In the summer of 1949, he again left his family at Dahiya and traveled to Pondicherry and Tiruvannamalai. Though he longed to see Sri Aurobindo, the master remained inaccessible.

From there he went to Tiruvannamalai, saluted Arunachala, and rushed to Ramanasramam. He was given a room, but a deep, sorrowful calm pervaded the ashram—Ramana Maharishi was gravely ill with cancer. Darshan was brief. Seeing the sage in pain shattered Ram Surat Kunwar’s heart, and tears flowed freely. Yet Maharishi’s face shone with divine indifference to bodily suffering. The same mysterious smile greeted him, conveying silent reassurance.

Overwhelmed, Ram Surat Kunwar wandered onto Arunachala and sat on a rock under the blazing sun, crying throughout the day. That evening, he returned for darshan.

Maharishi lay on a couch, eyes luminous, surveying all. When his gaze fell upon Ram Surat Kunwar, the familiar smile appeared once more, and an ineffable peace descended upon the young seeker. No words were exchanged; grace flowed silently.

Soon afterward, visitors were restricted. Ram Surat Kunwar spent his days roaming the hill, meeting sadhus. One sadhu informed him of Sri Aurobindo’s darshan day, prompting another visit to Pondicherry, where he saw Aurobindo from afar and felt seen in return.

Back at Tiruvannamalai, another sadhu near a banyan tree spoke to him of Swami Ramdas of Anandashram. Drawn inwardly, Ram Surat Kunwar set out for Kanhangad.

At Anandashram, Swami Satchidananda and Mataji Krishnabai welcomed him warmly. In the Bhajan Hall, devotees sang “Om Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram” around Swami Ramdas—affectionately called Papa. Ram Surat Kunwar was struck by the joy, laughter, and informality.

It was unlike any spiritual atmosphere he had known. Introduced to Papa, he answered questions about his name, family, and stay. When Papa asked him about the meaning of his name, Ram Surat Kunwar replied “One who has immense love towards Rama”. He remained for three days, purchased Papa’s books—In Quest of God and In the Vision of God—and returned to Tiruvannamalai.

He again prostrated before Ramana Maharishi. The same compassionate smile greeted him. Soon afterward, with tears and reverence, he left Arunachala and returned to Dahiya.

From that point on, his detachment from routine life deepened. He stopped saving money, avoided carrying it, and sent all his savings to his elder brother Manarakhan Kunwar, enabling his nieces’ marriages. He gave freely to beggars, often offering his own food, even if it meant going to school on an empty stomach.

Immersed now in Papa Ramdas’s writings, especially In Quest of God, he read the book repeatedly. The final chapter, “In the Cave,” moved him to tears and dissolved his earlier misconceptions about Papa’s life of apparent comfort. He realized Papa’s greatness and austerity.

In 1950, both Ramana Maharishi and Sri Aurobindo attained Mahasamadhi. On hearing of Ramana’s passing, Ram Surat Kunwar wept uncontrollably, feeling orphaned. In that emptiness, Papa Ramdas’s joyful, laughing face arose vividly within him, quietly embedding itself in his subconscious. Yet the time for recognition had not arrived. Papa would wait patiently to reveal himself fully as the destined Guru.

After Ramana’s Mahasamadhi, Ram Surat Kunwar stopped shaving and let his beard grow. In the same year, his wife gave birth to a daughter, whom he named Maya.

Seeking solace, he undertook a pilgrimage to the Himalayas—Rishikesh, Badrinath, Kedarnath, Gangotri, and Yamunotri—meeting sadhus and bathing in divine ecstasy. In later years, Yogi Ramsuratkumar would say that India was protected by the penance of Himalayan saints.

In 1951, stirred again by Papa Ramdas’s writings, he returned to Anandashram and stayed for an extended period. Still, Papa did not outwardly inspire or reveal himself.

As Yogi would later explain, the time was not yet ripe. After a month, Ram Surat Kunwar returned home, unaware that the final unveiling of his Guru-Father was drawing steadily closer.

