Another Side of U.G. — in VII. Acts
I. — U.G. Begins His Ministry
In the year following his Calamity, in December 1967, U.G traveled from Switzerland, where he was living with his benefactress, a native older woman named Valentine, to India for the first time since the event, which happened in July 1967. In Madras (now Chennai), U.G. ran into a boyhood friend, and as U.G. was looking for a place to live, his friend recommended him to the Jagadguru of Sringeri Pitha, Abhinava Vidya Tirtha Swami, head teacher and monk of the shrine at Sringeri.
When the Swami of Sringeri heard of the Calamity that had befallen U.G., he said, “I must speak with you in private.” The Swami led U.G. and Valentine into his private chambers on the far side of the River Tunga, where he sat on the Guru Pitha (teacher’s seat), with Valentine and U.G. seated in front of him. Their meeting had become an official visit.
“When I heard of the extraordinary things that happened to you, I was reminded of my guru,” said the Jagadguru. “I don’t know from my personal experience, but my teacher used to describe his experiences in just the way they occurred in your case. We were afraid that perhaps he had lost his mind.”
The Swami continued: “It is very rare that the body survives the shock of such a thoughtless state. According to the scriptures, within twenty-one days after such an event, the body dies. If the body can sustain its vital force and does not die, surely it must be for the sake of saving humanity. There’s no doubt about it.”
U.G. had no inclination to save the world or uplift humanity, but he listened silently as the teacher spoke. Then he presented the Jagadguru with his proposal of establishing his residence near Sringeri, in a solitary place away from people.
The Jagadguru replied: “If you so wish, I will be responsible for getting you any place around here. But your idea of living alone will never work. Whether you stay in a jungle or a mountain cave, people won’t stop coming to see you.” The teacher’s warning made U.G. give up on the idea of living away from people.
In those days, Dr. K.B. Ramakrishna Rao was the head of a college in Sringeri. The Jagadguru invited him to visit and introduced him to U.G. One evening, Dr. Ramakrishna Rao and a group of his friends led U.G. and Valentine to the top of Rishyasringa Hill near the River Tunga. They all sat under a tree. The doctor and his friends were curious to hear the story of U.G.’s Calamity. U.G. indulged them — he narrated for about an hour all of the things that had happened to him. It was in Sringeri that U.G. probably started lecturing again, after he had quit in the United States many years earlier.
II. — The Sermon in the Cave
Brahmachariji was a renunciate (sannyasin) who later became a friend of U.G.’s. His real name was Shiva Rama Sarma, and some people called him Swami Sarma, but U.G.’s friends called him Brahmachariji.
He was brought up in a wealthy family from Mysore. He had graduated university with a Master of Science in Chemical Engineering and passed the civil service examination. He disliked government work, so for a number of years he worked as an assistant professor at the Indian Institute of Science. In middle age, Brahmachariji became increasingly detached from daily concerns and instead dedicated himself to spiritual life for four decades. All of his brothers were millionaires. U.G. used to tease him by saying, “The qualities of your brothers are active in your blood also.”
There is a legend that a former head of Sringeri Pitha, Chandrasekhara Bharati Swami, used to meditate in an ancient cave under a two-storey house near a big bodhi tree in the yard of the monastery. Abhinava Vidya Tirtha Swami allowed Brahmachariji to live in that cave, so Brahmachariji had a two-storey house built on the same site on the rocks and made it habitable.
In December 1969, at Brahmachariji’s invitation, U.G. visited the Cave. Later that evening, he began lecturing to a small crown of about twenty:
“There is no moksha (liberation), no jivanmukti (one liberated while still alive), and no Atman (imperishable Self). And there is no such thing as self-realization. Those are all lies. There is only the Natural State. I don’t like to use your terms, such as enlightenment, jivanmukti, nirvana or moksha to refer to this state. Those terms suggest some other meanings. They sound weird to me.
“When I talk about the Natural State, it is not the state of someone who has attained self-realization or God realization. It is not something created through self-effort. This Natural State is always living and spontaneous. It happens to one in a billion, accidentally. It does not result from your effort. It is acausal. And why the Natural State happens to that one and not anyone else, I don’t know.
“It’s foolish to try to purify your consciousness through some practices in order to attain the Natural State. The consciousness is so pure that all of the experiences which you consider holy and sacred are only a contamination of it. They are unbearable filth, intolerable contamination. Once the barriers in your consciousness are broken, once the floodgates are open, everything will be washed away — all experiences, good and bad, sacred and profane, divine or demonic, all divine visions, all ‘ultimate’ states will be washed away from the consciousness.
