grims has not increased much, but the 
quality of the experience it offers is dif- 
ferent. For pilgrims who do not want 
the admittedly severe austerity of dhar- 
mashala, there are now hotels as well. 
The temple has been fitted with electric 
light, changing the mood of much of 
the interior, removing much of the 
mystery it held when it was lit only by 
flares, butter lamps, and occasional 
shafts of sunlight. The ashram, no long- 
er with a saint to protect, accepts pay- 
ing visitors, and a large entrance 
gateway, laced as it was with palm 
fronds, reminded me of the entrance to 
a tropical island holiday camp. A richly 
elaborate altar over the tomb of the 
dead teacher is set in an ornate, cold 
marble hall, a stark contrast to the 
warm, quiet simplicity of Maharishi’s 
life. 
I also visited the ashram of another 
great saint who had died not long after I 
last saw him, back in 1950. Sri Auro- 
bindo was one of India’s three most 
highly respected religious leaders. Be- 
fore becoming a “sacred person,” he 
had been a university professor and a 
political activist; as a result of his politi- 
cal activity, he had spent time in jail. He 
believed it was possible for humans to 
reach up and raise themselves above 
their present level, bringing about the 
rule of the Divine on earth. This was to 
be no easy endeavor, and Sri Auro- 
bindo established an ashram in Pondi- 
cherry where his disciples underwent 
rigorous training of mind and body, as 
well as soul. He himself was more of a 
recluse than any of the other great 
teachers, appearing even to his disciples 
only once a year, for a brief darshan , or 
“audience,” to which pilgrims came 
from all over the country. His presence 
was felt so powerfully throughout the 
ashram, however, that pilgrims actual- 
ly came at all times of the year, not just 
for the one day of darshan. To be in the 
actual presence of the man was almost 
unbearable, and although I was a total 
skeptic at the time, when his eyes met 
and held mine I immediately developed 
a violent headache that lasted the rest 
of the day. I could understand why 
some pilgrims preferred not to come for 
darshan, just as some did not want to 
look up to the eyes of Gommateswara, 
sixty feet above them, and perhaps why 
some tourists even seem to hold them- 
selves back from certain experiences, as 
though afraid that they might rupture 
the normality of the everyday world to 
which they must return. 
I was not surprised to find that de- 
spite the death of Sri Aurobindo so 
For a booklet on the history of our town and our hollow, just write us 
MR. TOODLER BRANCH is the one and 
only landmark in Lynchburg, Tennessee, that 
the government doesn't know about. 
Our courthouse on the town square dates 
back to 1885. Our jail preUates that. And our 
distillery, where smooth 'Sippin’ whiskey has 
been made since Jack Daniel settled here in 
1866, is registered as 
America’s oldest. Recently, 
the United States Govern' 
ment named all these places 
National Historic Sites. 
And if they ever saw 
Toodler, we bet they’d 
name him one too. 
Tennessee Whiskey • 90 Proof • Distilled and Bottled by Jack Daniel Distillery. 
Lem Motlow. Prop. Inc., Route 1. Lynchburg (Pop. 361). Tennessee 37352 
Placed in the National Register of Historic Places by the United States Government 
79 