In 1952, Ram Surat Kunwar travelled extensively across India, visiting numerous sacred places associated with gurus and saints, driven by an intense yearning for God. Yet, despite this wide pilgrimage and the darshan of many holy men, he was unable to experience true oneness with the Divine. He acquired deep scriptural knowledge and studied the teachings of great masters, but realization still eluded him.

At times, he felt as though he had attained everything; soon afterward, when life challenged him in mysterious ways, all those inner attainments seemed to collapse. He would then sink into dejection and exhaustion.

He found himself oscillating between extremes—at one moment standing at the peak of spiritual understanding, and the next returning to the same inner state from which he had begun. Through these repeated inner upheavals, a profound clarity dawned upon him.

To merge with God, one must transcend body, mind, and intellect. The sense of personal identity must dissolve completely. Pilgrimages and ritual baths in sacred rivers, he realized, could purify the mind only to a limited extent; they could never erase the ego. Rituals, far from destroying the self, often strengthened it.

At last, an unshakable awakening arose within him: only the Guru—and the Guru alone—can eternally merge the disciple in God. Without the Guru’s grace, nothing could be accomplished.

With this realization burning in his heart, Ram Surat Kunwar resolved to return to Anandashram and not leave Swami Ramdas until Papa Ramdas showered his grace upon him and merged him in God.

On 11 August 1952, Ram Surat Kunwar took long leave from Navalgad High School and left for Anandashram, leaving his wife and children at Dahiya. His wife, Ram Ranjini Devi, was then pregnant with their fourth child; the baby would be born in 1953 and named Beena by her mother.

On reaching Anandashram, he was given accommodation within the ashram premises. He met Papa Ramdas in the bhajan hall and prostrated before him. Papa joyfully patted him, clearly delighted. It was evident that Papa had been waiting for this beloved devotee. His joy radiated through the hall and touched everyone present.

Ram Surat Kunwar felt an extraordinary sense of security, as though he were resting in the lap of his own Father. Papa interacted with him freely and deeply, penetrating his inner being and awakening an intense aspiration for God-realization. Through Papa’s grace, profound devotion and unwavering faith blossomed within him.

Toward the end of August or the beginning of September 1952, Ram Surat Kunwar felt an overpowering urge to receive initiation from his Guru. Yet he felt shy and hesitant to ask directly. Unable to contain his longing, he conveyed his desire to Swami Satchidananda, who encouraged him to approach Papa with sincere prayer, assuring him that Papa was always ready to initiate deserving seekers with the Ram Mantra.

Gathering courage, Ram Surat Kunwar began silently following Papa wherever he went. Papa was fully aware of his disciple’s inner state. One day, suddenly turning toward him, Papa asked, “Do you want Ramdas to initiate you?” Ram Surat Kunwar was overwhelmed and nodded in affirmation. Papa commanded, “Sit down,” and seated himself before him. Then he said, “Repeat what Ramdas says.”

Slowly and deliberately, Papa uttered the mantra: “Om Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram.”

With complete reverence and absorption, Ram Surat Kunwar repeated each word. Three times Papa chanted the mantra, and three times Ram Surat Kunwar echoed it. Papa infused the mantra with his entire being, transferring divine power into his disciple. The transmission was complete. Rising, Papa simply said, “Go and chant this mantra twenty-four hours.”

The seed of divinity had been sown in the fertile soil of Ram Surat Kunwar’s being. His entire frame trembled under the weight of the grace that had descended. The divine energy seated within him felt vast and overpowering. His body struggled to contain it.

With great difficulty, he rose and moved to a secluded place, where he sat alone. For a long time, he wept uncontrollably, without knowing why. Gradually, an indescribable peace enveloped him.

He wandered aimlessly and climbed a nearby hill overlooking Anandashram. Sitting on a bench at the summit, he remained there the entire day—first crying intensely, then suddenly stopping. A divine bliss bloomed within him, and he burst into joyous laughter.

As the sun sank into the Arabian Sea and darkness fell, he lay on the bench gazing at the star-filled sky. He did not sleep that night.

