Theosophical Society,
H P Blavatsky
How a "Chela"
Found his "Guru"
By
S. Ramaswamier
[Being
Extracts from a private letter to Damodar K. Mavalankar, Joint
Recording
Secretary of the Theosophical Society.]
....When
we met last at
Tinnevelly. My health having been disturbed by official
work and worry,
I
applied for leave on medical certificate and it was duly granted. One
day
in September last, while I was reading in my room, I was ordered by
the
audible voice of my blessed Guru, M---Maharsi, to
leave all and
proceed immediately to
Blavatsky
wherever I could find her and follow her wherever she went.
Without
losing a moment, I closed up all my affairs and left the
station. For the tones of that voice are to me the divinest sound in
Nature,
its commands imperative. I traveled in
my ascetic robes.
Arrived
at
you that she had left a few days before; that she was very ill; and
that,
beyond the fact that she had left the place very suddenly with a
Chela, you knew nothing of her whereabouts. And now, I must tell you
what
happened to me after I had left you.
Really
not knowing whither I had best go, I took a through ticket to
voice directing me to go to Berhampore. At Azimgunge, in
the train, I
met,
most providentially I may say, with some Bengali gentlemen (I did
not
then know they were also Theosophists, since I had never seen any of
them),
who were also in search of Madame Blavatsky.
Some had traced her
to
Dinapore, but lost her track and went back to Berhampore. They
knew,
they said, she was going to
feet of the Mahatmas to permit them to accompany
her. At last, as I was
told,
they received from her a note, permitting them to come if they so
desired
it, but saying that she herself was prohibited from going to
Darjiling and would see the Mahatma on the
would not be allowed to follow her .... Brother Nobin K. Bannerji, the
President
of the Adhi Bhoutic Bhratru Theosophical Society, would not
tell
me where Madame Blavatsky was, or perhaps did not then know
himself.
Yet he and others had risked all in the hope of seeing the
Mahatmas. On the 23rd, at last he brought me from
Chandernagore, where I found Madame
Blavatsky, ready to start by train
in
five minutes. A tall, dark-looking hairy
Chela (not Chunder Cusho),
but
a Tibetan I suppose by his dress, whom I met after I had crossed the
river
Hugli with her in a boat, told me that I had come too
late, that
Madame
Blavatsky had already seen the Mahatmas and that he had brought
her
back. He would not listen to my
supplications to take me with him,
saying
he had no other orders than what he had already executed--namely,
to
take her about twenty-five miles beyond a certain place he named to
me,
and that he was now going to see her safe to the station and return.
The
Bengali brother Theosophists had also traced and followed her,
arriving
at the station half an hour later. They
crossed the river from
Chandernagore to a small railway
station on the opposite side. When the
train
arrived, she got into the carriage, upon entering which I found
the
Chela! And,
before even her own things could be placed in the van,
the
train, against all regulations and before the bell was rung, started
off,
leaving the Bengali gentlemen and her servant behind, only one of
them
and the wife and daughter of another--all Theosophists and
candidates
for Chelaship--having had time to get in. I myself had
barely
the time to jump into the last carriage. All her things, with the
exception
of her box containing Theosophical correspondence, were left
behind
with her servant. Yet, even the persons that went by the same
train
with her did not reach Darjiling. Babu Nobin Banerjee, with the
servant,
arrived five days later; and those who
had time to take their
seats,
were left five or six stations behind, owing to another
unforeseen
accident (?), reaching Darjiling also a few days
later. It
required
no great stretch of imagination to conclude that Madame
Blavatsky
was, perhaps, being again taken to the Mahatmas, who, for some
good
reasons best known to them, did not want us to be following and
watching
her. Two of the Mahatmas, I had learned
for a certainty, were
in
the neighbourhood of British territory; and one of them was seen and
recognized,
by a person I need not name here, as a high Chutukla
of
The
first days of her arrival Madame Blavatsky was living at the house
of
a Bengali gentleman, a Theosophist, refusing to see any one, and
preparing, as I thought, to go again somewhere on
the borders of
To
all our importunities we could get only this answer from her: that
we
had no business to stick to and follow her, that she did not want us,
and
that she had no right to disturb the Mahatmas with all sorts of
questions
that concerned only the questioners, for they knew their own
business
best. In despair, I determined, come
what might, to cross the
frontier,
which is about a dozen miles from here, and find the Mahatmas
or--DIE. I never stopped to think that what I was
going to undertake
would
be regarded as the rash act of a lunatic.
I had no permission, no
"pass"
from the Sikkhim Rajah, and was yet decided to
penetrate into the
heart
of a semi-independent State where, if anything happened, the
Anglo-Indian
officials would not--if even they could--protect me, since
I
should have crossed over without their permission. But I never even
gave
that a thought, but was bent upon one engrossing idea--to find and
see
my Guru. Without breathing a word of my
intentions to any one, one
morning,
namely, October 5, I set out in search of the Mahatma. I had
an
umbrella and a pilgrim's staff for sole weapons, with a few rupees in
my
purse. I wore the yellow garb and
cap. Whenever I was tired on the
road,
my costume easily procured for me for a small sum a pony to ride.
