“Ek Roopa Anek Roop: The Infinite Manifestations of Nityananda”

“Embodiments of Grace: How Bhagavan Nityananda Revealed Himself”

Shivswaroop Nityananda

The Shiva

Various people in many different ways have described Bhagavan. Some called Him, Navnathpanthi, some said He belonged to Kashmir Shaivism school, some said that He descended from Nagloka, etc. Yet, all such categorisations—while perhaps meaningful to those bound by intellectual inquiry—fail to capture the immensity and transcendence that was Bhagavan Nityananda. He was not a personality to be defined or confined by lineage, dogma, or historical detail. Bhagavan lived in a state far beyond the grasp of duality. He saw no distinction between Guru and disciple, high and low, man and woman, race or religion. To Him, all that exists—seen or unseen—was but a manifestation of the One Eternal Essence: Brahman.

Bhagavan’s vision was not limited to the temporal or the individual. His gaze pierced through the veil of appearances into the undivided unity of all existence. In His presence, the separateness that people cling to—of name, form, caste, creed, and identity—simply dissolved. For such a one, where is the scope for entertaining ideas of superiority or inferiority? For Him, there was no other. There was only That, the indivisible Reality, expressing itself as all.

Such speculations and stories, though fascinating, belong to the realm of the mind. They are natural for those who seek to understand the Infinite through finite frameworks. But Bhagavan Nityananda was ekameva advitiyam—the One without a second. He was not bound by the laws of cause and effect, nor by the traditions of succession or inheritance. His appearance on this Earth was a divine mystery, a luminous descent of the Absolute into form—Nitya (eternal), and Ananda (bliss)—not to fit into history, but to awaken the hearts of those ready to transcend it.

To try and place Bhagavan within definitions is like trying to bind the sky in a box. He was, and is, unique—sui generis, unmatched and standalone. To truly understand Him is not to debate His origins, but to surrender to the inner silence where He perpetually abides..

Avadhoota

During His time in Mumbai, Bhagavan Nityananda lived near the Kurla Pipeline, an area surrounded by salt pans. My father, Raghunath Shenoy, would often visit Him in the afternoons, bringing lunch. Bhagavan, however, had a unique preference—He did not like food being carried in containers. My father would wrap the meal in a newspaper, tuck it into his jacket along with two cheroots, and set off. It wasn’t guaranteed that Bhagavan would accept the food, though. Sometimes, He wouldn’t eat at all. Only when Bhagavan asked for it did my father offer the meal. Otherwise, the packet would return home, untouched. After lunch, Bhagavan would occasionally ask for a smoke, at which point my father would hand Him the cheroots. Though Bhagavan smoked at times, it wasn’t a regular habit.

Along the Kurla pipeline, there was a makeshift manch, a platform built with bamboo sticks and dry grass, similar to those used by hunters in the jungle. Bhagavan was often found resting there. One particular day, however, He was absent. My father searched and eventually found Bhagavan sitting under a tree with low-hanging branches. After exchanging pleasantries, Bhagavan suddenly asked my father, “Do you know what an Avadhoota is?” The question startled my father, as it came out of nowhere. After collecting his thoughts, he answered humbly, “I know only You, my Deva.”

In response, Bhagavan plucked a green leaf from one of the low branches. Pointing to the white latex that oozed from the tip of the leaf, He showed my father the spot where the leaf had detached. Bhagavan then placed the leaf back onto the branch, at the exact spot where it had been plucked. To my father’s amazement, the leaf reattached and became whole again, as if it had never been removed. In this simple yet profound act, Bhagavan revealed the true nature of an Avadhoota. It is said that a deity may possess the power to create, preserve, or destroy, but rarely all three. For example, Brahma creates, Vishnu sustains, and Shiva destroys. However, Lord Dattatreya, the first Guru and an embodiment of all three, possesses the powers of creation, preservation, and destruction. This is symbolised by His three heads, representing Brahma, Vishnu, and Mahesh.

Bhagavan demonstrated this triune power on multiple occasions. Indu Tai and her sister*, both young girls at the time, once witnessed a remarkable display. While standing near Bhagavan, they saw a large fly land on a cushion beside Him. Bhagavan caught the fly, then, to their horror, dismembered it—separating its head, wings, and legs, and spreading them across the cushion. The girls were in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening. Bhagavan chuckled, waved His index finger in a circular motion over the dismembered insect, all while chanting a mysterious tune. Before their eyes, the pieces of the fly began to move and reassemble. Within moments, the fly was whole again. It quivered, as if life had returned to it, and flew away. The girls stood in stunned silence, unable to grasp the miraculous event they had just witnessed.

*Indutai shares her experiences

These were not isolated incidents. Bhagavan extended the life of Shri Sitaram Shenoy by ten years and even revived the lifeless child of Shri Madhav Hegde (Mr Engineer Hegde). Time and again, Bhagavan demonstrated His power as an Avadhoota, transcending the boundaries of creation, preservation, and destruction.

Indeed, Bhagavan Nityananda was not just an Avadhoota—He was far beyond such descriptions.

Standalone

Bhagavan was asked about His Guru and Parampara. Bhagavan said, “‘This One’ has no Guru, no disciples. Does not follow any religion or school of thought, or philosophy. There is no caste, religion, gender, race, sect or colour. Not committed to any Math (abbot or lineage)”.

Several devotees who approached Astrologers, Nadi Shastri, Chaya Shastri, and others who could see the past and present were surprised to find that at times these professionals could describe to the devotees the nature and prowess of their Guru. In 1980, I had met Captain Hatangdi in a Convention hosted by Shri M. R. Sinha for the release of the Sanskrit version of Chidakasha Gita in sutra form as Nityasutrani. In his talk, Captain described his own experience wherein a Nadi Shastri described Bhagavan Nityananda as:

1. Darshan of such a Guru is durlabha (rare). He is Kevala Paramatma Avatar, Parama Sakshatkar of Paramatma, Mahayogi, Samartha Ishwar Avatar, Avadhut Purusha, Datta, Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma all in one as Parabrahama.
2. Nothing is known about his birth, nor about his age, fond of Annadan. Goddess Annapurna is always at his beck and call.
3. Always in Samadhi, sometimes talks, is in direct communication with the Supreme.
4. He is ajhanbhahu, a striking personality, naked sometimes wearing only a loincloth. e. Poorna, Sampoorna, Paripoorna, Samartha Avatar Purusha who controls Brahaman and Maya. Captain Hatangdi talked for several hours; I could pick up a few of what he said. I am sharing only part of it to give a gist of what he shared..

Bhagavan Nityananda appeared in various forms depending upon the expectations of the devotees. He used to often say “Bhav Taisa Dev”, meaning God is as per the intense expectations of the devotee!

Shivswaroop

As Shiva — Grace Bestowed upon Shri Mangalore Sanjeeva Kamath

Shree Bhimeshwar, Ganeshpuri, where Bhagavan revealed that He is Shivswaroop

Shri Mangalore Sanjeeva Kamath was the devoted son of Smt. Saraswatibai Kamath, a close disciple of the great saint Shree Tulas Amma, who herself was among the earliest and most intimate devotees of Bhagavan Nityananda. Raised in a household steeped in devotion and the teachings of Chidakasha Geeta, Shri Kamath lived a life quietly woven with grace, humility, and a deep spiritual lineage.

One auspicious Maha Shivratri, Shri Kamath found himself in Ganeshpuri, the sacred abode of Bhagavan. As was the custom on that holy night, the early hours saw devotees bathing in the Kunda, performing abhishek at the ancient Bhimeshwar Shiva temple, and then taking darshan of Bhagavan. Shri Kamath, too, followed this sacred routine.

After his bath in the Kunda, he stepped into the Bhimeshwar temple, still immersed in the pre-dawn hush. As he entered the sanctum, dimly lit and reverberating with the timeless presence of Shiva, he was stunned to see Bhagavan Nityananda already there, standing next to the Shiva Linga in the shadows. Bhagavan looked straight at Shri Kamath, his eyes glinting with an eternal fire, and in a voice that shook the very core of the temple, he declared, “What Shankar?” In that moment, he placed his right foot directly upon the Linga, unequivocally revealing: He Himself was Shiva.

Such moments are not to be reasoned with; they are to be received in stillness, as revelations. For Shri Kamath, this was not merely a vision—it was a transmission. An unforgettable experience of Bhagavan’s true nature: not as a saint or mystic alone, but as Mahadeva, the Supreme One, manifest in human form.

