In the Master’s Eyes (A Love Story Based on Real Life)

Lakshmi the cow lived at the Ramana Maharshi ashram at the base of the holy mountain Arunachala. Believed to be the reincarnation of one of Sri Bhagavan’s most devoted disciples, Lakshmi was noted for her human-like attachment to the sage who held a special affection for her in return. It is said that at the moment of Lakshmi’s death, Ramana Maharshi helped her to attain her final “Samadhi” so that she realized the truth of the one Self. Told from Lakshmi’s point of view, In the Master’s Eyes is the author’s heartfelt tribute to this most poignant relationship in human existence — that of spiritual aspirant to his or her guru.

In the Master’s Eyes

Master knows that I am nearing the end of my life. He sees it when he looks into my eyes. He says nothing, but I can see that he knows, and I cannot bear to think of how much I will miss him.

The first time he ever looked into my eyes, I had just barely slipped from my mother’s womb, a newborn, struggling to unfold my long spindly legs so that I could stand to grope clumsily for my mother’s milk. I saw him coming toward me, his walking stick in his hand, his bare brown feet in deliberate, steady steps on the dry pebbly dust of the mountain soil. He reached out a thin arm to put a gentle hand under my jaw.

When he did this, I was afraid, for when I looked back at him, into his eyes, all I saw was that I was completely alone with him. My mother, the mountain on which we lived, the people surrounding the Master on his walk, all disappeared. Even the sky was no longer the sky, but a vast wash of love. What could Master possibly have seen in my gigantic animal eyes that he found worthy of the beautiful smile that spread across his face when he looked into them?

He looked for what seemed a long time, but I held still, not even pawing the dusty ground with a front hoof as I have often done when standing in one place for long.

“Lakshmi.” He then said (for that was my name), “it is a blessing to have eyes as large as yours, for so much more of God’s love pours from them.” Then he smiled again and I was no longer frightened. His face blurred as a strange watery substance poured from my eyes and ran down my cheeks, dropping to the dusty earth which absorbed it greedily. I then nuzzled the dry flesh of his hand with my large nose.

Since that moment, I became his shadow, leaving him only to go to my mother to nurse. When I grew older, he would come often to sit with me on the ground under a tree or at the milking station while I was being milked. I was always grateful for this because being milked was boring and I did not feel the urge to kick the pail when he was there. Instead, I would ask him questions about his life, finding that he could hear me though I do not speak like a human, and he would answer them all. I too, could understand what he said simply through his touch.

And now, I know at least as much about him as his devotees who come to learn from him. For example, I know that he had already lived her on the mountain for a long time when I was born, having been drawn here by his heart after finding enlightenment. When he was in his years between being a calf and full grown, he wanted to know what happened after the body stopped breathing. So he lay down on the ground, pretending to be dead. What he found was that everything passed away except his awareness. What he found was the pure bliss of his own Self. When he rose from the ground, he took a few rupees from his brother and rode the large creaming steel beast humans call “the train” to the base of Arunachala, this holy mountain. He made his home here, and has ever refused to leave it, even when his mother came and begged him to.

“I am very happy for you, Master, that you have found such bliss,” I said to him when he told me these things about himself.

“What makes you think you cannot have that bliss too, Laskhmi?” he had answered. “You are not this cow’s body. You are the Life that makes it breathe.”

Master’s name before he awakened was Venkataraman. But now his devotees call him Sri Ramana Maharshi, or sometimes, Sri Bagawan, our of reverence and respect. The humans come from everywhere to see him, even the most far away places where the people’s skin is the color of my mother’s milk and their dhotis are very strange looking, covering their entire bodies except for their hands and faces. He tells me they are called American and European, and that it is silly they come all this way to see him for they, too, are the Self and need not go anywhere to know this. He says all they need to do it remove the idea that they are not the Self and they will see. All his devotees call him Sri Bagawan. As for me, I call him Master. But really, there are no words big enough to call someone I love so much and who has made me feel so loved.

When I was younger, my favorite game was to follow Master on his daily walk and nudge his arm with my nose. He would smile and raise his walking stick, poking me playfully on the shoulder with the end of it. But now, I am very tired most of the time. Walking is difficult and sometimes painful, so I spend much of the day lying on the ground near Master’s couch, watching the stream of visitors who pass before him. They bring him offerings like sugar candy and nuts and set them on a stool before him. Then when they leave, sometimes he feeds me the offerings. I love being near him all the time like this, and never does a day pass that he does not lay the palm of his hand gently on the wide flatness of bone between my eyes and say kind words to me. I wish I could live much longer, just for this moment each day.

Today it is very hot. I feel hunger in my belly, but I am so tired it is difficult even to wander around and pick at the grasses. Master has been making sure that the devotees come each day and bring me food and water. But today, for some reason, they are late. I try to rise and take a few steps toward a patch of grass, but my legs are not working and I fall, my knees buckling uselessly under me. When I look up, I see Master coming toward me. A devotee has put a stool on the ground near my head and Master has sat down on it. He’s looking into my eyes. I look back, even though the world around me seems to be going away.

“Lakshmi, I am here,” he says gently, putting on of his hands on that bone between my eyes. The other he puts over my heart. There is a strange warm feeling that comes from his hands and moves through me like the wind through the trees. When I look into his eyes, I suddenly know what he knows.

He sees that I have understood. “How big are you, Lakshmi?” he asks.

I continue to stare into his eyes although my body is falling. His eyes are so big. I am in his eyes. “I am bigger than this mountain,” I answer.

He smiles. “How small are you, Lakshmi?”

“I am smaller than the smallest creature.”

“Yes, Lakshmi.” His voice is tender, sweeter than my mother’s milk. “Who are you?”

“I am every cow that has ever lived and ever will live. But I am not a cow. I am the Self.”

“Yes, Lakshmi,” Master says.

There is nothing left now but the feel of Master’s hands. My eyes close as they were closed before my body came from its mother’s womb.

There is nothing but joy because I will never lose Master’s love. That cannot ever happen because I am love. His love. And he is mine.

Now, Lakshmi has gone back to the earth. But I go on.