The Heart of the Eastern Mystical Teaching

By Hari Prasad Shastri

This is an account of the life and teachings of a God-realised Mahatma, Shri Dada of Aligarh (1854-1910), a life given to sharing his knowledge of ultimate reality and relieving distress in whatever form it confronted him. Shri Dada was a traditional teacher of the way of Self-Knowledge (Adhyatma Yoga), based on the philosophy of non-duality (Advaita). Unlike many of the great spiritual figures of the time, Shri Dada remained in the world as a family man, earning his livelihood and bearing his share of life's trials. His short sermons, and his response to events and to people, give the surest indication of how to advance one's spiritual progress in daily life, 'intent on expanding your limited experience of a fraction of the finite world to consciousness of infinity, perfect peace, bliss and love'. Shri Dada was known as the Saint Universal, who saw that all religions lead to the same goal, and for whom 'Hindus and Moslems, Christians and Jains are waves and bubbles of the same water of love'. There are several interchanges with people of other faiths, and the book is an antidote to religious narrowness of any kind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shanti Sadan
• Release date: Sep 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9780854240722

Book preview

PROLOGUE

IT is the year 1855. A new star is rising above the horizon of India, mother of the Vedas and priestess of the world—a lamp to dispel the spiritual gloom and intellectual lethargy in which she is plunged, a light to become the hope of the world. The time is ripe for that spiritual law which Alexander of Macedon was unable to wrest from India by force, to begin to pass to the West and so gradually to effect a change in the standards by which men live. Devotees of Christ, those who have not fallen into narrow sectarianism, are awaiting a fresh interpretation of the Truth preached by their Master.

Ishvara is both immanent and transcendent. Time carries out the commands of its Lord. Space is an instrument on which is sounded the sweet strains of His will, vibrating through every subtle and gross object contained by it according to the pattern of cause and effect. Apparent discords, either in nature or societies, conceal the fragments of a new theme which unfolds to combine the scattered notes into a new and grander harmony.

Over the holy valley of Dharuli in the Himalayas the full moon, rising in majestic splendour, illumines a small gathering of Rishis, spiritually perfect beings, sitting round in a semi-circle attended by their youthful brahmacharis. Manuscripts of the ancient wisdom, so far unseen by humanity, are spread before them inscribed on bark. Gleaming loshtas are set beside them, filled with the limpid waters of a brook which ripples gently to the east of the holy assembly, singing sweet songs of welcome to these Lords of wisdom. They seem to be awaiting someone as they meditate on some grave theme. What perfect peace reigns in this valley!

Two sages in aged bodies are descending from the brow of a hill with slow and measured tread, attended by sixteen young men and women. A chorus of: Jai to the Guru of Gurus! Om Namo Narayanaya! greets them from the assembly. Joining the palms of their hands, they give their blessings in reply saying: Om Tat Sat. The new arrivals are the holy Rishi Vyasa and Shri Swami Krishnanandaji.

All meditate on Om. Shri Vyasa lifts up his right hand and says: Holy Guardians of Dharma! Illustrious Rishis! A new sub-cycle in this Yuga is ending. A new light of the torch of Eternal Truth is to be ushered into the world. The West has to live according to the Law which the Lord gave her nearly 2,000 years ago. Optimism and activity, ambition and love of power have stifled the growth of the spirit of the West. Now let a new era open. A tributary of the holy Ganga of the Gita is winding its way to Angala Desha. Thus it has been decreed. This holy and venerable Sage, this representative of the great Shankara, this saint is undertaking the great task. Give your blessings, holy Sages.

A chorus of Om Tat Sat breaks the silence of the valley; the sound of Jai! reverberates among the peaks of the Himalayas. Paramahansa Krishnananda Swami steps forward, saying Jai! to the holy assembly of Sages. Golden flowers are showered from above, while faint music rises and falls. One great Himalayan peak to the left, another to the right tremble and loose forth streams of light which converge to form an arch over the valley.