Another incident further illustrates the subtle ways in which Bhagavan’s grace flowed toward Shri Kamath. On one of his visits to Ganeshpuri, Shri Kamath stood among the crowd of devotees waiting for darshan. Bhagavan, seated on His favourite chair, appeared deep in silence, eyes closed. But suddenly, as if awakened by some inner call, Bhagavan picked up a banana from beside Him and hurled it into the crowd. The fruit sailed through the sea of devotees and landed precisely on Shri Kamath. A silent but unmistakable mark of grace.

Beyond these divine encounters, Shri Kamath rendered immense service to the spiritual world in ways known only to a few. An accomplished banker by profession, he was fluent in both Kannada and English. With quiet devotion, he undertook the first English translation of Chidakasha Geeta from its original Kannada. In keeping with the humility of the era—and in the tradition followed by Tulas Amma herself, who never inscribed her own name on the original compilation—Shri Kamath did not seek credit or place his name on the translated work. It was pure seva, a sacred offering to the Guru.

This was not a solitary act. His mother, Smt. Saraswatibai Kamath also composed a Kannada commentary on the Chidakasha Geeta, reflecting what she had learned firsthand from Tulas Amma. Thus, the Kamath family preserved and transmitted the subtle teachings of the Avadhoota through quiet scholarship, deep reverence, and unwavering loyalty to Bhagavan.

Shri Sanjeeva Kamath was not only our spiritual elder but also our neighbour, living just above our flat in Mahim. He would frequently visit our home to spend time with my father, himself a long-standing devotee of Bhagavan. His visits were never casual; they carried the weight of memory, reflection, and the silent transmission of grace.

A year before his passing, Shri Kamath shared a longing that had remained with him for years — the wish to participate in the Guru Purnima abhishek at Ganeshpuri, held at 4 a.m., when the sanctum sanctorum of the Samadhi Mandir is bathed in sacred offerings before dawn. He desired specifically to perform tender coconut abhishek to Bhagavan’s Samadhi — a gesture of love, rare and intimate.

Despite the restrictions that naturally accompany such deeply private rituals, Bhagavan arranged it all. With quiet intervention and inner guidance, I was able to escort Shri Kamath into the sanctum sanctorum, and his offering was accepted. It was not just a fulfilment of a personal wish — it was the Sadguru answering a silent prayer, one that had matured with time and faith.

Bhagavan cares. Bhagavan loves.

These are not mere words; they are the lived truths of those who have walked under the shade of His boundless grace. In Shri Kamath’s life — in his humility, service, longing, and final fulfilment — we glimpse the way the Guru silently, lovingly, shapes every step of the disciple’s path, beyond the reach of worldly recognition.

Such was our Bhagavan — beyond form, beyond mind — as Shiva Himself.

Mahakal & Bhadrakali

Shree Kailash Bhadrakali and Shree Mahakaal

Elsewhere, I have shared the divine story of how Shree Bhadrakali came to Ganeshpuri — not by coincidence, but by an act of cosmic will.

When Bhagavan Nityananda left Gokarna, journeying toward his destined abode in Ganeshpuri, Bhadrakali, the fierce yet motherly aspect of Shakti, followed Him. She was not just a celestial force trailing behind a sage — she was Devi Herself, drawn irrevocably to the One she recognised as Mahakal — the Supreme Form of Shiva beyond time and death.

Upon arriving in Ganeshpuri, Bhadrakali demanded a Sthana, a sacred space to reside, so she could forever remain in His presence. Bhagavan acknowledged her yearning. He instructed Shree Hingwala, a devotee from Ghatkopar, Mumbai, to construct a shrine for her at the edge of the village. It is here that the first manifestation of her statue, sculpted upon the wall, was created. That original form still exists, standing silently behind the present idol as a witness of origins, holding the memory of that momentous arrival. Later, a more prominent, standing idol of Bhadrakali was installed, honouring her presence more formally.

The Arrival of Shree Bhadrakali Devi in Ganeshpuri

According to Shree Captain Hatangdi, the very fact that Bhadrakali followed Bhagavan and demanded proximity reveals a profound spiritual truth — that Bhagavan Nityananda was none other than Mahakalswaroop, the cosmic form of Mahakal, the aspect of Shiva who is the Lord of Time, the Dissolver, and the Controller of Karma and Destiny. Bhadrakali, the consort of Mahakal, naturally sought her eternal place by His side. What unfolded in Ganeshpuri was not merely an episode in divine play — it was the meeting of Purusha and Prakriti, of Time and Power, of Stillness and Shakti.

Even today, every Thursday evening, this divine relationship is reenacted in a mystic tradition alive with energy and grace. Bhagavan, seated in a palanquin, is taken in procession as Mahakal to the shrine of Bhadrakali. When the palanquin arrives, Bhadrakali Herself emerges — a symbolic act representing the Divine Feminine receiving Her Lord. She washes His Feet, offers milk and sweets, and performs His arthi. Devotees present during this ritual often speak of a sudden hush, a stillness in the air, even as the sky turns a deep ochre, birds circle, and the sun bows down for the day. This meeting of Mahakal and Bhadrakali is not merely symbolic — it is an event soaked in Shakti, where Time momentarily dissolves into Eternity.

It is important to note that Bhagavan didn’t stop at the union of Shiva and Shakti. He brought into the fold Lord Krishna, another supreme aspect of the Divine. Just behind where Bhagavan lived in the Vaikuntha Ashram, He installed a beautiful idol of Shree Krishna — the Lord of Love, Play, and Divine Wisdom. That very statue today stands directly behind Bhagavan’s Samadhi Mandir, exactly at the height where His body was interred — a hidden yet profound statement of Oneness. For those who know, Krishna and Kali are not two — they are One, polar manifestations of the same Supreme Consciousness. Where Kali represents the fierce dissolution of illusion, Krishna represents the playful weaving of Maya. One destroys ignorance through fire, the other through love — yet both lead to the same Truth.

Bhagavan’s choice to name His Ashram Vaikuntha — the eternal abode of Vishnu — and to install Krishna, the beloved Avatar of Vishnu, beside Bhadrakali, the Shakti of Shiva, reveals the fullness of His being. It is here in Ganeshpuri that Shiva, Shakti, and Vishnu converge — in Bhagavan Nityananda’s leela, these distinctions dissolve. This divine confluence speaks of His Ultimate Swaroopa, beyond sectarian divisions — a Purna Avatara, a perfect embodiment of the Supreme.

Through the presence of Bhadrakali, Shree Krishna, and His own radiance, Bhagavan revealed to the world the totality of Divinity — not as separate deities or powers, but as One living presence. Ganeshpuri thus became not just a tirtha, but a cosmic centre, a Yantra of the Divine, where Mahakal plays, Kali watches, and Krishna smiles — all in the stillness that is Nityananda.

As Lord Vitthal

Smt Manorama Shenoy saw Him as Lord Vitthal

Bhagavan Nityananda as Shree Vitthala: When Pandharpur Came to Ganeshpuri

Among the many miracles and divine leelas witnessed at Ganeshpuri, a recurring theme stood out—devotees from various spiritual backgrounds experienced their Ishta Devata (chosen deity) in the form of Bhagavan Nityananda. For some, he was Shiva incarnate; for others, he was the silent embodiment of the formless Absolute. Yet, for a few Vaishnav devotees, Bhagavan revealed himself as none other than Shree Vitthala of Pandharpur, the beloved dark-hued Lord of Bhakti.

Manorama Shenoy’s Darshan of Ganeshpuri Vitthala

Manorama Shenoy was a simple and devout soul working in a cigarette factory in Andheri East, Mumbai. Though her livelihood was tied to the factory, she herself had no attachment to its product. In a gesture of goodwill, she would gift the free cigarette packets she received to attendants at the Ganeshpuri Ashram. Amused by this unusual offering, the attendants affectionately began calling her “Chigarettewali Bai”. Bhagavan himself would chuckle at the nickname, amused by her innocence and sincerity.

Her visits to Ganeshpuri became a regular part of her life, especially on weekends. Like many Vaishnavs of her Konkani GSB community, she held a deep longing to visit Pandharpur and have darshan of Shree Vitthala, the deity standing eternally with hands on hips, waiting for his devotees.

One day, filled with yearning, she sought Bhagavan’s permission to undertake this sacred pilgrimage. To her surprise, Bhagavan gently replied,
“Why go there? When Everything is here, why go to Pandharpur?”

His words felt like a gentle rebuke. She was disappointed—why would Bhagavan deny such a sacred desire? She returned later that evening for darshan, nursing a quiet sadness in her heart. And then, grace descended.

As she looked upon Bhagavan, his form shimmered and transformed before her inner vision into that of Shree Vitthala—the very Lord she had wished to see in Pandharpur. Standing with arms akimbo, crowned, adorned in yellow silk and tulsi garlands, He radiated the same divinity sung of by saints like Tukaram and Namdev. Overwhelmed, tears streaming, Manorama fell at His Lotus Feet.

