Letters from Sri Ramanasramam, by Suri Nagamma

From that sprinkler the rose-water was sprayed on to
Bhagavan like a light shower of rain and Bhagavan was
rubbing his body with evident satisfaction. When he saw me
coming, he said, “Look! They are doing abhishekam to me
(sprinkling holy water).” So saying he covered his face with
that matty cloth and said, “They have covered me with this
wet cloth. They have tied tatties all round and are sprinkling
water thereon. This place is now cool like Ootacamund.”
I went a little closer to the sofa and found it was cool.

“Coming from the hot atmosphere outside, this seems very
cool,” I said, and came back to my usual place. After thinking
for a while, Bhagavan in a reminiscent mood began to talk:
“When I was in the Virupaksha Cave, we used to change
over to the Mango Cave during summer as there was no
water in the former. At the Mango Cave, at midday, some
women of the lower castes used to come there for water with
heavy loads of grass on their heads and very tired. Poor
people, they start from their homes early in the morning
after taking a little gruel (kanji), go up the hill and secure a
head load of grass. As soon as they come to the cave they
throw down their bundles, bend down and say, ‘Swami,
Swami, first pour a full vessel of water down our spines.’
I used to stand on the verandah there and when I poured
water on them as desired, they used to recover from their
exhaustion, saying, ‘Oh, how good this is!’ Then, making a
cup of both the hands they used to drink water until their
stomachs were full, wash their faces, take some rest in the
shade of the trees and then depart. They alone could
experience the happiness of it all. It is only when one
experiences the oppressiveness of the heat that one knows
the relief of the coolness of water.”
“Was it Bhagavan himself who poured the water?”
I asked.

“Yes,” said Bhagavan. “I knew they would be coming at
that hour and so would wait there with the water ready. What
could they do? They should not touch the water in the
Mulaipal Thirtham (holy tank) and there is no water
anywhere else. The heat is unbearable. They cannot have
food unless they sell the grass and get some money. They
have children at home. They must reach home quick to look
after them. What can they do, poor people! They used to
come to the cave with the hope that the Swami would supply
water. We were not cooking at that time. If any day we did
cook, we poured a lot of water into the rice when cooking,
took out the gruel, poured it into a pot, mixed water with it
liberally, and added salt. If dry ginger was available I would
mix it in also. By the time they came, the gruel water would
be quite cool. When a tumblerful of it was poured into their
hands, they used to drink it like nectar and go away. The
taste of that gruel and the happiness of drinking that water
they alone could know.” Filled with emotion, he assumed
silence.

I was also unable to speak for some time and so sat still
looking at that embodiment of compassion. After a while
I said, “This incident is not mentioned in Bhagavan’s
biography. Why?” “No, it is not there. I did not think it worth
mentioning,” said Bhagavan. “How many more incidents like
this must have occurred and left unrecorded!” I said.

Bhagavan merely nodded his head.