OM

BOOK I — CHANDAUSI

CHAPTER I

THE Divine Seed matured in the body of a Brahmin child of Aligarh. Holy Rishis, like spiritual eagles swooping from their lofty Himalayan eyries, spread their wings to warm and protect the coming Saint; Devas helped to fashion him with their prayers. Thus it was that he had already grown into a flower of sainthood when the holy Krishnananda Swami took charge of him and directed his mind towards the state of jivanmukti. His mind became the mind of his Guru. His lips uttered the words of his Guru. His Atman was perfectly united with the Atman of his Guru and the universe. There was no trace of egoity left in Shri Dada. To him the trees, the grass, the birds, mountains, rivers, clouds and human beings, were all beads on the same thread, his own Atman. Having cast away his individuality he found the Lord of the universe in his Self, identified with him. Now his words were the sacred texts. He was a universal saint. Whether from East or West, Buddhist, Mohammedan, Christian or atheist, there was no sinner in his estimation. He used to call those junior to him in age Lalji, the name by which he worshipped the child Krishna. The elderly ones he called Bhayya (Dear brother).

When a purified mind, divested of its load of selfishness, comes into contact with the universal Mind by meditation, its thoughts will bear fruit at the right time, like seeds sown in carefully tilled soil. Some seeds take root in a few weeks, some in a few months, and some take still longer. So the thoughts of an illumined heart create ideals of beauty and truth when they come to fruition. Spiritual propaganda is not drum-beating. Christ did not seek to advertise Himself, and the great poet Valmiki taught his classic Ramayana to only two boys. In fact, truth needs little propaganda. Shri Dada taught his few pupils as naturally as a candle burns or clouds sail in the sky.

.  .  .  .  .

In the cool shade of the mango-grove, late in the afternoon, the Teacher is sitting on a mat addressing a few attentively listening disciples. One of them asks him Holy Guruji, my heart is restless: nothing worldly can retain my interest long. Do you think I am physically ill? What shall I do?

He replies: My son, every heart is restless; no worldly object can satisfy the restlessness of the human heart. Nothing interests a man for long. All friendships are tentative. Your heart is like a bird in a cage; it is not happy there; it feels the call of the spring and the sun-filled blue sky invites it; the only way for a bird to be happy is to fly freely in the sun. The human heart is meant to be given to God; give it to Him and you will not feel restless.

I want to give it to God; but again it relapses into old habits. Please tell me what to do, Guruji.

The bird can fly only when its wings are free. Give up the load of pleasure desires and repeat the holy Name of God—Rama Rama—for three hours a day. My son, apply yourself to the holy practices and see the faults innate in the enjoyment of worldly objects. Shri Shankara says: ‘There is no happiness whatsoever in the enjoyment of sense objects.’ There are grades of happiness; the happiness of a child playing with his newly bought toys; the happiness of a successful student; the happiness of a newly-married couple; the happiness of a triumphant hero on a battlefield. There are still higher grades of happiness. How happy is the heir apparent of a great king, a successful dramatist, a well-followed preacher and a devotee of God surrendering his sense of happiness itself with all love to God, and identifying his local self with the Supreme Self! The true happiness is that of a saint, but even in worldly affairs there are glimpses of happiness for an unselfish lover of beauty, a pursuer of good conduct and a selfless servant of man. Know, my son, that happiness depends on two factors—forgetfulness of narrow egoity, and illumination of the vacuity in the mind caused thereby! I have told you the secret of happiness. Do what you like, my son.

Now a young Brahmin, who has inherited a vast fortune and who is virile and handsome but without any education, approaches Shri Dada and says: Sir, my father loved you and followed you. What advice would you give me now, as I stand at the threshold of a new life? Shri Dada affectionately asks him to sit near him and hands over one of the ripe mangoes that lie in front of him, his kindly eye resting on the young man as he replies: My son, live in such a way that men may honour the memory of your father in you; worship your widowed mother and think yourself the guardian of the wealth your father has left in trust with you. Make simple living your rule and do your duties selflessly. Go to your family temple and read the thousand names of Shri Vishnu daily and a few pages of the Ramayana every evening. Educate your desires, cultivate your mind and know that God sees you throughout the twenty-four hours. Please Him with your love and loving service to His children. Come and see me when you like.

Evening is at hand; the almond-sugar-and-rose-water drink is ready. Shri Dada takes the bowl in his hands, stands up reverently and offers it to his Guru with the prayer: Holy Master of my soul! Accept this, our drink, prepared by thy servants. He shuts his eyes for a while; peace radiates from his countenance. He himself distributes the drink in small earthen jars and takes a few sips out of his own jar.