Her heart burst forth in song. That very moment, she composed a heartfelt Aarti:

“Ganeshpuricha Raja tula Drishta Lagali,
Ovalite re Deva Tula Bhakta Mandali”*

“O King of Ganeshpuri, my eyes have beheld Thee,
The circle of devotees now waves the Arati for Thee!”

In that sacred moment, Ganeshpuri itself became Pandharpur, and Bhagavan the Vitthala of her soul.

Sanjeevi Prabhu’s Test of Bhakti

Another devotee, Sanjeevi Prabhu, also hailed from the same Konkani Goud Saraswat Brahmin community. As a Vaishnava, she too cherished the desire to make a pilgrimage to Pandharpur. With great enthusiasm, she planned the entire trip, aligning the itinerary with auspicious dates and preparing for the holy darshan of the Murti that stood upon the brick, ever waiting for his devotees.

But on the very morning of her departure, life took a turn. A group of unexpected visitors arrived at her doorstep. Cultural and spiritual tradition forbade her from leaving guests unattended—Atithi Devo Bhava (the guest is God). Her carefully laid plans crumbled.

Disheartened, she went about her duties, but inwardly mourned the missed opportunity. That night, as she lay down with a heavy heart, Bhagavan appeared standing with both His hands resting on His hips like Shree Vitthal to her in a dream, radiating compassion. He said:

“Seva to your guests is worship of Shree Vitthala.
Serving those who come to you with love is higher than any pilgrimage. “Here” is Pandhapur, ‘Here’ is Pandhapur.”

The clarity of that dream shook her awake, not with sorrow but with divine understanding. In that moment, her service transformed from a worldly duty into an act of sacred Bhakti. Her home became a temple, Bhagavan with His arms resting on His hips became Shree Vitthal,  service to her guests became service to the Lord, and her heart became Pandharpur.

The Inner Vitthala

These two stories are not isolated miracles but point to a deeper truth: that the Supreme Lord, whether known as Vitthala, Shiva, or the formless Brahman, dwells where love, surrender, and service reside. Bhagavan Nityananda, with no formal sermon or scripture, taught his devotees to see beyond the outer forms and recognise the One Presence behind all names and places.

For Manorama, the Lord manifested directly before her eyes.
For Shanjeevi, He came in a vision to transform her disappointment into realisation.
For both, Ganeshpuri became Pandharpur, and Bhagavan the eternal Lord of Bhakti.

As Bhagavan often said, “Everything is Here”. When the heart is pure and longing is deep, the Lord comes not from afar but blossoms from within.

*This aarti is recorded on YouTube by Shri Nandu Guruji of Ganeshpuri:

Bhagavan as Narayana, Lord Rama, Harihara, Narayana.

The devotees experienced Bhagavan Nityananda not only as a realised being but as the very embodiment of Shree Mahavishnu—whether as Narayana, Rama, Vitthala, or as the formless Satyanarayana. These incidents show the intimate, spontaneous way in which Bhagavan responded to the bhakti of his devotees, revealing his identity subtly yet unmistakably.

Let us elaborate and structure these vivid experiences as a flowing narrative that captures the essence of these divine manifestations:

The experiences of devotees like Smt. Manorama Shenoy, Smt. Sanjeevi Prabhu and Shri Madhav Kamath reflect how Bhagavan Nityananda would often reveal his divinity in the most unexpected ways—embodying Narayana, the preserver of the universe, or assuming forms and moods evocative of Lord Rama, Vitthala, and even the sacred presence of the Himalayan deities Badri and Kedar.

The Satyanarayana Pooja Vision – Darshan of Narayana

Smt. Manorama Shenoy‘s simple wish to conduct a Satyanarayana Pooja at home turned into a profound moment of divine revelation. For her, Satyanarayana was not just a ritual; it was an offering to Bhagavan Himself, whom she revered as Narayana. When she invited Bhagavan to preside over the pooja, He gave His usual approving ‘humkara’—a sound that, to those attuned to Him, conveyed boundless meaning.

On the pooja day, as she returned from the market, her sister-in-law stood shocked near the decorated Chauranga. There, clearly imprinted in ash, were two large footprints—not of an ordinary man, but unmistakably those of her Guru, her Narayana. These were not marks of turmeric or vermilion, the usual symbols of divine presence in ritual, but ash—the symbol of detachment and renunciation—the very nature of Bhagavan. For Manorama, Bhagavan did not just attend the pooja—He became the deity, accepting her love with silent grace.

“Whose Prasad and for whom?” – The Omnipresent Satyanarayana

Another GSB devotee who had completed a Satyanarayana Pooja came to Ganeshpuri late at night, holding the sacred Sapath Prasad. He offered it to Bhagavan, saying, “Deva, please take the Satyanarayana Pooja Prasad.” Bhagavan’s cryptic and soul-shaking reply was:
“Whose Prasad and for whom?”

This seemingly simple question jolted the devotee into realisation—what he considered as a separate deity in ritual was none other than the living embodiment before him. Bhagavan was the Satyanarayana, not outside, not apart—but present before his very eyes.

Bhadrinath, Kedarnath, and the Test of Recognition

Shri Madhav Kamath,  an attendant to Smt. Susheela Prabhu’s family once sought permission from Bhagavan to undertake a pilgrimage to Bhadrinath and Kedarnath—sacred abodes of Lord Vishnu and Shiva. Bhagavan, however, responded with a truth that only the wise can truly grasp:

“Why go to Bhadrinath or Kedarnath? Everything is at the Feet of the Sadguru.”

Madhav, determined to complete his pilgrimage, went anyway. There in the icy terrain of the Himalayas, a persistent beggar with an annoying voice followed him, asking for alms in a rough tone.

Irritated, Madhav threw a few coins at him. But when he entered the Bhadrinath temple, he was stunned—Bhagavan Nityananda Himself sat there in place of the deity! A moment of silence, then surrender, overtook him.

Upon returning to Ganeshpuri, Bhagavan welcomed him with a shocking surprise—He began singing the same irritating song, and then tossed the same coins back at Madhav. The realisation broke Madhav open—the beggar was Bhagavan! The Supreme Narayana had come all the way to Bhadrinath not to receive devotion, but to teach humility and the recognition of the Divine in all forms.

Every Thursday – The Divine Leela of Rama and Hanuman

Ganeshpuri reverberates with mystic energy, and every Thursday, the sacred palanquin of Bhagavan is taken around the village. First, the procession stops at Goddess Bhadrakali, the fierce yet benevolent Shakti who receives Bhagavan as the Mahakal—the great Lord of Time. Then, as dusk falls and the sky turns ochre-golden, like Hanuman’s aura, the palanquin arrives at the Shree Shaligram Swami Samadhi shrine.

Shree Shaligram Swami, a devotee of Bhagavan Nityananda, revered his Sadguru as Shree Ram—the embodiment of Maryada Purushottam, the Supreme Being who lived as the ideal human. With deep conviction and unshakable faith, he referred to Bhagavan as “Ek Rama”—the One Rama. This was not a mere poetic expression or symbolic reference; it was a profound recognition of Bhagavan’s essence, as seen through the lens of a devotee who had realised the divine in human form.

But to call one’s Guru “Rama” is no small matter. It carries with it an immense spiritual responsibility. Rama is not merely a name—it is a path, a principle, a vow.

Rama lived as a king, a husband, a brother, a disciple, a warrior, and yet in all these roles, he remained unwavering in his commitment to Dharma—right action governed by truth, restraint, and compassion. He embodied integrity in its most luminous form, even when it demanded sacrifice, hardship, or personal sorrow. Never did he compromise his principles for the sake of convenience or gain. His life was a perfect balance of inner spiritual steadfastness and outer righteous conduct.

To be a devotee of Rama, therefore, is not just to worship Him or chant His name. It is to walk the path He walked—to uphold truth, duty, and discipline in every aspect of life. It is to practice humility, loyalty, courage, and inner purity. It is to become worthy of Rama’s grace by striving to reflect even a fraction of His virtues in one’s daily actions.

By recognising his Guru, Bhagavan Nityananda, as “Ek Rama”, Shree Shaligram Swami did something extraordinary. He set the bar for discipleship. He declared, in essence:
“If my Guru is Rama, then I must be Hanuman.”

And who is Hanuman? The supreme devotee. The one-pointed servant. The embodiment of strength in humility, power in surrender, and intelligence in devotion. Hanuman’s greatness lies not in his abilities alone, but in his absolute loyalty, his unquestioning obedience, and his constant remembrance of Rama in thought, word, and deed.

