I think it'd be better if the dialog between Mr. Paul Brunton and Periyava is in this doc, always referenceable, not lost in the wall and in one single piece.
Paul Brunton, the British person looking for enlightenment, comes and visits various places. He pens about them in the book, "In Search of Secret India" in the 1930s. He mention there being more pseudo saints than true ones and then visits various sidha purshaas. He is somehow sent back by each one of them, he then befriends a sidha purushar in Adyar, Chennai. Another person talks about his Guru in Arunachala. Mr.Brunton refuses to entertain that person. The next day, another friend comes to him and tells him about this Peethathipathi of Kanchi (in Kumbakonam then) who is camping in the outskirts of Chengalpet. Mr. Brunton is in Madras. He leaves for Chengalpet and reaches Periyava's vaasasthalam.
The people there say that Periyava has not seen any foreigner before and there is little chance that he will do so now. Mr. Brunton was half expecting this and turns back when his friend asks him to wait, goes inside and seeks an audience with Periyava. Periyava accedes and I shall reproduce Mr. Brunton's meeting with Periyava here which comes in the chapter titled, "With the Spiritual Head of South India."
Paul Brunton:
"We pass through a tiny door way and enter a bare ante room. At the far end, there is a dimly lit enclosure, where I behold a short figure standing in the shadows. I know well that Shri Sankara is no Pope, for there is no such thing in Hinduism. He is a Teacher and the inspirer of a religious flock of vast dimensions. The whole of South India bows down to his tutelage.
I look at him in silence. This short man is clad in the ochre colored robe of a monk and leans his weight on a friar's staff. I have been told his age is on the right side of 40, hence I am surprised to find is hair quite grey.
His noble face, pictured in grey and brown, takes an honored place in the long portrait gallery of my memory. That elusive element the French termed spirituel is present in this face. His expression is modest and mild, the large dark eyes being extraordinarily tranquil and beautiful. The nose is short, straight and classically regular. There is a rugged little beard on his chin and the gravity of his mouth is most noticeable. Such a face might have belonged to the Christian saints who graced the Church during the Middle Ages, except that this one possesses the added quality of intellectuality. I suppose we of the practical West would say he has the eyes of a dreamer. Somehow, I feel in an inexplicable way that there is more than just mere dreams behind those heavy lids.
"Your Holiness has been very kind to receive me," I remark, by way of introduction.
He turns to my companion and says something in vernacular, the meaning of which I am able to guess correctly.
"His Holiness understands your English, but is too afraid that you might not understand his own. So he prefers to have me translate his answers."
He asks about my personal experiences in the country; he is very interested in ascertaining the exact impressions which Indian people and institutions make upon a foreigner. I give him my candid impressions, mixing praise and criticism freely and frankly.
The conversation then flows into wider channels and I am much surprised to find that he regularly reads English newspapers, and that he is well informed upon current affairs in the outside world. Indeed, he is not unaware about what the latest noise in Westminster is about, and he knows also through what painful travail the troublous infant of democracy is passing through in Europe.
I remember my friend's firm belief that he possesses prophetic insight. It touches my fancy to press for some opinion about the world's future.
"When do you think that the political and economical conditions everywhere will begin to improve?"
"A change for the better is not easy to come by quickly," he replies. "It is a process that must need take some time. How can things improve when nations spend more each year on the weapons of death?"
"There is nevertheless much talk of disarmament today. Does that count?"
"If you scrap your battleships and let your cannons rust, that will not stop war. People will continue to fight, even if they have to use sticks!"
"But what can be done to help matters?"
"Nothing but spiritual understanding between one nation and another, and between rich and poor, will produce goodwill and thus bring real peace and prosperity."
"That seems far off. Our outlook is hardly cheerful then?" His Holiness rests his arm a little more heavily upon his staff.
"There is still God," he remarks gently.
"If there is, He seems very far away," I boldly protest.
"God has nothing but love towards mankind," comes the soft reply.
"Judging by the unhappiness and wretchedness which afflict the world today, He has nothing but indifference," I break out impulsively, unable to keep the bitter force of irony out of my voice. His Holiness looks at me strangely. I immediately regret my hasty words.
