Theos-Talk Archives (July 2004 Message tt00112)

HOW A "CHELA" FOUND HIS "GURU" 

[Being Extracts from a private letter to 
Damodar K. Mavalankar, Joint Recording 
Secretary of the Theosophical Society.] 

............When we met last at Bombay I told 
you what had happened to me 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 Bombay, whence I was 
to go in search of Madame 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 travelled in 
my ascetic robes. Arrived at Bombay, I found 
Madame Blavatsky gone, and learned through 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 Calcutta; but, on reaching Allahabad, I heard the same well-known 
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 Tibet and wanted 
to throw themselves at the 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 Tibet just now. She was to 
remain, she said, in the vicinity of Darjiling and would see the 
Mahatma on the Sikkhim Territory, where they 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 Calcutta to 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 Tibet. 

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 
Tibet. 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 Rungit River, 
which forms 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 travelled on foot, penetrating further and 
further into the heart of Sikkhim, along a narrow footpath. I cannot 
now say how many miles I travelled 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 Sikkhim, whence, I was assured by the people I 
met on the road, I could cross over to Tibet easily in my
pilgrim's 
garb, when I 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 territory of Sikkhim, and, 
perhaps, have me arrested and 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 
ten o'clock of the 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 Bombay, but the 
living man, 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 Rungit River and crossed it. A bath in 
its cool waters revived me. I 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 Tibet after that fashion. 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 Tibet; for which I am sure she does 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  
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.