Thus, in calling Bhagavan Nityananda “Ek Rama,” Shree Shaligram Swami invited all who walked the path of devotion to rise to that standard—not through blind belief, but through living example. To see the Guru as Rama is not just a matter of the heart, but of life itself. It is a commitment to transform, to live with integrity, to become inwardly aligned with truth.

For such a disciple, worship is not a ritual—it is a way of being.
And the ultimate offering to the Guru who is Rama, is the disciple who becomes Hanuman.

This meeting of Bhagavan with Shaligram Swami on every Thursday is more than ceremonial—it is the union of Rama and Hanuman, Deva and Bhakta. The elements themselves participate—the glowing sky, the rustling leaves, the still air—all bearing witness to this moment of divine communion. Devotees gather, and with trembling voices and misty eyes, conduct Namsamkirtan.
One cannot help but feel:
“This is Rama, and his most ardent Bhakta has come to bow before Him again.”

The Lord Who Comes in Many Forms

To some, He came as Narayana, to others as Vitthala, as Rama, as the beggar, or as footprints in ash. Through these divine leelas, Bhagavan Nityananda revealed the deepest truth of Vedanta:

“The Lord is not somewhere far. The Lord is the very Sadguru, the very Atman, here and now.”

Bhagavan often said, “Bhav Taisa Dev”—as is your feeling, so is your God. In the sacred Leelas I have shared, we witness the profound meeting point of devotion and realisation, where ritual transcends form and reveals the living Truth.

Through His silence, His presence, and His divine play, Bhagavan did not merely teach worship—He awakened recognition. He guided us to see the Divine not just in the sanctum, but everywhere: in the Guru, in the guest, in the beggar, in the sky, and ultimately, in the Self.

Bhagavan as Guruganesha: A Leela of Divine Assurance

Among the countless leelas of Bhagavan Nityananda, there exists a sublime episode that reveals His oneness with Lord Ganesha and Shree Dattatreya—a moment where faith, devotion, and divine grace intersected most mystically.

A young couple, ardent devotees of Bhagavan, had nurtured a deep and personal tradition over the years. Every Ganesh Chaturthi, they would bring home a clay idol of Lord Ganesha, following all the traditional rituals with love and reverence. Yet, what made their celebration uniquely blessed was their custom of first visiting Ganeshpuri to seek Bhagavan Nityananda’s blessing before installing the Ganesha idol in their home. His silent gaze, His mere darshan, was to them the real sanctification of the festival.

But in 1961, destiny shifted the form but not the presence.

Bhagavan Nityananda took Mahasamadhi on 8th August 1961. Still holding to their sacred routine, the couple made the pilgrimage to Ganeshpuri in the second week of September—this time, not with the joy of receiving Bhagavan’s darshan, but with hearts burdened by His physical absence. At Kailash Ashram, they stood in front of the chair where Bhagavan once sat, tears welling in their eyes, feeling the void left by the departure of their living Guru. The chair was there, but the Saguna Roopa—the embodied form of grace—was no longer seated upon it.

They returned home, hearts heavy, preparing for Ganesh Chaturthi without the familiar comfort of His blessing.

Then came the night of 13th September, a turning point soaked in divine mystery.

The husband had a vivid dream. In it, Bhagavan Nityananda appeared—not in His usual form, but with the body of Lord Ganesha and the head of Shree Dattatreya, radiant and resplendent. In the dream, Bhagavan lovingly declared:

“I am coming to your house tomorrow.”

Awakening with awe and joy, he shared the dream with his wife. That very day, 14th September 1961, was Ganesh Chaturthi.

Overflowing with joy, the couple prepared every item Bhagavan loved for the festival: rice, sambhar, papad, and other simple, soul-nourishing offerings. Their anticipation was mingled with reverence. Every moment felt like a heartbeat awaiting His arrival. They engaged a priest for the Pranapratishta (installation ritual) of the Ganesha moorti. Yet their minds remained alert, constantly turning toward the door. “Will He come?” they wondered with innocent longing.

Hours passed. There was no knock. No visible form of Bhagavan appeared.

As the priest performed the central rite of invoking life into the idol—Pranapratishta—something unexpected occurred. The priest suddenly paused, as if gripped by a revelation. Then, with a spontaneous clarity, he exclaimed:

“Ah! It is Thursday today. Your Ganapati is Guruganesha!”

Those words struck like a bell in their hearts. Indeed, 14th September 1961 was a Thursday, the day traditionally sacred to Shree Dattatreya, the Supreme Guru. And here was Ganesha, installed not as a separate deity, but as the very form Bhagavan had revealed in the dream—a mysterious fusion of Guru, Ganesha, and Datta.

Tears flowed once again, not of grief but of gratitude. In that moment, they knew Bhagavan had fulfilled His promise. He had come—not in the way the senses demanded, but in the way the soul could receive.

That year, their Ganesh Chaturthi became a Mahotsav—a festival not only of Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, but of Bhagavan Nityananda Himself, now known to them as Shree Guruganesha. Aarti was offered a new bhava—an inner vision of unity between Ganapati’s benevolence, Datta’s wisdom, and the Guru’s grace.

They offered Naivedya not merely to an idol but to their Beloved—rice, sambhar, papad, and all that Bhagavan had once enjoyed in Ganeshpuri, now sanctified in their own kitchen.

From that day on, they never doubted: Bhagavan Nityananda was, and is, Guruganesha—the remover of obstacles, the bestower of wisdom, the eternal presence that lives beyond form and time.

 

Subramanium

Bhagavan Nityananda manifested the divine essence of Lord Subramanium (Murugan/Kartikeya) through a leela (divine play) at the Palani Subramanya Temple, one of the holiest shrines in South India. It is an illustration not just of miraculous power, but of Bhagavan’s compassion for wandering ascetics and his hidden identity as Avadhuta, one who is beyond form, ritual, and ego.

One day, a sadhu—unassuming in appearance but radiant in presence—arrived at the Palani temple just as the priest had concluded the day’s rituals and was locking the sanctum. The sadhu, calmly and directly, asked for darshan of Lord Subramanya.

The priest, bound by routine and protocol, said, “It is time for the temple to close. Come again in the evening.” He left, unaware that the one who stood before him was Bhagavan Nityananda, who needed no keys, no ceremonies, and no permissions to access the divine, because He was one with the Divine.

No sooner had the priest departed than the temple suddenly erupted with the divine sounds of bells and chaughada (ritual drums)—sounds that typically accompany active worship or divine descent. But the temple had been locked.

Startled and awed, the priest rushed back, as did many others. What they saw shook them to the core of their faith and transformed many lives: inside the locked temple, the sacred instruments were playing on their own, and outside stood the sadhu, Bhagavan Nityananda, perfectly still, balanced on one leg—a classic yogic posture associated with great tapas (austerity) and control over the elements.

The Darshan of Subramanium

In that moment, it was clear to all who witnessed this spectacle that this was no ordinary sadhu. The divine had come in human form—Bhagavan had revealed himself as Subramanium, the very deity of the temple.

This was not mimicry or possession, but the Swarupa (true nature) of the Lord shining through Bhagavan’s form. He did not “act as” Subramanium; rather, Subramanium was seen through Bhagavan. The boundaries between devotee and deity dissolved.

People gathered in hundreds, instinctively falling at his feet, offering full prostrations, and placing money before him, not out of custom, but because their hearts knew they were in the presence of Ishwara in human form.

True to his Avadhuta nature, Bhagavan accepted nothing for himself. All the money offered at his feet was handed over to the local monastery (math). He gave only one instruction:

“Serve all visiting sadhus ganji (rice porridge) free of cost.”

This gesture reflects Bhagavan’s divine compassion and humility. He, who had just revealed himself as none other than Lord Subramanium, asked for no temple, no recognition, no title. His only desire was that those walking the path of renunciation should not go hungry.

This leela, therefore, is not just a tale of miracles—it’s a profound teaching on divine presence, humility, and service. Bhagavan showed that:

• The Lord is not locked behind doors—He walks the earth in the form of the sadhu.

• True darshan is not restricted by ritual or time—it happens when the heart is ready.

• A Jnani (realised being) does not seek anything for himself, but gives endlessly.

• Divine manifestations are meant to awaken compassion, not just wonder.

Thus,

This appearance at Palani is one of the countless silent testimonies to Bhagavan Nityananda’s true identity as a formless, timeless embodiment of the Supreme. While he rarely revealed himself outwardly, this incident was a rare moment when the veils were drawn aside.

He appeared as Subramanium, not to demonstrate power, but to uphold dharma—to ensure that those on the path are cared for. In doing so, he reminded the world that God often stands at our doorstep in the humblest form, asking nothing, giving everything.