"The eyes of a patient man see deeper. God will use human instruments to adjust things at the appropriate hour. The turmoil among nations, the moral wickedness among people and the sufferings of miserable millions will provoke, as a reaction, some great divinely inspired man to come to the rescue. In this sense, every century has its own saviour. The process works like a law of physics. The greater the wretchedness caused by spiritual ignorance, materialism, the greater will be the man who will arise to help the world."
"Then do you expect someone to arise in our time, too?"
"In our century," he corrects. "Assuredly. The need of the world is so great and its spiritual darkness so thick, that an inspired man of God will surely arise."
"Is it your opinion then, that men are becoming more degraded?"
"No I do not think so," he replies tolerantly. "There is an indwelling divine soul in man which, in the end, must bring him back to God."
"But there are ruffians in our Western cities who behave as though there are indwelling demons inside them," I counter, thinking of the modern gangster.
"Do not blame the people so much as the environments into which they are born. The surroundings and circumstances force them to become worse than they really are. That is true of both the East and the West. Society must be brought into tune with a higher note.
Materialism must be balanced by idealism; there is no other real cure for the world's difficulties. The troubles into which countries are being plunged are really the agonies which will force this change, just as failure is frequently a sign post pointing to another road."
"Would you like people to introduce spiritual principles into their worldly dealings, then?"
"Quite so. It is not impracticable, because it is the only way which will satisfy everyone in the end, and which will not speedily disappear. And if it were more men who found spiritual light in the world, it would spread more quickly. India, to its honor, supports and respects its spiritual men, though less so than in former times. If all the world were to do the same and take its guidance from men of spiritual vision, then all the world would soon find peace and prosperity."
Our conversation trails on. I am quick to notice that he does not decry the West to exalt the East, as so many in his country do. He admits that each half of the globe possesses its own set of virtues and vices, and that in this way, they are roughly equal! He hopes that a wiser generation will fuse the best points of Asiatic and European civilizations into a higher and balanced social scheme.
I drop the subject and and ask permission for some personal questions. It is granted without difficulty.
"How long has Your Holiness held this title?"
"Since 1907. At that time, I was only 12 years old. Four years after my appointment, I retired to a village on the banks of Cauvery, where I gave myself upto meditation and study for 3 years. Then only did my public work begin."
"You rarely remain at your headquarters in Kumbakonam, I take it?"
"The reason for that is I was invited by the King of Nepal in 1918. And in all those years of my journey up north, I have not been able to advance by more than a few hundred miles, because the tradition of my office requires that I stay in every village and town I pass through or which invites me, if it is not too far off. I must give a spiritual discourse in the local temple and some teaching to the inhabitants."
"I would like to meet someone with higher attainment in Yoga and who can give me some sort of proof or demonstration of them. Am I asking for too much?"
The tranquil eyes meet mine. There is a pause for a whole minute. His Holiness fingers his beard.
"If you are seeking initiation into real Yoga, then you are not seeking too much. Your earnestness will help you, while I can perceive the strength of your determination; but a light is beginning to awaken within you which will guide you to what you want, without doubt."
I am not sure i correctly understand him. "So far I have depended on myself for guidance. Even some of your ancient sages say that there is no other God than that which is within ourselves," I hazard.
And the answer swiftly comes:
"God is everywhere. How can one limit Him to one's self? He supports the entire universe."
I feel I am getting out my depth and immediately turn the talk away from this semi-theological strain.
"What is the most practical course for me to take?"
"Go on with your travels. When you have finished them, think of the various holy men and Yogis you have met; then pick out the one who makes the most appeal to you. Return to him, and he will surely bestow his initiation upon you."
I look at his calm profile and admire its singular serenity.
"But You Highness, suppose no one makes sufficient appeal to me. What then?"
"In that case, you will have to go alone till God Himself initiates you. Practice meditation regularly; contemplate the higher things with love in your heart; think often of the soul and that will help to bring you to it. The best time is to practice in the hour of waking; the next best time is the hour of twilight. The world is calmer during those times and will disturb your meditation less."
He gazes benevolently at me. I begin to envy the saintly peace that dwells on his bearded face. Surely, his heart has never known the devastating upheavals that have scarred mine? I am stirred to ask him impulsively:
"If I fail, may I then turn to you for assistance?"