“Krishna consciousness, Buddha consciousness, God consciousness, sages, saints and prophets, Jesus, Mohammad, Mahavir, enlightened men, yogis — all of them must be washed away in that flood. It is only then that consciousness becomes clear. God consciousness, Buddha consciousness, extraordinary visions are all equal to dirt. Until they are flushed out, consciousness will not become clear.
“You must believe my words. There is nothing permanent. Permanent happiness and infinite wisdom are illusory notions created by the nostril-closing phonies who endlessly discuss, ‘This is real, that is unreal,’ and who have nothing better to do. You trust those people and lose interest in things that are real, and then search for nonexistent things. If that’s not slipping into a lowly state, what is?”
All of the ancient sages who had taken residence in Chandrasekhar’s (the author’s) blood boiled in anger at U.G.’s words. “You say there is no God! You say God is an illusion man has created out of fear. Then you don’t think there is a power beyond the reach of the mind that orders this universe?”
U.G. replied: “I will say with certainty that there is no superior power outside of man and different from him. If there is any such power, that power is not different from you. The lowly mosquito sucking your blood is an expression of that divine power. That’s why I say it is irrelevant to discuss the question of God.
“Unless you abandon the idea of God in yourself, the life in you cannot carry on. Before the body dies and becomes immobile, God must die in you. That is true immortality. Living is only possible after God dies.”
III. — U.G. Founds an Ashram
On September 30, 1979, U.G. and Valentine arrived in Bangalore by plane, having traveled from Hyderabad. The house that had been rented for them wouldn’t be ready for another few days, so it was arranged for them to stay temporarily at Jñana Ashram, the Abode of Wisdom, located about twenty kilometers south of Bangalore. There is an interesting story behind this ashram.
After Brahmachariji, with great difficulty, avoided the possible misfortune of ascending to the Seat of Kudli Math, U.G. created for him the opportunity to build the ashram. With his ingenuity and incessant hard work, Brahmachari transformed into a luscious garden the seven-acre barren land donated to him by the government. He also built the Shakti Ganapati Temple in the ashram, and in the course of time also built a school, a guesthouse, and housing for the staff.
Brahmachariji said he owed it all to U.G. When U.G. first saw the barren land, he put two rupees he had left from a taxi ride into Brahmachariji’s hand and told him it was U.G.’s donation for building an ashram. Ever since that gesture, everything Brahmachariji touched turned to gold.
Early the next morning, about five o’clock, U.G. came and sat in the living room. “Last night that cobra came to visit me,” he said. Whenever he visited the ashram, a giant cobra, almost twenty feet long (six meters), would come and visit him at least once. It would make loud noises with its hood to wake him. U.G. would open the back door of his room and go out to walk with the cobra for a while.
“Maybe because of the big rain last night, the snake was not as fast as before. It crawled and moved more slowly. Still, how awe-inspiring it looks when it crawls in its zigzag fashion!” Other people at the ashram normally couldn’t find it, but the cook would sometimes feed milk to it. The cobra seemed to know when U.G. was at the ashram — it would visit him at night, then disappear.
“In this desolate place, that cobra has been protecting me for all these years. Some great person is visiting in this form,” said Brahmachariji.
IV. — “This Is the Palm of Vishnu Himself!”
A few days after U.G. and Valentine came to stay at Jñana Ashram, in early October 1979, they were joined by two of U.G.’s friends, film director Mahesh Bhatt and actress Parveen Babi. The same evening they arrived, the whole group — U.G., Valentine, Mahesh and Parveen — drove to Mysore, where they were received warmly by Prof. Ramakrishna Rao of Mysore University, who put them up in the university guesthouse.
The next day, on October 4, 1979, U.G., Mahesh, Brahmachariji and some friends of Brahmachariji’s were all sitting in the hall of the guesthouse and talking. U.G. seemed to enjoy making fun of Brahmachariji whenever he had the chance. Sometimes U.G. would cross a line and Brahmachariji would fly into a rage. Then they would both calm down and laugh very loudly.
On that day, however, Brahmachariji was in a terrible mood. As if U.G. didn’t notice any of that, he kept making fun of Brahmachari: “A prostitute is more honest with herself than you are: she only sells her body for her livelihood, but you had to stoop to peddling Vedanta? After so much education and becoming a civil service officer, why did you have to stoop to selling Shankaracharya?”
Brahmachariji was furious that he was being ridiculed before others. “Mahesh, I’m not going to stay with this man for one more minute! When the professor, our host, returns, tell him I went back to Bangalore!” Without heeding Mahesh’s pleas, Brahmachariji rushed out of the house.
