in Amma's ear. There was some change in her facial expression. She said, "Sadashiva," and closed her eyes.

On January 17, 1970 Amma closed her eyes for good.

* * *
1. Mr. Gudipati Venkatachalam ('Chalam' was his pen name] was a well-known writer in Telugu. His many essays, novels, short-stories, plays and poetry reflected his revolt against oppression of women, against the caste system and against various social injustices; they also expressed his lifelong spritual quest. Later in his life, he moved, along with his daughter, Sowris, and the rest of his family, from Andhra Pradesh to Tiruvannamalai, the abode of Sri Ramana Maharshi, where he spent the rest of his life practicing the teachings of the Maharshi.
2. M.G.R. is a movie star in Tamil movies. Children in Ramanasthan spend time constantly talking about his movies.
3. In Sri Ramanasthan they used to celebrate every August 15 as the day of God's incarnation. Shau stopped these celebrations in 1971. What was the reason? Shau said that U.G. appeared to her and commanded that such celebrations in Ramanasthan should no longer take place.

Dr. Desiraju

2007-04-18T01:11:00.002-04:00

The day was October 10, 1992. Suguna arrived in Yercaud with Mr. and Mrs. Satyanarayana and Sashidhar, all friends of U.G. Suguna said, "Dr. Desiraju died from a heart attack. They announced it in the papers." I was shocked to hear the news. He was a renowned neurophysiologist with the National Institute of Mental Health. He was from Andhra. Although I didn't know him well, the reason for my shock was that, seventeen years ago, he was the one who was responsible for letting U.G.'s view of life be known to the public in U.G.'s own words.

I can never forget that event in my life. It happened on December 23, 1976. That year U.G. had set up his camp on the street opposite the Mallikarjuna temple in an old building. The rooms upstairs were big. In the long hall-way the red-cemented floor was polished well and covered with a rug. Dr. Varma, Dr. Desiraju, Dr. Kapoor (the former director) and six other doctors came from NIMHANS (National Institute of Mental Health and Neuroscience) to talk to U.G.

My friends and I were waiting eagerly for a discussion to take place. U.G. spoke continuously for two and a half hours, answering the doctors' questions. After hearing U.G.'s description of his Natural State and how his senses functioned in that state, Dr. Desiraju asked, "I would like to know precisely how all these things happened to you. I will be happy if you could tell us about them in as much detail as you can remember. Just assume I am a Nachiketa." U.G. smiled in a mild manner and said, "That's a long story. It's not so easy."

Dr. Desiraju: We would like to hear it.

U.G.: I can't. I'll have to tell you the whole story. It takes a lot of time. My biography goes only so far; then it stops. After that, I have nothing to report.

Any of my biographers' aim is only to establish that my childhood upbringing, my education, the spiritual practices I performed, all brought about this Natural State. If I try to tell them that all those things were only obstacles and that whatever happened to me happened in spite of them, they don't want to listen to me, because then they can't make their story juicy. They all want to know how this sort of thing happened, and in what way it happened. When I tell them that this is acausal, they become disappointed. My background is of no value to me. How can this be a model for you? Your background is different. Each background is unique.

Dr. Desiraju: It is not that I want to make your biography into a model. It's just like looking at the sun and the moon or the pole star flickering in the distant skies. I am not necessarily requesting this in order to imitate you. That's why I said I am a Nachiketa. I shall not leave this place until I learn the truth from you.

U.G.: I am not opposed to your request, but I am unable to tell you. I don't know where to start. It looks like I have to tell you the whole story.

Dr. Desiraju: We are ready to hear it all.

That was how Dr. Desiraju, the veritable Nachiketa, provoked and persuaded U.G. to tell his whole life story. We recorded all of it on tape. Rodney Arms edited the material and published it as the first chapter in the book The Mystique of Enlightenment.

Meeting With the Shankaracharya of Sringeri

2007-04-18T00:37:00.002-04:00

That year in Madras, U.G. ran into his boyhood friend, Mr. Tummalapalli Ramalingeswara Rao. Mr. Tummalapalli was a great scholar in the Sanskrit, Telugu and English languages. He was also an adept in Mantras. U.G. at that time was looking for a more suitable place in India, a place with a more temperate climate than Madras. When he heard of U.G.'s interests, Mr. Tummalapalli suggested Sringeri as the proper place. "I am well acquainted with the Jagadguru (lit. "World Teach"—title of Sri Sankarachary) of Sringeri Pitha, Sri Abhinava Vidya Tirtha Swami. Things will work out well for you there," he assured U.G. and Valentine and led them to Sringeri.

U.G. liked the environs of Sringeri very much and also the peaceful climate of the banks of the River Tunga. He wanted to rent or buy a place and live there. Mr. Ramalingeswara Rao introduced U.G. to the Swami of Sringeri. When he heard of the Calamity that had happened to U.G., he said, "I must talk to you in private," and led U.G. into his private chambers which were located in a garden called Narasimhavana on the far side of the river Tunga. It is noteworthy that he allowed Valentine also into that room. The Swami sat on the Teacher's Seat (Guru Pitha), and U.G. and Valentine sat in front of him.

"When I heard of the extraordinary things that happened to you, I am reminded of my guru Sri Chandrasekhara Bharati," the Jagadguru started talking. "I don't know of these things in my own personal experience. But my teacher used to describe his experiences just the way they have occurred in your case. We were afraid that perhaps his mind was deranged. It is very rare that the body survives the shock of such a thoughtless state. According to the scriptures, within twenty-one days after such an event the body dies. If the body could sustain its vital force and not die off, it must surely be for the sake of saving humanity. There is no doubt about it."

U.G., on the contrary, had no inclination to save the world or uplift humanity. He listened silently as the teacher spoke. Then he presented to the Jagadguru his proposal for establishing his residence near Sringeri in a solitary place away from people. In reply, the Jagadguru said, "I will be responsible for getting you any place around here, if you so wish. But your idea of living alone will never work. Whether you stay in a jungle or in a mountain cave, people won't stop coming to see you." The teacher's warning made U.G. abandon his resolve to stay away from people.

At that time, Dr. K. B. Ramakrishna Rao used to be the principal of the JCBM College in Sringeri. The Jagadguru invited him to visit and introduced him to U.G.

The following are the highlights of Professor Ramakrishna Rao's account of his early acquaintance with U.G.:

"In those days I was deeply studying Kundalini yoga. My chief daily activities then were reading books about that yoga, discussing it with people who had some experience of it and practicing it as much as possible. After I met U.G., in the presence of the Jagadguru, I invited him to my home. I detected some uniqueness and divinity in him. When I saw him walking with shoes even inside the house, I thought it must a habit he had acquired in the West. I was surprised when he said that that was not the case, that if he put his bare feet on the ground, he would be bothered by the electromagnetic energy that would be transmitted from the ground. When I heard later all the things that had happened to U.G., I was amazed and wonderstruck.

"To satisfy my curiosity U.G. showed me the colors that appeared on his skin at the base of his neck, on his chest and around his navel. The common opinion is that the energy centers called Nadi Chakras, which Kundalini yoga talks about, are merely psychological. I used to wonder how, if that were the case, the ancients were able to ascribe forms, measurements and colors to them. When I heard the things U.G. had undergone, I felt that, for the first time, I had new answers to my doubts, answers which I had never heard before.

U.G. explained that at precisely the same locations as the Nadi centers there are some ductless glands, and that when and if the mechanism of thought comes to a stop, all the energies that are dormant in those glands become active and bring about biological and chemical changes, and that the result was indeed the Natural State. As I continued to observe U.G.'s actions and movements, I gained the firm conviction that he was truly a living example of the Natural State which he had been describing. I felt that such new truths from such a unique vision must become accessible to as many people as possible."

That evening, Dr. Ramakrishna Rao and a group of his friends led U.G. and Valentine to the top of Rishyasringa Hill adjacent to the Tunga river. They all sat under a tree. They were curious to hear the story of U.G.'s Calamity. U.G. didn't like to disappoint them; so he narrated, for about an hour, all the things that had happened to him. It turned out to be a long lecture. It must be in Sringeri that U.G. probably first started lecturing again after he quit his lecturing in the U.S.A. many years before.

From that day till now, in all of these twenty five years, how many thousands of people, from all corners of the earth, have come to hear U.G.'s talks! Between then and now U.G.'s manner of speaking has not changed. He never gets up on a platform. He never accepts invitations from institutions. If anyone comes to him and asks him questions, he answers in the manner he feels appropriate.

Coffee Estate Guesthouse In Chikkamagaluru

2007-04-18T00:34:00.001-04:00

That year U.G. stayed for a month in the guest house of a coffee estate in a place called Tirthagundi. There is an interesting story behind his coming to this coffee estate:

In the state of Karnataka, Chikkamagaluru district is famous for its coffee estates. It is five thousand feet high from the sea level. Many places in that district compete with each other for their natural beauty. That day, U.G., Valentine and David Barry were staying in a Travellers' Bungalow in a place called Jayapura.

Suddenly, U.G. announced, "Valentine, we are not going to stay here any longer. Let's leave." Valentine was shocked. She knew that it would be useless to ask him, "Where are we going?" So she packed her luggage and got ready to go. Meanwhile, a stranger came into the Bungalow saying that he had heard that there was a Yogi there. "How does that Yogi look?" asked U.G. "Just like you," he replied, saluting U.G.

His name was Subbarao. He was the manager of a coffee estate in Tirthagundi near Jayapura. One night his servant had a dream in which a Yogi appeared in white pajamas and jubba and taught him many interesting philosophical truths in a language that he could understand. After relating his dream, he said to his master, "What that Swami taught was completely opposed to what you say. What you say is all false." As the servant spoke with such conviction, Subbarao did not question him.

That morning the servant saw U.G. near the Travelers' Bungalow and identified him as the Yogi who had appeared in his dream. He ran to his master and reported that the Yogi who had appeared in his dream was staying in the Travelers' Bungalow on the outskirts of the town.

"If you have no objection, you can stay in our coffee estate guest house. You will be quite comfortable there. There is also a cook," he said. U.G. went in his car to look at the place and then accepted his invitation. He moved there with Valentine, David Barry and the luggage. All this happened in a matter of minutes.

Since then, until 1973, U.G. and Valentine used to go to Tirthagundi whenever they came to India.

The Natural State Is Being Able to Act Efficiently

2007-04-18T00:32:00.001-04:00

When U.G. left Bangalore for Bombay in December 1969, I never thought that I would meet him again. After six months, I unexpectedly got a picture-postcard from him. By that time Brahmachariji had vacated his Cave and no one knew where he was. U.G., in his note, enquired after everyone's welfare and asked me for Brahmachariji's address. I did not reply to that letter. I can't explain why I didn't. I didn't quite understand why U.G. wrote to me when he had so many other friends. "Maybe he wrote to many others as well. Maybe one of them will reply to him." I now feel guilty for not replying.

Before a month had elapsed, I received another letter from U.G. This time he wrote care of Chalam in Ramanasthan. He must have thought that I had gone there. Sowris forwarded that letter to me. U.G. didn't mention anything special in it, but hinted that he was thinking of coming to Bangalore that year (1970), also. I received another letter from Mysore from Valentine. By this time it was December again.

Valentine wrote that she and U.G. would be passing through Bangalore on their way to Madras and asked me to rent a cottage for them in the Woodlands Hotel. When I saw that letter, I reproached myself for not replying to U.G.'s previous letters. Just then, a friend of mine called Jagannath was getting his newly-built house ready for a house-warming function. I felt that a separate house for U.G. and Valentine would be better than a cottage in a hotel and wrote accordingly to Valentine. I received a telegram within four days asking me to rent that house and send U.G. confirmation of the rental.