The
same afternoon I reached the banks of the
the boundary between British and Sikkhimese territories.
I tried to
cross
it by the aerial suspension bridge constructed of canes, but it
swayed
to and fro to such an extent that I, who have never known in my
life
what hardship was, could not stand it. I
crossed the river by the
ferry-boat,
and this even not without much danger and difficulty. That
whole
afternoon I traveled on foot, penetrating further and further into
the
heart of Sikkhim, along a narrow footpath. I cannot now say how
many
miles I traveled before dusk, but I am sure it was not less than
twenty
or twenty-five miles. Throughout, I saw
nothing but impenetrable
jungles
and forests on all sides of me, relieved at very long intervals
by
solitary huts belonging to the mountain population. At dusk I began
to
search around me for a place to rest in at night. I met on the road,
in
the afternoon, a leopard and a wild cat;
and I am astonished now to
think
how I should have felt no fear then nor tried to run away.
Throughout,
some secret influence supported me. Fear
or anxiety never
once
entered my mind. Perhaps in my heart
there was room for no other
feeling
but an intense anxiety to find my Guru.
When it was just
getting
dark, I espied a solitary hut a few yards from the roadside. To
it
I directed my steps in the hope of finding a lodging. The rude door
was
locked. The cabin was untenanted at the
time. I examined it on all
sides
and found an aperture on the western side.
It was small indeed,
but
sufficient for me to jump through. It
had a small shutter and a
wooden
bolt. By a strange coincidence of
circumstances the hillman had
forgotten
to fasten it on the inside when he locked the door. Of
course,
after what has subsequently transpired, I now, through the eye
of
faith, see the protecting hand of my Guru everywhere around me. Upon
getting
inside I found the room communicated, by a small doorway, with
another
apartment, the two occupying the whole space of this sylvan
mansion. I laid down, concentrating every thought upon
my Guru as
usual,
and soon fell into a profound sleep.
Before I went to rest, I
had
secured the door of the other room and the single window. It may
have
been between ten and eleven, or perhaps a little later, that I
awoke
and heard sounds of footsteps in the adjoining room. I could
plainly
distinguish two or three people talking together in a dialect
unknown
to me. Now, I cannot recall the same without a shudder. At any
moment
they might have entered from the other room and murdered me for
my
money. Had they mistaken me for a
burglar the same fate awaited me.
These
and similar thoughts crowded into my brain in an inconceivably
short
period. But my heart did not palpitate
with fear, nor did I for
one
moment think of the possibly tragical chances of the
moment. I know
not
what secret influence held me fast, but nothing could put me out or
make
me fear; I was perfectly calm. Although I lay awake staring into
the
darkness for upwards of two hours, and even paced the room softly
and
slowly without making any noise, to see if I could make my escape,
in
case of need, back to the forest by the same way I had effected my
entrance
into the hut--no fear, I repeat, or any such feeling ever
entered
my heart. I recomposed myself to rest.
After a sound sleep,
undisturbed
by any dream, I awoke at daybreak. Then I
hastily put on my
boots,
and cautiously got out of the hut through the same window. I
could
hear the snoring of the owners of the hut in the other room. But
I
lost no time, and gained the path to Sikkhim (the
city) and held on my
way
with unflagging zeal. From the inmost
recesses of my heart I
thanked
my revered Guru for the protection he had vouchsafed me during
the
night. What prevented the owners of the
hut from penetrating to the
second
room? What kept me in the same serene
and calm spirit, as if I
were
in a room of my own house? What could
possibly make me sleep so
soundly
under such circumstances,--enormous, dark forests on all sides
abounding
in wild beasts, and a party of cut-throats--as most of the
Sikkhimese are said to be--in the next room, with
an easy and rude door
between
them and me?
When
it became quite light, I wended my way on through hills and dales.
Riding
or walking, the journey was not a pleasant one for any man not as
deeply
engrossed in thought as I was then myself, and quite oblivious to
anything
affecting the body. I have cultivated
the power of mental
concentration
to such a degree of late that, on many an occasion, I have
been
able to make myself quite unconscious of anything around me when my
mind
was wholly bent upon the one object of my life, as several of my
friends
will testify; but never to such an
extent as in this instance.
It
was, I think, between eight and nine A.M.