Fully alert, he became aware of a subtle vibration rising from the depths of his being. At first, the sound was faint. As he focused his attention on it, the vibration grew stronger and clearer. Soon, it became unmistakable—it was the mantra, “Om Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram,” resounding within him in his Guru’s own voice.

The sound grew louder and louder until his entire body vibrated with it. There were no other thoughts, no other words—only the mantra. The whole night passed in this state of blissful absorption.

At dawn, he descended the hill shouting the mantra at the top of his voice, running about the ashram in divine intoxication. The residents of Anandashram were astonished and tried to calm him. They made him eat something and brought him before Papa.

Swami Ramdas looked upon his disciple with undisguised joy. After watching him silently for a few moments, Papa asked gently, “Where will you go?” Ram Surat Kunwar immediately replied, “Tiruvannamalai.”Though he spoke those words, his heart had no desire to leave his Guru.

The powerful initiation had shaken his inner being to its core. All suppressed emotions, desires, and deep-seated conditionings—virtue and sin, worldly identity and spiritual ambition—were stirred up and destroyed. There was no escape from this inner upheaval, nor did he wish to escape.

His love for God and his search for Truth transformed into an all-consuming love for Papa Ramdas and Mataji Krishnabai. He could not imagine life without them and resolved to remain with them forever.

But Papa and Mataji had other plans. They knew that this intensely emotional seeker had to be transformed into a great mystic, destined to guide countless future seekers toward God. Ram Surat Kunwar was needed for divine work.

Gradually and deliberately, Papa and Mataji subjected him to severe inner discipline. They allowed him to appear mad in the eyes of the world, drove him out of the ashram repeatedly, and used harsh words when he came before them in public. Through this painful process, his ego was dismantled layer by layer.

The suffering was immense and prolonged, until nothing of the old self remained. At last, he crossed safely to the other shore, becoming one with God and with his Guru-Father, Swami Ramdas. Thus was born Yogi Ramsuratkumar, shaped by Papa Ramdas for God’s work in the world.

In later years, Yogi Ramsuratkumar would say softly to a few close devotees: “Nobody loved this beggar like my Father Swami Ramdas, and nobody tortured this beggar like my Father Swami Ramdas. My Father killed this beggar because He loved this beggar.”

Three weeks after his initiation, Ram Surat Kunwar was driven out of Anandashram. He reached Tiruvannamalai and wandered for a few days around the sacred hill Arunachala. His heart, however, longed to return to Papa and Mataji.

While traveling back, lost in divine intoxication, he walked along the railway track at Erode Junction. A railway engine struck him down. His left arm was fractured, and his left leg badly injured.

He remained hospitalized at Erode for nearly two months. A Gujarati devotee of Swami Ramdas in Erode cared for him and informed his relatives at Dahiya.

His brothers-in-law requested his close friends Ramdutt Chowdry and Ramjeevan Roy to go to Erode and bring him back. With great effort, they traced him in the hospital and brought him to Dahiya.

At Dahiya, Ram Surat Kunwar could not be confined indoors. He roamed along the banks of the river Balan, chanting the Ram Mantra aloud. He had lost all interest in ordinary life. He barely spoke. If anyone tried to advise or console him, he would burst into loud laughter and chant the mantra at the top of his voice, frightening people away. For several months he lived in this state.

With great difficulty, his wife Ram Ranjini Devi and the elders persuaded him to return to Navalgad and resume his work. He reported to the school but could function only for two days—28 January and 30 January 1953. He received his last salary, Rs. 18.11, and never worked in any institution thereafter.

He wandered through the streets of Navalgad, chanting “Om Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram,” sleeping by the roadside, accepting milk and bananas if offered. He avoided conversation, chanting loudly whenever anyone approached. During this period, he began smoking beedis and cigarettes. The entire town was stunned to see the condition of the once-respected schoolmaster.

In 1953, Ram Ranjini Devi gave birth to a daughter at Dahiya, naming her Beena. Hearing of Ram Surat Kunwar’s condition at Navalgad, she and her brothers went there and forcibly brought him back to Dahiya. Even there, he continued to wander, sometimes sitting alone beneath a peepul tree near the Shiva temple on the banks of the Balan.