I spoke to my friend, rented the house for the first week of January 1971 and wrote accordingly to U.G. "We are arriving next Sunday by car," U.G. informed me by telegram a week before he came.

We were at that time involved in arranging a program in Bangalore for the following Friday, to celebrate Sri Ramana's Birthday under the auspices of our Sankara School of Culture. For that day, we were planning different sorts of meetings, a big dinner for the invitees, and group devotional singing. As I was immersed in those arrangements, I didn't think of making arrangements for U.G.'s minimal needs in the new house.

Unexpectedly, on Friday afternoon, U.G. and Valentine got out of a taxi at our hostel. I was so surprised to see them, as I was expecting them on Sunday. The celebration was still going on in the hall. U.G. and Valentine waited patiently until the festivities came to an end. I still can't believe even now that along with all the others, U.G. received the "Grace" when incense was burned to signal the completion of the celebration, by showing his hands to the incense and pressing them against his eyes.

U.G. even dined with all of us in the hostel that day. I must pay a tribute to U.G.'s patience: he never made himself conspicuous, he never caused any anxiety or worry to anyone as a result of his presence, and he bore patiently all the commotion of the celebration until I had time to attend to his needs. It was evening when at last I was able to take U.G. and Valentine to the house I had arranged for them. We had the house all right, but the rooms were barren, with not a single piece of furniture in them, not even a reed mat. An empty house welcomed us. I thought regretfully that if I had had another day at my disposal, I could have catered to all their basic necessities.

"I like this house. If the house owner has no objection, we will rent it for three weeks," U.G. said. Then he turned to me and said, smiling, "You eat with us tonight." "Is he making fun of me?" I thought. There was nothing in the house. The kitchen was empty. There wasn't even a spoon. What would they cook and what would we eat? I was completely at a loss. But right in front of my eyes something spectacular happened that day. U.G. went out accompanied by me and arranged to buy all the necessary things, including chairs, tables, beds, and mattresses and got them all arranged. As I was watching, the kitchen looked full, with the necessary pots, pans and utensils. U.G. did not even forget a rag to clean the floors.

I marveled at U.G.'s actions: "What sort of a jivanmukta is this? He surpasses even a staunch family man in his ability to furnish a house." The efficiency he had shown in shopping for the household things made the ego I had developed regarding my own efficiency feel very deflated.

U.G. seemed to have taught me a lesson without saying anything: "The natural state is not closing your nose, sitting in some cave and falling asleep. It is being able to act efficiently without a flaw even in the market place." All of my friends and I ate a full meal of Upma with U.G. in the new house.

The Basis of All Relationships Is the Same: What Will I Get?

2007-04-18T00:29:00.001-04:00

It was January of 1972. The mere thought of that time sends chills through my heart even now. It was the time when India had scored a victory over Pakistan and was puffed up with the pride of that victory. There were celebrations everywhere. But there was only chaos in my heart. The torment, the torture U.G. deliberately subjected me to, the battles I waged within myself, my God—I felt that I wouldn't want them to happen even to my enemies.

U.G. and Valentine arrived in Bangalore in January. The enthusiasm of anticipating U.G.'s arrival did not last long. As soon as he came, he started making fun of me. I couldn't endure U.G. making it his business to laugh at my beliefs, convictions and the persons whom I revered as deities. But what could I do? I knew my weaknesses. Moreover, however much I tried to brush it aside, the truth in U.G.'s words would sink into my head. I knew clearly that he was only trying to enable me to throw away my crutches and stand on my own legs without faltering.

Despite these insights, when in his presence, my feelings used to be hurt. The more hurt I felt, the angrier I became. One night I boiled over. I didn't want to stay with him, or his teasing, for one more minute. "No, I don't want the friendship of gentlemen like him anymore. I am fed up with what I have already had," I fumed as I headed home. My mind was seething with emotion and anger.

As soon as I got home, I grabbed the framed picture of U.G. and Sowris—the picture of the two persons I adored as deities—and flung it hard on a stone and broke it. With continuing vengeance I took the photo out of the broken frame and tore it up. Surprisingly, I then saw that among all the torn up pieces U.G.'s face was still intact and untorn on one of the fragments. I was dumbfounded for a minute. Collecting myself, I threw away all the pieces. "Finished, I am done with both of these people. I will live my own life. I will never see their faces again," I was talking to myself in anger.

For two days, I didn't go near the house where U.G. was living. I suppressed my longing for U.G. "No, don't fall into that fascination again. What do you lack if you don't see U.G.?" I consoled myself. On the evening of the third day, half an hour after I came home from work, I heard someone knocking at my door. I couldn't believe my eyes when I opened the door. There was U.G., with a smile on his face, and Valentine, standing in front of me.

"Chandrasekhar, what happened? We haven't had the pleasure of your visit for three days. Who can take care of us if not you?" U.G. said walking in. I felt like embracing his legs and crying. At that very moment all my anger disappeared. I became normal. I wondered how I had been able to carry on without seeing U.G. for those three days.

That year, U.G. stayed in Bangalore for five months. He never stayed in Bangalore that long ever again. There was an old abandoned bungalow in the Vani Vilas Street across from the Lal Bagh Gate. We arranged U.G.'s residence in the second floor of that building for that year. That floor of the house had been abandoned because three years previously someone had committed suicide there. After U.G. and company started living there, the house acquired an inhabited look. My friend, Hanumantha Reddy, was unemployed at that time. So, he used to live with U.G. and Valentine to help them out.

"Psychological fears are of two kinds: the fear of not getting what we want, and the fear of losing what we have," says U.G. In those days these two fears used to ride over me like two demons, day in and day out. I would be in turmoil at not being able to find a solution to some personal problem that was tormenting me. I wouldn't listen to anyone's advice. I was choking in a mire that I had voluntarily thrown myself into, and I didn't have the guts to get myself out of it. I groped around hoping that I would get a helping hand from some trusted unknown force. Unable to express my suffering to anyone, I was instead consumed by it.

One night, U.G. and I were sitting on the terrace of the abandoned bungalow in the open air at the dinner table. U.G. knew my problem. I knew the solution that U.G. would suggest to me. He knew that I was not prepared for the solution he was suggesting. For many days this peek-a-boo game had been going on.

"The basis of all personal relations is the same: it is 'What will I get from this relationship?' All relationships are based on exchange. If the exchange does not work out, the relationship will collapse. It [a relationship] is not so easy, and it is not so easily broken. But your welfare lies in its being broken," said U.G. Meanwhile, the power in the electric lines went out. A small lamp which Hanumantha Reddy lighted was fighting the darkness as best as it could.

My heart was moaning in silence: "Is this inevitable? Is there no way to avoid this goblet of poison? Can there be no grace from God?" Suddenly I heard U.G.'s voice, "If there is such a thing as grace anywhere, it will certainly separate you two [myself and my wife]." There was neither harshness nor softness in that voice. Words came out of him as though from a robot. That was it. After that, my heart became very lonely. My sorrow cried out silently. Then U.G.'s clouds of compassion burst down on me. That compassion instantly broke dams, made me breathless, and filled my barren existence with new life.

* * *
That year [1972] U.G. had to carry dual burdens of the persons of Brahmachariji and myself. We both clung to U.G. like mindless leeches: we had been playing with life foolishly, had been hurt terribly and had lost all interest in life. We felt only U.G. could hold us each by his hand on either side and save us from danger.

Dr. Prabhu

2007-04-18T00:25:00.002-04:00

U.G. sometimes runs into a problem with his esophagus. His assessment of it is, "This is a plumbing problem." The problem sometimes causes anxiety to those around U.G. A famous cancer specialist in Germany once examined U.G. and said that it might be a cancer of the esophagus. Valentine started worrying. "I am ready to go at any time," was U.G.'s response.

Dr. Prabhu was one of the doctors who took upon themselves the task of preserving U.G.'s health when he came to India that year. He hailed from Mangalore and he was a great Ayurvedic physician. He was acclaimed as unequaled in diagnosing a disease on the basis of examining a person's pulse. Whenever U.G. visited Mangalore, he used to stay in Dr. Prabhu's house as his guest. That year Dr. Prabhu set up camp in Bangalore for a month to attend to U.G. Sometime before that U.G. stayed in Manipal Medical College Hostel for a week as Dr. Prabhu's guest.

Dr. Prabhu was treating U.G. at that time for his esophagus trouble. He had a special medicated oil prepared for him. He had his eighteen-year old daughter, Pratibha, massage the whole of U.G.'s body with that oil. The reason, he said, was that U.G.'s skin was more delicate than a newborn baby's. His nervous system, Dr. Prabhu said, had become so sensitive that it couldn't stand the touch of men. Dr. Prabhu claimed that the oil could only be applied delicately by a 16 to 18 year-old girl. He gave holy water to the girl and supervised her massage standing by her side.

The process went on for hours each day. U.G. would sit almost naked with a loin cloth and she would apply the oil on the whole of his body and massage it. Dr. Prabhu would sit by his side chatting and feeling his pulse. Until the day he told us in Bangalore later, we didn't know that he was subjecting U.G. to a terrible test. "I have the skill of detecting the thousand ways that a pulse can beat," Dr. Prabhu said, "If even for a moment sexual feelings arise in the body when a young woman touches it all over, it will be registered in the pulse instantly. But there was no reaction at all in U.G.'s body. It doesn't mean he is a eunuch. Even eunuchs have sexual feelings. It became extremely clear to me that U.G.'s nervous system is beyond emotions and passions." We listened to this in amazement.

Sastri Sadan In Bangalore—Viswanath

2007-04-18T00:21:00.001-04:00

It was May of that year. The summer was unbearably hot in Bangalore. The rains were late in coming. U.G. and Valentine couldn't stand so much heat. U.G. said, "If it does not rain and the weather does not cool down in the next couple of days, we are going to say goodbye to Bangalore." The ultimatum worked. Before he left for Europe at the end of May, U.G. made me make two promises: one, that for the next six months, until he returned from his trip, I would go to work regularly without applying for leave; and two, that I would choose a course of study related to my work and apply myself to it. I had to undergo a lot of hardships during those six months to keep my promises to U.G. When I look back on those months, it looks like they were the ones during which I started to stand on my own legs.

Six months later, when U.G. returned to Bangalore in December 1972, we reserved Sastri Sadanam opposite the Anjaneya Temple for his residence. U.G. wanted to rent that house not just on a short-term basis but for two years. He also wanted me to vacate my current house and move to Sastri Sadanam. He asked me to speak to the owner, Viswanath, regarding the rental arrangements. Later, when we were all chatting that same evening outside of the house on an open porch, Viswanath came by.

U.G. told him of his plans and asked him to build a bathroom upstairs for his convenience. Viswanath agreed to everything, but they had a disagreement over money. Viswanath wanted a hundred rupees more toward rent. U.G. was adamant and refused to pay more. When U.G. shouted at him saying, "We don't want this house; please return our advance money," Viswanath shouted back louder saying, "Never, I won't give it until you vacate the house!" The next moment U.G. went into a rage: "We won't vacate the house, nor will we pay the rent! We will see what you will do!" I was dumbfounded when U.G. thus squared himself off for a fight.

"If you don't vacate, I will take you to court," threatened Viswanath. U.G. pounced on him with a fiery face saying, "No one here is afraid of your stupid threats, get out!" "We shall see," said Viswanath and he left hurriedly.

The whole fight took place in the presence of all those ladies and gentlemen who came to U.G.'s place to have his satsang (lit. communion), believing him to be a Brahmajnani.

