An Interview with Lord – Ma Devaki
Dear Jeyamohan sir,
I read the article Passers By. You’ve written about Yogi Ramsurathkumar, and about being a mendicant yourself alongside him. You have also said that you met him. I have enclosed a small section from the book Ma Devaki’s Diary where there is a reference to two writers who met the yogi at his home on Sannathi Street. The ‘Malayali writer’ here is you, and the ‘progressive writer’ is Bava Chelladurai. Am I right?
This article narrates your mischief, pranks, and anxiety. But everything is told from their perspective. I would like to know your opinion. I remember reading about an article/interview on Yogi that appeared in Sol Puthithu. Was it about this meeting?
With love,
Aravind.
Dear Aravind,
You are correct, it was about that meeting. Bava and I have both written about this, with slight variations.
As described there, when I met him, my arrogance was at its peak. In all honesty, I went there just to provoke him; I tried many ways of doing so. Everything I said was designed to get a rise out of him. I asked his devotees whether they were instructed to praise him.
I told him, “You look like Tolstoy.” He asked with a smile, “War or peace?” He recognised Bava Chelladurai but he could not place me. I mentioned Balakumaran’s name and said harsh things. To be clear, I had no grudge against Balakumaran, I was just aiming for provocation.
My state of mind then can be described thus. I was turbulent and untethered. I was in the process of writing Vishnupuram, and was a wandering monk. I had met so many other monks that I started finding them vexing. It was with that ire that I approached Yogi. My displeasure had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with myself.
A state of mind not unlike this is what prompts people to denounce and mock everything on Facebook. Outside help is essential to escape this trap—a moment of enlightenment, or a blow. If this isn’t found, it becomes hell for those who fancy themselves intellectuals.
Everything that Ma Devaki notes is true. But she was not privy to the inner workings of my mind. A writer’s mind is not the same as that of a devotee or a spiritual seeker. It isn’t an easy realisation for others.
In spite of the throng of people waiting outside for his attention, Yogi spent so much of his time with me. His clash with my conscience was violent. I tried my best to not let him get in my head. He laughed. He stretched his legs towards me. Looked into my eyes. I stood, pointedly ignoring his expectant feet, and left without paying respects.
Despite my best efforts, I could feel the impression he’d left on me. I could feel my soul tossing and turning. It took a week for me to work through that turmoil. What happened that day? I’d venture to say that my skepticism and my spite have dissolved. Today, I can remark on humanity dispassionately, sans the bitterness. And that’s all I have to say for now.
I met Yogi on March 8, 1992. Seven days later, on March 15, I met Nitya Chaitanya Yati. I embraced him as my guru. Yielding my ego, I surrendered myself at his feet. Right away, I told him of my encounter with Yogi.
I wrote about this experience, and my dialogue with Nitya in a note titled A Bird from Eternity. It was published in the magazine Sol Puthithu (New Word), which my friends and I ran. It’s also included in the book Vaazhvile Oru Murai (Once in a Lifetime).
Yogi and Nitya are one and the same. O.V. Vijayan has written a novel titled Gurusagaram (The Ocean of Guru). A guru is an ocean. Men are waves.
Je
