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> 第八十九章 An Idyl In South India
第八十九章 An Idyl In South India
“You are the frst Westerner，Dick，ever to enter that shrine。Many others have tried in vain。”
At my words Mr。Wright looked startled，then pleased。We had just left the beautiful Chamundi Temple in the hills overlooking Mysore in southern India。
My companion and I 1 were spending the month of November，193，as guests of the State of Mysore。The Maharaja，H。H。Sri Krishnaraja Wadiyar IV，is a model prince with intelligent devotion to his people。
The heir to the Maharaja，H。H。the Yuvaraja，Sir Sri Krishna Narasingharaj Wadiyar，had invited my secretary and me to visit his enlightened and progressive realm。During the past fortnight I had addressed thousands of Mysore citizens and students，at the Town Hall，the Maharajahs College，the University Medical School；and three mass meetings in Bangalore，at the National High School，the Intermediate College，and the Chetty Town Hall where over three thousand persons had assembled。Whether the eager listeners had been able to credit the glowing picture I drew of America，I know not；but the applause had always been loudest when I spoke of the mutual benefts that could fow from exchange of the best features in East and West。
Southern India，rich with historical and archaeological remains，is a land of defnite and yet indefnable charm。
The ubiquitous religious shrines of Mysore are a constant reminder of the many great saints of South India。One of these masters，Thayumanavar，has left us the following challenging poem：
You can control a mad elephant；
You can shut the mouth of the bear and the tiger；
You can ride a lion；
You can play with the cobra；
By alchemy you can eke out your livelihood；
You can wander through the universe incognito；
You can make vassals of the gods；
You can be ever youthful；
You can walk on water and live in fre；
But control of the mind is better and more diffcult。
So entrancing is southern India that Mr。Wright and I yearned to prolong our idyl。But time，in its immemorial rudeness，dealt us no courteous extensions。I was scheduled soon to address the concluding session of the Indian Philosophical Congress at Calcutta University。At the end of the visit to Mysore，I enjoyed a talk with Sir C。V。Raman，president of the Indian Academy of Sciences。This brilliant Hindu physicist was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1930 for his important discovery in the diffusion of light-the“Raman Effect”now known to every schoolboy。
Waving a reluctant farewell to a crowd of Madras students and friends，Mr。Wright and I set out for the north。On the way we stopped before a little shrine sacred to the memory of Sadasiva Brahman，2 in whose eighteenth-century life story miracles cluster thickly。A larger Sadasiva shrine at Nerur，erected by the Raja of Pudukkottai，is a pilgrimage spot which has witnessed numerous divine healings。
Many quaint stories of Sadasiva，a lovable and fully-illumined master，are still current among the South Indian villagers。Immersed one day in samadhi on the bank of the Kaveri River，Sadasiva was seen to be carried away by a sudden food。Weeks later he was found buried deep beneath a mound of earth。As the villagersshovels struck his body，the saint rose and walked briskly away。
Sadasiva never spoke a word or wore a cloth。One morning the nude yogi unceremoniously entered the tent of a Mohammedan chieftain。His ladies screamed in alarm；the warrior dealt a savage sword thrust at Sadasiva，whose arm was severed。The master departed unconcernedly。
Overcome by remorse，the Mohammedan picked up the arm from the floor and followed Sadasiva。The yogi quietly inserted his arm into the bleeding stump。When the warrior humbly asked for some spiritual instruction，Sadasiva wrote with his fnger on the sands：
“Do not do what you want，and then you may do what you like。”
The Mohammedan was uplifted to an exalted state of mind，and understood the saints paradoxical advice to be a guide to soul freedom through mastery of the ego。
The village children once expressed a desire in Sadasivas presence to see the Madura religious festival，150 miles away。The yogi indicated to the little ones that they should touch his body。Lo！instantly the whole group was transported to Madura。The children wandered happily among the thousands of pilgrims。In a few hours the yogi brought his small charges home by his simple mode of transportation。
An incredulous youth derided the saint and the story。The following morning he approached Sadasiva。
“Master，”he said scornfully，“why dont you take me to the festival，even as you did yesterday for the other children？”
Sadasiva complied；the boy immediately found himself among the distant city throng。But alas！where was the saint when the youth wanted to leave？The weary boy reached his home by the ancient and prosaic method of foot locomotion。