I was following the road
to the town of
road, I could cross over to
suddenly saw a solitary horseman galloping
towards me from the opposite
direction. From his tall stature and skill in
horsemanship, I thought
he
was some military officer of the Sikkhim Rajah. Now, I thought, I am
caught! He will ask me for my pass and what business
I have in the
independent
sent back, if not worse. But, as he approached me, he reined up. I
looked
at and recognized him instantly.... I was in the awful presence
of
him, of the same Mahatma, my own revered Guru, whom I had seen before
in
his astral body on the balcony of the Theosophical Headquarters. It
was
he, the "Himalayan Brother" of the ever-memorable night of December
last,
who had so kindly dropped a letter in answer to one I had given
but
an hour or so before in a sealed envelope to Madame Blavatsky, whom
I
had never lost sight of for one moment during the interval. The very
same
instant saw me prostrated on the ground at his feet. I arose at
his
command, and, leisurely looking into his face, forgot myself
entirely
in the contemplation of the image I knew so well, having seen
his
portrait (the one in Colonel Olcott's possession)
times out of
number. I knew not what to say: joy and reverence tied my tongue. The
majesty
of his countenance, which seemed to me to be the impersonation
of
power and thought, held me rapt in awe. I was at last face to face
with
"the Mahatma of the Himavat," and he was no
myth, no "creation of
the
imagination of a medium," as some sceptics had
suggested. It was no
dream of the night;
it was between nine and
forenoon.
There was the sun shining and silently witnessing the scene
from
above. I see him before me in flesh and
blood, and he speaks to me
in
accents of kindness and gentleness. What
more could I want? My
excess
of happiness made me dumb. Nor was it
until some time had
elapsed
that I was able to utter a few words, encouraged by his gentle
tone
and speech. His complexion is not as
fair as that of Mahatma
Koothoomi;
but never have I seen a countenance so handsome, a stature
so
tall and so majestic. As in his
portrait, he wears a short black
beard,
and long black hair hanging down to his breast;
only his dress
was
different: Instead of a white, loose
robe he wore a yellow mantle
lined
with fur, and on his head, instead of the turban, a yellow Tibetan
felt
cap, as I have seen some Bhootanese wear in this
country. When the
first
moments of rapture and surprise were over, and I calmly
comprehended
the situation, I had a long talk with him.
He told me to
go
no further, for I should come to grief.
He said I should wait
patiently
if I wanted to become an accepted Chela; that many
were those
who
offered themselves as candidates, but that only a very few were
found
worthy; none were rejected, but all of
them tried, and most found
to
fail signally, as for example---and---.
Some, instead of being
accepted
and pledged this year, were now thrown off for a year. The
Mahatma,
I found, speaks very little English--or at least it so seemed
to
me--and spoke to me in my mother-tongue--Tamil.
He told me that if
the
Chohan permitted Madame Blavatsky to visit Parijong next year, then
I
could come with her. The Bengali
Theosophists who followed the
"Upasika" (Madame Blavatsky) would see that she was
right in trying to
dissuade
them from following her now. I asked the
blessed Mahatma
whether
I could tell what I saw and heard to others.
He replied in the
affirmative,
and that moreover I would do well to write to you and
describe
all.
I
must impress upon your mind the whole situation, and ask you to keep
well
in view that what I saw was not the mere "appearance" only, the
astral body of the Mahatma, as we saw him at
in his own physical body. He was pleased to say when I offered my
farewell
namaskarams (prostration) that he approached the
British
territory
to see the Upasika.
Before he left me, two more men came on
horseback,
his attendants I suppose, probably Chelas, for they were
dressed
like lama-gylungs, and both, like himself, with long
hair
streaming
down their backs. They followed the
Mahatma, when he left, at
a
gentle trot. For over an hour I stood
gazing at the place that he had
just
quitted, and then I slowly retraced my steps.
Now it was that I
found
for the first time that my long boots had pinched my leg in
several
places, that I had eaten nothing since the day before, and that
I
was too weak to walk further. My whole
body was aching in every limb.
At
a little distance I saw petty traders with country ponies, carrying
burdens. I hired one of these animals. In the afternoon I came to the
purchased some fruit in the only bazaar there and
ate heartily. I took
another
horse immediately and reached Darjiling late in the
evening. I
could
neither eat, nor sit, nor stand. Every
part of my body was
aching. My absence had seemingly alarmed Madame
Blavatsky. She scolded
me for my rash and mad attempt to try to go to
When
I entered the house I found with Madame Blavatsky, Bahu
Parbati
Churn
Roy, Deputy Collector of Settlements and Superintendent of Dearah
Survey,
and his assistant, Babu Kanty
Bhushan Sen, both members
of our
Society. At their prayer and Madame Blavatsky's
command, I recounted
all
that had happened to me, reserving of course my private conversation
with
the Mahatma. They were all, to say the
least, astounded. After
all, she will not go this year to
not care, since she has seen our Masters and thus
gained her only
object. But we, unfortunate people! we lose our only
chance of going
and
offering our worship to the "Himalayan Brothers," who, I know, will
not
soon cross over to British territory, if ever, again.
And
now that I have seen the Mahatma in the flesh, and heard his living
voice,
let no one dare say to me that the Brothers do not exist. Come
now
whatever will, death has no fear for me, nor the vengeance of
enemies; for what I know, I know!
--S.
Ramaswamier, F.T.S.
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