ETERNAL VALUES

An Appreciation of Swami Ranganathananda

SRINIVAS RAYAPROL

I had started out by wanting to do a piece on Swami Ranganathananda, but Swamiji himself would have none of it.

“I am but a Swami and one of the Order. We come and go, doing our mission as God has willed us and the Mission ordained us. We have no personality of our own” he had said.

“But Swamiji,” I had pleaded, “I appreciate your self-effacement. I have nothing to add to your glory. The ideas, they congest in the books. But the uniqueness of you. You as a person. That is what interests me. And that is what I must tell the world.”

“For what purpose?” Swamiji was brusque.

“Nothing except to say that Beethoven was Beethoven, that Schweitzer was Schweitzer, that Ranganathananda is Ranganathananda.”

And so the interview came to an end. I was disappointed. But my resolve was not weakened. Only strengthened. I am nearly fifty years old, and have seen the world and its people. I have done my “bit” in this world. I do not believe in miracles or saints or god-men or even God as a person or a Deity with the overseeing eye, someone up there who is to take care of me in my difficulties and see that all is right with the world. But this strange old man of 67 has cast a spell on me that I cannot explain. I feel a strange peace in his presence, and when he talks, though the words are not that new, nor the ideas so original, I, like countless others, am fascinated. Every Sunday, at the new hall of the Ramakrishna Math, Hyderabad, he talks for an hour, extempore and generously interspersed with quotations from the Upanishads, the Gita, the Bible, or what have you. He speaks in simple language in a slightly sing-song manner, pronouncing the syllables, paraphrasing the ideas in day-to-day incidents. He does not talk of religion as such, but only as a way of life, a philosophy of one’s existence, how, in fact, to live a meaningful life. And the thousands who come to hear him seem to come, during this one hour, out of their own meaningless existence into a more meaningful one. He starts at 6 p. m. but by 5 the hall is crowded, and even the verandahs are full. People sit on the steps or stand outside with a vacant, blissful look on their faces, while his words come out of the microphone and straight into one’s heart. I call it the Miracle on Market Street. In fact, I had been born only a few blocks away. The Ramakrishna Math is a beautiful, clean, concrete structure, aseptic as a hospital, and in the first floor is the beautiful hall with all the accoutrements of modern architecture. There is a shrine for the worship of Ramakrishna, but it’d be more correct to call it a place of meditation, for its silence and cleanliness remind me not of any Hindu temple, but of the Buddhist temple at Sarnath which I had visited as a young heretic at the University at Benares way back in 1946. I had seen this building under construction rather slowly as it had seemed over the years. I had known vaguely that the old Albert Hall was now the premises of the Ramakrishna Math. And I had also perhaps known that as on a Sunday evening there were lectures there on the Gita, the Upanishads, etc., by one Swami Ranganathananda.

But I had always fought shy of these Swamis and Babas and Gurus, who had, it seemed lately, come of fashion, especially since the Western world had evinced its interest in Indian philosophy, and some of our mystics had caught the imagination and fancy of a jaded Western civilization which had reached the pinnacle of materialistic comfort and pleasure. At one time I too had been attracted to the pleasant metaphysics of the theosophists, and my introduction to Hindu philosophy through Huxley’s Perennial Philosophy and Isherwood’s Vedanta and the West was, if nothing, intellectually stimulating. But to us, in India, whether we believed or not, the tradition of the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, the philosophy of the Upanishads and the teachings of the Gita, is very much in our blood. Our minds are always attuned to the idea of a universal God and the religion of Goodness and Truth and Beauty. So, while I read the works of some of these writers and thinkers, I shied away from them. I was in fact afraid of the control that these men had over one’s mind. So it was that I did not go to see Swamiji by intent. But a strange accident had taken me to him. And when we met for the first time, we discussed, of all things, the “housing problem” in the country. Swamiji spoke on the subject with knowledge, and almost with authority. He listened intently when some technical aspect was explained to him. He gave me a book: on “Supports” – a novel concept of housing, being practised by an up and coming Dutch Architect whom Swamiji had met in his travels round the world. And at the end of our talk Swamiji asked me to come and listen to him on any of the Sunday evenings. And so one Sunday I went to hear him. And to be conquered.