At my words Mr。Wright looked startled，then pleased。We had just left the beautiful Chamundi Temple in the hills overlooking Mysore in southern India。
My companion and I 1 were spending the month of November，193，as guests of the State of Mysore。The Maharaja，H。H。Sri Krishnaraja Wadiyar IV，is a model prince with intelligent devotion to his people。
The heir to the Maharaja，H。H。the Yuvaraja，Sir Sri Krishna Narasingharaj Wadiyar，had invited my secretary and me to visit his enlightened and progressive realm。During the past fortnight I had addressed thousands of Mysore citizens and students，at the Town Hall，the Maharajahs College，the University Medical School；and three mass meetings in Bangalore，at the National High School，the Intermediate College，and the Chetty Town Hall where over three thousand persons had assembled。Whether the eager listeners had been able to credit the glowing picture I drew of America，I know not；but the applause had always been loudest when I spoke of the mutual benefts that could fow from exchange of the best features in East and West。
Southern India，rich with historical and archaeological remains，is a land of defnite and yet indefnable charm。
The ubiquitous religious shrines of Mysore are a constant reminder of the many great saints of South India。One of these masters，Thayumanavar，has left us the following challenging poem：
You can control a mad elephant；
You can shut the mouth of the bear and the tiger；
You can ride a lion；
You can play with the cobra；
By alchemy you can eke out your livelihood；
You can wander through the universe incognito；
You can make vassals of the gods；
You can be ever youthful；
You can walk on water and live in fre；
But control of the mind is better and more diffcult。
So entrancing is southern India that Mr。Wright and I yearned to prolong our idyl。But time，in its immemorial rudeness，dealt us no courteous extensions。I was scheduled soon to address the concluding session of the Indian Philosophical Congress at Calcutta University。At the end of the visit to Mysore，I enjoyed a talk with Sir C。V。Raman，president of the Indian Academy of Sciences。This brilliant Hindu physicist was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1930 for his important discovery in the diffusion of light-the“Raman Effect”now known to every schoolboy。
Waving a reluctant farewell to a crowd of Madras students and friends，Mr。Wright and I set out for the north。On the way we stopped before a little shrine sacred to the memory of Sadasiva Brahman，2 in whose eighteenth-century life story miracles cluster thickly。A larger Sadasiva shrine at Nerur，erected by the Raja of Pudukkottai，is a pilgrimage spot which has witnessed numerous divine healings。
Many quaint stories of Sadasiva，a lovable and fully-illumined master，are still current among the South Indian villagers。Immersed one day in samadhi on the bank of the Kaveri River，Sadasiva was seen to be carried away by a sudden food。Weeks later he was found buried deep beneath a mound of earth。As the villagersshovels struck his body，the saint rose and walked briskly away。
Sadasiva never spoke a word or wore a cloth。One morning the nude yogi unceremoniously entered the tent of a Mohammedan chieftain。His ladies screamed in alarm；the warrior dealt a savage sword thrust at Sadasiva，whose arm was severed。The master departed unconcernedly。
Overcome by remorse，the Mohammedan picked up the arm from the floor and followed Sadasiva。The yogi quietly inserted his arm into the bleeding stump。When the warrior humbly asked for some spiritual instruction，Sadasiva wrote with his fnger on the sands：
“Do not do what you want，and then you may do what you like。”
The Mohammedan was uplifted to an exalted state of mind，and understood the saints paradoxical advice to be a guide to soul freedom through mastery of the ego。
The village children once expressed a desire in Sadasivas presence to see the Madura religious festival，150 miles away。The yogi indicated to the little ones that they should touch his body。Lo！instantly the whole group was transported to Madura。The children wandered happily among the thousands of pilgrims。In a few hours the yogi brought his small charges home by his simple mode of transportation。
An incredulous youth derided the saint and the story。The following morning he approached Sadasiva。
“Master，”he said scornfully，“why dont you take me to the festival，even as you did yesterday for the other children？”
Sadasiva complied；the boy immediately found himself among the distant city throng。But alas！where was the saint when the youth wanted to leave？The weary boy reached his home by the ancient and prosaic method of foot locomotion。