My friends slipped away one by one. Not only U.G. and Valentine, but also their guests Volcker, Dr. Lynn, Julie (Wellings) from California and John Allen were also staying there at that time. U.G.'s anger did not subside even after he came back into the house. "He is threatening to drag me to the court. He thinks I don't know the law. The house is in our control. No court will get us out of here," said U.G., turning to me. "Chandrasekhar, you are the one who is going to stay in this house. We will be going away. Don't be frightened by the threats of Viswanath. If you want to stand up and fight bravely, you will have all my financial, moral and physical support. What do you say?"

Everyone present was looking at me in pity, as though I were an innocent bystander caught up in trouble unawares. When U.G. asked me thus, I had an unknown courage: "I am ready U.G.," I said.

"Right. Tomorrow morning I will give you a plan about what you should do and how you should conduct the case. Good night!" U.G. said and retired into his room. All the foreign friends were commenting on what happened in whatever way they thought fit. Julie looked at me and said, "Chandrasekhar, think carefully. U.G. and his company will all leave. You will be the only one who will take care of the court affairs. Why do you want to get caught in these tangles?" She advised me to wash my hands of this affair.

I came to a decision that night. Whatever might happen, even if the sky above collapses on me, I would stand by my words and listen to U.G. If he wanted me to jump into fire, I would. I was already in hell. What could be worse? When I came to this decision late in the night, I fell asleep soundly.

The next day was Sunday. At eight o'clock in the morning U.G. called me and asked me to send word to Viswanath to come. He came immediately. As if nothing had happened the night before, U.G. said 'hello' to Viswanath and said, "We will pay you the rent you want. I will also pay you now for two years rent, so that you can make those changes and repairs. O.K.?" Viswanath was immensely pleased with this offer. "I myself wanted to reduce the rent," he said.

U.G. said, "No, no. Don't. It's only five hundred rupees. In Switzerland we spend that much money in a week." That was it. In three minutes the transaction was closed. All the friends who had come with worried minds let out sighs of relief when they learned of the latest developments. When U.G. could settle matters so easily, why did he make so much fuss the evening before? Why did he enact that drama? Even now I can't fathom that.

If Not Moksha, At Least a Transistor—Krishna Bhagavatar

2007-04-18T00:16:00.001-04:00

Thus began the time of my moving into the house on Anjaneya Temple Street. That winter was cold. A sonorous voice could be heard passing on the street every morning singing to the accompaniment of cymbals the chant "Hari Narayana, Hari Narayana."

U.G. had noticed him, too, and remarked one day: "I see someone going on the street everyday singing Bhajans. His shoulders are covered with a shawl. I wonder who he is?" When he came into our house on the Shivaratri day in the same attire, then we knew that he was no less than Mr. Bangalore Krishna Bhagavatar, known not only in Bangalore, but throughout South India.

Everyone called him Bhagavatar. He was a guru to many. He wore a white Glasgow Mull dhoti, a white shirt, a Kashmir shawl on his shoulders, and a rosary around his neck. His body being fair shone through the clothes. He wore marks of vibhuti (ashes) on his forehead. In the middle of those marks, he wore a round red vermilion mark. The Bhagavatar was an attractive man. Although he was over seventy five, he looked healthy and strong. He had a college degree in agriculture and had worked for some years. His wife's and son's deaths when he was twenty five caused havoc in his life.

He renounced everything and took to traveling. There was no holy place he did not visit. There was no ashram he did not go to. At last, he attained peace in the presence of a guru in Srirangam. When the guru provoked the artistic talent in him by showing him a way of attaining self-satisfaction through entertaining everyone by singing Harikathas (Stories of Gods; lit. stories of Vishnu), Bhagavatar's life gained a new purpose.

Since then, for the next fifty years, he had a steady life. He not only studied Indian culture and tradition thoroughly, but also practiced them in his everyday life. As a last living witness to the Indian Tradition, he went around the city singing devotional songs. The Rama temples he had built by singing Hari Kathas and collecting contributions remain today as a tribute to his memory. He was a great scholar, and was fluent not only in the Kannada, Tamil and Telugu languages but also in English. He wrote Harikathas in all four languages.

One day, when he was on his City Singing rounds, he visited my friend Sanjiva Rao's house. As Sanjiva Rao knew about the Bhagavatar's spiritual quest, he told him, "In this same street there is a jnani called U.G. Krishnamurti. He just arrived from Switzerland. Go and visit him." Bhagavatar received this information rather lightly. He replied, "You can't fool me. I have seen and heard many Krishnamurtis before." At the same time my friend's wife, who was standing next to them asked, "Swami, what's the significance of today?"

"Today is Maha Shivaratri, my lady. I must go to the Shiva Temple from here."
She said, "If you really want to visit Shiva in person, there is a living Shiva in Viswanath's house at the end of this street. Go and visit him." Bhagavatar was shocked at her words. He was more inclined to believe her than her husband. He straightaway arrived at the doorway of U.G., and since that day U.G.'s house became Bhagavatar's second home. He ran to it whenever he thought of U.G.

Ever since he found U.G., there was never an end to his jubilation. He used to address U.G. as Appa (Lit. 'Father'), although U.G. was twenty years younger than him. This reminded me of how Sri Ramana Maharshi addressed Mr. Ganapati Sastry, who was older than him, as 'Nayana' ('Father'). Bhagavatar also used to call Valentine 'Mother.' He used to sit by U.G.'s side and relate many stories about devotees (of gods) in a tasteful manner, acting them out.

Whenever Bhagavatar's eyes rolled in tears, U.G.'s eyes too became moist. Bhagavatar used to appreciate that in U.G., "Appa is really a lover of devotees. He is moved by their devotion." When he quoted a saying in Sanskrit "bhaktireva gariyasi..." ('with bhakti thou shall excel') and looked meaningfully at U.G., the latter merely smiled and collected himself. The smile could be read as, "as if you know what bhakti really means." But U.G. never condemned Bhagavatar's faith or beliefs.

When at times U.G. started his tirade on human culture and civilization, immediately Bhagatar used to get up and run out saying, "'Father', it's time for me to go. Goodbye." He didn't have the courage to withstand the attacks.

Even after U.G. had left for Switzerland, Bhagavatar used to come and chat with me every day. He was quite keen on composing a Hari Katha on U.G. in English. But he was terribly disappointed when he couldn't find even a sampling of any of the elements which would normally be found in the lives of spiritual people (or Devotees).

Meanwhile, it was getting close to U.G.'s birthday. Bhagavatar was enthusiastic about celebrating it along with all of us. We all agreed. But how could we do it without informing U.G. about it? What would he say if he knew about it? I decided to write to him, no matter what the consequence might be. Just as we expected, U.G. replied scolding us: "Celebrating the birthday of anyone is an immature, childish, infantile activity. How can you do such a thing to me?"

He concluded the letter with, "...That is your house. You may spend your time in fasts, feasts and festivals, but leave this individual who has neither birth nor death severely alone...." That was a lesson to us. When I showed the letter to Bhagavatar, he started laughing: "That's right, Appa, that's right. True, we are still children. We keep playing." Then he borrowed a photo of U.G. from me to get an enlargement and frame it.

The U.G.'s Birthday tradition which began thus continued uninterrupted for ten years. We used to set up the picture of U.G., listen to some tapes of U.G.'s, and make someone speak about U.G. We would send greetings to U.G. and all of us used to sign it. "My birthday gathers bigger crowds than I do," U.G. joked. Apparently, once, when no one was around, Bhagavatar held U.G.'s feet saying, "Appa, no one else cares for me. Only you can show me the way to moksha."

U.G. instantly picked him up trying to prevent him from holding his feet. He said, "You spent so many years with Ramana Maharshi. Why didn't you ask him?"

"At that time, I didn't have either that interest or yearning. Now, I feel I don't want anything else," he answered.

U.G. said, "That's the only thing I cannot give. It's not something that someone can give and someone else can receive. You ask for anything else. I will give that." As soon as he said that, the Bhagavatar asked U.G. to get him a small transistor, U.G. reported. U.G. jokes about him saying, "His interest slipped fast from moksha to a transistor." But I had no doubt about the earnestness of the Bhagavatar. He used to treasure his acquaintance with U.G. Even when he was 92 and unable to move, he used to come and see U.G. every year. Bhagavatar moved his camp from this world the same year that we changed our residence to Poornakutee.

If I Don't Torture You, Who Will?—Kalyani

2007-04-18T00:06:00.001-04:00

One evening U.G. was speaking, sitting on a carpet spread on the floor. The room was filled with audience. Except for U.G.'s voice, there was total silence. A lady pushed the gate open, came inside and sat at the threshold. She must have been just under sixty. She wore a blue sari, the same colored blouse, wrists full of blue bangles, a thick layer of talc powder on the face, a blue beauty mark on the face, blue flowers in her hair, a necklace with blue beads on her neck—she was all blue. She carried an aluminum bowl.

When U.G. was speaking she occasionally wrote something down in her book of scrap paper. She looked rather amusing. I was wondering where I had seen her before. I later remembered that I had seen her four or five times in the market place panhandling with the bowl for coins. "Why did she come here?" I asked myself.

She heard the discussion with U.G. for about an hour. Then she stood up and said in good English, "Sir, do you think anybody in this assembly understands what you are saying? Only these walls seem to have benefited by your talking." She then walked out in a hurry. We were all thunderstruck. Who was this? "She is Kalyani. She is crazy," said someone.

After that Kalyani used to come every day. She had total liberty in U.G.'s presence. She laughed and made others laugh. She sang and danced around. If there was anyone in the audience whom she didn't like, she used to insult them with words. She used to ask U.G. for money. "Don't beg for money any more. I will give you whatever you want," U.G. would say to her and give her a lot of money. Even then, she would still beg for coins with her aluminum bowl in front of the Anjaneya temple.

She was always glad to see Valentine. She used to call her, 'Madam.' When she became more sentimental, she used to hug her, calling her, Dammu, Dammu (vernacular variation of 'madam'). Although Valentine did not care for Kalyani's behavior, she liked Kalyani's decoration of herself.

Kalyani was born in a rich Ayyengar family. She graduated from college with a B.Sc. and used to work as a mathematics teacher in a girls high school. Her husband was a superior I.A.S. (Indian Administrative Service) officer. He was a joint secretary in the Central Government in Delhi. She was used to giving charities from early in her life. Her family used to give freely to monks and heads of Maths. She performed many worships and rituals and as a result she lost her mind.

Her family could no longer manage her behavior, so they admitted her in the mental hospital. Since then her manner changed completely. Even after she was discharged from the mental hospital, she could not go back to her normal life. Unable to help her, her husband left her to her own devices. Her daughter's husband was also an I.A.S. officer. They both lived in Hyderabad. The two hundred rupees her husband sent every month, and the fifty rupees that the management of the school she had worked in paid her, these were her only monthly income.

Until she came to U.G. she had no one to care for her. U.G. arranged a room for her in the premises of Sastri Sadanam. Whenever she asked, U.G. would give her ten rupees. "U.G. sir made me a rich beggar," she used to say. Noticing her manner and ways, U.G.'s friends, Mahesh, Parveen Babi and many others became fond of her. Mahesh's wife Kiran liked Kalyani very much.

Kalyani used to keep a tab on how much money people gave her. In some fashion or other, as she saw fit, she used to help them. Once she asked me for five rupees and got it. Later, on my birthday, I received from the Kanchi Kamakoti Math Office some sacraments and a receipt in my name for five rupees. I wondered who sent them that money.

Another time she gave me a package and asked me to deliver it to the Swami (monk) residing in the Avani Sankara Math on the outskirts of Bangalore. I did not have the time to do that. Kalyani used to ask me everyday, "When are you going to go there?"

