Shri Sitaram Shenoy 

Meeting his Sadguru

Shree Sitaram Shenoy

In the serene coastal village of Padbidri, nestled in the heart of South Karnataka and surrounded by swaying palms and ancient temple groves, lived a young boy named Sitaram—my uncle. He belonged to a respected family that had long upheld the traditions of dharma and devotion. Sitaram grew up in a joint household, sharing the modest ancestral home with his revered great-grandfather Anant Shenoy, his father Cherdappa, and his pious mother Bhavani. He was the second of five sons—Upendra, Vittal, Raghunath, and Ramkrishna—and had one sister, Gulabi, who was known in the family for her gentleness and devotion.

From a young age, Sitaram displayed qualities that set him apart. Though physically strong and hardworking—dutiful in tending to the family’s land and cattle—his eyes carried a distant gaze, as if he were always searching for something just beyond the horizon. A quiet fire burned within him, a deep spiritual longing, a restlessness that no worldly comfort could satisfy. Unlike his peers who found joy in the rhythms of village life—festivals, farming, family—Sitaram’s heart beat to a different tune. His soul was thirsty for something greater, something eternal.

This yearning soon led him to a practice that became his quiet obsession: seeking saints. Whenever word spread that a holy man had arrived in Padbidri or in the surrounding villages of Kaup, Shirva, or Karkala, Sitaram would be the first to go. Barefoot and filled with hope, he would walk for miles, carrying nothing but faith and a question that stirred his very being: “Are you the one I am seeking? Are you my Guru?”

But saint after saint, holy man after holy man, each gently shook their head or offered only silence. Some gave him mantras, others their blessings, but none could answer the ache in his heart. The spiritual thirst only deepened with each encounter, as if the very act of seeking intensified his sense of incompleteness. Though his devotion was pure, and his desire sincere, the doors of destiny had not yet opened.

Then, one day, news arrived in the village like a cool breeze before the monsoon. A young saint, radiant with spiritual power, had arrived in the nearby town of Mulki and was said to be residing there for several days. The people whispered of miracles. It was said that the mere sight of him brought peace to the troubled, that his touch had healed the sick, and that his words pierced the hearts of listeners like shafts of light. Many from surrounding towns and villages had already made the journey, hoping to find answers, healing, or simply the grace of his presence.

When Sitaram heard this, something shifted within him. It was not just curiosity or hope—it was a pull, as though an invisible thread was drawing him to Mulki. He could not explain it, but he felt, with an intensity he had never known before, that this meeting would be different. That the one he had been waiting for might finally be near.

And so, with quiet determination, Sitaram set off toward Mulki, unaware that this journey would mark a turning point not just in his life, but in the spiritual story of our entire family.

The Meeting that Changed Everything

My uncle, Sitaram, could no longer contain the restlessness that had gnawed at him for years. Something deep within urged him onward—an invisible flame that neither time nor toil could extinguish. And so, with quiet determination and no thought of hardship, he set off on foot from his village Padbidri to Mulki, several miles away. The only thing propelling him was a name whispered through the paddy fields and temple corridors—a young saint, known among the villagers as “Kala Sadhu”, the dark ascetic.

As Sitaram entered Mulki, he asked the local people where he might find this Sadhu. He was directed to a modest community hall, where a small crowd had already gathered. The air was charged with reverence. Within that humble space, he beheld a slender, dark-skinned youth, seated on a simple wooden chair, dressed in nothing but a kaupeen (loincloth). Despite his youthful appearance, there was an unmistakable gravity about him—a stillness that seemed to pull all wandering minds inward.

People sat at his feet in silence. Some fell prostrate, addressing him not as “Swami” or “Baba,” but simply and reverently as “Deva”—God. The Kala Sadhu did not preach or perform rituals. He spoke rarely, and only when a seeker’s question arose from a place of sincerity and surrender. Often, he sat in majestic silence, his gaze distant and penetrating—as if seeing through the veil of appearances into the core of one’s being.

As Sitaram stepped into the hall, a thrill of recognition surged through him. With trembling steps, he walked up to the young Sadhu and prostrated fully, placing his head at the Sadhu’s feet, surrendering not just his body, but the years of spiritual yearning that had led him to this moment.

The Sadhu looked at him and asked quietly, “Why have you come here?”

Sitaram, his voice steady but his heart overflowing, replied, “I am in search of my Guru.”

There was a pause—a silence that seemed to expand and swallow the din of the world. Then, the Sadhu, with an unshakable stillness, said:

“Now that you have found him, what do you intend to do?”

That was it. The veils fell. The journey ended—and began. Overcome with emotion, Sitaram wept, clutching the feet of the Sadhu, who was none other than Swami Nityananda of Ganeshpuri. In that single moment, lifetimes of longing dissolved. His search had borne fruit.

From that day onward, Sitaram’s life took a new direction. Though he would remain a householder, his heart belonged irrevocably to Bhagavan Nityananda. In time, he became one of Baba’s most devoted grihastha (householder) disciples, serving the Guru with unwavering love and discipline. He eventually settled in Vajreshwari, where he and his family lived under Baba’s shelter, both spiritually and physically.

This sacred meeting marked the beginning of what our family came to call the path of Guru Kripa Yoga—the yoga of the Guru’s Grace. From this root, a vast tree blossomed, bearing fruit across five generations of the Shenoy family.

Shri Sitaram Shenoy standing left to Bhagavan Nityananda

Sitaram’s spiritual awakening did not remain his alone. His grandfather Anant Shenoy, his father Cherdappa, and his sons—Prabhakar, Ratnakar, and Shivaji—each came under the radiance of Bhagavan’s grace. His grandsons—Ramchandra, Gopalkrishna of Vajreshwari, and Kamlakar—were likewise drawn to the Guru’s fold, continuing the sacred lineage of devotion.

And just as rivers merge into the ocean, so too did Sitaram’s brothers—Vittal, Raghunath (my father), Ramkrishna, and Upendra—find themselves called to this same path of surrender and transformation.

With time, as the family grew through sacred alliances, Baba’s grace extended even further. Marriages linked the Shenoys with other devoted families—among them, the lineage of Hosdurga Devrai Pai, affectionately known as “Master,” and the saintly Gulabi Amma of Anand Ashram, Managudda, Mangalore. These spiritual unions were not mere familial arrangements; they were guided, as it were, by the invisible hand of the Guru himself, who wove together lives and destinies to preserve and propagate his grace across generations.

Today, the living presence of Swami Nityananda’s Kripa continues to flow through the lives of his devotees—anchored in that one decisive moment when a young boy from Padbidri, driven by a burning desire for Truth, found his Guru in the silent gaze of the Kala Sadhu of Mulki.