“U.G., Brahmachariji is really leaving in anger!” shouted Mahesh. But U.G. said quietly, “Don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere. He’ll be back, just wait and see.”
Meanwhile, as Brahmachariji went on his way, he ran into Prof. Rao. All his anger returned, and he shouted at the professor, “What kind of demon are you hosting here? Is he a wise man or a great demon?” Ramakrishna Rao tried to comfort the sannyasin, treating him like a dear friend and speaking gently to him.
As this went on, a passing Brahmin saw them and begged pitifully: “Sirs, I am hungry. Please give me a rupee. I will read your palms and tell your fortune.” Prof. Rao saw a great opportunity in this. “Brahmachari, I agree with you. I’m on your side. I have an idea. Let’s take this palmist with us and expose U.G.’s true colors! If it turns out that he’s a trickster and a phony, we’ll drive him out of the house! Come, let’s go home!”
Brahmachariji was pacified. He shouted at the Brahmin: “Hey, you, Brahmin! You must look at someone’s palm and tell us the exact truth! If you read his hand carefully and tell us what kind of man he is, I’ll give you ten rupees! But if you talk gibberish, I’ll make your head ring! Be ready!”
In a few minutes they were back at the house. Brahmachari curtly asked U.G. to show his hand to the palmist. U.G. obliged and stretched out both of his arms to show his palms like a good boy. The thin Brahmin looked at U.G.’s right hand for a couple of minutes and started blinking and howling with wide eyes: “Ohohohoho!”
“Speak, man! Speak clearly in words!” said Brahmachariji, grabbing the Brahmin by the arm. The Brahmin didn’t hear him and kept on studying the palm. A little while later, he exclaimed again: “Abababa, ahahaha!” He was gloating in ecstasy. Brahmachariji couldn’t contain his anger any longer and was getting ready to hit the Brahmin. “Are you going to say something in words, or should I break your head?!”
“Sir, what can I say!” responded the Brahmin. “I’ve never seen a palm like this in all my life! It surpasses the Rama avatar and the Krishna avatar! Truly, this is the palm of Srimannarayana — the palm of Vishnu himself!”
Brahmachariji was stunned. He couldn’t utter a word in reply; instead he collapsed onto the sofa. U.G. assessed the scene, turned to the palmist and made an offer: “If you can look at his palm and tell me how many children he has, I’ll give you twenty rupees.” He showed the palmist Brahmachari’s hand. After scrutinizing it for a minute, the Brahmin laughed. “Why, he is a staunch bachelor, sir! He has never married, so how can he have children?”
Brahmachari joined the roomful of people laughing at this accurate assessment. That day, U.G. and Brahmachariji tested each other and found out that what the other person was made of was genuine.
V. — U.G. Listens to and Corrects Mantras
It was a winter night, perhaps in December 1976. The cold wind outside was penetrating through the holes of the closed doors. We all sat down to listen to Brahmachariji’s recitation of the Ganapati Upanishad. U.G. sat on a rug on the floor in the lotus posture. Brahmachariji sat facing him. The recitation went on for about twenty minutes. All that time U.G. sat motionless, with eyes closed, in the lotus position.
The things U.G. recounted after the recitation stunned everyone. “I feel as if the sounds of the mantras were coming out of myself. I experienced the sound going round in circles in a kind of rhythm, and spreading throughout my consciousness. Suddenly all that took the shape of Ganapati (the elephant-headed god, son of Shiva and Parvati, also known as Ganesh). In my consciousness my face became the face of Ganapati. My nose stretched and drooped down like an elephant’s trunk. Then, as though something snapped, it all disappeared. The movement stopped. The form was erased. Maybe there was some mistake in the recitation at that point.”
Brahmachariji admitted that was true. He said he forgot the mantra at a certain place, so he repeated those portions of the mantra, to the end, without errors. “Now it’s all correct. There was no gap in the movement. Everything is quite rhythmical.”
How was it possible that U.G. could have that experience? He explained it as something like the first wax cylinders imprinted with sound waves that could later be restored as sounds. Or in his case, U.G. explained it as sound waves transformed into electromagnetic waves transformed into light waves, which can then be transformed back into sound waves. “Because there is no division here,” he said, pointing to himself, all those sounds, along with the forms embedded in them, have echoed in my consciousness.”
Another time, also in October 1979, U.G. traveled to Ooty in Tamil Nadu, the southernmost state in India, to see his devotee, Dr. Kameswari. Almost as soon as she was born, her father taught Kameswari to worship the goddess Lalita Parameswari. She dedicated her life to the Goddess. She got married, had children and became an army doctor, but her world was always immersed in the Goddess.