As Hanuman

Two profound incidents—one witnessed by Gangubai in Ganeshpuri and the other by the young tailor in Mulki—reveal Bhagavan Nityananda’s transcendental nature and his deep inner connection with the divine archetypes of Rama and Hanuman, especially his embodiment of their oneness in eternal Leela. These were not mere visions or illusions; they were darshans of truth — moments where the fabric of reality parted, and devotees caught a glimpse of Bhagavan’s cosmic identity.

The Vision of Hanuman – Gangubai’s Revelation

Gangubai and her husband were among the earliest residents of Ganeshpuri to serve Bhagavan Nityananda. When Bhagavan was offered a hut next to theirs near Bhimeshwar temple, they took it upon themselves to care for him, feeding and attending to his simple needs. Though they served him with devotion, Gangubai’s faith had not fully ripened into realisation—her mind could not yet grasp that the silent, wandering Avadhuta in loincloth was divinity incarnate.

One night, as she walked outside carrying a lantern, she noticed a tall figure looming in the dark. Startled, she raised her gaze—and what she saw shook her to the core. It was Bhagavan, but he wasn’t in his usual human form. He had transformed into Hanuman, the colossal, divine vanara of the Ramayana. His form kept expanding—taller and taller—until Gangubai had to lean back precariously just to see His face. She was nearly thrown off balance by the overwhelming force of the vision.

This wasn’t just an apparition. Bhagavan revealed to her his true form—not metaphorically, but actually. The transformation was an inner awakening for her. The veil of doubt dropped. She now knew that the one she was serving was none other than Mahaveer Hanuman himself—the embodiment of seva, shakti, and bhakti. From that day, her service turned into worship.

The Mulki Incident – Bhagavan as Rama, Meeting Hanuman

This second episode occurred much earlier in Bhagavan’s life, in the coastal town of Mulki, near Mangalore. At the time, Bhagavan often stayed at a village tailor’s shop, who revered him deeply. The tailor noticed that every night, Bhagavan would quietly disappear into the nearby forest. His curiosity overcame him. One night, determined to uncover this mystery, he followed Bhagavan deep into the woods.

What he witnessed stunned him beyond comprehension.

In a clearing in the forest, under the moonlight, Bhagavan was standing and speaking—not to a man, but to a giant monkey. But this was no ordinary creature. The monkey stood upright, with folded hands, head bowed, his posture one of reverence and surrender. And more astonishing: Bhagavan was not speaking to him as a sadhu, but as Shree Ram himself.

It was as if time had folded in upon itself, and the ancient bond of Rama and Hanuman was playing out before the tailor’s very eyes.

The sight was too much. The tailor fled in panic. The next morning, he was found with a high fever, muttering in delirium, “Rama and Hanuman… so large… so terrifying… so divine.”

When Bhagavan visited him the next day, he did not chastise, but calmly warned:

“Do not speak of what you saw—not even to your wife.”
Such visions are not for casual retelling. They are not entertainment, but sacred revelations meant for transformation, not gossip.

Thus,

These events are far more than miraculous tales—they are teachings encoded in divine play (Leela).

In Gangubai’s case:

• Bhagavan revealed himself as Hanuman, the eternal servant of the Lord, the symbol of unwavering faith, humility, and strength.

• This marked a shift in her spiritual awareness, from outer service to inner devotion. She had been serving a man—now she knew she was serving God.

In the tailor’s case:

• Bhagavan assumed the role of Shree Ram, conversing with Hanuman, who appeared in his subtle, cosmic form.

• It was a reenactment of timeless spiritual truth—Bhagavan was showing that he exists simultaneously as the servant (Hanuman) and the Lord (Rama).

• The tailor, being unprepared, was overwhelmed. But he was blessed nonetheless with a glimpse of Bhagavan’s cosmic identity.

Bhagavan Nityananda – Beyond Forms, Yet All Forms

These episodes affirm that Bhagavan Nityananda was not limited to any single role. He was the Avadhuta Purusha, beyond mind, body, name, and form. Yet he could manifest as any deity—Subramanium, Hanuman, Rama, or Shiva—for they were all but expressions of the same Supreme Consciousness he embodied.

Just as Hanuman is said to exist even today, forever in Seva of the Lord, so too does Bhagavan’s presence persist—silent, powerful, and compassionate—watching, blessing, and guiding all who approach him with sincerity.

The visit to Alandi

The deeply symbolic and spiritually charged episode of Bhagavan Nityananda’s final visit outside Ganeshpuri, to the Samadhi of Shree Dnyaneshwar Maharaj in Alandi, is far more than a mere travel anecdote. It reveals an inner mystic connection between two Purna Yogis, whose lives were vastly different in appearance but united in their eternal expression of Divine Consciousness.

The Final Journey — Alandi and the Meeting of Siddhas

Bhagavan Nityananda, who rarely left Ganeshpuri once he had settled there, undertook one final pilgrimage, accompanied by Shri A.S. Rao, a close and trusted devotee. This was no casual visit—it was, in every sense, a journey of spiritual convergence, as Bhagavan went to Alandi, the hallowed resting place of Shree Dnyaneshwar Maharaj, the 13th-century saint-poet and realised Jnani who entered Jeeva Samadhi at the young age of 21.

After a long train journey, Bhagavan and Shri Rao reached Alandi late at night and checked into a hotel. Shri Rao, being a disciple filled with reverence, was dismayed when Bhagavan insisted he sleep on the cot, while Bhagavan himself lay on the bare floor. No amount of persuasion would change Bhagavan’s mind. As always, Bhagavan’s actions were not based on comfort or ego, but purpose and principle. In his silence lay a teaching—the Guru is not the master, but the servant of truth.

The next morning, they walked to Shree Dnyaneshwar Maharaj’s Samadhi Mandir. Shri Rao entered the sanctum and engaged in the traditional pooja, offering flowers and reverent prayers. But Bhagavan, instead, stood silently and powerfully at each of the four corners of the Samadhi, pausing at each one with his arms crossed, gazing with an intensity that only a Siddha can understand. He neither chanted nor prayed outwardly. His very presence was the worship. His darshan was inner communion.

There was no need for words. One Siddha was acknowledging another. Bhagavan, himself beyond time and birth, was silently saluting a fellow eternal one. This was not a visit of homage, but a meeting of equals across the veil of time.

Immediately after, Bhagavan and Shri Rao returned to Ganeshpuri. From that moment till his Mahasamadhi, Bhagavan never again left Ganeshpuri. This journey marked the end of his external travelling in gross body.

The Significance — Spiritual Energy Exchange Across Lifetimes

To understand the deeper import, we must look at a parallel incident involving Shree Shaligram Swami, a direct disciple of Bhagavan Nityananda and a Siddha in his own right.

On one occasion, Shaligram Swami left his Ashram in Mahul and disappeared for several days. His devotee, Shri Keshav Apte, concerned at his absence, waited anxiously. Upon his return, Shaligram Swami revealed that he had travelled to visit the eight Samadhis of his past incarnations.

Shri Apte, mystified by the purpose, was given an important insight:

“Saints revisit their old Samadhis to re-energize them—so that even in this lifetime, their previous devotees can continue to receive grace.”

This is a profound spiritual principle. The Jeeva Samadhi of a realised saint is not merely a tomb—it is a living presence. Over time, due to the number of people visiting, the energy can dull or become diffused. When a Siddha revisits such a Samadhi, they infuse it once more with spiritual potency, ensuring that the current of grace continues unbroken for their devotees of previous births.

Similarly, when saints bathe in holy rivers, they do not require their own purification. Rather, it is to purify the waters, which are often rendered subtly impure by the sins of the countless pilgrims who bathe there with worldly desires. When a pure one steps into the waters, the river’s sanctity is restored. It is a mutual reinforcement of divinity.

Bhagavan’s Visit to Alandi — A Cosmic Reunion

Bhagavan Nityananda’s visit to Alandi becomes a silent, majestic act of spiritual reunion.

When Eternity Touches Eternity

The visit to Alandi wasn’t a journey—it was a celestial convergence. Bhagavan Nityananda and Shree Dnyaneshwar Maharaj are not two, but different waves of the same ocean of Parabrahman, manifesting to uplift humanity in their respective times. When one wave bowed to another in silence, the universe itself was offered a glimpse of the unspoken harmony among Siddhas.

It is said that when silence meets silence, there is thunder heard in the unseen realms. That was the moment when Bhagavan Nityananda stood at the corners of the Samadhi, arms crossed—not in resignation, but in eternal stillness and cosmic salute.