Manna, the fourteen year old daughter of the gardener, brings the holy man’s sandals and staff and taking him by the arm, reverently leads him to the temple of Shiva. He thanks the child and gives her a sweet smile. Then, approaching the altar, he sits in meditation for his evening devotions. At about half past nine, when fireflies come out in myriads and turn the branches of the trees into sparkling fields, when dewdrops begin to quiver on the flowers, the holy man has his simple meal, sharing it with the gardener’s family under the trees.

Babu Rama, a high school student who has acquired an interest in philosophy, comes with garlands of magnolia-flowers and places one round the neck of the holy Teacher, setting the others before him. The carpenter, Triloka, arrives with his two daughters and is welcomed with a garland. Addressing Babu Rama, the holy man says: My son, life without love is a heavy burden. The happiness of a man is immensely influenced and conditioned by the qualities of the object of his love. Uninformed people love their bodies and physical comforts. They turn against the objects which seem to frustrate their comforts and enjoyments. These are pitiable people who are no better than lower animals; for they are slaves of their instincts, which constitute the lowest part of their personality. Such men are never popular; even their own family do not like them, and their friends and servants forsake them in time of need. They are always ill, dissatisfied and agitated; their life is a burden to them. Then there are others who love their ego and are conceited. These acquire a little learning here and there, but it is all for show, to create an impression. Such men are always friendless, lonely and unhappy. They suffer from nervous and gastric disorders and in the end they become hypochondriacs and remain in a state of perpetual dread. Lovers of power, wealth and fame are also miserable creatures. My son, love of abstract principles like truth, compassion, benevolence, philosophy, science and history is a higher kind of love. But you have to cultivate this love and foster it by keeping the company of similarly-minded people. Any love is subject to growth and decay. Virtue, unless daily cultivated, grows stale. Here the gardener’s daughter interjects: Holy father, what am I to think of the love of family? I am sure you will occasionally bless my home with your presence when I have set up a home for myself? Shri Dada smiles at the young girl and says: "My child, love of family is not an end in itself. The family is a unit in the vast chain of humanity. We have to love our family and learn the most important lessons which it teaches us: patience, self sacrifice, disinterested consideration, exercise of pure affection, endurance, forgiveness and the like are virtues we can cultivate in a family. But each member of a family, while loving other members, must love art, poetry and music and kindle the flame of devotion to Hari in his heart. As a prosperous society degenerates into soul-debasing luxury and profligacy, so does a family, without a common higher interest in life, degenerate into a breeding ground of malice and jealousy, and become a field of thorns.

Man endowed with physical strength, resourcefulness and skill becomes a menace to the liberty of others. As an unbroken horse is a standing danger to the rider, so is an undisciplined heart. As a writer keeps his pen, ink and paper in good order and in fit condition to write smoothly, so must man keep his senses and mind in a trained condition. Love! Love! To what great dangers a loving heart allures its object! Love is a naked sword which, if injudiciously employed, can do untold harm. My daughter, take a lesson in the art of loving from the life of Shri Krishna or Shri Rama. A Japanese Samurai used to love a Geisha girl on condition that he could shoot her down whenever his loyalty to his chief warranted his freedom from her affection. It is the practice of worldly people to rule or dominate those who submit themselves in affection to them. Nothing is worth loving for its appearance; an object is to be loved, not necessarily for what it appears to be, but for what constitutes its essence or what it stands for. But, my daughter, I must not philosophise to you." Manna bows down three times and remains at the feet of the holy man, till he gently puts his hands on her head and blesses her.

OM

CHAPTER II

AT about ten o’clock in the morning the holy man, dressed like a pundit, goes to his office. He walks slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground some thirty strides ahead of him as if blessing the earth and making apology for treading it. Several women in this street, accustomed to seeing him pass by every day, wait at their doors with children in their arms, and as the ascetic figure approaches, bow down to him. He looks at them with great compassion in his eyes. He murmurs sweetly and gently: Rama! Rama! Mother.

