परीक्ष्यलोकान्कर्मचितान्ब्राह्मणोनिर्वेदमायान्नास्त्यकृतःकृतेन। तद्विज्ञानार्थंसगुरुमेवाभिगच्छेत्समित्पाणिःश्रोत्रियंब्रह्मनिष्ठम्॥ Mundaka Upanishad 1.2.12.

Let him, after having examined all these worlds that are gained by karma, acquire freedom from desires. Nothing that is eternal can be produced by what is not eternal. In order that he may understand that eternal, let him approach a Guru who is well-versed in the Vedas and established in Brahman.

The Seed of search.

The human being is ever in search of truth. Deep within, there is a longing to expand, a subtle ache that whispers: something is missing. This longing manifests as innumerable desires, pursued often unconsciously. Yet longing itself is sacred — it is the seed that sets the direction of life. Desire becomes noble when it turns toward truth, for the highest yearning is to know the infinite.

From my earliest days, this seed was alive in me. It sprouted, grew, and eventually took the form of a banyan tree. My journey carried me to temples, Satsangs, the Himalayas, and occasional seclusion. Along the way I met many beings, holy and not so holy. I vowed never to ignore anyone, for perhaps one voice might carry the fragrance of truth. I listened deeply, not to gather answers, but to allow silence to ripen within.

Smaranath Arunachale.

It was during this journey that I stumbled upon Paramahamsa Nithyananda. His ashram, the Nithyananda Dhyanapeetam, was established in Bidadi, but his roots were in Tiruvannamalai — a place woven into my family’s destiny across generations. Some among my kin had served Bhagavan Ramana, and the fragrance of Arunachala had always lingered in our lives. It is said: Smaranath Arunachale mukti siddhir bhavati — liberation is certain for the one who remembers Arunachala. This truth was not merely a saying for me; it was a living pulse that shaped my path.

In my younger years, I came across a book about Seshadri Swamigal, the wandering saint of Tiruvannamalai. His life was a mystery, his presence a fire that burned through the ordinary. I read that book not once or twice, but over a hundred times in the span of three months. Each reading was like a mantra, each page a meditation. By the time I closed its covers, I was no longer the same. The seed of longing had cracked open, and the journey toward truth had begun in earnest.

The stories I heard of Paramahamsa Nithyananda during his days in Tiruvannamalai was impressive. When I came across him, he was a young Swami, yet he carried an extraordinary presence. His eyes sparkled with a light that seemed not of this world, and his simplicity was rare — especially in one so youthful. His voice was vibrant, powerful, and alive with conviction. He had already left his home in his teens, wandering as a Parivrajaka, a renunciate a renunciate who roams without possessions, guided only by the call of truth. Later he established his ashram the Nithyananda Dhyanapeetam in Bidadi.  

Beyond Questions

During that period, I immersed myself in the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali. They became both study and practice, a mirror for the questions that stirred within me. Yet I was not seeking answers from the outside. I listened intensely — as I continue to do even now — with the conviction that no external reply could truly satisfy. I believed that answers must rise from within, not as borrowed words but as lived experience. Often, I was prompted to ask questions, and at times I did so, but only to honour the expectation of the one before me. In truth, I was waiting for silence to ripen into clarity.

It was in this state of inward waiting that I listened to Paramahamsa Nithyananda, especially his discourses on the Shiva Sutras. His vision of these ancient teachings was luminous, marked by absolute clarity and deep understanding of life. His words were not abstract philosophy; they were living truths, presented systematically, with examples that touched life. Behind his teaching was a palpable concern for society, a desire to uplift and transform.

The Turning Point.

In his own words, Paramahamsa Nithyananda speaks of a turning point in his life when he was just eight years old. He recalls the story of Nambiyandar Nambi, the 11th-century Shaiva scholar who compiled the Tirumurai, the treasury of Tamil Shaiva hymns. As a child, Nambi offered Neivedyam to Lord Ganapathi, expecting the deity to eat. His devotion was so absolute that he resolved to take his own life if Ganapathi did not accept the offering. Moved by the child’s sincerity, Ganapathi ate the food.

In his own childhood, Nithyananda placed food before the Ganapathi idol, expecting the Lord to eat. In playful innocence, he even threatened Ganapathi — saying he would drown him in a well if he refused. At that moment, the story of Nambi struck him deeply. In Nambi’s case, the child was suffering in his devotion. But here, it seemed reversed — Ganapathi himself was suffering, threatened with drowning.

This inversion pierced him. Dukkha arose — not as despair, but as a force that turned his awareness inward. This was his turning point. In that recognition, clarity dawned. Truth unfolded in the space of that clarity. And with truth, shraddha — the dedication to live it — blossomed. Without shraddha, even truth remains abstract. With shraddha, Bhakti and Ananda arise naturally. This is Nithyananda, the eternal Ananda.

Paramahamsa Nithyananda says: It does not matter even if a person mistakenly chooses a wrong path in pursuing the truth — do not discard the effort. The sincerity of longing is more important than perfection of method. Every step, even if faltering, is sanctified when it is driven by shraddha.

The Guru Appears

Later in my journey, I met my Advaita Guru, Swami Nithyananda Giri. This was my turning point. It is said that the Guru appears when the disciple is ready. By then, the disciple was ready in me — endowed with shraddha and bhakti. The foundation of shraddha and bhakti had already been laid, nurtured by intense longing and the search that carried me through temples, Satsangs, mountains, and encounters with many beings. Each step, each voice, each experience contributed to the soil of my journey. When the Guru appeared, it was not as an external event alone, but as the flowering of what had already been prepared within.

Swami Nithyananda Giri would often quote this from the Mundaka Upanishad and call it as my favourite mantra — “Let him, after having examined all these worlds that are gained by karma, acquire freedom from desires. Nothing that is eternal can be produced by what is not eternal. In order that he may understand that eternal, let him approach a Guru who is well-versed in the Vedas and established in Brahman.”

This verse was not merely instruction — it was the mirror of my own state. I carried within me countless questions, yet I was never seeking answers from the outside. My faith was that true answers must rise from within, not as borrowed words but as lived experience. When I encountered my Guru, the truth rose within me like the dawn. In that instant, the questions dissolved. There was no necessity for answers anymore — for the very ground of questioning had disappeared. On the platform of shraddha and bhakti, what blossoms is Ananda.

Conclusion: The Blossoming

Longing begins as the sense of something missing. It drives us through desires, journeys, and encounters. But when longing ripens into shraddha and bhakti, it ceases to be a search and becomes a recognition. Truth is not found outside; it rises within. And in that rising, questions vanish, leaving only the fragrance of Ananda — eternal, uncaused, infinite. This is Nithyananda.