By 1954, his brothers-in-law concluded that he had lost his sanity and admitted him forcibly to a mental hospital at Ranchi. After two days of thorough examination, the doctors declared him completely normal. The family was baffled.

They informed his elder brother Manarakhan Kunwar, who rushed to the hospital. Ram Surat Kunwar was taken to Nardara, where he stayed briefly before again disappearing into distant places in divine ecstasy, without informing anyone.

The details of his wanderings during this period are impossible to trace. No one can account for where he went or how he lived. Yet, whenever the author later mentioned any corner of India, Yogi would ask whether a particular sacred spot there had been visited—suggesting that he had roamed almost everywhere, especially to places associated with saints and holy men. His knowledge of the lives and teachings of India’s sages was vast and precise, astonishing all who listened to him.

Despite the overpowering ecstasy of initiation, a subtle attachment to his wife and children still remained. After a couple of years, an intense longing to see them arose. In 1955, he returned to Dahiya. His brothers-in-law were disturbed by his presence, but Ram Ranjini Devi calmed them.

She pleaded with her husband, offering to accompany him wherever he went, along with the children, assuring him that she could endure any hardship. Touched by her faith and love, Ram Surat Kunwar decided to take his family to Anandashram to seek refuge at the feet of Papa Ramdas.

The elders refused to send the elder children, Yasodhara and Amitabh, as they were studying. They permitted only the younger ones—Maya, then five, and Beena, then two—to go. Ram Surat Kunwar, with his wife and the two little children, went to Anandashram.

In 1955, he prostrated before Papa and Mataji and begged to be allowed to live permanently in the ashram with his family, offering to perform any work assigned. Mataji Krishnabai firmly refused, stating that it was impossible to live in the ashram with children.

Seeing her resolve, Ram Surat Kunwar suggested that the children be left with relatives while he and his wife returned to the ashram. His wife refused, saying she could not live without her children. (Years later, she would say with tears that had she said she could not live without Ram Surat Kunwar, the course of both their lives might have been different.)

Once more he pleaded with Papa Ramdas, saying that since initiation he could not work anywhere, and if driven away, he had nowhere to go. Papa replied sternly, “Go and beg. You cannot live in the ashram. There are enough people here to work. Under a big tree, another big tree cannot grow—only thorny bushes and grass can.” Shocked, Ram Surat Kunwar cried out, “Papa, should I beg for food? Am I a beggar?” Papa did not reply and went inside.

From that day onward, Ram Surat Kunwar called himself a beggar. His Guru—his Master, his God—had asked him to beg, and so he accepted that identity.

On the way back, he took his wife and children to Madras. He had no money. He begged on the streets, obtained a little, bought food, and fed his children. He then took them to their relatives, left his wife and children in their care, and once again disappeared—alone—into the life of a divinely intoxicated wanderer.

From 1955 onward, Ram Surat Kunwar once again became a wanderer across the vast and sacred land of India. He carried no luggage and possessed no money. When hunger arose, he begged for food; when fatigue overcame him, he slept wherever he happened to be, unconcerned about the place. Graveyards and other secluded spots became his natural abodes.

From Kashmir to Kanyakumari, from Dwaraka to the eastern regions of the country, he roamed freely, gathering deep experiences and intimate knowledge of saints, sages, and their teachings. He moved like the wind, unbound by geography or convention. Yet even then, he did not clearly perceive his own mission. Nor did he worry about it. He simply obeyed the inner divine call and went wherever the Supreme Father led him.

In 1957, a sudden longing arose in him to see his family. He went to Dahiya, where he learned that his brothers-in-law had arranged for his wife, Ram Ranjini Devi, to join a Bala Sevika training institution at Ranchi. Their intention was that, after completing the training, she might secure a government job and support the family.

Ram Surat Kunwar went to the institution to meet his wife, but it was with great difficulty that he was allowed to see her. The principal of the institution, Smt. Suseela Agarwal, harshly rebuked him in front of his wife, accusing him of irresponsibility and recklessness. Ram Ranjini Devi wept silently, unable to defend her husband. Ram Surat Kunwar listened without protest and quietly walked away. After this painful encounter in 1957, his wife would not see him again until 1982.