The old leper who has built his hut by the roadside, not far from the railway station of Chandausi, awaits the holy man’s arrival. Shri Dada stops to ask him: How are you this morning, friend? I feel better and better every day, Punditji. I take the holy name of Rama as recommended by you and feel so much better and more peaceful for it. The holy man, giving him a smile and sometimes a few fruits, passes on saying ‘Rama Rama' to him.

In the midsummer days when the ground is parched, the keeper of the free cold water stall, seeing the saint approaching, says to him: Salutations to your feet, Sir, please honour me by having a glass of cold water. Shri Dada accepts the offer and goes on to the railway station. Men of God proclaim the glory of the Lord by every one of their actions; they scatter blessings as they pass; they radiate peace; they instil goodwill, amity and devotion to the Lord.

.  .  .  .  .

The holy saint is on night duty in charge of the telegraph department of Chandausi railway station. It is the summer of the year 1893. The station-master, a man of worldly nature, has drunk to excess and is unable to carry out his official duties. Shouting and raving like a maniac, he is abusive to those who try to restrain him. The mail train is due and the matter is brought to the notice of the holy man who takes charge of the station and the train is thus able to pass through without unnecessary delay. Later, when the police take the station-master into custody for being drunk and disorderly, Shri Dada uses his influence with them to secure his release, but the police-inspector has something else in mind. He thinks he has a golden opportunity to show his efficiency and earn promotion, so he makes a secret report to his head office, alleging that the officer in charge of the telegraph department intimidated the police and forcibly took away the station-master from their custody. It is a serious offence and one for which there is a heavy penalty.

The rumour spreads that Shri Dada is faced with a grave charge. By the intercession of a gentlemanly, wealthy man named Lala Bholanath, the charge is shown to be unfounded and the saint is freed. He does not blame the police-inspector, nor are there any complaints about the false witnesses for the prosecution. A large Sat Sang is held by his followers to rejoice over the release of their Guru, and among the teachings given on this occasion are the following:

Ethical standards of judgement differ according to the spiritual development of the individual. Forgiveness is the law of spiritual people. You may say: ‘What about justice?’ We do not stand for legal justice; our justice is forgiveness. When there is only one Existence pervading all, blamer and blamed are fundamentally one. Let not the peace of mind of my children be disturbed by considerations of worldly justice. Do trees seek justice from the wood-cutter? Did Christ cry for justice against His accusers? The punishment meted out to the so-called violator of peace or social order will rankle in his heart for a long time. He may actively show his grudge against you when an opportunity is found.

.  .  .  .  .

Pundit Behari Lalji, the father of Shri Dada, was once the wealthiest man of Aligarh, but after a life of luxury and indolence, he suddenly lost all his wealth and fell upon evil days. He had earlier disinherited his eldest son, because the saint would not enter the business career which he had planned for him.

It was an afternoon in 1894 when Pundit Behari Lalji appeared at the modest home of the holy man, his dress expressing the state of poverty into which he had fallen. Shri Dada returned from his office to find his aged father a suppliant at his door. Before the Pundit could apologise for his sudden and unexpected appearance, the Saint, who had received no real fatherly love or even kindness from him, fell at his father’s feet, overcome with compassion and affection saying: But Sir, how are you? Where are your shoes? Your feet are bruised and stained with blood. Tell me what has happened to you and what I can do for you. It is most kind of you to come and grace my little home with your presence…. The once proud aristocrat could only embrace his son and sob: All is gone! Now even the family name is at stake. Help me, Narayana! Please forget the past and help me!

Shri Dada brought warm water and washed his father’s feet, then dried and kissed them. As he handed the Pundit a glass of warm milk and some fruit the latter was heard to murmur: Is this the son against whom I locked my doors? Has he forgiven all that I have done to him? A new suit of clothes and a silk turban were brought out and the Pundit sat on a large cushion smoking his bubble-bubble, as in the days of his prosperity. Shri Dada asked: Now Sir, please tell me what I can do to help you. The Pundit answered that he urgently needed 300 rupees to meet an obligation, in default of which he feared grave consequences to his person.

It was a serious problem. The holy man was poor, and although admittedly he had a few wealthy friends, he would not bring his own wants to their notice: he did not approve of the least selfishness. He asked his wife Narayanidevi what she would advise him to do in the circumstances. Without answering, she left the room and came back with a bundle containing all the family jewellery, such as her gold ear-rings and silver bangles. Placing them in the hands of her lord, she said: I think the market value of these must be over 300 rupees; it seems that my father-in-law is in misfortune and so far I have rendered him no service. Please deliver this parcel to him and excuse my absence, as I am going to cook dinner.