The SaptaRishi and Bhagavan Nityananda’s Divine Bath at the Kund

In the sacred stillness of Ganeshpuri’s pre-dawn hours, between 3 and 4 am, when most of the world slumbers and even nature seems to hold its breath, Bhagavan Nityananda would quietly make His way to the Bhimeshwar Kund. This was not just a ritual bath—it was a cosmic event hidden from ordinary sight, wrapped in silence, and guarded by divine ordinance. No devotee would dare approach the Kund at this hour. It was universally understood that only after Bhagavan’s bath concluded could anyone else take to the waters.

But as is often the case with divine Leelas, there are moments when the veil lifts just enough for a blessed few to catch a glimpse of the mystery. One such moment was granted to Shri Mahendrabhai Hingwala, then a young boy moved by innocent curiosity and deep devotion. One early morning, drawn perhaps by some divine prompting, he quietly followed Bhagavan as He made His way toward the Kund. Staying respectfully out of view, Mahendrabhai concealed himself behind the Bhimeshwar temple doorway, his breath hushed, waiting.

As he listened, his heart stirred with wonder. The sounds of bathing were unmistakable—but not from one person. It was as though multiple beings were in the Kund, their movements producing splashes, soft echoes, and sacred murmurs. Yet, he knew clearly that only Bhagavan had entered the Kund.

Driven by awe and reverence, Mahendrabhai peered around the doorway for a glimpse. What he saw would remain etched in his consciousness forever. Around the Kund were the small, distinct footprints of seven young beings—delicate, luminous, unmistakably divine.

Who were these seven?

In the scriptures, the SaptaRishis—the seven great seers—are said to be ever-present in guiding the Dharma of the universe. Though often associated with sages, their manifestations are not limited to one form. In this instance, the seven divine children at the Kund could well be the SaptaRishis in childlike form, or celestial beings representing the purest energies of the cosmos. Their presence, invisible to most, affirmed the truth that Bhagavan’s bath was not a mundane act, but a sacred confluence of worlds—human and celestial.

This mystical event was not isolated. Smt. Gulabi too had an astonishing vision: arriving at the Kund before the permitted hour, she once witnessed 64 Yogini Devis—celestial feminine powers—bathing Bhagavan with reverence and divine playfulness. The number 64 is no accident. In Tantric and Yogic traditions, the 64 Yoginis represent Shakti in her manifold forms, often associated with guardianship, transformation, and mystic rites. That they appeared to serve Bhagavan in this intimate ritual speaks volumes of His supreme spiritual stature, beyond human categories, an embodiment of cosmic unity.

When taken together, these two accounts—Mahendrabhai’s sighting of the SaptaRishi-like footprints and Gulabi’s vision of the Yoginis—reveal a consistent spiritual truth: Bhagavan Nityananda did not walk alone, even when He seemed alone. The very forces of the cosmos attended Him.

To the casual observer, Bhagavan may have seemed a yogi. But to the few blessed with vision, He was surrounded by hosts of rishis, devis, and devas, all moving in rhythm with the One beyond form and identity. His early morning bath was not for bodily cleansing but a ritual of cosmic alignment, where elements, energies, and beings from different lokas came together to serve and sanctify the Presence of the Eternal One.

The Governor’s Visit and the Revelation of Celestial Attendance

The divine stature of Bhagavan Nityananda was often hidden beneath a veil of simplicity and outward detachment. Yet, for those who approached with sincerity, the veil occasionally lifted, revealing glimpses of a grandeur not of this world. One such moment unfolded when Shri P.K. Kanamwar, the then Governor of Maharashtra, came to visit the Ashram at Ganeshpuri.

Governor Kanamwar was not an ordinary visitor. A man of power and position, seasoned in politics and public service, he had seen much of the world. Yet, the moment he sat in the radiant presence of Bhagavan Nityananda, something shifted. What he encountered was not a social reformer or a saint preaching sermons, but a living embodiment of boundless stillness and commanding silence, whose mere presence exuded the force of the infinite.

Moved by this quiet majesty, and recognising the profound work being done through Bhagavan—be it healing, upliftment of villagers, the construction of roads, or the spontaneous dispelling of suffering—the Governor, out of genuine goodwill, offered his support. With humble sincerity, he asked:

“Bhagavan, can I be of any help to You?”

Bhagavan, seated in silence, in loincloth as He often was, radiating the unshakable calm of the formless, looked at him and replied with words that stunned even the most sceptical hearts:

“Nothing is required ‘Here’. Everything is available Here.
The Devas, Gandharvas, Yakshas, Asuras and Ganas wait in attendance to serve ‘This One’.
There is only Abundance ‘Here’.”

In this brief response, Bhagavan revealed the hidden architecture of His existence. The ‘Here’ He referred to was not a geographical place—not Ganeshpuri, not the Ashram, not even India. It was the very heart of Divine Consciousness, the seat of the Supreme Being manifest on earth. In this ‘Here’, time dissolves, hierarchies vanish, and the material and celestial realms converge in unified servitude.

The implication was awe-inspiring:
Bhagavan Nityananda did not require assistance from worldly offices. The Devas, radiant beings of light; the Gandharvas, celestial musicians; the Yakshas, guardians of wealth; even the Asuras, often misunderstood as forces of ego and power; and the Ganas, attendants of Lord Shiva—all were already in attendance, awaiting His will.

This was not metaphor. Bhagavan was declaring His true identity:
He who had no name or identity was, in truth, the Supreme Commander of the subtle realms. His actions, however minimal they may have appeared outwardly—bathing in the Kund, sitting silently, uttering cryptic words—were all the movements of Ishwara in action, the Divine orchestrating cosmic balance through utter stillness.

For devotees, this confirmed what was already intuited in moments of darshan and inner transformation. The early morning bath attended by SaptaRishis and 64 Yoginis, the inexplicable miracles, the all-knowing gaze, and now these words to a Governor—all pointed to a truth long whispered among the faithful:
Bhagavan was not merely a saint.
He was the seat of the Universe.

When He said “Nothing is required Here,”
He wasn’t rejecting an offer of help.
He was declaring that all help had already arrived, long before the thought of assistance arose in any human mind.

Bhagavan Nityananda as Adinath: The Mahavatar Beyond Avatars

Many among the early devotees and mystics intuitively recognised Bhagavan Nityananda not merely as a sage, but as an incarnation of Lord Dattatreya—the eternal wandering Avadhuta, the triune embodiment of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Dattatreya is revered as the primordial Guru (Adi Guru), whose form dissolves boundaries between deities and whose teachings guide yogis and sannyasis across generations.

Yet, some who were fortunate enough to spend time near Bhagavan—those like Shree Captain Hatangdi, a man of integrity, devotion, and spiritual insight—came to perceive a truth even deeper than the Dattatreya identity. When asked whether Bhagavan was truly a Dattatreya Avatar, Captain Hatangdi responded with conviction and reverence:

“Bhagavan is beyond Dattatreya Avatar. He is the very source from which Avatars arise. He is the Adinath.”

Captain Hatangdi shared that his conviction wasn’t formed merely through belief, but through powerful affirmations from ancient esoteric traditions. He had consulted a Nadi Granthi, a mystic who reads one’s destiny through ancient palm-leaf manuscripts written by the Rishis of yore—many believed to have been penned by the SaptaRishis themselves under divine inspiration. He also met a Chaya Shastri, a rare lineage of seers who discern a person’s inner destiny and spiritual lineage by studying their chaya—the shadow or aura cast by one’s body, akin to a spiritual fingerprint.

Both of these spiritual savants, independently and without prompting, described Bhagavan Nityananda with an unusual intensity and reverence. They did not simply call Him a saint or seer—they described Him as an eternal presence, a cosmic being whose radiance spanned across yugas, a Mahavatar.

Captain Hatangdi further revealed a remarkable detail:

“Bhagavan Himself once declared that His disciple, Shree Swami Janananda, was a Dattatreya Avatar.”

This is profound.

If His disciple—perhaps an exalted yogi or siddha—was an incarnation of Lord Dattatreya, then who could the Guru of Dattatreya be? In the ancient Guru-parampara, even Dattatreya is said to have had guidance, though He is often seen as the Adi Guru. Therefore, Bhagavan Nityananda, identifying Himself as the Guru of Dattatreya, points to a truth beyond comprehension.

He is Adinath—the Primordial Master.

In the Nath Sampradaya, Adinath refers to Lord Shiva in His form as the first and eternal Guru. He is the formless, desireless, timeless Source from whom all yogic lineages descend. From Him arises the entire chain of Siddhas—Matsyendranath, Gorakshanath, and others—who preserve the sacred fires of inner knowledge.

Thus, to identify Bhagavan Nityananda as Adinath is to recognise Him not merely as a Guru in human form, but as the cosmic fountainhead of Yogic Wisdom, the one from whom all Avatars and Gurus receive their light.