In 1958, another impulse drew him once more toward his family, and he returned to Dahiya. There he met his old friend Ramdutt Chowdry. Seeing his condition, the friend was deeply disturbed and attempted to reason with him, urging him to return to a normal life.

Ram Surat Kunwar neither argued nor defended himself. He remained utterly silent and emotionally detached. Finally, in frustration, Ramdutt Chowdry returned the sum of Rs. 64 that Ram Surat Kunwar had once deposited with him, thus closing both the account and, painfully, the friendship.

Ram Surat Kunwar took the money, walked into the street, and happened to see his son Amitabh. He handed the money to the boy and walked away without a word. He never returned. The family would see him again only in Tiruvannamalai in 1982, after a separation of twenty-five years.

He continued his wandering and finally arrived at Tiruvannamalai in 1959. At first, during the daytimes he stayed beneath the Punnai tree behind the railway station. Later, he moved up the holy hill and lived for more than six months in the Kugai Namachivaya Cave.

After descending from the hill, he wandered through the villages surrounding Tiruvannamalai, becoming intimately familiar with every settlement in the area. Until 1961, Ram Surat Kunwar lived as a wanderer in and around Tiruvannamalai. Occasionally, he received food from Sri Ramanasramam or other ashrams, but most often he survived on alms given by devotees and ordinary villagers.

After his initiation in 1952, his entire attention was fixed solely on Truth and God. He never compromised Truth for personal comfort or advantage. His faith in God and Guru was absolute. Liberation and freedom alone mattered to him.

Consequently, he could not conform to the rituals, rules, or administrative disciplines of religious institutions or ashrams. His only possessions were a small shoulder bag containing a few dhotis and shirts. Wherever he went, he sought the simplest form of shelter. The authorities of various ashrams in Tiruvannamalai often refused him permission to stay within their premises.

In 1955, he rented a small room in a secluded area near Ramanasramam and stayed there for a few months. The room was dilapidated, infested with snakes and poisonous insects. He remained completely fearless and undisturbed by these conditions. Eventually, he was unable to pay the rent. The landlord locked the room, demanding payment. Ram Surat Kunwar had nothing to give. All his belongings remained locked inside, leaving him once again on the streets with empty hands.

At different times, he stayed in graveyards around Tiruvannamalai and in caves on the sacred hill, especially the Kugai Namachivaya Cave. During the day, he sometimes sat quietly in remote corners within the Arunachaleswarar Temple.

At night, he often slept in the corridor of a vessel shop opposite the temple. When hunger struck, he begged for food from ashrams and charitable institutions. Though he preferred milk and bananas, he lacked the means to procure them and accepted whatever was given.

His clothes grew dirty and torn from constant use. Gradually, his appearance took on that of a beggar—an outer reflection of the identity his Guru had bestowed upon him and the life he had embraced without resistance.

Once, in 1962, a friend took Ram Surat Kunwar to an ashram in Tiruvannamalai for a meal. He was seated in the dining hall when a devotee sitting beside him began advising him on how one should appear clean and presentable while eating in the ashram. Ram Surat Kunwar, who had voluntarily embraced poverty for the sake of his God and Guru, listened quietly. Then, with gentle firmness, he replied, “If you truly wish to know anything, come and touch this beggar’s feet—you will know everything. But do not try to advise this beggar. It will not help you.” Saying this, he rose immediately and left without taking food. He went straight to the Arunachaleswarar Temple and lay down beneath the sacred marula tree within the temple precincts.

That very day, Sri Govinda Butt, the proprietor of Hotel Brindavan, a devout worshipper of Arunachaleswara and a compassionate benefactor of sadhus, arrived at the temple after completing his daily worship. As was his custom, he sat for a while beneath the bakul tree. There he noticed a sadhu lying quietly. Moved by kindness, he asked whether the sadhu had eaten that day. Ram Surat Kunwar replied simply, “God has not yet given this beggar food.”