One evening I went there straight from my office and delivered the package to the Swami telling him that Kalyani asked me to give it to him. In the package there was a brand new sacred golden necklace worn by a bride on her wedding day and kept for the rest of her married life. The Swami and I were both surprised. Apparently, just two days before, thieves broke into the temple and stole valuable jewelry. Just as he was regretting that the image of the goddess didn't even have the sacred necklace, I brought this package. "That lady is not really crazy, I know her," the Swami affirmed and pressed the necklace to his eyes. I related the incident to Kalyani upon returning home. "Did you know before that this was going to happen?" I asked Kalyani. Kalyani poured abuses on me as a response.

To show her gratitude to U.G. for his help, Kalyani performed the services of cleaning the house and decorating it. U.G. used to say, "I can't afford a rich servant like you, Kalyani." She would never let anyone else do the household chores. When U.G. got angry at her, she used to hurry everyone with an authoritarian tone. One day after she finished her work she said to U.G., "Goodbye, Sir, I'll see you again." U.G. said, "Why see me again? Don't."

"I shouldn't come? If I don't come to torture you, who will?"

"Why do you want to torture me? What did I do to you?"

"Because of the sins you committed in your past life. You must suffer the consequences of torturing your wife in this life. " She said this and left. We all laughed loudly.

I felt that Kalyani must have had some extrasensory powers. U.G. says that they are commonly found in crazy people. But Kalyani's case is different. She is a veritable deity for Dr. Siromani of Hyderabad. Some friends of U.G. used to make fun of Dr. Siromani by calling her Devotee Siromani. She used to send clothes and lots of mangoes to Kalyani and to U.G.

Once U.G.'s daughter, Bharati, came to Bangalore. That morning her husband, Mr. Rayudu, was asking about the Skanda Nadi in Bangalore. He was wondering if the nadi could find any solution to some of the problems that bothered him. Kalyani said, "Sir. You are the son-in-law of such a great man as U.G., yet how come you are seeking the help of the Nadi man? Show me your hand, and I will tell you what you need to know." He was surprised at this and showed his hand to her. She looked at his hand from some distance and said, "You will get a promotion in your job. Your boss who has been pestering you will get transferred and you will get his job." After a few days, it exactly happened just as she had predicted.

Kalyani used to collect a lot of flowers from somewhere and shower them on U.G. She used to ask, "Sir, when will my ex(-husband) take me back? When will you send me to my daughter?" When U.G. would reply to her, "Forget all that Kalyani. None of that will happen," she would look disappointed and leave.

Finally, I did run into her husband once in Bangalore. He told me he didn't have any objection to her coming back. "But she must quit her roaming around and begging and remain at home," he said.

Kalyani smiled apathetically, on hearing this. "I can't see any difference between the street and my home, what can I do?" she explained. Her husband returned to Delhi. Her daughter, Sobhana Rangachari, was a great singer. She died in Hyderabad in a fire accident. I offered to take Kalyani to Hyderabad. She said, "Never." She said with conviction, "My daughter is still alive. I don't believe all those rumors."

Kalyani had a good singing voice. She was born in a family of great singers. I used to go into ecstasies hearing her singing the compositions of Tyagaraja, sitting in front of the picture of her favorite deity in her room. When I offered to record her singing she turned my offer down. When once I started recording secretly without her knowledge, she stopped her singing, became abusive and cried. But U.G. always used to ask her to sing whenever he gave her money. Sometimes he would stop his conversation and ask her to narrate incidents of her life in the mental hospital.

Kalyani continued her visits even after we moved to Poornakutee from the Anjaneya Temple Street. Meanwhile, she had an attack of breast cancer. No matter how much we tried to persuade her to undergo treatment, she refused. Finally, her chest became like a big open wound. Before she died in 1990, U.G. went to visit her once. She came running to the gate, crying. I was so sorry to see her in that state. U.G. tried to give her some money. She did not take it.

"Please grant me death, U.G. Sir! That's what I need," she begged, crying. U.G. remained silent. He stood quietly holding her hand. She died soon after. The day before she died, Suguna and I went to see her. She invited us in. She gestured for us to come in from her bed where she was lying. She showed us all her belongings in the room and said, "All these and whatever else I have belong to U.G. sir." Within a year after Kalyani died Valentine passed away. The seven thousand rupees that remained of the money which the Australian friends of U.G. gave Kalyani for medical treatment became the starter money for the school founded in Valentine's name.

Meeting New Friends—Indian Institute of World Culture

2007-04-17T23:53:00.001-04:00

Everyone knows in Bangalore the name of the Indian Institute of World Culture. The late B.P. Wadia and Sophia Wadia founded the Institute in the Basavanagudi area in 1945. It served as a platform for many great native and foreign personages and intellectuals. Many intellectuals consider it a great honor to have the opportunity to speak in it.

In 1972, the then Secretary of the Institute, Mr. Venkataramayya, invited U.G. to give a talk there. U.G. was already renowned as an international lecturer. He lost the urge to speak in public even before the Calamity. "We talk a lot when we don't know much. If we know a little, there is nothing to say," says U.G. After the Calamity, U.G. found no need for meetings and platforms. No matter how much U.G. tried to explain to him his situation, Venkataramayya would not take a "No" for an answer.

Finally, either because of Venkataramayya's insistence or because of our persuasion, U.G. gave a talk on the stage of the Institute in the month of May, 1972. After the Calamity that was his first and last public lecture.

That day the lecture hall was filled with people. Mr. Dilip Kothari, former Chairman of the Film Censor Board and U.G.'s friend from Bombay, introduced U.G.

Notwithstanding the interruptions by Dr. Kothar's comments, the audience listened to U.G.'s talk spellbound. Many persons like Nagaraj, Radhakishan Bajaj, Rochaldas Shroff and Narayanachari, who were sold on J. Krishnamurti before, became even more attracted to U.G. as a result of that talk.

Kumar, U.G.'s Son

2007-04-17T23:50:00.002-04:00

In 1957, when U.G. was living in Chicago with his family, Kumar was born. U.G. raised his son for the first two years. Kusuma, U.G.'s wife, was working in the World Book Encyclopedia. The turbulence in U.G.'s life, which started then, caused a break-up of U.G.'s family. He sent his wife and children back to India. Kumar stayed with his mother till her death in 1963. Since then he lived with his relatives, struggled to finish his matriculation in 1973, and ended up in Bangalore.

He used to live with my younger brother and me in the house in Anjaneya Temple Street. Bujji was his pet name. He was a bright and active kid. He didn't have a clear memory of having known his father. A belief that his father was responsible for the sad plight of his family was firmly implanted in him. No matter how much I tried to persuade him, I couldn't succeed in making him quit his hatred and anger toward his father.

U.G. came to India in September that year. That was the first time Kumar met his father after many years. Kumar was then 17 years old. When his father said hello to him, he did not respond; instead, he turned his head reticently. He would avoid his father as much as he could. He didn't seem to notice what U.G. said or did. One afternoon, when we were all sitting on the front porch, Kumar was killing the red ants marching in a row on the floor. "Why, mister? Why are you killing them?" asked U.G., unable to bear that violence in front of him. "How shall I vent my anger, then?" replied Kumar, continuing to squash the ants on the floor with his foot. "Take it out on those you are angry with. What did the poor ants do to you?" as U.G. said this, Kumar looked at once at his father with rage and left the scene.

That same son came to adore U.G. within a month. Even I, who was observing these incidents at close quarters, was astonished at the transformation in Kumar. U.G. used to give him money and ask him to do small errands for him. He bought him a bicycle to ride to his college.

One evening, as Kumar was about to leave on his bicycle, U.G. enquired, "Hey, mister, where are you going?"

"I am going to a movie."

"You are going at this late hour? Will you be able to get a ticket?"

As soon as U.G. said this, Kumar brought his bicycle back inside the gate.

"Why, you are not going?" asked U.G., surprised.

"When you mentioned it, I knew I wouldn't be able to get a ticket. Why should I go that far? It's a waste," said Kumar as he was going into the house.

I was astonished at the faith Kumar had acquired in even casual remarks of U.G. When Kumar was completing his 18th year in 1974, U.G. said to him, "You are an American citizen by virtue of your birth in the U.S. You must make up your mind, before you are 18, as to whether you will find a place for yourself in the U.S., or you are going to waste your talents staying here in India." By that time, Kumar already was in the habit of treating his father's words as Gospel. U.G. rendered him the minimal help he needed to get to the U.S. "This is all I can do for you. Whether you will sink or sail will all depend on your own abilities," exhorted U.G. saying goodbye to him.

Kumar arrived in a country where he had no one to support him. He faced many odds there. Yet, in a period of about ten years he started an independent business and got married. When I met him in a hotel in New York in 1986, now a bona fide American entrepreneur, my joy and amazement knew no bounds.

A Sardarji's Palm Reading

2007-04-17T23:48:00.001-04:00

My marriage with Suguna was settled in 1974. After U.G. and Valentine returned to India, they kept asking me when my marriage would take place and on what day. Valentine was curious to see my prospective bride. I wrote to Suguna's brother asking him to bring her to Bangalore. Valentine was very pleased to meet Suguna. "She looks like a baby squirrel," remarked Valentine to me. Valentine was very fond of squirrels.

"From now on Chandrasekhar's life will be smooth sailing," said U.G. contentedly. "What day is the wedding? We are leaving the country on December 25. We want to see Chandrasekhar as a married man before then," said U.G. to Suguna's brother, persuading him to arrange a date for the wedding before then.

But even in November we didn't get word from Suguna's family as to on what day the wedding was going to be performed, and U.G. meanwhile kept asking: "The wedding must take place before we leave. Why haven't they contacted you yet?" One afternoon, we were all sitting in the porch when an old Sardarji walked in and asked if anyone of us wanted our fortune told. U.G. asked him when Kumar would be going to the U.S. The Sardarji looked at his palm and said, "He is going to go in six months." Then U.G. pointed me to him and asked him when I would be marrying. I never was interested in showing my palm to anyone, but I showed it on U.G.'s insistence. "The marriage will occur in a month," the Sardarji said. "That's enough. We need not know what will happen later," U.G. said, pulling my hand away from the Sardarji.

That day Volcker, John Allen and Dr. Lynn all had their palms read by the Sardarji. Everyone was astonished at how accurately he told about everyone's past and future. We all gave him some money. "All this is because of your grace; I don't have much to do with it," as he said this, the Sardarji bent forward to touch U.G. U.G. moved away from him, and no matter how many times the Sardarji asked to touch U.G., U.G. did not let him touch even his hand.

We received the wedding invitations a week later. The wedding was to take place on December 20. Valentine was very eager to witness the wedding. But U.G. prevented her. He told her: "It's hard to arrange for your stay in a remote village. The couple will come to Bangalore on the third day after the wedding. You can see them then."

When Suguna and I arrived in Bangalore on December 24, Kumar met us at the doorway. "U.G. is at Brahmachariji's ashram. He told me to tell you to come there tonight even if you are late," Kumar said. We instantly hired a taxi and drove to the ashram, which was about 20 kilometers away from Bangalore.

"I told you that they would come no matter how late it is in the night," U.G. said to those around him, seeing us approaching from a distance. The next day was Christmas. Our wedding feast and our bidding farewell to U.G.—both happened rather unostentatiously.

Consider Me As Part of the Furniture—Nagaraj

2007-04-17T23:41:00.001-04:00

Nagaraj was the private secretary to the Postmaster General of Karnataka and also the secretary for the Shorthand Association. He never married. "The cigarette is my Beloved," he used to say. After hearing of U.G. and meeting him, he became disillusioned with J.K. (J. Krishnamurti). After that, whenever U.G. came to Bangalore, Nagaraj would apply for two or three months' leave from his office and spend that time with U.G. Just as he would usually go to his office carrying his lunch in a tiffin carrier, he would also bring his lunch to the house in the Anjaneya Temple Street.