Whatever be the subject, a chapter from the Upanishads, something from the life of Vivekananda or the message of Ramakrishna, Swami Ranganathananda holds the hearer engrossed, spellbound is more near it, for the hour or so that he speaks extempore, in chaste English, breaking every now and then into a quotation in Sanskrit. Looking around the audience, which is a miscellaneous one, I often wonder why they come, what this talk means to them. And I feel that whatever the individual reasons be, what is common is that he has touched them each somewhere in his innermost being, so that each person reacts differently but according to his own nature. God is universal, but He means different things to different people. And so it is here. Some people come to learn what they do not know. Some come in spite of what they know. Some people come for peace, some for the atmosphere, some for the ritual, though there is very little of it here. Some come to imbibe the feeling of goodness that pervades the place and makes one feel clean and good, and one hears Swamiji interpreting Human Excellence.

After Swamiji’s talk, there is “Arati” and “Bhajan”, where the devotees sing verses in praise of Ramakrishna, Sarada Devi and Vivekananda. Invariably, during the Bhajan, I would feel a kind of thrill which my body experiences and a blankness of mind which I know is true bliss. I had felt the same when in the inner sanctum of Lord Venkateswara at Tirupati. Like so many others, I too had gone there to “ask” something of the Lord. But once in the presence of this stone idol, I felt dumb-stricken and my mind completely vacant. And when I came out, I knew that I had been in the presence of the invisible splendour that was God, and there was nothing that I really needed. Swamiji, in his “The Meeting of East and West in Swami Vivekananda,” recounts a parallel situation when Vivekananda found himself in the presence of the Divine Mother.

During the Bhajan, Swamiji sits cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed in meditation, and his whole body given over to the presence of the Divine one.

And after the Bhajan, crowds of people gather round him. Many to receive his blessings. Some to hear him say a few words that will have a special meaning to them. I stand and watch him as he delivers his blessings sans end day after day. And when quite without intention, I too find myself at his feet, I wonder whether Swamiji remembers these people who come to him so, or whether they are all a faceless moltitude of devotees who come to him Sunday after Sunday.

Since then, I have seen him several times – sometimes at the Sunday sessions when he would be busy with the devotees. Sometimes alone or in the company of a few who come to him for some specific purpose. I have seen him talk of the most mundane matters, the setting up of a library at the Math, the proposal for a new scheme of housing for the Nagas in Assam, problems of drinking water, or the maintenance of accounts for the moneys received. He talks of the pumps and bricks and the Dewet classification and anything else which concerns the Math, or the people who come to see him. I have heard him give a patient hearing to a Junior Government Officer who had come to him with his problem of seniority and promotion. I have heard him talk to the electrical engineer regarding pump sets for the well, and to me regarding low cost housing. I have seen him talk to town planners regarding the acquisition of land for the Ashrama. And I have watched him at his portable typewriter replying letters to various organisations, give instructions to the Brahmacharis regarding financial matters, proof-read his speeches, correct manuscripts of his books under print, and go over the airline tickets meticulously noting the timings, fares, etc.

He lives in a sparse but neat and comfortable room. A single bed covered with a sheet of the same ochre cloth which he wears, a practical mosquito curtain and cheesecloth towels. There is a small writing-table with a straight backed chair for study and a slightly more comfortable chair for visitors. Two almirahs against the wall, one for the books and the other for a few odds and ends. There is a wash basin in the corner and a small door at the end leads to the toilet. I observe these small details with the same fascination as I do his gaunt, brown body, his shaven head, the gray and black bristles on his beard, a slightly protuberant stomach, calloused feet and fairly even teeth which show every now and then as he breaks into a shy smile or a nervous laugh. When he talks, his eyes are luminous, and when he closes his eyes in meditation or prayer, his strong profile leaps out reminding me of the Karsh portrait of Sibelius.

One day, I again repeated my request for writing about him.

“What have I to do with the Padmabhushan or the D. LITT. of which I have been offered. In fact, it is wrong to talk of ourselves.”

As a concession, however, he added,

“If you must write something, write about my book. Have you read it? Eternal Values for a Changing Society. In it are gathered some of my talks and writings.”