How noble and unselfish of Narayanidevi to make that sacrifice! A woman loves her jewellery and, in the event of widowhood, it is her only financial security for the future. Yet the past had no influence over her; the future had no fear for her. Shri Dada saw the Pundit off at the railway station on his return to Aligarh, exclaiming with tears in his eyes: Sir, I did not know that circumstances had grown so hard for you. Please keep me informed of your welfare in the future. Then taking out a small bundle he added: This is just a parting gift. I shall never be able to repay your past kindnesses, but whatever I have is yours and you can always call on me without hesitation. Pundit Behari Lalji took his seat, the whistle blew and Shri Dada stood with joined palms until the train bearing away his father was out of sight. Opening the packet, the Pundit found two gold rings, a gold watch, gold studs set with pearls and a rosary of tulsi beads—gifts which had been offered to the Saint at Sat Sangs.

Some say that revenge is sweet. Joy of the highest kind, in the view of the great conqueror Ghenghis Khan, lay in the destruction of the enemy, his property and his progeny. But in fact it is not so. Acts of forgiveness, mercy, charity and benevolence, selflessly performed, leave behind the sweetest memories, which visit and revisit the soul with the coolness and fragrance of a summer dawn. In Greek poetry, the highest example of beauty and womanhood is Antigone. The law which we find like a golden thread running through the botanical and biological kingdoms is the law of symbiosis. Conquerors turn to dust and the record of their homicidal glory does not delight the soul of the historian; yet he finds the record of even a little act of charity refreshing. Shri Dada was one whose soul breathed purity and whose feet trod the ground of prudence and charity.

.  .  .  .  .

One afternoon, as the holy man sat under his favourite mango-tree, a stalwart giant of the vegetable kingdom which he used to address as my friend, and was about to chant from the book of hymns of Surdas, the gardener reported that five Udasi Sadhus had come to stay in the garden for a few days. Shri Dada went to the corner of the garden where they had lit their fire and found them sitting round it, long matted locks rising pagoda-like on their heads, their faces besmeared with ashes and long beards sweeping their ascetic frames. He offered salutations and asked them to accept his hospitality for the first three days of their visit. These Sadhus, the leader of whom was called Gurdas, were followers of the Guru Nanaka, whose songs they often sang in chorus. They did their meditations quietly before dawn and did not pretend to be other than simple folk who had no love for the pomp and show of the world. That evening, at the time of the Arti offered to Shri Krishnanandaji Maharaja, the Sadhus joined the kirtana. The holy man preached the following sermon:

Devotees of God, the objects of the senses attract the mind, which loves to dwell on those which give pleasure; but they satisfy the soul only for a very short time. Changing objects imply changing delight. Sometimes, if the mind is heedless and is caught unawares, an object of sense enters into the heart in the form of a picture and leaves its imprint in the form of attachment. Gentle Sadhus, the world is like a coin, one side of which bears the image of God and the other side the picture of a circling gull dipping into the sea. The wise look at the picture of God. They do not allow their interest to be absorbed in a fair attended by children, by family men, by merchants displaying their goods for sale and by men of anti-social tendencies. The fair is held in honour of the All-Highest and the wise praise Him and do not bind themselves to any particular visitor or show. Sometimes the attraction is very strong; still the wise do not forget the home to which they have to return before nightfall. There is nothing worthy of serious love in this passing show. It is merely a school where we learn our object lessons. Kabir has said: ‘Standing on the bank of the river, enjoy the beauty of it: do not soil thy feet with mud. He is never drowned who does not enter the water.’ These are the lessons which we have to keep before our minds all the time. If your love for your Guru is perfect, this world will not exercise its binding charms upon you. May Shri Rama ever bless you all.

The gardener’s daughter brought lighted lanterns and the party partook of prasada of fresh fruits before resorting to the temple of Shiva where they meditated, standing in a circle around the holy Symbol.

.  .  .  .  .