"U.G., consider me as part of the furniture here. I have nothing to ask of you. Please let me just hang around here. That's all I want," he used to say. He wrote down in shorthand in his notebooks the questions U.G.'s visitors would ask and also reported on the events that occurred around U.G. Those records became our major preoccupation after U.G. left India: Nagaraj would type up his notes, make copies and distribute them to all our friends. We would read and enjoy them. Mind is a Myth is a book that came out of those notes prepared by Nagaraj.

Nagaraj retired after we moved to Poornakutee. He asked U.G. to help him quit his habit of cigarette smoking as he was wasting a lot of money on it. U.G. answered, "Double your quota. Don't stop smoking." Nagaraj didn't heed this advice.

In spite of U.G.'s advice, Nagaraj quit smoking and sank into a heavy depression. About a year later, one morning, he got up from sleep, drank his coffee, went to bed again and went to sleep forever. It took me a long time to collect myself after his death. Whenever there was a mention of Nagaraj during conversations, U.G. used to say to divert us, "Where did Nagaraj go? He is here with us." Maybe he is with us while I am writing this. Nagaraj, are you listening to your story? Among all the friends that gathered around U.G., Nagaraj was my most intimate.

I can't speak enough about him. The Sundays we spent transcribing his notes on U.G. in his office working for hours together, the phone conversations we would have with U.G. from that office, the funny jokes Nagaraj would tell—the more I think of those memories, the more forlorn I feel.

You Are the Only One Who Gives What I Need Free of Charge—Rochaldas Schroff

2007-04-17T23:37:00.001-04:00

Rochaldas Shroff was a billionaire. His ancestors migrated from the Sindh area of Pakistan. He was a member of the Radhasomi Path started by Sawan Singh Maharaj. For forty years he practiced the Surat Sabd yoga taught by his teacher. He was over sixty years when he met U.G. At first, in his broken English, he used to pester U.G. for liberation. "I have nothing to give. Go and ask your guru," U.G. used to tell him.

"Your teaching that 'There is nothing' is our everything. You please give me that," he used to say cleverly. U.G. would get angry at him and start scolding him. If U.G. said, "You have so many gurus. Why do you come here instead of going to them?" Rochaldas would reply: "U.G., all they want is my money. You are the only one who is giving me what I need free of charge. When you ask me to get out, I feel as if you are saying, 'Get out of these worldly involvements;' and if you tell me not to come back, I feel as if you are saying, 'Don't come back into the cycle of death and rebirth;' and, if you tell me, 'You will not get anything here,' I feel as if in this moment, right here I am filled with the Infinite. How can I not come to you again and again?"

When U.G. would hold his head unable to answer Rochaldas, Nagaraj would then jump with joy saying, "Great, you have met your equal in Rochaldas, U.G. I will salute you if you can silence him."

One day, Rochaldas was reluctant to leave even after spending a long time with U.G., and stayed downstairs even after Valentine and U.G. retired upstairs after their lunch. He had a habit of muttering some holy names or prayers within himself when he wasn't talking to anyone, and he was doing so at this time. In a little while U.G. came downstairs and sat in a chair in front of Rochaldas. He said seriously, "Look Rochaldas, it's useless to think of jnana and moksha after amassing millions and billions. You must let all that wealth go. Not just give it to your children. That won't mean anything. There is a line in a poem which says, 'On whomsoever my grace falls, him I will rob of everything.' You must first let everything go and become a pauper. Then God will think of bestowing grace on you." Rochaldas was truly terrified by these words.

Ever since then, he stopped pestering U.G. about liberation. But he still would go look for and bring people who would provoke U.G. with their questions, and thus make him talk. He would go on missions to visit great scientists, doctors and philosophers, and he would tell them about U.G. and bring them to him. It was owing to his initiative that the NIMHANS doctors came to U.G. for discussions. He used to call the visitors of U.G. 'bakras.' 'Bakra' means sheep in the Sindhi language. His implication was that all those visitors were sheep that were victims of U.G.'s eloquence. If a new bakra arrived who could stand up to U.G. in conversation, Rochaldas would be mightily pleased. He would say, "U.G., when you talk I hear the divine flute of Krishna. All I want is to keep listening to it." He would even listen to U.G.'s tapes during the nights.

Rochaldas had three heart attacks before he was seventy five, but he didn't worry about them. He visited U.G. everyday whenever U.G. came to Bangalore. Although he had three or four cars, Rochaldas would travel in an auto rickshaw to save money. A day would not go by without U.G. making fun of Rochaldas's miserliness: "Would you have come here if I charged you one rupee per visit? Tell me the truth, Rochaldas!" Rochaldas would smile and nod in agreement and say, "It's true, I would not have come."

Once Rochaldas invited U.G. to his house for lunch. Julie Thayer accompanied U.G., and Rochaldas introduced his whole family to U.G. "Did you complete all the arrangements for the distribution of your property? Did you prepare your will yet?" U.G. asked Rochaldas.

Rochaldas replied, "No, not yet." He was not willing to distribute his property even to his own immediate relatives. Finally, U.G. made Rochaldas agree to soon make those arrangements. The faces of the family members expressed gladness at this.

In this context, U.G. asked Rochaldas, "If you had a way of saving all your property for your next life, would you have distributed your property to your children?"

"Not on my dead body," replied Rochaldas with conviction. U.G. laughed.

One day, Rochaldas was not feeling well. Doctors asked him not to get out of bed. Soon after they left, he called U.G. and told him that he felt like visiting him, and asked him if he could come. "I won't let you, if you come in an auto rickshaw. You must come in a car," said U.G. He came and sat for a long time that day in Poornakutee. He left for home around two o'clock in the afternoon. Two hours later we received the news that Rochaldas had died.

"What an easy death!" I thought. I remember his saying goodbye to everyone before he left.

That Krishna and This Krishna Say the Same Thing—the Swami of Udipi

2007-04-17T23:34:00.001-04:00

In 1972 U.G. went to Udipi along with Valentine. If one goes from the Tirthagundi Coffee Estate to Mangalore, Udipi is on the way. There are eight Maths (monasteries) there, all belonging to the Madhva tradition. The arrangement whereby a different head of Math ascends to the Principal Pitha once every two years is called paryaya (turn). That year it was the paryaya of the Acharya (teacher) of the Adamara Math.

The Adamara Math Senior Swami had heard about how a younger swami, belonging to one of the eight maths, had relinquished the headship of the Pitha after meeting U.G., and had then taken to family life and also supported himself by working at a job like everyone else. The Adamara Swami too felt like seeing U.G. and invited U.G. to accept his hospitality.

"If I come to your Math, would I have to wear clothing appropriate to your ritual rules? I wouldn't be allowed with my pajama and lalchi. Besides, Valentine also will have to come with me. She is a foreigner," said U.G. trying to discourage the Swami from inviting him.

The Swami reassured U.G. that he could come dressed just the way he was and bring Valentine as well. "But, please don't force me to sit with you to eat. That's all I ask," he said, repeating his invitation. He arranged to serve U.G. and Valentine a tasty meal with twenty five items. He sat in front of them while they ate their lunch, and they talked about many things. After listening to U.G. for a while, the Swami said to his disciples, "That Krishna and this Krishna say the same thing."

Then U.G. remarked, "Among the three Acharyas I like Madhvacharya the most."

The Adamara Math Swami was flattered with this remark, believing that U.G. was admiring his tradition. "Why, U.G., why?" he asked with excitement.

"It is because of Madhvacharya that Udipi restaurants sprung up all over the world. Whether we go to New York or London or some other place, thanks to those restaurants, I can find the idlis I need." When U.G. finished saying this, the Swami looked hurt.

Being bluntly honest and outspoken is unique to U.G. He doesn't wait to consider how the other person will take what he says. I think that he alienated even people close to him by this quality of his speaking. But as for U.G., he would say, "I can't lose a friend I don't have."

The following happened about twenty years ago, when we were in the Anjaneya Street House. One day, Professor N.A. Nikam came with Dr. Ramakrishna Rao. Prof. Nikam had retired from being the vice-chancellor of the Mysore University. Dr. Ramakrishna Rao did his doctorate under his supervision. Rumor had it that, years ago, the then Maharajah of Mysore, Jayachamaraja Wadayar, recognized the high level of scholarship that Nikam had in Advaita Vedanta, and got him to write his speeches. Prof. Nikam handed a copy of the brand new book he wrote called Bhagavan Ramana to U.G. and said, "I want your candid opinion on this."

U.G. replied without taking the book, "I am sorry. I don't read biographies, much less autobiographies." Nikam's face turned pale upon this. U.G. must have been the only person who had ever turned down a book offered by him.

B. L. Narayan

2007-04-17T23:32:00.002-04:00

Before he ever met U.G. for the first time in Bombay in 1972, B.L. Narayan, having been influenced by the teachings of J. Krishnamurti, had started the Oasis School in Hyderabad. He came to Bombay to hear J.K.'s talks and thus heard of U.G. He had invested all his personal property in the school and thus became bankrupt. He was keen on making the school into a model school. He wasn't concerned about its revenues. After he met U.G., his outlook underwent a change. "There is a great demand for schools today. It's best to set aside all your ideals and run a school merely as a business," U.G. advised Narayan.

Narayan invited U.G. and Valentine to visit his school in Hyderabad. The Oasis school is situated in a big building on a large site of four or five acres. Apparently, it is still one of the best residential schools in Andhra Pradesh. After Narayan's death the school changed hands many times.

From 1972 to 1980—for seven years—U.G. and Valentine used to spend two to three weeks each year at the Oasis School. It was there that U.G.'s boyhood classmate, Mr. Prasada Rao, came to see U.G. He, Mr. Sripada Gopalakrishnamurti, Narayan and some other friends, all used to have discussions with U.G. Narayan, upon U.G.'s suggestion, gave Hanumantha Reddy a teacher's job in his school. Thus, a fairly large group of people gathered there, including Gopal, Shanta, Satyavati Reddi, Siromani, and Rajasekhar Reddi, whenever U.G. visited Hyderabad.

In April 1980, U.G. came to India unexpectedly and stayed for a month. In May, he went to Hyderabad and stayed with Narayan for a week in the Oasis School. That was the last time he saw Narayan, for just a few days later he heard the news that Narayan died of a heart attack.

Sitaramayya—U.G.'s father

2007-04-17T23:30:00.001-04:00

In 1977, when U.G. was in Hyderabad, news arrived that U.G.'s father, Mr. Uppaluri Sitaramayya, was on his death bed. Relatives sent word to U.G. conveying his wish to see U.G. U.G. said, "If he sees me, he will die. If he wants to stay alive, he shouldn't see me." But he couldn't very well turn down the request of Valentine and Narayan; so he went to see his father in his step-brother's house. Apparently, his father cried holding U.G.'s hands. "I probably met my father about seven or eight times in my life. I haven't had any more contact with him than that," says U.G.

Shanta of the Oasis School

2007-04-17T22:26:00.001-04:00

A young lady called Shanta used to work in the Oasis School office. She was twenty five years old at that time. Narayan gave her the job of taking care of U.G. and Valentine when they were guests of the school. Shanta felt that she could ask for nothing better. She used to spend all her time accompanying U.G., or running his errands, and taking Valentine for walks.

I think it was in the year 1978. When U.G. came to Bangalore that year, he thought it would be nice if Shanta came to Bangalore for Christmas. He asked Nagaraj to write a letter to her on behalf of all our friends. "U.G. says that he won't stay in Bangalore if you don't come. You must come at least for our sake. If Mr. Narayan doesn't grant you leave, you should resign the job, if necessary," Nagaraj wrote in the letter.