I have not read it. The Brahmachari suggests that I buy it. It is available on instalments, I ask Swamiji if I can borrow it, because, as I explained,

“Firstly, I cannot afford it. Secondly, if I buy it, it will go back to the book-case, perhaps unread. But if I borrow it, I’ll be forced to read it with the same feverish excitement that I am now experiencing in your presence.”

Swamiji gives me the book, and I take it home lovingly and begin reading it. It is 864 pages and divided into six parts dealing successively with Indian culture and religion, the Gita and the Upanishads followed by chapters on Buddha, Vivekananda, etc., and several talks on miscellaneous subjects. It is a veritable treasure-house, and I glean through it. Hidden in every corner is a rare gem. It is all I had imagined and the firmer grows my resolve to write about Swamiji. If I had read it when I was 18, perhaps I’d have taken the same path as he had after reading The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna at the age of 17, at about the time when I was born. And I am again fascinated with what must have been his own struggle, his conflict, his realization, and his peace. He seems to have a meaning for me different from the others. I admire his utter self-effacement and understand his attempt to wean me away from the personal to the impersonal. But the view from here is different. Involved, as I am in this world around me, I must know how he has remained a part of it and yet outside it. This is my own search for “Eternal Values.” I know well what the books say and I know that realization comes differently to different people. Had I not come to Ramakrishna through Gilbert and Isherwood? And mine is a situation somewhat like that of Isherwood, who had done a brilliant study of Ramakrishna and a great translation of the Gita, while living in the twilight world of California and the Hollywood film circuit. So I must do something on Swamiji. But for which I must go near him and into his mind. But how can I explain this to him to whom all are equal, to whom love must make no distinction between man or woman, race or religion? So I watch him from a distance. I hear his Sunday talks and whenever possible I try to get a few minutes with him. Sometimes I get the feeling that I am imposing myself on him and his time for he is a busy man, always doing something besides the lectures and the functions to which he is forever being called. He wants to open the reading-room soon. He wants to complete the building and settle the accounts. He is interested in the Gramasri Project at Vijayawada. He has to go to Europe in the summer and is planning to visit also Portugal of all places. He has the writing to do, two volumes of his travels around the world, to be got ready. But in spite of all these, he has an ear for everyone who comes to him, a kind word, a soft rebuke where necessary, a direction to the lost, a helping hand to the distressed, reply letters, and resolve, if possible, conflicts such as mine.

I once asked him if he ever got angry.

“Yes,” he said, “angry at things not done, but not at people. Anger not to vent my emotions, but to see that good work is done.”

“Do you have worries, Swamiji?” I ask.

“Worries, yes. Not for myself, but for others. This one is starving. That one is in bed with a weak heart. I worry about people. There is so much to be done. If everyone but did something for the other.”

I tell him of my own worries, my anger at the world, I tell him that I am writing about him. He wishes it is on his work.

“It is easy to solve the problems of the intellect, but not so easy to solve the problems of the millions.”

And so I pry him with questions like an inquisitive reporter. He parries them without giving a direct reply and yet not offending. Always there are interruptions as one or the other of the Sanyasis come in for something or other. There are things to be done. He has a bad tooth, but that does not deter him. He takes it all in his stride. His body is also something impersonal to him, a vehicle to take him on the journey, for him to fulfil the purpose that God has willed on him. It has to be maintained in good order if it has to serve His purpose.