Indeed, Bhagavan never claimed a lineage, never initiated followers in the formal sense, never established an order. He stood outside all categories, just as Adinath stands outside of sects and scriptures, His only identity being the Infinite Stillness, the silent Shakti of the Absolute.

As Lord Dattatreya

Among the many saints and seekers who were drawn to Bhagavan Nityananda, Bhaskar Mhaskar—popularly known as Mhaskar Guruji—holds a special place. A devout Brahmin priest and an ardent devotee of Lord Dattatreya, Mhaskar Guruji had one deep, unwavering longing: to have the Darshan of his beloved Lord in a living, tangible form.

Determined to realise this vision, he resolved to read the sacred Shree Guru Charitra—a revered text that recounts the life of Shree Narasimha Saraswati, the second incarnation of Lord Dattatreya—108 times in Ganagapur, the very town where Narasimha Saraswati lived for 23 years. Guru Charitra, written in poetic Marathi, spans 53 chapters with over 8,000 verses, and is traditionally read with deep devotion over a 7-day saptaha. Each recitation is a form of penance, and many have had visions or spiritual revelations through this practice.

For nearly two years, Mhaskar Guruji read the text with great discipline, completing 107 parayans (recitations), yet Lord Dattatreya had not appeared to him. Crestfallen but filled with fiery love, he turned to the deity in his heart and cried out, “Why this indifference? I have read your story with love and longing, yet you deny me even a dream?”

Before beginning the 108th and final recitation, he issued a heartfelt ultimatum: “Give me Darshan, or I will give up my life.” For three days he waited, without food or comfort. On the fourth day, weak and unconscious, he had a vision.

In the vision, Lord Dattatreya appeared and said:

“Why are you wasting your time here? If you wish to see the living, walking, talking Dattatreya, go to Ganeshpuri. I am alive there. Go, go at once.”

Startled yet surrendered, Mhaskar Guruji pleaded, “Where is this Ganeshpuri? Who will take me there?” Dattatreya’s answer was simple: “Just begin your journey. I will arrange everything.”

The very next day, Mhaskar Guruji boarded a train towards Mumbai, without a ticket or money. Miraculously, no ticket checker questioned him, even though they passed by multiple times. After about nine hours, as the train neared Mumbai, he overheard fellow passengers casually discussing Ganeshpuri and the bus timings to reach it. When he asked if they knew where Dattatreya was staying in Ganeshpuri, they offered no reply—perhaps because the mystery had to unfold through divine hands.

Reaching the Mumbai station, he found his way to the bus for Ganeshpuri. It was around 2 p.m. when he finally arrived in the holy village, tired, disoriented, but still burning with longing.

He began asking villagers, “Where is Lord Dattatreya?” The people were puzzled and said, “There is no Dattatreya here—but there is Swami Nityananda. He stays at Kailas Bhavan.”

Still unfamiliar with the name Nityananda, Mhaskar stood in the long Darshan queue outside. At that very moment, inside Kailas Bhavan, Bhagavan Nityananda turned to those around him and said:

“Go outside, my devotee is waiting. He is wearing dirty clothes, and has a white cap on his head. Bring him in. Bring him in.”

Some boys came out, found Mhaskar Guruji, and led him directly to Bhagavan. Confused and unsure how they recognised him, he stepped into the presence of the Sage.

The moment he entered the room, Bhagavan Nityananda looked at him and said:

“You want to see Dattatreya? Look Here.”

Stunned, anxious, and skeptical, Mhaskar grew uneasy. Reading his thoughts, Bhagavan laughed and said:

“You don’t believe that This One is Datta? Look Here! Look Here!”

As Mhaskar looked into Bhagavan’s form, his vision opened, and he beheld in front of him the radiant presence of Lord Dattatreya Himself, embodied in Bhagavan Nityananda.

Overwhelmed, Mhaskar fell at Bhagavan’s feet, tears flowing freely. Bhagavan then handed him prasad and said:

“Go to Nasik and complete your 108th parayan of Guru Charitra at the Kala Ram Temple. After that, feed 1008 Brahmins.”

Mhaskar humbly replied, “Baba, I don’t even have money to go there, and you are asking me to feed 1008 Brahmins?”

Bhagavan chuckled and simply said: “Just go.”

By divine grace, Mhaskar met a group from Nasik and traveled with them. At the Kala Ram Mandir, as he read the 108th parayan, devotees began offering money on the book. In the end, he received over ₹2000, an immense sum in 1952. He then hosted a grand bhandara, feeding 1008 Brahmins and offering each of them ₹51 as dakshina, fulfilling Bhagavan’s instructions to the letter.

Upon his return to Ganeshpuri, Bhagavan instructed him to go on a pilgrimage to all the major kshetras of Lord Dattatreya:

• Kuravpur, the land of Shripad Shri Vallabh

• Ganagapur, where Shree Narasimha Saraswati lived

• Manik Nagar, sacred to Shree Manik Prabhu

• Akkalkot, where the great Swami Samarth resided

• Shirdi, where Shree Sai Baba took Samadhi

At every holy site, Mhaskar did not see Lord Dattatreya’s murti—instead, he saw the form of Bhagavan Nityananda. The truth was now irrevocably clear to him. Bhagavan was not merely a Guru—He was Parabrahma, the Supreme Being in the form of Datta Himself.

When he returned once more to Ganeshpuri, Bhagavan blessed him and instructed him to settle in the village with his family and render service. One day, Bhagavan casually asked:

“Why don’t you write bhajans?”

Mhaskar replied honestly, “Me? Poems? I’m not educated, Baba.”

Bhagavan laughed and said:

“Fill your heart with devotion. Then knowledge will come by itself.”

And so it did. Mhaskar began composing simple yet deeply devotional bhajans. He even sang them in Bhagavan’s presence. One day, inspired, he wrote and composed the now-famous:

“Jai Jai Aarati Nityananda”

This aarati was not just a song—it was a declaration of realisation, chronicling his journey through the Datta incarnations: Shripad Shri Vallabh, Narasimha Saraswati, Manik Prabhu, Swami Samarth, and Shirdi Sai Baba—and finally to the ultimate form, Bhagavan Nityananda.

When he first sang it, Bhagavan blessed him with joy.

After Bhagavan’s Mahasamadhi, Shri Bhaskar Mhaskar became the chief priest at the Samadhi Mandir. He lovingly designed and established the Trikal Pooja rituals that are followed to this day. He was a close friend of my father and served with dedication even during testing times. Today, his family continues this sacred seva at the Samadhi Mandir in Ganeshpuri.

This sacred tale affirms what many have known in their hearts: Bhagavan Nityananda is none other than Lord Dattatreya—not a reflection, not an incarnation alone, but the very Svaroop (essence) of the Supreme.

Where devotion is pure, and surrender complete, God walks the Earth—and sometimes, He walks silently in Ganeshpuri.

Swami Samarth

The Old man in Kandewadi is nothing but I

Among the many devotees who were drawn to the magnetic presence of Bhagavan Nityananda was Shri A. S. Rao, a devout follower along with his entire family. They considered Bhagavan not merely a spiritual guide but a divine anchor around whom their lives revolved.

During one of his visits to Ganeshpuri, Mr. Rao was suddenly stricken with a severe bout of malaria. His condition deteriorated rapidly—he ran a dangerously high fever and soon became delirious. In his semi-conscious state, he began to speak aloud, recounting memories from his past, some buried deep within his psyche.

One such memory stood out. He narrated an incident from years earlier, involving Hazrat Babajan, the great Sufi saint of Pune. As a young man, Mr. Rao had once come across Hazrat Babajan, who compassionately offered him some sandwiches. However, bound by social conditioning and religious rigidity—he being a Gowda Saraswat Brahmin—he hesitated to accept food from a Muslim saint. Succumbing to prejudice, he threw the sandwiches away, an act that remained suppressed in his memory until this moment of delirium brought it to the surface.

As he recounted this, Bhagavan Nityananda happened to pass by. He stopped abruptly, looked intently at Mr. Rao, and with an unmistakable tone of urgency and divine command, asked him to repeat the incident. When Mr. Rao, still feverish, recounted it again, Bhagavan went to the Ashram store, pulled out tins of savory mixture and fried items, spread them out on a piece of newspaper, and handed them to Mr. Rao with a direct order: “Eat.”

Now, it is well known that oily or fried food is strictly inadvisable for those suffering from malaria, especially in its acute stages. But when a Mahatma commands, hesitation finds no place. Mr. Rao, though surprised, accepted the food as sacred prasad and ate it without question. Soon after, he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, his fever was completely gone—no trace of illness, no post-malarial weakness, and no lingering symptoms. What would normally take days or weeks of recovery had vanished overnight.