Shanta rushed to Bangalore as soon as she got the letter. Since then, her enthusiasm knew no bounds. Her feet wouldn't stay on the ground, as she felt that U.G. invited her specially to take care of him. She was overwhelmed with the regard he showed for her. In just a few days, she became so dependent on U.G. that she felt she couldn't live without him. She made serving U.G. the purpose of her life. At times when U.G. was annoyed with her, she used to cry.

Meanwhile, the time came for her to return to Hyderabad. Just then U.G. fell ill. He was lying in bed one day with a fever. She sat outside his room, without eating or drinking, with a crestfallen face. She would pester U.G. hour after hour asking him each time, "Would you like me to mix some gruel? Would you like some fruit juice now?" She would listen repeatedly to Balamurali's song, "I can't live without you..." on the tape recorder. She would think of U.G. while listening to it and start crying. It was sad to watch her in that state.

That evening some people came to see U.G. "U.G. is resting; you can't see him yet. Please sit down and wait for a while," Shanta told them. Usually, if anyone came to see him, U.G. never liked to tell them to wait or to make them wait. U.G. did not tolerate it even if Valentine did something of that sort. After about half an hour, U.G. came out of his room on some errand, saw those people waiting for him, felt sorry, and asked Shanta, "Why didn't you tell me that someone was here to see me?"

Shanta answered, "You weren't feeling well. I thought you were asleep. So I didn't wake you up." Then, while U.G. was talking to his visitors, Shanta went to the post office, phoned Hyderabad, talked to Narayan and told him that U.G. asked her to stay because he was ill, and requested him to extend her leave by four days.

After his visitors left, U.G. scolded her: "I was lying in my room reading the Time magazine. Don't you know that if anyone came to see me, you should tell me at once?" Then he asked her, "What did you tell Narayan on the phone?"

She replied timidly, "I told him I will come after four more days, when you get better."

He asked, "Did you tell him that I asked you to stay? Or, did you tell him that you wanted to stay?" Then she told him the whole truth: she was afraid that if she told him that she would like to stay, Narayan wouldn't grant her the leave. Therefore she told him that U.G. wanted her to stay. When he heard this, U.G. got furious. "You can't stay here for one minute longer. You leave right now. You had the audacity to tell Narayan that I wanted you to stay! Pack up! You must not stay here even for one minute." Thus he made her get ready to go right then.

Shanta broke down into tears. Her apology was of no use: "It was a mistake, U.G. Please forgive me just this once."

Nagaraj and I also pleaded with U.G. to let Shanta stay at least for that night: "Why should she go alone on the evening bus? It will be safer for her to go tomorrow in the train," we tried to explain to him.

"Nothing of the sort. Crying and tears don't touch me. She must pay for her mistakes. Let her go," he said and did not even let us escort her to the bus stand. Shanta left that evening, crying loudly.

Later U.G. said, "The girl developed an attachment for me. That's not healthy. It's not good for her. It has to be nipped in the bud." Shanta never came to U.G. again. Later, after she married another teacher called Gopal, they both left the Oasis School.

Swami Poornananda Tirtha

2007-04-17T22:23:00.001-04:00

It was in March 1986. That being a Sunday I didn't have to go to work. I went up to U.G.'s flat early in the morning. Around 10 o'clock, Swami Poornananda Tirtha showed up at the gate parking his car on the side of the narrow road. We all addressed him as 'Swamiji' even after he renounced his sannyasa and became a householder.

During the early sixties, when he was delivering lectures on Vedanta in the city, people thronged in thousands to hear him speak. He was well known for his revolutionary ideas in the spiritual field. He always stressed on the practical aspects of Vedanta and ridiculed the traditional ritualistic approach in attaining self-realization. He had a huge ashram in the Kerala State from where he hailed.

Every year he would visit Bangalore where his followers would arrange his lecture series. He encouraged some of our friends like Dr. H. R. Nagendra, Professor Satyanarayana Sastri, Srikantaiah, Anantaram and others to form a spiritual group called 'Jnana Sadhana Sangha.'

Those were the heydays for Swamiji—until he got involved with one of his lady disciples running a women's hostel in Basavanagudi. Eventually when he announced to the wide world his decision to give up Sannyas, his own admirers became his sworn enemies.

It was at that time that we were attracted to Brahmachariji living in a cave near the Shamkara Math and leading a secluded life. Though all my friends deserted Swamiji after his marriage, for my part, I always continued my contact with him. By then, Swamiji had come under the influence of J. Krishnamurti's teachings. He was meeting J.K. regularly and was intimate with him.

Swamiji told me once that he considered self-realized masters like J.K. and U.G. as his own fathers and revered them. He said that he had taught J.K., who was all eager to learn any technique to keep his body in a fit condition, a special kind of breathing technique called antariksha pranayama.

That day, when Swamiji visited U.G., the conversation naturally turned around J. Krishanamurti's death which happened a few days before. "How can such a man die of cancer?" wondered Swamiji. U.G. smiled and said, "Why not? Why do you think that such people will not die of cancer?" He added: "Do you know that in his interview with David Bohm, J. Krishnamurti even made statements to the effect that such people would live eternally? What sort of a fellow do you think he is?"

Swamiji looked a bit puzzled. "Why can't you brush him aside sir!" U.G. asked him. Swamiji smiled and said, "He was a nice man. A lovable man." " I agree with you. But that doesn't mean you should swallow whatever he said. I always said, ' I like Mahesh but not his films.' So, that fellow (J.K.) may be a phony. Why can't you brush him aside?" asked U.G. Swamiji was silent.

After some time, he narrated an incident concerning J.K. At that time Swamiji was suffering from acute pain due to the formation of stones in his kidneys. One day, during his informal chats, Swamiji told J.K. about his problem. "What is the best treatment for that, Sir?" enquired J.K. Swamiji replied that he was advised to undergo ultrasonic treatment. In that treatment the stones in the bladder are pulverized, without a need of surgery.

Swamiji added, "But, if a person like you has intense feeling towards me, I am sure of being cured without having to go through any treatment." J.K. looked into his face and said, "Do you know that, Sir? Then you can forget about the treatment." However, after six months, Swamiji had to submit himself to the same medical treatment in London and free himself from the pain. "So, it was medical technology that came to your rescue ultimately," quipped U.G. Swamiji nodded his head.

* * *

I remember vividly the first meeting of Swamiji with U.G. That was in the year 1976 when U.G. and Valentine were staying in Sannidhi street. Rochaldas accompanied Swamiji. I felt very happy that at last Swamiji could come to meet U.G. As he heard of U.G.'s anti-J.K. approach Swamiji was reluctant to see him earlier. U.G. sat with all of us on the carpet.

Swamiji looked very relaxed in U.G.'s company. He then fired the first salvo at U.G. "Sir, I want to know the difference between the two happenings—enlightenment and Kundalini awakening: which one happens first to a person?" U.G. instantly replied, "They both occur simultaneously. There is no time gap at all." Swamiji was visibly shaken at the tone of authority in U.G.'s voice.

After that U.G. harangued non-stop, for more than an hour, touching various aspects such as enlightenment, spiritual sadhana, the Natural State. Luckily we had recorded the talk on that day. Nagaraj later transcribed the tape and most of its contents found their place in U.G.'s first book The Mystique of Enlightenment.

That day, just before taking leave from U.G., Swamiji hesitantly asked, "U.G., I quite agree that nothing needs to be done to come into our own Natural State. But, should we not, at least, try to keep the doors and windows open and wait for the Otherness to enter?" U.G., with all his seriousness, slowly said, "Sir, if that were to happen, it hits like a hurricane uprooting the whole edifice. It doesn't really matter whether you close or open the windows or doors." Swamiji stood speechless for a while. U.G. smiled and gently touching his shoulder showed him the door.

From that day Swamiji always came to see U.G. whenever U.G. happened to be in Bangalore. Having observed both U.G. and Valentine supporting themselves on their own meager resources, Swamiji many times offered to pay for their expenses. He asked me whether he could bear a part of the burden of their maintenance. When I declined, trying to explain the fiercely independent nature of U.G., he started pleading: "Shall I at least send my cow's milk for their use? Shall I offer rides in my car whenever he feels like going out?" Tears swell in my eyes when I recall Swamiji's genuine concern for U.G. and Valentine.

Swamiji would never miss a chance to talk about U.G.'s high spiritual stature in his public discourses and talks. "If you are really interested in meeting a true Jivanmukta, there is one here right now in the city, camped in Basavanagudi. Go and meet him," he would exhort his audience. Shanta Kelker, the lady who later authored the exquisite book, The Sage and the Housewife, on U.G., was one of those who were inspired by Swamiji's remarks.

The last time U.G. saw Swamiji was when he received the news that he was dying of brain cancer. Swamiji wanted to see U.G. It was such a pathetic scene. His wife, otherwise a bold lady, was all shattered. She wept bitterly praying U.G. to save her husband. U.G. stood silently at his bed side. He took Swamiji's hand into his for a while. There were tears in Swamiji's eyes when he bade good-bye to U.G. with folded hands.

Jnanasram and Jnanachakravarti

2007-04-17T22:20:00.001-04:00

It was October 1995. Swamiji (Brahmachariji) many times described dramatically the events that occurred around U.G. in Mysore at that time. Mahesh Bhatt reported in his own book (his biography of U.G. called U.G. Krishnamurti, A Life) the affairs that happened in Kodaikanal.

It started on September 30, 1979. At 3:00 p.m. U.G. got off the plane with Valentine in the Bangalore airport, having arrived from Hyderabad. That was the ninth day of the Dasara festival. Ranganatha Rao and I were taking them to Jnanasram in a taxi.

"When will Viswanath's house be ready?" U.G. asked. I told him it would be two or three days. Because he had no other place to stay, we had arranged for him to stay temporarily in Jnanasram. U.G. normally doesn't like to inconvenience anyone. But he does take liberties with Brahmachariji. On the way, he announced his immediate plans: as his friends Parveen Babi and Mahesh Bhatt were visiting him, he was planning to stay for a month in Kodaikanal in the South of India.

Jnanasram is about twenty kilometers South of Bangalore, close to Bannerughatta. After Brahmachariji avoided with great difficulty the possible (mis)fortune of ascending the Seat of the Kudli Math, U.G. created for him the opportunity to build this ashram. With his ingenuity and incessant hard work Brahmachariji transformed the seven-acre barren land donated to him by the Government into a luscious garden. As well, he also built the Sakti Ganapati Temple in the Ashram.

In course of time, he also built a school, a guest house and quarters for those who would look after him. Brahmachariji said he owed it all to U.G.: when U.G. had first seen the barren land, he had put in Brahmachariji's hand the two rupees that remained after he had paid for a taxi that day, and he told Brahmachariji that this was his donation for the building of an ashram. Ever since then, whatever Brahmachariji touched turned to gold.

Our taxi arrived in Jnanasram. Looking at the sign of the Ashram outside the gate saying, "Jnanasram," U.G. remarked that the major defect that the sign had was not to have an 'a' before the word Jnanasram (instead of 'Abode Wisdom,' the sign 'Ajnanasram' then would read 'Abode of Non-wisdom'). We all laughed at the joke. Brahmachariji, whom we expected to see waiting for us at the gate, was nowhere to be seen. We surmised that he must have waited for us, and thinking that the plane arrived late, he must have gone to town to do some urgent chores. So we ourselves had to take care of the guests that accompanied us.

Early the next morning at five o'clock, U.G. came and sat in the living room. "Last night that cobra came to visit me," he said. Our curiosity was aroused. Whenever he visited the Ashram, a big cobra used to visit him at least once. It was an almost twenty-foot long venomous serpent. It would make big sounds with its large hood and wake up U.G. U.G. would open the back door of his room and go out and walk with the cobra for a little while. "Maybe because of the big rain last night, the snake was not as fast as before. It crawled and moved slowly. It has become very old. Still, how beautiful it looks when it crawls in its zig-zag fashion!" U.G. told us.