Kameswari’s joy knew no bounds when she learned that U.G. was coming to visit her, for the first time, along with Parveen and Mahesh. As soon as U.G. and company stepped into her house, she had one foot in the kitchen and the other in the living room. Unable to stand it, U.G. settled himself in the kitchen as they talked, occasionally tasting her cooking and improving it with salt (U.G. loved salt). He even kept her company during her puja offering, the daily worship she performed at home. He asked her to utter the mantra out loud as she was meditating. When she finished, he said, “Good, perfect.”
One day, while Kameswari was doing puja, U.G. said: “Parts of the mantras are very powerful. They feel as if a great energy is flowing. But in some places the flow is interrupted. If you recite them out loud, I will correct them.” When she recited them again the next day as he corrected them, he said, “Now they sound right.”
Once U.G. commented on Kameswari’s puja: “When she recites those mantras, the sounds cause strange movements and experiences in me. It must be such experiences some people strive for when they do japa (uttering holy names) and tapas (austerities).”
The question came up, “No matter how mechanically they are recited, is it right to brush them aside as foolish?” “No, you mustn’t,” replied U.G. It wasn’t his style to condemn any practice as foolish if it was done sincerely and with a pure heart.
VI. — U.G. Visits a Temple
During the same visit to Prof. Ramakrishna Rao at Mysore University, the professor offered to take the group for a look at Chamundeshwari Temple. The news of U.G.’s visit to the temple preceded them, and by the time they arrived, a priest from the neighboring Lakshmi Narayana Temple by the name of Anandaji had arranged everything.
The priests of Chamundeshwari led the group directly into the inner sanctum, which was an honor not normally accorded even to the Maharajah. It was inconceivable that a foreigner like Valentine and worldly people like Parveen and Mahesh, considered untouchable by orthodox Hindus, would be led into the inner sanctum, where even orthodox Brahmins would not normally be allowed.
A special ceremony was performed for them. The holy relics were brought out — the sacred conch belonging to the Goddess, called Pancha Janya, and the Sri Chakra, the holy wheel carved with syllables on a precious metal plate — and U.G. was allowed to touch them. From the moment he stepped into the inner sanctum, U.G. felt the effects of the strong vibrations in there. He appeared to be in a trance or a semi-conscious state. The Sri Chakra and the Pancha Janya had a profound effect on him, and at one point he nearly collapsed. Brahmachariji caught him and steadied him.
Brahmachariji later said there were vertical marks on U.G.’s forehead, like the white marks worn by worshippers of Vishnu, and for the duration of his stay in the temple, another mark around his neck in the form of a serpent. When asked about these swellings, U.G. attempted to explain them scientifically. He said the worship by the priests was done with great devotion, and the yantras of geometric diagrams on metal plates filled the inner sanctum with powerful vibrations. The marks were simply U.G.’s body reacting to those vibrations. “They come and go,” he said. “Sometimes they happen when I’m on the toilet.”
VII. — Ascension after 40 Years
It’s true, U.G. is no longer with us. He passed away in Italy in March 2007, aged 88, surrounded by his friends. If we think of U.G. the man, born on July 9, 1918, in the port city of Machilipatnam (Ma·chi·li·pat·nam) on the Bay of Bengal, it’s true that he is gone and will never exist again. Those who missed him will never have a chance to meet him. But I imagine he lives on as a bright band of violet light, fading to turquoise blue against the black of space, a unique frequency of light and self-aware.
Not only would he never read this post, my ‘Acts of U.G. Krishnamurti,’ but I imagine he would admonish me instead as follows:
“Why do you waste your time writing this drivel for no one’s benefit? Not only do you waste time twisting my words into something they’re not, which you are free to do, but you do it at work, on someone else’s dollar, shirking your work responsibilities to do so.
“You would be better off renting your ass by the half-hour under the freeway underpass than adding to the misery of the world by lionizing me and apotheosizing me with this ‘Life of U.G.’ Please.
“There’s nothing left of me, nothing to be remembered for. The sages know that all will eventually burn to ash, so they sing, ‘Tryambakam yajamahe!’ — ‘We worship the Three-Eyed One,’ Lord Shiva who burns our ignorance to ashes.”
_________
The sensational stories given above, unavailable anywhere else in this condensed form, were compiled and adapted from K. Chandrasekhar’s Stopped in Our Tracks: Stories of U.G. in India (Winsome Books India, 2009), a collection of journal entries in their turn compiled and edited by Prof. J.S.R.L. Narayana Moorty (1934-2022).
