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Ramana Maharshi. At birth, in 1879, Bhagavan was given the name Venkateswaram Ayyar, which corresponded with the name of their family deity, Sri Venkateswara of Tirumala. Later, when he registered for school, the name was changed to Venkataraman. Bhagavan was called Ramana, or sometimes even Ramani by an elderly relative named Lakshaman Ayyar, who was well-versed in Telugu. Bhagavan, as a boy, learned some Telugu and would converse with this relative in that language. Consequently, he began to call his father Nayana, the Telugu equivalent for 'Daddy'. After his father's death, the young Venkataraman and his brother Nagaswami were sent to their Uncle's home in Dindigul so they could receive an education in English. When their Uncle was transferred to Madurai the two boys followed. He grew up just as an average boy. He was sent to an elementary school in Tirucculi, and then for a year's education to a school in Dindigul. When he was twelve his father died. This necessitated his going to Madurai along with the family and living with his paternal uncle Subbaiyar. There he was sent to Scott's Middle School and then to the American Mission High School. He was an indifferent student, not at all serious about his studies. But he was a healthy and strong lad. One day he was sitting up alone on the first floor of his uncle's house. He was in his usual health. There was nothing wrong with it. But a sudden and unmistakable fear of death took hold of him. He felt he was going to die. Why this feeling should have come to him he did not know. The feeling of impending death, however, did not unnerve him. He calmly thought about what he should do. He said to himself, "Now, death has come. What does it mean? What is it that is dying? This body dies." Immediately thereafter he lay down stretching his limbs out and holding them stiff as though rigor mortis had set in. He held his breath and kept his lips tightly closed, so that to all outward appearance his body resembled a corpse. Now, what would happen? This was what he thought : "Well, this body is now dead. It will be carried to the burning ground and there burnt and reduced to ashes. But with the death, of this body am I dead? Is the body I? This body is silent and inert. But I feel the full force of my personality and even the voice of the 'I' within me, apart from it. So I am the Spirit transcending the body. The body dies but the Spirit that transcends it cannot be touched by death. That means I am the deathless Spirit. The shock of the fear of death drove my mind inwards and I said to myself mentally, without actually framing the words: 'Now that death has come; what does it mean? What is it that is dying? This body dies...But with the death of the body am I dead? Is the body I?...The body dies but the Spirit that transcends it cannot be touched by death. That means I am the deathless Spirit.' All this was not dull thought; it flashed through me vividly as living truth which I perceived directly...From that moment onwards the 'I' or Self focussed attention on itself by a powerful fascination. Fear of death had vanished once and for all. Absorption in the Self continued unbroken from that time on." -Sri Ramana Maharshi. There was a complete change in the young sage's life. The things that he had valued earlier now lost their value. The spiritual values which he had ignored till then became the only objects of attention. He admitted to himself that there was no use pretending to study and be his old self. He decided to leave his home; and he remembered that there was a place to go to, viz. Tiruvannamalai. The rest of what we regard as Ramana's life - this is how we shall call him hereafter - was spent in Tiruvannamalai. When people came to him with their family stories he would laugh with the happy and at times shed tears with the bereaved. In this way, he seemed to reciprocate the emotions of others. Bhagavan never raised his voice and, if he did occasionally seem angry, there was no sign of it on the surface of his peace. Talk to him immediately afterwards and he would answer calmly and quite undisturbed. He would never touch money, not because he hated it-he knew that for the purpose of daily life it was necessary-but he had never any need of it and was not interested in it. The spirit of harmlessness that permeated the sage and his environs made even animals and birds make friends with him. He showed them the same consideration that he did to the humans that went to him. When he referred to any of them, he used the form 'he' or 'she' and not 'it'. Birds and squirrels built their nests around him. Cows, dogs and monkeys found asylum in the Asrama. All of them behaved intelligently - especially the cow Laksmi. He knew their ways quite intimately. He would see to it that they were fed properly and well. And, when any of them died, the body would be buried with due ceremony. The life in the Asrama flowed on smoothly. With the passage of time more and more of visitors came - some of them for a short stay and others for longer periods. The dimensions of the Asrama increased, and new features and departments were added - a home for the cattle, a school for the study of the Vedas, a department for publication, and the Mother's temple with regular worship, etc. Ramana sat most of the time in the hall that had been constructed for the purpose as the witness to all that happened around him. He would never, if he could help it, allow any preference to be shown to him and in the dining room he was adamant on this point. Even if some special medicine or tonic were given to him he wanted to share it with everybody. "If it is good for me, then it must be good for the rest," he would argue and make them distribute it round the dining hall. On February 5th, 1949 the tragedy of the final illness had its inception. Bhagavan had been frequently rubbing his left elbow which was causing some irritation. His attendant inspected this to see what was the trouble and found a small lump the size of a pea. The doctor decided that it was only a small matter and should be removed by a local anaesthetic, and the operation was quietly performed in Bhagavan's bathroom one morning just before the meal. This was the beginning of the end. The curtain on the last act was slowly descending. The growth turned out to be sarcoma. He sage was quite unconcerned, and was supremely indifferent to
his own suffering. He sat as a spectator watching the disease waste the body. But
his eyes shone as bright as ever; and his grace flowed towards all beings. Crowds came in large numbers. Ramana insisted that they should be allowed to have his darsana. Devotees profoundly wished that the sage should cure his body through an exercise of supernormal powers. Some of them imagined that they themselves had had the benefit of these powers which they attributed to Ramana. Ramana had compassion for those who grieved over the suffering, and he sought to comfort them by reminding them of the truth that Bhagavan was not the body : "They take this body for Bhagavan and attribute suffering to him. What a pity! They are despondent the Bhagavan is going to leave them and go away -
where can he go, and how?" The end came on the 14th of April, 1950. That evening the sage gave darsana to the devotees that came. All that were present in the Asrama knew that the end was nearing. They sat singing Ramana's hymn to Arunachala with the refrain Arunachala-Siva. The sage asked his attendants to make him sit up. He opened his luminous and gracious eyes for a brief while; there was a smile; a tear of bliss trickled down from the outer corner of his eyes; and at 8-47 the breathing stopped. There was no struggle, no spasm, none of the signs of death. At that very moment, a comet (a comet that was seen in the whole India) moved slowly across the sky, reached the summit of the holy hill, Arunachala, and disappeared behind it.
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