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| Gurujo Amritananda Natha Saraswati |
(from 'Guru Ramana' by S.S. Cohen):
S.S. Cohen: The stream of visitors continued to increase [in 1940], so that soon afterwards sitting accommodation and easy access to the Master on personal matters became difficult. In fact under the new rules, letters and articles written by devotees were made first to pass the censorship of the office before they could be shown to him, which was not without reasons. One or two devotees, taking advantage of the Master’s compassionate nature, took to write to him letters running to several pages in very small hand on petty, often imaginary, difficulties in their spiritual practice, on which he strained his eyes for one or two hours. He was too scrupulous to let a single word go unread, which encouraged them to write still longer letters and daily too, imagining their epistles to be of great interest to Bhagavan till the management found it imperative to clamp down a ban on all correspondence to be shown or written to him.
Vira Chanrda: In this poignant passage from Guru Ramana, we witness a powerful reflection on the boundless compassion and gentle nature of Bhagavan Ramana Maharshi. His tenderness was such that even the most trivial of struggles, the faintest whispers of distress from devotees, drew his utmost attention and empathy. But herein lies a profound spiritual lesson.
Ramana's heart knew no limits, but his body, bound by the laws of nature, had limitations. His eyes strained, patiently reading each tiny, painstakingly written line, no matter how minor or imagined the problem. He treated every plea with sincere care, never dismissing anyone’s pain or confusion as insignificant. Yet, this compassion unwittingly fed a cycle where devotees, caught up in their ego-driven dramas, mistook his kindness for validation, unknowingly burdening the very source of their healing.
The management’s intervention, though seemingly strict, carries an essential message: True devotion is not merely pouring out endless questions and doubts; it is instead a silent opening of the heart, surrendering our anxieties at the feet of the Master, trusting that grace itself knows our needs. Bhagavan’s life teaches us that spiritual growth is hindered when we become overly absorbed in intellectualizing our difficulties, creating imaginary barriers instead of dissolving them in silent contemplation and inner surrender.
The lesson beautifully embedded here is about respect for the Guru’s time and energy—not as an external restriction, but as an inner discipline born of genuine love and reverence. Ramana Maharshi’s boundless compassion never asked anything in return, yet his example implicitly invites us to transcend our own self-obsession, our habit of clinging to imagined crises, and instead to rest silently in trust, knowing that the Master’s presence alone is enough to dispel our confusion.
May we, inspired by Bhagavan’s selfless grace, learn to approach our spiritual journey with humility and simplicity, speaking less, listening deeply, and trusting fully in the ever-present guidance of the Self that shines silently in our hearts.
Interestingly, I noticed the same phenomenon with Guruji Amritananda: when a couple of disciples, using his kindness, basically tried to usurp him...After his passing, they used this as a pretext that they were 'the closest disciples' who had all the grace and blessings of him. So it looks that this is a sorrowful yet recurring pattern in the lives of great saints.
When a Guru radiates unconditional love and compassion, it becomes a magnet—not just for genuine seekers, but also for those who unconsciously or deliberately wish to possess the Guru. They confuse closeness of form with closeness of spirit, thinking that proximity and personal attention equate to higher spiritual stature or exclusive grace.
With Guruji Amritananda, as with Bhagavan Ramana, the very openness and accessibility that made him divine became, in the eyes of some, a resource to be claimed. Their ego clung to the narrative: “He listened to me, spent time with me, so I must be special.” And after his passing, they sealed this delusion by proclaiming themselves gatekeepers of his legacy—when in truth, the real Guru cannot be usurped or monopolized. He lives in the heart of anyone who sincerely surrenders.
Such claims of "I was the closest" reveal more about the claimant’s need to be seen, rather than the Guru’s actual intention. The ones truly transformed by a master rarely speak of their own importance. They speak only of his grace, his presence, his silence.
And this is why the lesson from Ramana's story is so crucial—not just for us as devotees, but for the integrity of the Guru-Shishya parampara itself. Real closeness to a saint is not in writing endless letters, nor in being physically near, but in dissolving the self in their wisdom and living their teachings without fanfare.
The masters never seek followers. They seek to awaken the Self. And the Self needs no validation, no title, no exclusivity
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