"In this desolate place, the cobra has been protecting me for all these years. Some great person is visiting in this form," said Brahmachari. His cook sometimes fed milk to it. Other people normally couldn't find it, but when U.G. would arrive at the Ashram, the cobra seemed to know, and would come to U.G. at night, and then disappear.

The next afternoon at exactly 3:00 p.m., Jnanachakravarti, an astrologer, entered, opening the gate with a friend of his called Anand. Jnanachakravarti was well dressed in the Indian fashion with a red shawl around his shoulders and a glow on his face. As they approached us, we all promptly made room for the two guests on the green lawn. After being introduced to U.G., Jnanachakravarti sat with everyone on the lawn. U.G. was mocking the Hindu traditions and religious ways in his usual manner.

In about half an hour Jnanachakravarti abruptly interrupted U.G. and raised an objection: "Mr. Krishnamurti, many of the criticisms you have made have been made before by others. You must have the spirit of tolerance to not only reject the useless elements in our tradition, but to select the best. The scriptures don't approve of someone being a teacher merely because they are engaged (lit. rooted) in Brahman. He must also be tradition-bound. Only such persons are fit to be world teachers."

U.G. did not reply.

"Please furnish me the horoscope of U.G. Right now I will examine it minutely and analyze the status of his spirituality on the basis of scriptural authority. If I am offending his admirers, please forgive me. But I can't tolerate blasphemy," he said emotionally. U.G. quietly went in, brought a copy of his horoscope and handed it to Jnanachakravarti. Just as Jnanachakravarti started studying the horoscope, his facial expressions changed. He admitted that, without a doubt, it was the horoscope of a jivanmukta. He quoted many verses from astrological texts to support his statements. We were all stunned.

No Difference Between an Ashram and a Brothel

2007-04-17T22:17:00.001-04:00

The next day, October 3, 1979, Mahesh Bhatt and Parveen Babi arrived from Bombay. That same evening they all went with U.G. and Valentine to Mysore in a car. My friends and I also went and everyone stayed in the University Guest House arranged by Professor Ramakrishna Rao of Mysore University. We all ate at Prof. Rao's house. As Brahmachariji hails from Mysore, he stayed in his own large house built by his father, the ownership of which was a source of dispute between himself and his brothers.

Something interesting happened on October 4. Prof. Ramakrishna Rao went to the university on some business. U.G., Mahesh, Brahmachariji and some other friends of Brahmachariji were sitting in the hall [of the Guest House]. One of them was Mr. Gundappa, a retired commissioner of police. Brahmachariji and his friends were all ardent followers of Sankara. U.G. seems to take pleasure in making fun of Brahmachariji when he gets a chance. Sometimes this can go on beyond tolerable limits and Brahmachariji would go into a rage. Then they would both calm down and laugh very loudly.

That day, however, Brahmachariji was in a terrible mood. As if he didn't notice any of that, U.G. kept on making fun of him: "Why start an ashram? What's the difference between an ashram and a brothel? Prostitutes are better: they merely sell their body for a livelihood. In your ashrams you sell gurus. After so much education and becoming an I.A.S. officer, why did you have to stoop down to selling Sankaracharya?" Brahmachariji became furious that he was made fun of in front of everyone.

"Mahesh, I am not going to remain with this man for one more minute. When Ramakrishna Rao returns, tell him that I went back to Bangalore," he said angrily, and without heeding Mahesh's requests, rushed out of the house.

"U.G., Brahmachariji is really leaving in anger," Mahesh was shouting loudly.

But U.G., on his part, said quietly, "He is not going anywhere. He will come back. Wait and see."

Meanwhile, just as he left the house and went some distance, Brahmachariji ran into Prof. Ramakrishna Rao. All his anger returned when he saw the latter, "What kind of a demon are you having as your guest? Is he a Brahmajnani or a big demon?" he shouted in anger. Ramakrishna Rao held him by his shoulder and tried to comfort and pacify him.

Meanwhile, a Brahmin passing by saw them and begged pitifully, "Sirs, I am hungry. Please give me a rupee. I will read your palms and tell your fortune."

Ramakrishna Rao found a golden opportunity in this. "Brahmachariji, I agree with what you say. Let's take this palmist with us and expose U.G.'s true colors. If it turns out that he is a trickster and a phony, we will drive him out of the house. Come, let's go home," he said. Brahmachariji was pacified. "Hey, you Brahmin, you must look at the palm of someone and tell us the exact truth. If you read his hand carefully and tell us what kind of a man he is, I will give you ten rupees. If you talk gibberish, I will make your head sing songs! Be ready!" he said threatening the Brahmin.

In a couple of minutes they came into the house. As Brahmachariji looked at U.G., he curtly asked that U.G. show his hand to the palmist. U.G. extended his arms to show both his palms like a good boy. None of the people who had assembled in the hall understood what was going on; they were watching the spectacle. The lean Brahmin looked at U.G.'s right hand for a couple of minutes and started blinking with wide eyes, howling, "O ho ho!"

Brahmachariji held him by the arm and shouted at him, "Speak clearly in words." The Brahmin didn't hear him, and kept on studying the palm. After a little while, he said again, "Abbabbabba, ahahaha....!" and was gloating in his own ecstasy.

Brahmachariji could not contain his anger and got ready to hit him, "Are you going to say something in words, or should I break your head?"

"Sir, what can I say? I have never seen a palm like this before in my entire life. It surpasses that of the Rama Incarnation and the Krishna Incarnation. This palm is that of Srimannarayana (Vishnu)," the Brahmin said. Brahmachariji couldn't utter a word in response. He collapsed in the sofa dumbfounded. U.G. assessed the situation.

He looked at the palmist and made an offer: "If you can look at his palm and tell how many children he has, I will give you twenty rupees," and showed him Brahmachariji's palm. The Brahmin scrutinized it for a minute and laughed, "He is a staunch bachelor. He was never married. How can he have children?" Brahmachariji then also joined the roomful of people there who laughed at this accurate deduction. Thus U.G. and Brahmachariji tested each other and found out that the stuff the other person was made of was genuine and not bogus.

Chamundeswari Temple

2007-04-17T22:13:00.001-04:00

That evening Dr. Ramakrishna Rao offered to take Mahesh and Parveen for a darshan in the Chamundeswari Temple. U.G., Valentine and Brahmachari also accompanied them. No one knows how he got wind of it, but by the time they arrived there, the priest in the neighboring Lakshmi Narayana Temple, Anandji, came running to U.G. to receive him.

Anandji was a devout man who remained a bachelor all his life, performed daily worship in the Temple, and, like Sri Ramakrishna Paramahamsa, spent his life meditating upon God. Many years ago, a friend had taken him to U.G. As soon as Anandji had seated himself in front of U.G., intense movement of the Kundalini energy had started within him. Ever since then, he placed a picture of U.G. at the altar and worshipped it every day.

The priests of the Chamundeswari Temple, showing great respect, led Valentine, Parveen and Mahesh, along with U.G., directly into the inner sanctum. Brahmachariji later said that the honor that was done to them that day was not normally accorded even to the Maharajah. It was inconceivable that people like Valentine, Parveen and Mahesh, considered untouchable (Mlecchas) by orthodox Hindus, would be allowed into the inner sanctum where even orthodox Brahmins would not normally be allowed.

A special puja was performed for them. It was another wonder that the sacred conch shell, (called panchajanya) belonging to the Goddess, and the Srichakra that was installed there were also brought to them, and U.G. was allowed to touch them. That honor too is not normally accorded even to the Maharajah.

From the moment he stepped into the inner sanctum, U.G. was feeling the effect of the energy that was there and appeared to be in a semi-conscious state. The Srichakra and panchajanya stirred the energies in him. When he was about to stumble, Brahmachariji held U.G. Mahesh later said that he had seen on U.G.'s forehead a swelling of the skin in the form of the vertical marks worn by Vaishnavaites(namas). The swelling had remained for a length of time. For the duration of his stay in the Temple, there was also another mark evident around U.G.'s neck in the form of a serpent.

When asked about the nature of these swellings, U.G.'s explanations were always of a scientific nature. He says that the worship that was done with great devotion and devoutness, and the Yantras [mystical diagrams on metal plates] that were installed there—all fill the area with powerful vibrations. These swellings are an end-result of U.G.'s body mechanisms reacting to these energy vibrations. They show up for a little while and then subside. U.G. says there is no need to attribute any more spiritual significance to such manifestations.

Brahmachariji's body mechanism, however, cooled itself down by drinking milk from four coconuts as soon as the group came out of the Temple. Valentine was the only person who remained unaffected by any of this. Everyone else was affected in some fashion or other by the energy present there.

Dr. Kameswari

2007-04-17T22:11:00.002-04:00

Anyone who knew Kameswari would feel as if they had known her for many years. No one knows how she acquired that special trait. "She is a child of the Devi [the Mother Goddess, called Ammavaru in Telugu]," says General Ramanayya, a friend of Kameswari. While she was still in her mother's womb, her father, Pillalamarri Sundararamayya, adopted monkhood and acquired the monk's name of Ramananda Swami. He gave her the mantra of the Sixteen Syllables and taught her to worship the Goddess Lalita Parameswari. Since then, she filled her life with the Goddess. She later got married, bore children and became an Army doctor, but she never left the presence of the Supreme Goddess Lalita.

Her world was immersed with the Goddess. Even when she worked in the Army, she would take leave for the ten days of the Dasara festival and dedicate herself to the Goddess. The Goddess is not just a conventional goddess to her nor is she an abstract idea in her mind. To Kameswari, the Goddess is a unique expression which embraces the whole universe, comforts it with love, and showers mercy upon it.

It was Kameswari's being stationed as an Army doctor in Wellington, a town in the Nilgiri hills, that prompted U.G. to go to Ooty that year. Ever since she became acquainted with U.G., Kameswari had been inviting him to visit Ooty. For some reason, the climate of Ooty did not appeal to U.G. Although he liked cool mountainous places, he did not like Ooty. Nevertheless, because Kameswari lived there, he wanted to go to Kodaikanal via Ooty. Kameswari's joy knew no bounds when she learned that U.G. was coming with Parveen and Mahesh.

"I ran immediately to the Post Office and sent a telegram saying, 'Welcome.' I also wrote a letter sitting right there. I asked him not to disappoint me, as I was so happy about his coming. Just before I got U.G.'s letter that day I was thinking during my Puja, 'It would be nice if U.G. would come here. I can't even take off from work this year on leave.' I had that intense desire to see U.G. I went to the hospital, and in the morning mail I received the letter from U.G. saying they were coming. I can't express adequately my joy," she wrote to me in a letter.

On October 5, 1979, two days after Mahesh and Parveen arrived from Bombay, U.G. started with them on a trip by car to Ooty. Kameswari's anticipation was like that of Sabari in the Ramayana. After U.G. and company set foot in her house, she had one of her two feet in the kitchen and the other in the living room. Unable to bear that, U.G. settled himself down in the kitchen. He would taste the curries she made, add salt to her cooking and converse with her. Kameswari enjoyed this very much. He even kept her company when she sat for her puja, so that she wouldn't miss him even there. He and Parveen would seat themselves on either side of her. He asked her to utter the mantra aloud when she was meditating. When she finished, he said, "Good, perfect." One day, when she was doing her puja, he said, "Parts of the mantra are very powerful. They feel as if a great energy is flowing. But at some places the flow is interrupted. I will correct them if you recite them aloud." When she corrected them and recited them again the next day, he said, "Now they sound right."