Shri Sankara gently shakes his head.
"I am at the head of a public institution, a man whose time no longer belongs to himself. My activities demand almost all my time. For years, I have spent only 3 hours in sleep each night. How can I take personal pupils? You must find a master who devotes his time to them"
"But I am told real masters are rare and a European is unlikely to ever find them."
He nods his head in assent to my statement but adds:
"Truth exists. It can be found."
"Can you not direct me to such a master, one who is competent to give me proofs of the higher reality of Yoga?"
His Holinees does not reply till after a protracted gap of silence.
"Yes I know only two masters in India who could give you what you wish. One of them lives in Benares, hidden away in a large house, which is itself hidden among spacious grounds. Few people are permitted access to him; and certainly no European has yet been able to intrude upon his seclusion. I could send you to him, but I fear that he may refuse to admit a European."
"And the other? My interest is strangely stirred-
"The other man lives in the interior, farther South. I visited him once and know him to be a high master. I recommend that you go to him."
"Who is he?"
"He is called Maharishee. His abode is Arunachala, the mountain of the Holy Beacon, which is in the territory of North Arcot. Shall I provide you with full instructions so that you may discover him?"
A vision flashes across my mind.
"Many thanks You Holiness. But I have a guide who comes from there."
"Then will you go there?"
I hesitate. "All arrangements have been made for my departure from the South tomorrow," I mutter uncertainly.
"In that case I have a request to make."
"With pleasure."
"Promise me that you will not leave South India before you have met the Maharishee."
I read in his eyes a sincere desire to help me. The promise is given.
A benign smile crosses his face.
"Do not be anxious. You shall discover what you seek."
A murmer from the crowd in the street penetrates into the house.
"I have taken too much of your time. I am indeed sorry." I apologize.
Shri Sankara's grave mouth relaxes. He follows me and my companion and whispers something inside his ear. I catch a reference to my name.
"You shall always remember me and I shall always remember you."
And so, hearing these cryptic and puzzling words, I reluctantly withdraw from this interesting man whose life has been dedicated from childhood to God. He is a pontiff who cares not for worldly power, because he has renounced all and resigned all. Whatever material things he is given, he at once gives it again to people who need them. His beautiful and gentle personality will sure linger in my memory.
I wander about Chengalpet, exploring its artistic old-world beauty and before leaving, wish to catch a glimpse of His Holiness.
I find him in the largest temple in the city. This slim, modest, yellow robed figure is addressing a huge concourse of men, women and children. Utter silence prevails among the large audience. I cannot understand his vernacular words, but I can see that he is holding the deep attention of all those present there. I do not know, but I hazard the guess that he speaks on the profoundest of topics in the simplest manner, for such is the character I read in him.
Paul Brunton then comes home and goes to sleep. He witnesses something strange while sleeping. He mentions:
The next thing I remember of is suddenly awakening. The room is totally dark. I feel my nerves strangely tense. The atmosphere around me seems like electrified air. I pull my watch from under the pillow and under its radium lit dial, find the time to be a quarter to three. It is then that I become conscious of a bright light at the foot of my bed. I immediately sit up and look straight at it.
My astounded gaze meets the face and form of Shri Sankara. It is clearly and unmistakably visible. He does not appear to be an ethereal ghost, but rather a solid human being. There is a mysterious luminosity around the figure which separates it from the surrounding darkness.
Surely the vision is an impossible one? Have I not left him at Chengalpet? I close my eyes tightly to test the matter. There is no difference and I still see him quite plainly! Let it suffice that I receive the sense of a benign and friendly presence. I open my eyes and regard the kindly figure in the loose yellow robe.
The face alters, for the lips seem to smile and utter the words:
"Be humble, and you shall find what you seek."
Why do I feel that a living human being is addressing me thus? Why do I not feel it is a ghost at least?
The vision disappears as mysteriously as it has come. It leaves me feeling exalted, happy and unperturbed by its supernormal nature. Shall I dismiss it as a dream? What matters it?
There is no more sleep for me this night. I lie awake pondering over the day's meeting, the interview with His Holiness Shri Sankara of Kumbakonam, the Heirarch of God to the simple people of South India.
