The Sage is perfectly still, motionless, undisturbed by my arrival. I listen to the rhythmic purring of the fan above his head and look full into the eyes of this seated figure in the hope of catching his notice.

If he is aware of my presence, he betrays no hint, no sign. He is supernaturally quiet, steady as a statue. Not once does he catch my gaze. His eyes look into remote space. It is an ancient theory of mine that one can take the inventory of a man's soul from his eyes but before those of the Maharshi I hesitate, baffled.

The minutes creep by with unutterable slowness. A half hour, and then this too passes by and becomes an hour. There is something in this man which holds my attention as steel filings are held to a magnet. I cannot turn my gaze away from him. But it is not until the second hour that I become aware of a silent resistless change which is taking place within my mind. A steady river of quietness seems to be flowing near me, a great peace penetrating the inner reaches of my being.

The suspicion arises within me that this mysterious peace invading the troubled water of my soul comes from the Maharshi.
Paul Brunton