continues....
There is an abrupt pause. An attendant approaches and lights another incense stick The Maharshi watches the blue smoke
curl its way upwards and then picks up His manuscript book. He unfolds its pages and begins to work again, thus dismissing
me from the field of His attention.
This renewed indifference of His plays like cold water upon my self esteem. I sit around for another quarter of an hour,
but I can see that He is in no mood to answer my questions. Feeling that our conversation is really at an end, I rise from
the tiled floor, place my hands together in farewell, and leave Him.
*
In the next sub-chapter Brunton describes his visit to the Big Temple and various shrines and also visiting the shops
around the Temple.
*
Fireflies whirl about the hermitage garden, drawing strange patterns of light on the background of darkness, as we drive
in the palm-fringed courtyard. And when I enter the long hall and drop to a seat on the floor, the sublime silence appears
to have reached this place and pervaded the air.
The assembled company squats in rows around the Hall, but among them there is no noise or talk. Upon the corner couch
sits the Maharshi, His feet folded beneath Him, His hands resting unconcernedly upon His knees. His figure strikes me anew
as being simple, modest; yet withal it is dignified and and impressive. His head is nobly poised, like the head of some
Homeric sage. His eyes gaze immovably towards the far end of the Hall. That strange steadiness of sight is as puzzling
as ever. Has he been merely watching through the window the last ray of light fade out of the sky, or is He so wrapped in some
dreamlike abstraction as to see naught of this material world at all?
The usual cloud of incense floats among the rafters of the roof. I settle down and try to fix my eyes on the Maharshi, but
after a while feel a delicate urge to close them. It is not long before I fall into a half sleep, lulled by the intangible peace
which, in the Sage's proximity, begins to penetrate me more deeply. Ultimately there comes a gap in my consciousness and
then I experience a vivid dream.
I seems that I become a little boy of five. I stand on a rough path which winds up and around the sacred Hill of Arunachala,
and hold the Maharshi's hand; but now He is a great towering figure at my side, for He seems to have grown to a giant's
size. He leads me away from the hermitage and, despite the impenetrable darkness of night, guides me along the path,
which we both slowly walk together. After a while, the stars and the moon conspire to bestow a faint light upon our surroundings.
I notice that the Maharshi carefully guides me around the fissures in the rocky soil and between monstrous boulders that are
shakily parched. The Hill is steep and our ascent is slow. Hidden in narrow clefts between the rocks and boulders or sheltered
by clusters of low bushes, tiny hermitages and inhabited caves come into view. As we pass by, the inhabitants emerge to greet
us and, although their forms take on a ghostly appearance in the starlight, I recognize that they are yogis of varying kinds.
We never stop for them, but continue to walk until the top of the peak is reached. We halt at last, my heart throbbing with a
strange anticipation of some momentous event about to befall me.
The Maharshi turns and looks down into my face. I, in turn, gaze expectantly up at Him. I become aware of a mysterious
change taking place with great rapidity in my heart and mind. The old motives which have lured me on begin to desert me.
The urgent desires which have sent my feet hither and thither vanish with incredible swiftness. The dislikes, misunderstandings,
coldness and selfishness which have marked my dealings with many of my fellows collapse into the abyss of nothingness.
An untellable peace falls upon me and I know that there is nothing further that I shall ask from life.
Suddenly the Maharshi bids me turn my gaze away to the bottom of the Hill. I obediently do so and to my astonishment discover
the Western hemisphere of our globe lies stretched out far below. It is crowded with millions of people; I can vaguely discern
them as masses of forms, but the night's darkness still enshrouds them.
contd.,
Arunachala Siva.