This miraculous healing was more than just physical; it was a spiritual atonement. In that one act, Bhagavan not only healed Mr. Rao’s body but also absolved the karmic weight of the offence he had committed against Hazrat Babajan. It was as though two saints—Babajan and Bhagavan—had worked in silent unison across time and space. This extraordinary event revealed the subtle spiritual kinship between these realised beings, reminding us that saints, regardless of tradition or form, operate from the same divine plane.

As years passed, Mr. Rao, who had once enjoyed significant material success, faced a dramatic reversal of fortune. During the war years, when he relocated to Goa, he lost his entire wealth. From a man of affluence, he was reduced to a state of complete poverty. But unlike others who might have sunk into bitterness, he took this fall from grace with quiet dignity, almost like a monk renouncing the world.

Following Bhagavan’s instructions, he spent some time at Nath Mandir in Vajreshwari, living under the guidance of Shankar Teertha Swami. Later, he moved to Mumbai, where a kind devotee arranged a room and provided basic support. Although he had once frequently visited Ganeshpuri, it had now become financially and physically difficult for him to do so. After Bhagavan’s Mahasamadhi, Mr. Rao often reflected on his life with quiet melancholy: how he, once prosperous, had lost everything, while many others who came to Bhagavan in destitution had risen to positions of comfort and influence.

Yet, in all his contemplations, there was no trace of envy. He would say, “Even if I could exchange all the grace, love, and care I received from Bhagavan for untold riches, I would refuse. That grace was more than enough.”

His only sorrow was that he could no longer visit Ganeshpuri, the sacred place that had given him both spiritual sustenance and personal transformation.

One night, Bhagavan appeared to him in a dream. The vision was clear and full of loving assurance. Bhagavan said, “Go to Kandewadi Mutt and offer ten paise in the donation box. Salutation to the ‘Old Man’, there reaches ‘This One.’”

The Kandewadi Mutt, a shrine of Swami Samartha, was just a short walk from where Mr. Rao lived. With new faith, he followed the instruction. From then on, every Thursday, he would walk to the Mutt, offer ten paise, and sit quietly in devotion. To him, that small temple became Ganeshpuri itself. The “Old Man” of Kandewadi was none other than Shree Swami Samartha. He found deep solace and contentment in this weekly pilgrimage, experiencing the presence and grace of Bhagavan as palpably as he had in Ganeshpuri.

Thus, through his journey, Mr. Rao’s life became a testimony to the unfailing grace of the Guru. Even in loss, there was divine compensation. Even in exile, there was communion. And even in the absence of physical proximity, there was a living connection, proving once again that the Guru Tattva—the Divine Principle of the Guru—is universal, indivisible, and eternal.

Grace in the Courtroom: How Swami Samartha Collected the Chapha Flowers

At a time when I held a senior position in a reputable firm, a sudden and unforeseen financial crisis engulfed the company. The Directors, though not malicious in intent, had violated certain banking norms in desperation to keep the firm afloat. Legal consequences followed swiftly. As a senior officer, I was also drawn into the vortex of litigation, despite my domain being purely technical and my lack of involvement in the company’s financial or day-to-day affairs.

The Indian judicial process, known for its drawn-out hearings and procedural entanglements, became a daily source of anxiety. I had to attend multiple court cases, over eight in number, each with serious implications—millions of rupees were involved. My future, career, and personal peace all seemed suspended in uncertainty. Most troubling was the fact that the real culprits—the very Directors responsible for the violations—had quietly left Mumbai without a trace, leaving me, an employee, to bear the full brunt of legal consequences.

But through this period of darkness, I was not alone.

Every Thursday, my wife, a devout soul, would bring reddish-golden chapha flowers to offer to Lord Dattatreya, a gesture steeped in faith. Tradition holds that offering these flowers to Datta helps avert calamity. And in my case, the spectre of unjust imprisonment was indeed a great calamity looming over my life.

The court I attended was located near Piket Road, close to a renowned Hanuman Mandir. Within the same complex, tucked modestly in a corner, was a shrine dedicated to Lord Dattatreya. I would often take a few moments before the hearings to stand in prayerful silence before the Datta murti, offering the chapha flowers with a bowed head and heavy heart.

Then came the morning that changed everything.

I was at the temple, just as I had been every week, offering my flowers at Datta’s feet, when an old man suddenly approached. He was fair-skinned, dressed in khaki shorts, a half-sleeved shirt, and carried a walking stick. What stood out even more was his confidence and commanding yet playful presence. He looked straight at me and, in Marathi, exclaimed:

“दे ना! दे ना! दे ना! मला पण चाफा फार आवडतो. मी समर्थ नगरहून आलोय!”
“Give me! Give me! Give me! I too love chapha flowers. I have come from Samartha Nagar!”

He held out his palm insistently.

I looked at him, and I knew. This was no ordinary man. His entire bearing, his voice, even the demand for the chapha flowers—it all mirrored the leelas of Swami Samartha of Akkalkot. Except for the spectacles he wore, every feature aligned with the traditional descriptions and images of Swami Samartha. Without hesitation, I placed two chapha flowers into his open palm and bowed in namaskar, heart filled with wonder but not surprise. Bhagavan Nityananda has responded this time as Swami Samartha.

In that moment, I felt as if I had always known he would come. That these flowers my wife brought, these offerings I made week after week, were meant for Him all along. He smiled, radiating joy and a subtle satisfaction that words cannot describe, and turned to leave the temple.

I watched Him walk out, my heart flooded with relief, faith, and renewed strength. I felt as though a great burden had been lifted.

In the days and weeks that followed, the tide turned miraculously. The eight cases, once so threatening, began to collapse under the weight of truth. The court, recognising my innocence and non-involvement, dismissed all charges. I was granted a complete discharge from all legal entanglements. The nightmare had ended—not through legal cleverness or institutional mercy, but through Guru Kripa alone.

A Lifelong Bond with the Mahavatars

I come from a family closely connected to Bhagavan Nityananda for over five generations. I am the fourth generation to experience His grace firsthand. But during my childhood and youth, despite my desire, visiting Ganeshpuri was not always possible. School, college, and family responsibilities often kept me from making the pilgrimage.

Yet, grace found its way.

On my way back from school, I would often walk from Dadar East to Mahim with my friend Sudhir Joshi, and we frequently visited the Swami Samartha Mutt at Shivaji Park. There stood a life-size photograph of Swami Samartha, remarkably similar to the large image of Bhagavan Nityananda we had at home. Every time I bowed before Swami Samartha, I experienced the same spiritual intimacy and inner peace as I did with Bhagavan. My heart never distinguished between them.

This quiet spiritual bond was later confirmed during my visit to Akkalkot in March 2009, when several small incidents revealed Swami Samartha’s continued presence in my life. That one miraculous encounter at Piket Road temple simply solidified what I already knew:

Bhagavan Nityananda and Swami Samartha are not two—

They are One Guru Tattva, expressing through different forms.

In my own life, Bhagavan Nityananda has always been like a father, silently watching over my spiritual progress, ensuring I do not stray from the path. And Swami Samartha has been like a mother, directly intervening in times of difficulty, taking care of my worldly affairs so I may walk in peace.

Two Mahavatars—One Guru.

Their actions, appearances, and leelas may differ, but the essence of the Guru Tattva is universal—beyond name and form, always aware, always near.

To Shri Rao, He said, “both are One”.

Nirgunnirakar – The Endless One

Bhāv taisā Dev — As is the feeling, so is the vision of the Divine.

The lives and testimonies of countless devotees bear witness to a truth that defies reason but rings with spiritual clarity: Bhagavan Nityananda did not merely appear in one form, nor did He act from a fixed identity. To some, He came as a gentle sadhu, to others as a fierce guardian, a radiant light, a child, a silent Shiva, or a playful mendicant. He emerged in dreams, in visions, in waking hours, and even in crisis — always exactly as needed, always aligned with the devotee’s inner bhāva (feeling or attitude).

These are not mere miracles. They are revelations of a cosmic truth: the Divine responds to love, surrender, and inner purity. Bhagavan Nityananda, though beyond all form and imagination, clothed Himself in whatever shape the devotee’s heart could hold. He was not bound by space or time, nor by a single name or appearance.

In these diverse darśanas — luminous or ordinary, sublime or intimate — the thread is the same: He is the Mahāvatār, the timeless descent of the Absolute into accessible being. And yet, He remains untouched, ungraspable — like the sky reflecting in many waters.

Ultimately, what these forms reveal is not merely the mystery of the Saint, but the greatness of the Supreme:
Parabrahma Itself — boundless, formless, eternal — descended into the quiet village of Ganeshpuri, and moved among us as Bhagavan Nityananda.

What was seen was form.
What acted was Grace.
What remains is the Infinite.