The Sage Of Arunachala

Dear One,

Listen to a story of a man,
Who seldom spoke the tongue of man,
His silence over ruled worthless words,
To become the Master of the inner world.

In a small town of South India,
Was born a child in 1879,
With large lovely eyes,
And a tender heart to match them all.

At the age of sixteen,
He experienced an instant death,
Only to miraculously live again,
Death made his spirit deathless, and he lived yet again.

He yearned for freedom from misery,
And shattered the chains of worldly trickery,
He travelled far leaving everything behind,
And reached Arunachala, which is one of it's kind.

There he met his timeless match,
In the land of the Holy Beacon,
Arunachala was his Savior,
His father and mother too.

Ramana was his name,
His fame spread far and wide,
In silence he spoke,
And he transformed many a wayward soul.

Who Am I?
Was his simple teaching,
Find it and you shall know,
The mystery of the entire world.

He radiated love and peace,
Even wild animals quelled within his reach,
Men and women of power,
Sat meek at his blessed feet.

Yet he was the same man,
To a king or a pauper,
Showering his unbounded love,
Making his silent life, a supreme teaching.

Miracles played in his backyard,
Like children having harmless fun,
Yet he claimed no cause,
To all the wondrous effects.

In silence he led his austere life,
But the echoes spread far and wide,
In his own self was he realized,
And in death he attained immortal life.

A small tumor made it's home,
In the elbow of the Maharishi,
He seemed quite oblivious,
And radiated even more peace.

Doctors came and went,
Unable to find any cure,
The bird was about to fly,
Breaking the cage loose.

The time was ripe,
For the Sage to leave,
He chose a holy day,
To shed his mortal coil.

A shooting star made it's way,
Across the dark night of the moonless sky,
The Sage silently breathed his last,
But assured one and all -

"Where Can I Go? I am always here."
Call on me and you will see,
I am always with you,
This is for you to believe.

Thus the Sage of Arunachala,
Lived a life of supreme recluse,
Wearing nothing but a loin cloth,
But drank the bliss of God, with a full cup.

I bow down to Ramana,
The Sage of Arunachala,
The One who knew death intimately,
And became deathless and matchless in spirit.

In peace,

S.R