A Visit to Anandashram - An article from The Mountain Path 1964

A visit to Anandashram in the Lifetime of Swami Ramdas

By Unnamulai

from: The Mountain Path, Vol. 1, January 1964,  No. 1

Some friends were going to Anandashram by car and, having heard of Swami Ramdas for years past but never yet visited him, I accepted their invitation to accompany them. In fact, he was the only living saint whom I had an inclination to see. As it turned out, it was very fortunate that I took this opportunity because only a few months later he died suddenly, quite unexpectedly.

While the car was approaching Anandashram after a long drive through undulating wooded country and was still about two miles away I suddenly had the extraordinary experience of hearing the invocation of Ram everywhere: the earth, the trees, the humming of the car, the sound of the wind, all were vibrating with the Name of Ram. This was all the more remarkable as I had never been drawn to this invocation and had never used it. Later I understood why it was so.

The first thing that struck me on beholding Swami Ramdas, affectionately called 'Papa' by everyone, was how much nicer he looked in real life than on photos. His face was beaming with joyfulness, goodness, liveliness; his smile was so childlike and spontaneous that one felt immediately drawn to him.

I found that the Ashram was being run by Mother Krishna Bai, known to everybody as 'Mataji'. When we went from the car straight to the Swami's room, tired and unwashed, she was there. I had met her once before briefly, years ago, when she was passing through Madras. She was young then and in good health, but somehow the meeting had left no impression, but now I saw before me a face ravished by sickness yet incredibly beautiful, with a beauty not of this world. She is worshipped as a realized soul.

We were received very kindly and shown to our rooms, which were comfortable and airy. After washing and changing into a white sari I went back to Papa's room. A number of people were there, sitting on the floor, ladies against the wall and men at the other side, with Papa in his armchair, his feet resting on a footstool. People kept coming and prostrating before him and touching his feet. He explained that a current of power flows through a saint and that there is especial benefit from touching his feet. That is why so many of the sacred poems and songs refer to the lotus feet of the Guru. In his presence one felt enveloped in an atmosphere of love and joyfulness.

At half past seven the bell rang for the evening meal and we all went to an adjoining building in which were the dining hall and kitchen. Food was served on stainless steel plates on the floor, in two rows, one for women and one for men. While we waited to be served the dining hall was resounding with the chanting of Ram Nam. Outstanding was the soprano of a Norwegian trained opera singer, and the powerful deep voice of a German. The food was purely vegetarian, excellent in quality and with due consideration for those who could not eat spiced food. One could feel the loving care of Mataji behind it.

After the meal we assembled in the main hall where Papa was already seated. People asked questions and he not only gave replies and upadesa but launched into reminiscences of his own sadhana during the years when he was a wandering sadhu.*

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* A sample of these talks is contained in his book, God-Experience, reviewed in this issue.

Although most of these can be found in his books, it was quite a different experience to hear him telling them, sometimes poignant, sometimes full of laughter.

At 10 o'clock all took leave of Papa and Mataji and went to their rooms, except a few who just spread their bedding and lay down to sleep in the hall.

At  5 in the morning some of the devotees went to Papa's room and sat in silent meditation for about an hour, until 6, when he got up. This morning hour seems to have been the only time for silent meditation. During the day it was more talking and asking questions. The chanting of the mantra went on almost uninterruptedly in the big hall, except when Papa sat there with the devotees, as he usually did after lunch and dinner. As I said, the atmosphere was very lively when he began his expositions mingled with reminiscences. Once I was deeply moved when he told about his experience as a sadhu at a railway station, how cold it was, and a policeman came and told him to get up and go somewhere else, but at first he couldn't because his legs were numb and swollen from sitting in the cold. With a voice choked with emotion, I asked"And then?". He immediately saw what I felt and said reassuringly. "It was all right afterwards. Ram took good care of Ramdas and some friends looked after him." He always did refer to himself in this way, in the third person, as 'Ramdas' (meaning 'slave of Ram').

There was the spontaneity of a child in him, a carefree, happy child. When the mail came in the afternoon he would read the letters out with childlike zest, even if they were private. It was bhakti at its purest, though at the same time he sometimes spoke pure Advaita. Of course, ultimately bhakti and jnana merge; there can not be love without wisdom or wisdom without love.

When Papa laughed (which was very often) it used to bring on prolonged bouts of coughing ending in breathlessness. I was very concerned about this and had a strong foreboding. This proved only too justified a few months later when he suddenly expired in a fit of suffocation, as we were told by an eye-witness. How the devotees must have missed him! However, Mataji is still there. While I was there she was running the Ashram firmly but unobtrusively and with loving care. What struck me was her great modesty and genuine spirit of loving service, which she managed to instil into those around her. Ill as she was, one would see her folding the laundry of the visitors and doing endless jobs, big and small.

Finally something about Ram Nam, which was the very essence of the teaching of Ramdas. People were singing it, repeating it silently, writing it out, for hours together. Its purpose is to hold the mind to one thought so as to prevent it wandering. Mantras are not my way, but Papa explained that, even following some other way, the mantra can be used as a fan to make the flame burn brighter.

A strange thing happened in this connection. It must have been about the time that Swami Ramdas expired (about which we heard only several days later). I was making the pilgrimage round Arunachala. My mind was unsteady, so I remembered the mantra and what Papa had said about it and used it as a fan. At that moment it came to life for me. It was Papa himself merged in the mantra. There was that indescribable feeling of tenderness, nearness, all his goodness; he was there, all-pervading. Papa lives on in the mantra.