Last Days before the Mahasamadhi of Bhagavan Nityananda Part 6

The Last Darshan

There Is No Last Darshan

Looking across the hall that day (8/08/1961, Bangalorewala Building), I saw so many devotees who had known Bhagavan Nityananda for years. Each possessed their own story of His grace, His love, and His unfailing care. Some had witnessed extraordinary events and miracles that left no doubt in their hearts that the One before them was no ordinary saint, but a Mahavatar.

Yet Bhagavan had never established a school in the conventional sense. There were no classrooms, scheduled lectures, formal discourses, examinations, or certificates—there was simply His presence. Those who lived around Him were, in truth, attending a continuous spiritual classroom where every moment offered a lesson. A word, a gesture, a glance, a silence, or even an apparently mundane act contained profound wisdom. It was as though pearls of spiritual knowledge were constantly being scattered around Him. Some devotees recognised their value and gathered them carefully; others heard the words and witnessed the events, only to allow them to pass into memory without transforming their lives.

In Bhagavan’s classroom, every sincere aspirant was assured of spiritual graduation. But this degree was not conferred merely by physical proximity to the Guru. The disciple had to learn, practice, assimilate, and embody what the Guru taught. The ultimate attainment was not worldly scholarship, but Jeevan Mukti—liberation while living.

That was the challenging path. It was far easier to rest in the comforting belief that, having found Bhagavan, the journey was already complete—that the Guru would somehow place us on a celestial flight and carry us across the ocean of existence while we continued living exactly as before. But Bhagavan never taught that spirituality was an escape. He continuously urged His devotees to live more intensely, consciously, and truthfully, emphasising regular sadhana, the dutiful performance of one’s obligations, integrity, and purity of intention. He sought to transform how life was lived, rather than offer a mere retreat from its difficulties.

Every moment with Him offered an opportunity for learning. And yet, as He Himself lamented towards the end of His physical presence: “There is so much to give, but no takers.”

Why were there so few takers? Perhaps because what Bhagavan offered was far greater than what most had come seeking. Many approached Him with worldly desires—seeking health, prosperity, relief from family difficulties, or the fulfillment of personal wishes. Boundless in His compassion, Bhagavan did not turn them away. But He was also a mirror, often reminding them: “Bhav Taisa Dev”—as is one’s inner attitude, so is one’s experience of the Divine. The Guru imparts according to the receptivity of the disciple; though the treasure is unlimited, the vessel must be prepared to receive it.

As the devotees looked upon Bhagavan in those final days, something deep within them began to shift. Aware that they might not have another opportunity to sit before His physical form, they travelled backwards through the gallery of their memories. They remembered the first time they had seen Him, the first words He had spoken, and the occasions when He had quietly intervened in their lives—sometimes through dramatic miracles, and other times through gestures so subtle their significance became clear only years later. They recalled His care, His love, and His countless teachings—along with the poignant regret of lessons heard but not yet practised. They realised they had spent years sitting beside a living ocean of spiritual wisdom, yet had often remained content on the shore. Now, the time had come to enter the waters.

The devotees who left that final darshan carried something far more precious than the memory of a physical form: they carried Him within their hearts. The external Guru had begun His transformation into the internal Guru. The image of Bhagavan—perhaps in Chin Mudra—became enshrined within their consciousness, His form the focus of Manas Puja, His Name the anchor of Namasmaran, and His teachings the guide for daily life.

They began to understand that sadhana did not mean abandoning prapancha (worldly life). They had to return to their families, professions, and everyday responsibilities, but now those duties became an integral part of their spiritual journey. Parmarth (spiritual truth) and prapancha were not enemies; the true discipline was to live in prapancha while remaining deeply rooted in parmarth—performing duties sincerely, practising sadhana regularly, cultivating shuddha bhavana (pure intent), and recognising the Divine in the mundane. That was the graduation Bhagavan had always envisioned.

Therefore, when we speak of the “Last Darshan,” we must be careful with our meaning. There can never truly be a last darshan of a Sadguru like Bhagavan Nityananda. There may be a final sight of the physical body, but never a last darshan of the Guru. For the Guru who has entered the heart cannot leave it; He continues to live wherever His love is remembered, and His teachings are practised.

He speaks through the pages of spiritual texts, through the words of sincere teachers, through the innocence of a child, and through those noble souls who sacrifice themselves for the welfare of others. He speaks through human compassion, through the silence of meditation, through the divine Name, and most intimately within the quiet sanctuary of one’s own heart, where the external Guru reveals Himself as the Antarguru. He is present whenever devotees gather in satsang, whenever His love is transmitted from heart to heart, and whenever someone chooses compassion over hatred, truth over convenience, and service over selfishness.

This is why Bhagavan’s darshan is Nitya Darshan—the Eternal Darshan. It is not restricted to Ganeshpuri, nor to any specific place, time, or physical lifespan. His presence is fully available wherever there is sincere remembrance, surrender, and love. We may not see Him with physical eyes, but we can turn towards Him. We may not hear His physical voice, but we can listen within. We may not touch His physical feet, but we can surrender our ego at His lotus feet. We do not need to travel to Ganeshpuri when we can make our own heart a Ganeshpuri.

This is the ultimate lesson of those final days: the Guru does not leave the disciple; the disciple must simply learn where to look.

Our journey through these six parts has not been a progression toward an ending, but a passage from Form to Formlessness, from Darshan to Remembrance, from Remembrance to Chaitanya (Consciousness), and from Chaitanya to Prabodha (Awakening). The physical eyes may have lost sight of Bhagavan Nityananda, but the inner eye sees Him clearly. The devotee who keeps Him alive through sadhana, seva, and satsang discovers that the apparent separation was an illusion.

He is available—freely, unconditionally, without limit, and without price. One needs no scholarship, elaborate rituals, or distant pilgrimages; one needs only to turn inward with a sincere heart and call His Name: “Nityananda Baba…” When that call deepens, the seeker realises that the One they were calling was never far away. He was already there within—silent, awake, and eternal. At that point, the question of where to search disappears, for there is nowhere He is not.

This timeless assurance mirrors the promise given by Lord Krishna in the Bhagavad Gita:

अनन्याश्चिन्तयन्तोमां ये जनाः पर्युपासते ।

तेषां नित्याभियुक्तानां योगक्षेमं वहाम्यहम् ॥

Ananyāś cintayanto māṁ ye janāḥ paryupāsate

teṣāṁ nityābhiyuktānāṁ yoga-kṣemaṁ vahāmy aham.

“To those who worship Me with undivided devotion and remain constantly united with Me, I carry what they lack and preserve what they have.”

— Bhagavad Gita 9.22

Yoga-Kshema is more than the provision of material needs; it is the ultimate promise of Divine protection on the spiritual journey. This was Bhagavan Nityananda’s silent message to His devotees: “Do not fear. I am not confined to this body. The bond between Guru and disciple is eternal.”

When the anxious mind asks, “What will become of me when Baba is no longer before my eyes?” the Guru softly answers, “Why do you fear? I have not gone anywhere.”

This is the final transformation. The devotee who once depended upon physical darshan learns to rely upon Remembrance. Remembrance deepens into Chaitanya, and Chaitanya blossoms into Prabodha. In that supreme awakening, we realise that what appeared to be the Last Darshan was not an ending at all, but the beginning of an eternal way of seeing.

He withdrew from our physical sight only to reveal Himself forever within the Heart.