The Indian ascetics are called Sannyâsîs, and theosophy explains that
the true Sannyâsîs are those who have obtained the highest mystical knowledge
and who live in retreat and renounce all the joys of the world to dedicate
themselves exclusively to contemplation and knowledge spiritual. And the
following text is the account that a local official had with these mystical
beings in the Nilgiris, which is a mountainous region in southern India.
I was told that Sannyasis were sometimes met with on a mountain called Velly Mallai Hills, in the
Coimbatore District, and trying to meet with
one, I determined to ascend this mountain. I travelled up its steep sides and arrived at an opening, narrow
and low, into which I crept on all fours. Going up some twenty yards I reached a cave, into the opening of which I thrust my head and
shoulders. I could see into it clearly, but felt a cold wind on my face, as if there was some opening or crevice — so I looked carefully, but
could see nothing.
The room was about twelve feet
square. I did not go into it. I saw arranged round its sides stones one cubit long, all placed upright. I was much disappointed
at there being no Sannyasi, and came back as I went, pushing myself backwards as there was no room to turn. I was
then told Sannyasis had been met with
in the dense sholas (thickets), and
as my work lay often in such places,
I determined to prosecute my search, and did so diligently, without, however, any
success.
One day I contemplated a journey to Coimbatore on my own affairs, and was walking up the road trying to make a bargain
with a bandy man whom I desired
to engage to carry me there; but as we could not come to terms,
I parted with him and turned into the Lovedale Road at 6 P.M.
I
had not gone far when I met a man dressed like a Sannyasi, who stopped and spoke to me. He observed a ring on my
finger and asked me to give it to him. I said he was welcome to
it, but inquired what he would give
me in return.
He said, “I don’t care particularly about it; I would rather have that flour and sugar in the
bundle on your back.” “I will give
you that with pleasure,” I said, and took down my bundle and gave it to him. “Half is enough for me,”
he said; but subsequently changing
his mind added, “now let me see what is in your bundle,” pointing to my other parcel. “I can’t give you that,” I
answered.
He said, “Why cannot you give me your swami (family idol)?” I said, “It is my swami,
I will not part with it; rather take my life.” On this he pressed me no more, but said, “Now you had better go
home.” I said, “I will not leave you.”
“Oh you must,” he said, “you will die here of hunger.” “Never mind,” I said, “I can but die once.” “You
have no clothes to protect you from
the wind and rain; you may meet with tigers,” he said. “I don’t care,” I
replied. “It is given to man once to
die. What does it signify
how he dies?”
When I said this he took my hand and embraced me, and immediately I became unconscious. When I returned
to consciousness, I found
myself with the Sannyasi in a place new to me
on a hill, near a large rock and with a big shola near. I saw in the shola right in front of us, that there was a
pillar of fire, like a tree almost. I asked
the Sannyasi what was that like a high fire.
“Oh,” he said, “most likely a tree
ignited by some careless
wood-cutters.” “No,” I said, “it is not like any common
fire—there is no smoke, nor are
there flames—and it’s not lurid and red. I want to go and see it.” “No, you must not do so, you cannot go
near that fire and escape alive.”
“Come with me then,” I begged. “No—I
cannot,” he said,
“if you wish to approach it,
you must go alone and at your own risk; that
tree is the tree of knowledge and from it flows the milk of life:
whoever drinks this never hungers
again.” Thereupon
I regarded the tree with awe.
I next observed five Sannyasis
approaching. They came up and joined
the one with me, entered into talk,
and finally pulled out a hookah and
began to smoke. They asked me if I could smoke. I said no. One of them said to me, let us see the
swami in your bundle (here gives a
description of the same). I said, “I
cannot, I am not clean enough to do
so.” “Why not perform your ablutions in yonder stream?” they said. “If you sprinkle water on your forehead
that will suffice.” I went to wash my
hands and feet, and laved my head, and showed it to them. Next they disappeared.
“As it is very late, it is time you returned home,” said my first friend. “No,” I
said, “now I have found you I will not
leave you.” “No, no,” he said, “you must go home. You cannot leave the world yet; you are a father and
a husband, and you must not neglect
your worldly duties. Follow the footsteps of your late respected uncle; he did not neglect his worldly
affairs, though he cared for the interests of his
soul; you must go, but I will meet you again
when you get your fortnightly holiday.”
On this he embraced me, and I again
became unconscious. When I returned to myself, I found myself at the bottom of Col. Jones’ Coffee
Plantation above Coonor on a path. Here
the Sannyasi wished me farewell, and pointing to the high road below, he said, “Now you will know your
way home;” but I would not part from
him.” I said, “All this will appear a dream to me unless you will fix a day and promise to meet me here
again.” “I promise,” he said. “No, promise me by an oath on the head of my idol.” Again he promised, and touched the head of my idol.
“Be here,” he said, “this day
fortnight.”
When the day came I anxiously kept my engagement and went and sat on the stone on the path. I waited a long time
in vain. At last I said to myself, “I
am deceived, he is not coming, he has broken
his oath”—and with grief I made a poojah. Hardly had these thoughts passed my mind, than lo! he stood beside
me. “Ah, you doubt me,” he said; “why
this grief.”
I fell at his feet and confessed I had doubted him and begged
his forgiveness. He forgave and comforted
me, and told me to keep
in my good ways and he would always
help me; and he told me and
advised me about all my private affairs without my telling him one word, and he also gave me some
medicines for a sick friend which I
had promised to ask for but had forgotten. This medicine was given to
my friend and he is perfectly well now.
(This is a verbatim translation of a Settlement Officer’s statement to Theosophist
E. H. Morgan.)
(The Theosophist, March 1884, p.153)
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