Rising Sun Melting Mists: Knowledge of Self Dispels Ignorance

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The astounding first intimation to the effect that, by the word GOD, all saints and sages of all times have implied the realizable truth of oneself, was received by the author when he was a 35 years old man-of-the-world. The realisation broke upon him with explosive wonderment and delight. How could such a inheritance be forfeited through indifference? He questioned, searched for answers, contemplated, and tried to shape his life as prompted by the ascending reality of self-enquiry. Rising Sun Melting Mists is a collection of articles written over a period of few years and later put together.

Dwaraknath Reddy was a post-graduate in Science (USA 1948) successfully promoting a personally owned food industry. Uninitiated into spiritual enquiry, he was thirty-five when questions regarding life and death, fate and free will, time and eternity, creator and cosmos became paramount. Without striving to know the right answers, life would be a wasted gift. As he listened, studied and contemplated, revelations broke upon him with explosive wonderment and delight. Life had a glorious purpose and a new focus. What he felt, pursued, questioned and understood, analysed and accepted, are the contents of this collection of articles.

How shall we place him? A humanist? An emerging poet? Lover Lof Nature? Word-artist? Seeker of Truth? These questions naturally arise as we read this collection of the author's writings during the last two decades. Actually he is all of them - and more. Whether the reflections presented here are narrative, lyrical or contemplative - as he classifies them - there is one striking note that runs through all, and that is his passion for love which is another face of Truth. No experience of life - and evidently he has had many leaves him bitter. Even death reveals to him another side of life.

The themes he handles are varied. The way he expresses himself makes us wonder what is the strength of his appeal. Beauty of style? Power of thought? No, it is the authenticity of his experience, psychological and spiritual, that touches the reader and makes him as humble as the writer himself. Whether he speaks of the Guru 'who leaves no footprints' or of prayer with the language of tears in the eyes' rather than of 'words upon the lips' or of the trap of solitude, we are in the presence of an ardent seeker. The thinker in him loves precision of expression: Truth, he says, is beyond method. Astrology is indicative, not determinative.

He was thirty-seven, I was thirty-five. Our skies were blue, our horizons free of clouds. Yet he, my brother, died. Always together as children, students and young men, now sharing hopes and ambitions and the responsibilities of a promising family business, it seemed that our outstretched hands could pluck the stars.

Then there was the head-ache ("got some aspirin?") soon turning to an agonizing torture, and in the nursing home the dreaded words are whispered: Cerebral haemorrhage. Surendranath is dying.

I am by his side, watching without believing, when an almost imperceptible nod of the drooping head signals the meeting of two eternities of life and of death.

It is over. Just like that....

A betrayal, or a fulfillment? Chaos or harmony? Callousness or kindness? I have to know the rationale of death. Death will return - he always does - for another or for me, and when he does I cannot again let myself be crushed and confused. Before that I must learn the laws that bind both Death and me. Are there laws?