In the shadow of Arunachala

It is about to be nine and the activities at the ashram are slowly drawing to a close. Most of the devotees and curious travellers of the day have left or are in process of leaving. The doors of the temple of the mother are closed and the most lights are off in new hall next to it. Only one electric bulb is on in the hall and its golden incandescence is making the outline of Maharshi's statue discernible. At the large samadhi hall too lights are getting off. The bhajans of regular householder devotees have concluded and their singing has left a trace of sincere devotional closure in the atmosphere of the ashram.

On the steps climbing up to the closed doors of the dining hall there hangs an electric bulb. The dim luminance of the bulb is illuminating large area around it; the straw shade, a line of water taps, the well and the tree in front of the old hall.

In the old hall an oil lamp is burning on a brass lamp stand hanging from the ceiling. Next to it lies Maharshi's sofa and on it lies his life sized portrait. Surrounding the sofa is a wooden fence and the floor is paved with black tiles made of stones. The very stones on which Maharshi himself would have walked once.

I along with last few of the devotees are seated in this dark and peacefully silent old hall. The tick-tock of the pendulum clock on the wall to the right is giving the mind something to latch onto amidst the usual noise of thoughts. Time is passing on. Finally the clock breaks its silence striking nine blows one by one reminding everyone the need to wake up. As I am trying to get up, I am feeling water at edges of my long closed eyes and my joined lips are resisting any movement to open up.

I stand up, do pranam and take his leave carrying a certain focus and solidity in my mind. I start walking in dark in deep thoughts with a huge shadow of Arunachala on my back. As I walk I think, the old man has left us in body seventy years back but the fragrance of his great soul is ever present here and it is drawing me here again and again where he dwellt in flesh and bones for a large part of his life.

As I am leaving and walking towards iron gate of the Ashram, I am feeling as if entering the physical world afresh with progressively increasing noises of the city and the road. And a grocery store board across the road reads in small fonts below its name: "All things available here".

I smile within, cross the road and stand waiting for a bus that will take me home.