Tuesday, 8th August 1961
The Last Days Before Mahasamadhi
1st August 1961
Just five days earlier, on the sacred occasion of Gurupurnima—27th July 1961—Bhagavan had graced the Bangalorewala Building, arriving on the 24th. Shri Laxman Shah Khoday, with deep devotion, had expressed his heartfelt wish to take Him to Bangalore. Bhagavan too had consented inwardly. Yet, as destiny would have it, the collective yearning of the Ganeshpuri devotees proved stronger. They could not bear the thought of His absence—not even briefly—and pleaded with Him to stay. In quiet acceptance, He yielded to their love.
He then expressed a desire to visit Kanhangad, His other sacred seat. But that too remained unfulfilled. Destiny had charted a different course.
A profound turning point had already occurred months earlier. Shree Shaligram Swami, His spiritual companion across nine births, had taken Mahasamadhi on the 27th of April 1961. That divine companionship—lifetimes long—had culminated in a final farewell. It was at the call of Shaligram Swami that Bhagavan had manifested once again—to be amidst the devotees, to bless, to complete the circle of grace. The mission, it seemed, had now been fulfilled. The time had come for Him to withdraw into Sthir Samadhi—the Final Stillness.
As the days passed, a mysterious pull emanated from Ganeshpuri. He began calling His beloved ones—silently, inwardly, and through signs. Some He reached through the subtle realm. To a select few, He appeared directly in His astral form.
One such devotee was Shri Madhav Hegde—whom He fondly called “Engineer Hegde.” Madhav was seated in his Mumbai office when suddenly Bhagavan appeared before him. With urgency and affection, He said, “Hurry. Come to Ganeshpuri immediately.” And then, as swiftly as He had come, He vanished. Stunned yet surrendered, Madhav left everything, gathered his family, and set out at once.
At our home, the life-size photograph of Bhagavan underwent a transformation that shook us. His usually radiant and robust countenance appeared pale and drawn. His image, always bursting with vitality, now seemed faint, almost ethereal. We could sense something shifting. Captain Hatangdi, moved by a force he himself couldn’t explain, kept a ghee lamp burning continuously at the altar. The signs were speaking—if one could hear them.
This time, Bhagavan chose a natural departure. Unlike three earlier occasions when He had withdrawn from His body for prolonged periods—this time, it was to be final. Quiet, complete, and unadorned. The Leela was coming to an end.
The All-Encompassing Presence
Even in these last days, Bhagavan remained effortlessly accessible. The veil between the devotee and the Divine had never existed with Him. One needed only to think of Him—and He was there.
He once said, “This One can hear the sound of the trinkets tied to the feet of an ant.” To His devotees, this was not a metaphor. It was lived truth. His omnipresence was not proclaimed—it was experienced.
When my father once asked if His grace would extend to the next generation, Bhagavan smiled and replied,
“The seed has been sown. It will grow into a huge tree and shall bear flowers. Everything is there for them.”
When my cousin lamented that serving Him had become difficult—that the crowds, the circumstances, and the changes made it no longer like the golden old days—Bhagavan responded with immense tenderness:
“Does it make any difference? You serving or not serving—it’s all the same. Everything is there for you. Everything is there for you!”
When someone asked, “What about us after You’re gone? How will we reach You? How will You reach us?”—He simply said:
“In the subtle form, ‘This One’ will be easily available to all who call out with faith. ‘This One’ will stand by you in your time of need.”
Then, with gravity and love, He instructed:
“Do your duty. Serve your mother. When you find time, meditate. Sing bhajans. Contemplate. Have faith in the Sadguru. He will guide you on the Nivṛtti Mārga. What does Sadguru do? Sadguru shows the Nivṛtti Mārga.”
In just two days, He was to merge once again with the Supreme Consciousness—the source from which He had never been apart.
The Night of 7th August 1961
The hour had arrived. The gross body—His visible, tangible form—was soon to be shed. Not as an end, but as a beginning: to make His subtle presence available to all, freely and unconditionally.
The process had begun on 27th April, when He permitted Shree Shaligram Swami to enter Mahasamadhi. The sacred thread of companionship had been gently severed. The outward play was slowly drawing to a close.
He was still amidst the people. Just as Lord Krishna had walked amongst the Pandavas and Kauravas—unnoticed for His true divine stature—so too was Bhagavan overlooked by many. His simplicity, His casual manner, His accessibility deceived the eye. Only a few—like the Gopis, Arjuna, and Vidura—saw Lord Krishna as He truly was. Similarly, only a handful truly recognized Bhagavan’s Mahavataric presence.
Even now, there are those who use His name to further their own aims—unaware of the vast ocean of Compassion and Consciousness that He is.
That night, He was still there—available, close, intimate. My elder sisters saw in Him not a distant Guru, but a beloved grandfather figure—loving, near, reassuring. That was how He was: never high upon a pedestal, but deeply rooted in the hearts of those who loved Him.
In Anant and later in The Endless One, we tried to present Him exactly as He had lived—available to all, without walls, without conditions. That evening, on the eve of His Punyatithi, the mood was like that of Hanuman resting in the arms of Lord Rama—an embrace of complete peace, prem, and silent bliss.
8th August 1961 — The Final Morning
The sun rose quietly over Ganeshpuri. But within that stillness, another sun was about to set—leaving behind a legacy of boundless grace.
Bhagavan was unusually quiet that morning. He refused all medicines. Dr. (Mrs.) Kotwala did what she could, but He would allow no more. Most of His attendants had left; only Gopal Anna remained nearby.
Turning to Gopal Anna, He asked,
“Has Swami Janananda come?”
He was told that Swamiji was on his way.
Then, Bhagavan softly declared:
“Sthir Samadhi! From Sadhu to Swami, Swami to Deva, Deva to Bhagavan. Now—Sthir Samadhi, Sthir Samadhi, Sthir Samadhi.”
He straightened His legs. The right one, long afflicted with arthritis, He too stretched. He placed His hand on His chest. With a single, deep breath—He withdrew the Prana.
A gentle, radiant glow spread over His face. A sweet, knowing smile lingered. Gopal Anna looked at the clock. It was 10:43 am.
He called others, and soon, the word spread like fire across the land. The news was carried by All India Radio. Devotees, scattered across towns and cities, felt a shockwave of loss and silence sweep over them.
Those who had been with Him since the 1920s bowed their heads and withdrew. Within their hearts, they carried His Anant Prem, His Anant Karuna. Yet, a great void had been carved within. A chasm only His Love could fill.
“None like Him. Second to none. God of gods. Guru Mauli. The Endless One. The Eternal One. Bhaktakamkalpadruma!”
