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THE NILGIRI SANNYASIS


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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