The book Eternal Values for a Changing Society is by any standards the magnum opus of a giant intellect and a great humanist. It runs to 864 pages, and has 71 chapters, divided into six parts. They are mostly speeches delivered by the Swamiji on various occasions at different places or talks delivered over the A I R or contributions to journals and souvenirs brought out for specific occasions. The first part deals with the basic concept of Hinduism as a religion and a philosophy of life and contains various talks on Indian culture, Vedanta, the Upanishads, the Gita, etc. The second part is about its major exponents and deals with the Buddha, Sankara, Sri Ramakrishna and a few others, including Christ. The third part is exclusively devoted to Swami Vivekananda, his life, teachings, and his influence on the West. The fourth part deals with Education, Womanhood, Social Work, The Essence of Service, Ethical and Spiritual Values, Human Excellence, etc. Part five deals with the problems of the present-day India, Philosophy of Administration, the scientific vision and other topical subjects. Part six is a miscellany and deals with subjects like the development of the nation, the legacy of Gandhi, the vision of Nehru and our cause in general. All in all, a magnificent collection. When one hears the Swamiji, the impact is mainly on the senses and the smaller intellect of the hearer cannot take in the vastness of Swamiji’smind. But when one reads this book, one is overwhelmed not only by what must surely be an innate genius of the intellect, but also the extent which his mind has encompassed the wide variety of reading which he had obviously done. He quotes extensively and from diverse sources. One can understand that he must have read all there is in religion and philosophy. One is not surprised at his scholarly exposition of the Upanishads and the Gita. But I was particularly astounded with the amount of reading he has done on the scientists – Eddington and Huxley; Haldane and Sir James Jeans; Millikan and Grey Walter. With equal facility, he quotes from Will Durant and Max Mueller, Jung and Toynbee and Bertrand Russell. I once asked Swamiji how he could find the time and opportunity, to read so extensively, having joined the Order at the young age of 18 and obviously having the doors of the outside world closed to him. One does not just stumble on to the kind of reading he has done, for it is not by accident that one discovers Alexis Carrot or Lowes Dickinson or Macdougall.

“I am an avid reader,” Swamiji replied, “I take a book and read it through. Whether it is on Mathematics or Metaphysics, I read the book on “Supports” on the flight, home from Holland.” Genius has the infinite capacity to take pains, and Swamiji’s genius is an excellent example.

If the first reaction to the book is one of being overwhelmed by the vastness of his intellect, the second and more lasting impression is as to how well Swamiji has assimilated his learning. The simple words and the lucid interpretation of the profound thoughts of the world’s thinkers makes one realise that, the Swamiji is not trying to impress us with his knowledge, but is rather imparting and sharing it with us to lead a more meaningful existence. I had naively imagined that Swamis were removed from this world and lived altogether elsewhere. But Swami Ranganathananda is so much a part of this world, this average, work-day world of you and me, that one wonders whether it is true of all mystics or of only this one. As some one said, “this monk is different.” He talks of spiritual values without decrying material worth. He talks of the five-year plans and of our general elections, of the advances of science and technology, of nation-building through man-making, of the duty of policemen and the training of administrators, of the opposition benches in the legislature and the place of women in our society. In fact, so varied are the topics he touches on, and so direct is his approach to the people of this country on these subjects, that I nave often wondered if he could not fill the chair of any of the Governors of our country to advantage; and I believe he is often referred to an India’s unofficial cultural ambassador. He was once offered some such post which, thank Heavens, he had not accepted. Swamiji mentioned this, like other facts of his personal life, not with any sense of vanity on personal pride, but only to indicate that his purpose in life was elsewhere. In fact, he sometimes talks of himself and his work in the third person, as if to say that there is no “I” in his life.

But it is as an exponent of Indian culture and philosophy and spiritualism, that Swamiji’s name stands out. To the lay mind, the Upanishads are something outside the realm of ordinary human beings. But Swamiji brings it from the clouds to the earth of our existence.

“The Upanishads view life as an adventure of the spirit in the world of time and pace ... Life is a creative adventure. It finds its fulfilment in the course and at the end of a dynamic process and not in the context of a static complaisance. Unlike philosophies elsewhere and other systems here, Vedanta is a living philosophy.”

It is not just enough to be good. One has to do good. Swamiji has no time for goodness which removes itself away from the centre of things as it were. It has to be part of the life around us. But while recognizing the glory and excellence of man, the Upanishads asked the question: Is there a glory higher still? They discovered that the ideal of manliness was an achievement within the sphere of Nature, within the framework of relativity, they wanted to go beyond Nature, they sought to realize the transcendental dimension of man – the dimension of godliness over and above manliness.

The Gita again pursues the same thought. To quote the Swamiji again,

“Sri Krishna wants us to combine both philosophy and life, for it is life that needs the guidance of philosophy. Krishna taught the Vedanta of and for the battlefield. It is not a mere pursuit of leisure hours. It Is a pursuit of excellence in the midst of difficult situations and struggles of daily life.”