When they had been three or four days in the garden, the leader of the Udasi Sadhus informed the gardener that they intended to celebrate the Parinirvana day of their Guru in the traditional way by feeding some five hundred poor people, and he asked the gardener to solicit the help of the proprietor of the garden who was a rich man. On enquiry, the gardener found that the proprietor was not interested in the matter. The Udasis did not take the decision calmly and went on hunger strike as a threat to secure the fulfilment of their wishes. On the fourth day of the strike Shri Dada came to know of the matter and reasoned with the leader, but he stubbornly argued: We would rather die of hunger than let the anniversary of our Guru pass without a feast to the poor.

All the visitors to the garden were poor people and there seemed to be no solution to the problem until, in the end, Shri Dada asked a few Hindu grocers in the neighbourhood to help and the intended feast was held. When the Sadhus came to thank Shri Dada he said: Holy men, your wishes have been met, but let me say that your Guru would not be pleased with the way in which you have held the celebration. If you had celebrated the day with a good kirtana and deep devotion, it would have pleased the spirit of your Guru. Selfish motives deprive any desire, however worthy, of spiritual value. You may think that you have obtained a triumph but, Sadhus, you are called Udasis, a word meaning ‘dispassionate ones.’ Your Atman is Udasi, but you have identified It with worldly ostentation. Surely this could not be the wish of your Guru. I am myself a sincere worshipper of my Guru, but I celebrate his Parinirvana day by prayer and devotion, by completely starving my passions, by distributing my goodwill to all, and by making fresher and stronger resolutions to imitate my Guru in daily life. Sadhus, emphatic insistence or stubbornness on any worldly matter amounts to a denial of the existence of the finger of God in the administration of worldly affairs. In this dreamlike show of sansara we can insist on only one thing, and it is dharma. I hope, holy ones, you will take heed of the words of a Brahmin and not follow your whims and irrational impulses. May Shri Rama bless you!

The Udasis were impressed with the exhortation of the holy man. Their leader stood with bowed head, and said: May I know, Maharaja, the name of your holy Guru? He must be a great Mahatma. You disapproved of our feast and yet you came to our help. It is indeed a sign of your holy nature.

I am a humble devotee of the holy feet of Shri Krishnanandaji Saraswati, was the reply. At the mention of the name of the Paramaguru Bhagavan, the Udasi Sadhu offered three salutations and said: I have heard this holy name from my own Guru. The Mahatmas of Rajaghata, Armpashahara and Kuranvasa, still talk of this holy man with profound reverence. We are privileged to accept your advice.

It was a sad day for all when the Udasis took their departure, Shri Dada offering two new coconut-shell water vessels to their leader before the party left.

.  .  .  .  .

A youth by the name of Payarlal, who was handsome and also a man of means, sometimes used to visit the holy man at the instigation of his mother, a lady of charitable disposition who was known to the Sat Sangees. He had bought a cow buffalo and spent his whole day in cleaning, exercising and milking the animal, taking immense pride in the possession of such a splendid creature and its yield of twenty-four pints of milk a day. Once Shri Dada spoke to him affectionately: My son, your mother has sent me the milk of your buffalo, and it is excellent. But remember that human affection, which is a transforming force if judiciously given by man to his fellow-men, and which can be cultivated so as to become a high sentiment inspiring its possessor with poetic imagination and exaltation of spirit, can also, if it is devoted to a buffalo, a dog or a cat, waste itself in futility. You cannot improve the state of a beast by lavishing on it such a precious gift as affection. A beast does not merit it. All that it deserves is considerate and kindly care. There are many precious objects in the world such as philanthropy, truth, poetry and devotion which must be treated with a concentrated affection. I hope, my son, that you will consider my words.

Payarlal’s heart was influenced by the simple words of the Teacher. He put the buffalo under the care of a servant and himself took an interest in the charitable works of the town. He lived to see his services recognised by the people of the neighbourhood; soon after, they elected him municipal commissioner and in his old age he became an honorary magistrate.

OM

CHAPTER III

CHOLERA has broken out in Chandausi. Sanitary arrangements are imperfect and incomplete; men, women and children are stricken down every minute. The Sanatorium is busy day and night. People are praying in the temples; priests are exhorting them to give more and more in charity. The Vaidyas and Hakims are so busy visiting their patients that they have no sleep and little time to eat. There are few men available to carry away the dead bodies.

Shri