U.G. once commented on Kameswari's puja, "When she recited those mantra, those sounds caused strange movements and experiences in me. It must be such experiences some people aspire for when they do japa and tapas. The question, 'No matter how mechanically they are recited, is it right to brush them aside as foolish?' arose in me. 'No, you mustn't,' came the reply." It doesn't mean that from that moment U.G. encouraged puja and japa. It's not U.G.'s manner to condemn anything as a foolish practice if it is done in good faith, sincerely and with a pure mind.

Kameswari's puja altar includes U.G.'s photo along with the pictures of all the gods and goddesses. When she was offering food ritually to the gods, U.G. said in a chiding fashion, "I am here in person. Why do you offer the food to my photo? Give it to me. I am hungry." "There are other 'dignitaries' there besides you. So you must wait till the Puja is over," she said, calming him down.

Kameswari, thus, had the good fortune of, after identifying U.G. as the fulfillment of her thousand wishes, having him come in her own home, of serving him, of worshipping him, of making offerings to him, and of enjoying such worship. On the full moon day in October, during her puja, Kameswari was overwhelmed by her devotion and emotions, lost her senses, fell into U.G.'s lap and started crying loudly. Parveen, too, put her head in U.G.'s lap and cried like a baby. Perhaps, the full moon filled U.G. with the splendor of motherly love: quietly he consoled them both.

U.G. told me later that it was on that day he had a vision of the sage Agasthya. He is not wont to talking about such visions in a respectful manner. His manner is to treat with equal lightness visions of both Donald Duck and Sadashiva. So, it is not easy to extract the details of such visions from him. When I asked him, "How did Agasthya look?" his answer was, "He looked short, fat and dark." Everyone knows that Ooty is called the Place of Agasthya. Yercaud also is said to be a residence of Agasthya.

U.G. and company stayed in Ooty for four days and then left for Kodaikanal. "As soon as they left for Kodai, I felt that my body became lifeless, as though all the energy in it was pumped out of it like air," Kameswari said.

This Is Not the Time and This Is Not the Place to Die—Kodai

2007-04-17T21:45:00.001-04:00

U.G. wanted to stay in Kodaikanal for a month. Parveen and Mahesh accompanied him there. Also, Mr. Narayana from Hyderabad and an English friend called Bernard Selby wanted to come there to spend a few days with U.G. Meanwhile, in Bangalore, we received an unexpected telegram from U.G. saying, "We are cancelling our stay in Kodai and starting back on the 18th. Please arrange for our stay in the Ashram, if the house is not ready." We were at a loss as to what to do. We had to hurry to Jnanasram to prepare for their arrival.

U.G. went directly to the ashram on the evening of his arrival on Thursday, October 18, 1979. The next day Mahesh brought us to the Ashram in his car. "What happened, Mahesh? Why did you come back from Kodai so soon without spending at least ten days there?" I asked.

Ayyo, Kadavalai, Andavane! ('God' in Tamil—one of U.G.'s pet phrases), he screamed, but didn't answer my question. I felt that he hadn't recovered yet from some shock: something extraordinary must have happened. In the course of time I was able to extract the story, some from Mahesh, some from Valentine and some from U.G. The article that Mahesh wrote later called, "To Hell and Back," was published in The Times of India. It mirrors the incidents which occurred in Kodai. In that article, he says, "....Kodai took the ugly shape of a page from Dante's Inferno."

They had found an old bungalow called the Bhut Bungalow in Kodai to stay. Mahesh did not like the place, and was panic-stricken as if it was a Ghost Bungalow ['bhut' means Ghost in Hindi]. As soon as they got there, it rained torrentially. The nights were pitch black. Parveen was mentally ill, and her illness became worse from the bad weather. She would sneak into her room and lock herself in it.

U.G. was unwell because the air was so humid and his esophagus problem recurred again. U.G. looked like Yama in person. If anyone tried to talk to him about anything, he flew into a rage. There was a fireplace in the hall with a fire going on, which seemed to serve as a constant reminder of U.G.'s fiery visage. If anyone by mistake mentioned J. Krishnamurti, U.G. would rise into a fury like a cobra whose tail had been stepped on.

"You and I are going to witness in person the demolition of J.K.'s teachings. I am not exaggerating," U.G. roared fiercely. "J.K. is merely a medium. He is used to speaking as if some spook possessed him. Otherwise, there is nothing to him," he would say, brushing J.K. aside.

One day, his esophagus closed completely. U.G. couldn't even swallow water. If he forced himself to eat anything, he would throw it up. He was thus unable to eat or drink anything for thirty six hours. To add to that illness, as if in sympathy, Parveen stopped eating and drinking as well. Thus, there was more than one crisis on hand. U.G. felt as if his body was all stirred up and wrung out. He used to writhe in pain on the bed. No one knew what would happen. One night, his pain became unbearable. He felt as if his end was nearing. Mahesh was at a loss as to what to do. U.G. said to Valentine, "It looks as if my time to die is nearing."

Valentine replied quietly in a jocular fashion, "This is not the time and this is not the place to die. It's not practical."

U.G. could not help himself from laughing at these words. "That was the only laughter that echoed between the walls of the Bhut Bungalow in a week," said Mahesh. Perhaps because of the irrepressible laughter which burst out of U.G. in response to Valentine's remark, his esophagus loosened up. He was able to sip and take in water. A little later, he was able to eat food. When U.G. said, "That's enough of the Kodai experiment. Let's go to Bangalore," everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The chauffeur of the car was also gladly relieved. Immediately, everyone said good bye to Kodai and left.

"In the Natural State there are no higher or lower levels. Even before there were no boundaries in my consciousness. It seemed like consciousness flowed with the body as its periphery. This is not an experience. In order to communicate with you I have to use a metaphor. After I returned from Kodai, even that bank has disappeared. Everything is a vast unitary stream. There are no obstacles to this flow. It's hard to express it in words. It's even more difficult to understand what I say," said U.G. the day after he returned from Kodai.

Get lost—Vision of J.K.

2007-04-17T21:43:00.001-04:00

It was November 4, 1979, the full moon day of Kartika. When he saw me early in the morning, U.G. said to me, "You know what happened today? Earlier this morning J.K. appeared." I was shocked. How could J.K. appear? Was that in a dream or was it real? U.G. smiled. "This was not a vision; nor was it a dream. I never have dreams. J.K. appeared in person," he said. What did he say after he appeared? "He looked at me and said, 'Old chap! Your teaching is too radical and too revolutionary. Water it down.' I told him, 'Get lost!' and he disappeared," said U.G.

Kusuma—U.G.'s Wife

2007-04-17T21:40:00.001-04:00

"I used to hear that there were great loyal ladies who lived in such unity with their husbands' lives that they didn't even preserve their own lives. I didn't realize until after she had died that none of them would even stand comparison with my mother," said Bulbul [Usha, U.G.'s daughter] speaking the other night about her mother, Kusuma.

"You became a great king because our Janaki kept your company, or else was it your own achievement?" so said Tyagayya defiantly. True. What did Sita gain by marrying an ideal person like Rama? How happy was Kusuma made by loving him with all her heart an idiosyncratic individual like U.G., let alone being married to him? Kusuma was a faithful wife who suffered for her husband's pleasure, and with a view of not standing in the way of his attaining his goals. She was caught in the dilemma of, on the one hand, wishing to provide for her children's future, and, on the other hand, wanting to be in her husband's presence, a presence which was so vital for her own well-being.

Finally, she punished herself cruelly and separated herself from him. She became an object of scorn in her relatives' eyes, but she wouldn't care about whatever they said about her. If anyone even hinted at blaming U.G., no matter how close a relative that person was, she would lash out at him like a veritable Kali. For the sake of her children, she sacrificed her life of 35 years living in the remote village of Pulla. Apparently she said to her sister Minakshamma before she died, "Sister, thus I not only became unwanted by my husband but also am becoming useless for my children. What good is it for me to live?"

When Bulbul was narrating to us these events on the terrace that night, we could clearly imagine Kusuma's suffering. We could understand why she had moved away from U.G. We also knew how inevitable the occurrence of such an event was in U.G.'s life, this separation from his wife. When Bulbul was crying loudly because she couldn't contain the pain of her memories, we too cried with her silently.

If a person who first didn't want to marry at all, melted like snow as soon as he saw Kusuma and decided that if he ever married it would be only to her, we need not be surprised. Her personality, beauty and nature were of that sort. Why did such a person move away from U.G. in her final days? U.G. had told her that she could leave the U.S. and return to India. All her efforts to persuade him to return with her to India, to live together as one family with him and the children as before, failed.

U.G. was not interested in the family life. When she thought of the future of her daughters, her heart sank. She insisted on keeping them in India because she worried: "In this God-forsaken country my children will get used to this culture and will marry Christian men." She wanted to send them to school in India. She wanted to raise them according to the Indian cultural tradition, and not to play with their lives. At least that was her intention.

U.G. was adamant: "If you want, you can go. You can stay in India with them. I will live alone in this country or another country, but I won't return to India." By then he knew that separation with his wife was inevitable. He knew that his life was like a rudderless boat tossed away by Fate and drifting in the ocean of existence.

Having no alternative, Kusuma returned to India alone. She left her life behind with her husband and landed in India looking like a lifeless corpse. It's a wonder why the earth didn't take her into its womb immediately. Circumstances in India were topsy-turvy. Nevertheless, Kusuma was brave and would not admit defeat. She believed that U.G. would someday return to India for her sake and for their children's sake.

She kept her hope alive as long as she believed that even though U.G. had no use for her, her children needed her. She bore and defied all hardships as well as her ill-health. One day in Pulla, Bharati (U.G.'s eldest daughter) and Bulbul came from Visakhapatnam for vacations. When she assigned small tasks for them, they wouldn't do them. She was hurt by their complaints.

No matter how low a state she was in, she was so proud that she wouldn't let others know of it. When she was trying to feed him, and he wouldn't eat, she learned that the four-year old Bujji (Kumar, U.G.'s second son) had gone to someone's house and ate a full meal that afternoon. She put the little kid down and made marks on his stomach with a hot pancake turner. Then she started crying. How many could understand the agony and tears of that mother!

She didn't like to inform her husband of her hardships. "Wouldn't he suffer from pain knowing that I and the children are going through such hardships? How sorry will he be!" she thought. Her brother-in-law, Mr. Mrutyunjaya Rao, trying to set right the affairs of this family, and with the intention of calling U.G. to India, wrote a pleading letter to U.G. When she learned of it, Kusuma became a veritable Durga [a fierce form of the Mother Goddess], picked the gentleman up by grasping him from the sliding chair he was sitting on and threw him on the floor. She was so proud.

"Sister, he will come. U.G. will certainly come. Didn't he treat me like a princess? My prince will come on the seven horses." Kusuma used to daydream in this fashion. She had great imagination and an artistic bent of mind. There was not a moment when she didn't think of U.G. She used to reminisce about the days of her married life with U.G. and talk about them to her sister.

She recalled that one day she and U.G. went to some town. The hosts had given them a room to sleep in. There was only a camp cot, which would sleep one person, in the room. Kusuma became angry when U.G. told her, "Kusuma, you sleep on the cot. I will spread my bed on the floor and sleep on it."

"He used to bring me anything I wanted. He used to send me a sari wherever I was. When he asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I told him I wanted a sari. I was so foolish. Why did I ask for a sari?" she said, sobbing. Perhaps Kusuma was regretting that she should instead have asked him to stay with her.

"Sister, my husband used to look like Nagayya [a famous South Indian movie star]. He was fair, with long hair, white shirt and a panche [loin cloth]—he looked like a prince. Her tapas was only to constantly think of U.G.'s appearance." Kusuma's daily routine was to recall the memories of the days she had spent with U.G. in the U.S. and talk about them.