Swamiji goes on to explain the central theme of the Gita:

“Firstly, all work, whether pleasant or unpleasant, shall be performed in the sense of duty....Secondly, by not caring for the fruits of our actions or by being unattached to them, we are asked to realize...detachment.”

“It has only one message–the message of strength – a message that raises man to higher and higher levels of self-expression. It never seeks to make a Jew a Gentile, a Christian or a Muslim, a Hindu, a Westerner, an Easterner, or vice versa.”

In a sense, Swamiji reminds me more of a Western Missionary, rather than an Indian mystic. Not as a preacher but as a practitioner, in his single-minded devotion to the cause, and his selfless attitude to work for the upliftment of his country and humanity at large. His approach, as I have earlier described, is intensely practical. He is interested in things of this world; the day-to-day business of ordinary life never ceases to hold its fascination and interest for him. When he returned from Europe, he brought back two things – a stain-remover for glass windows (Swamiji said that he had tried everything available in India and failed) and a couple of 60 Watt frosted Phillips bulbs with miniature reflectors for the Mandir in the Math. His whole approach is like this. He is not interested that man should want to get to Heaven. He wants man to make this a Heaven as long as he is here. Nor does he believe in donning the cloak of godliness. So many of them are wont to say”

“I am God. I can do this and that” for the people to follow them like gullible sheep. In fact he will have nothing to do with these god-men and miracle-makers, who have been making a fetish of their spiritual powers. But then again, when Swamiji met Harry Edwards, the famous faith-healer in England, whom Swamiji saw cure people of some of their ailments, he was more struck by the man’s humility when the latter said,

“I have done nothing. It is God that makes me do these things.”

And so the will of God manifests itself in several ways. Through certain people, through acts of kindness, through making someone happy, through enlightening the mind, and other diverse ways. But we in India are generally wont to talk of high philosophy and lead very ordinary lives. As Swamiji states, “We have the mood and energy to discuss the highest philosophy of pressing national problems in our drawing-rooms, at our tea-tables and at public meetings; but in day-to-day life, we lapse into a spiritual lassitude and function largely at the bottom levels of our existence. There seems to be an innate selfishness in our character which has been further demoralised by centuries of foreign oppression, that man has lost sight of his own true dignity. And when one has no value for human dignity, one cannot respect either the self or the other person in society. We live by double standards. Nowhere is the disparity between rich and poor, between the castely and the casteless, more pronounced than in our country. And so Swamiji is mainly interested in this business of “manmaking” as Vivekananda has termed it. After all, the hard core of man is beautiful, indestructible and eternal. In spite of all these external corruptions and factors which tend to destroy him, what remains is indeed something worth-living for, not dying for. And if in the process of social or historic evolution, man himself has forgotten, or lost sight of his true dignity, it is only for man to remind him of it. It is this pursuit of human excellence that all of us who are heirs to this title should pursue. Somewhere along the line, “we had lost this sense of manliness, we had become creatures of history instead of becoming its creators, and had developed a sense of hopeless dependence...translated into modern terms, this means that man in India shall wake up from delusion and laziness, develop manliness, overcome the wasting obstacles of poverty, social backwardness and ignorance by developing his intellectual strength, power of will, and character-efficiency, and enjoy the delights of the citizenship of a free and equalitarian social order.”

From man-making to nation-building is but a logical step. Swamiji does not, however, want us to forget the value of our ancient spiritual tradition. Nor in our anxiety to go in for the blatant materialism of the West which created a welfare State where man has all the good things of life but a growing void in his heart. So this growth has to be from within. Man must be engaged in this worldly welfare and other worldly excellence,” and in this process, the lowly shoe-maker and the mighty administrator should both be engaged in the service of society with the ultimate objective of a qualitative improvement in man’s life. It is this pursuit of Human Excellence that Swamiji says is the most pervasive education that our nation should get today.

These are not the words of a mystic who wants us to relinquish the world in pursuit of a Heaven which we do not know. This indeed is practical Vedanta. It is both philosophy and religion. It is the unity of reason and faith, the “finitude of man as underwritten by the infinitude of God.”

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