Ramana Maharshi
Vira Chandra: I was born into Tradition.
Not by blood, but by fire —
initiation into a sacred stream of devotion and discipline.
It carved something deep into the soul.
But time has passed.
And what I’m about to say does not come from rebellion, or disappointment, or pride.
It comes from something else — something like a quiet bell that began to ring,
deeper than any ritual, older than any scripture.
I’ve come to see that Tradition, too, is a role.
And when clung to, it becomes a beautifully carved mask
worn over the living face of God.
Traditions are sacred.
They are boats across the river —
built from centuries of devotion, transmission, ecstasy, and loss.
They preserve what would otherwise be forgotten.
They refine the instincts.
They point longing in the right direction.
They protect what is real from dilution.
But they are not the river.
And they are not the shore.
The ego is cunning.
When it grows tired of worldly games,
it puts on holy garments and plays at eternity.
“I am part of an ancient lineage.”
“I follow the authentic path.”
“I received dīkṣā from a realized Guru.”
All of this may be true.
But if it becomes your identity — your anchor —
then the boat has turned into a prison.
I say this with the deepest reverence for paramparā.
I know what it means to carry the dust of saints on your breath.
But there comes a moment when the soul no longer wants to belong to anything —
not because it rejects,
but because it has tasted something prior to belonging.
Ramana Maharshi was born into a culture steeped in scripture, Gurus, and lineages.
But when death came for him at age sixteen,
he didn’t reach for a mantra, a text, or a tradition.
He lay down and let the ego die.
What rose from that death was Being Itself — nameless, teacherless, unbranded.
He had no Guru.
No initiation.
No declared affiliation.
And when asked about it, he simply said:
“The Guru is the Self.”
Not out of arrogance.
Not as a rejection of tradition.
But because Truth does not belong to anyone —
and in its purest expression, it wears no badge.
Ramana also knew well the dangers of spiritual identity.
In Ramana Periya Puranam, an episode is told of Munagala Venkataramiah,
the devoted compiler of Talks with Sri Ramana Maharshi.
In the early days, Munagala began gathering small groups outside the ashram,
sharing his notes and impressions in a way that subtly cast him as a teacher.
Chinna Swami, upon hearing this, publicly reprimanded him.
Hurt and humiliated, Munagala returned to Bhagavan — still burning inside.
Bhagavan, seeing through the quiet ache of pride, said softly:
“The greatest form of ego for an individual is to present himself as a teacher and become a guru.”
Munagala immediately understood —
this was not rejection, but rescue.
He prostrated at Ramana’s feet and asked for forgiveness.
Later, reflecting on this grace, he confessed:
“When a true seeker becomes a teacher, the first casualty is his own advancement in sadhana.”
This is not a condemnation of teaching.
It is a warning.
Even the desire to “help others” can be a subtle disguise the ego wears
to avoid its own annihilation.
Ramana is difficult for the modern world.
He offers nothing to hold.
No community.
No miracles.
No doctrines to debate.
No “path” to follow.
Just this moment —
and the question:
“Who am I?”
And if you follow that question with enough sincerity,
you will find that even your Tradition —
even your most sacred spiritual identity —
must be burned.
Because the Self is not a Vaiṣṇava.
It is not a Śākta.
It is not a disciple.
It is not a seeker.
It is not “Western” or “Eastern.”
It is not even the one who renounces all of these.
It is pure awareness —
prior to every role,
even the role of one who leaves roles behind.
I do not write this to distance myself from tradition.
I write it because I love it enough to tell the truth.
And the truth is this:
The Traditionless One lives in the heart of every tradition.
And when the time comes, He — or She — will break even the most beautiful form…
to reveal the living flame within.
So if you feel that call —
if the mask begins to crack —
do not be afraid.
Fall into that silence.
Fall into that fire.
You are not betraying your tradition.
You are fulfilling it.
Because in the end,
every river must dissolve into the sea.
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