Govinda Butt immediately took him to his hotel and served him a wholesome meal with great reverence. He also requested Ram Surat Kunwar to come to his hotel whenever he felt hungry.

Thus, Govinda Butt became the first devotee in Tiruvannamalai to offer food to Ram Surat Kunwar with heartfelt devotion. In later years, Ram Surat Kunwar would occasionally visit Hotel Brindavan, where he was always received with respect and love.

In the same year, 1962, Ram Surat Kunwar was blessed with the association of Pandit T. K. Sundaresa Iyer, a close and ardent devotee of Ramana Maharishi. A scholar deeply versed in ancient scriptures and Ramana’s teachings, he was affectionately called Vathiyar (Teacher). He often shared his personal experiences with Ramana Maharishi, and Ram Surat Kunwar listened with intense absorption.

In later years, Yogi Ramsuratkumar would speak of him with profound reverence, saying that very few recognized Pandit Sundaresa Iyer as a realized soul. It was this great devotee who first addressed Ram Surat Kunwar as “Yogi.”

Ram Surat Kunwar developed a deep affection for Sundaresa Iyer and longed to serve him in any possible way. But Sundaresa Iyer was a man of great simplicity and never allowed anyone to serve him. He taught Ram Surat Kunwar to read, write, and speak Tamil, and patiently explained the complete works of Ramana Maharishi. Ram Surat Kunwar especially cherished Aksharamanamalai, listening to it again and again with overflowing devotion.

One afternoon, after lunch at Ramanasramam, Sundaresa Iyer sat beneath the large iluppai tree. Ram Surat Kunwar sat nearby, gazing at him intently. Sundaresa Iyer smiled lovingly and asked whether he could bring some betel leaves and nuts. Overjoyed, Ram Surat Kunwar ran all the way to town—nearly two kilometers—procured them, and offered them with reverence. Sundaresa Iyer accepted them, smiled mysteriously, and asked softly, “Are you satisfied now?”

Although many ashrams and charitable institutions in Tiruvannamalai did not treat Ram Surat Kunwar with understanding, true sadhakas, sadhus, and realized souls recognized his spiritual stature. They encouraged him, blessed him, and silently supported his inner journey.

The common people and simple villagers, seeing him roam through hills, forests, and feared places, perceived the divinity in him. They saluted him, invited him into their homes, and shared their sorrows and struggles. Ram Surat Kunwar listened with deep compassion. His silent attention itself brought solace, and people left feeling relieved and comforted.

In later years, Yogi Ramsuratkumar would often say with childlike clarity, “Faith cures. Faith brings the joy of life. Faith is God.”

In the winter of 1961, Ram Surat Kunwar heard about the Theosophical Society in Madras and felt drawn to visit it. He reached Madras in a worn, unkempt condition, clad in rags. Because of his appearance, he was not permitted to stay within the Society’s premises.

Undisturbed by this, he stayed in a nearby Vinayaka temple and visited the Society’s library every day. There he studied the history of the Theosophical Society and read extensively from spiritual literature representing many traditions and schools of thought across religions.

The Theosophical Society had been founded by Henry Steel Olcott and Helena Blavatsky. Later, Annie Besant became its president and spread its message worldwide. Along with her close associate, the philosopher C. W. Leadbeater, she proclaimed that a World Teacher had arrived to guide humanity.

Leadbeater discovered J. Krishnamurti as a young boy on the beach behind the Society, playing with his brother. Krishnamurti’s father was employed by the Society. Believing him to be the awaited World Teacher, Leadbeater informed Annie Besant, and together they introduced Krishnamurti to the world in that role.

Krishnamurti and his brother were taken to England, educated, and groomed for this mission. However, in time, Krishnamurti dissociated himself from the Theosophical Society, declaring, “Truth cannot be organized.” He emphasized that the holistic immensity of Truth could be perceived not through institutions or religions, but in spite of them.

As Ram Surat Kunwar absorbed the principles of the Theosophical Society and Krishnamurti’s teachings, he felt deeply stirred. In 1961, when Krishnamurti arrived in Madras and spoke at Vasantha Vihar, Ram Surat Kunwar attended every talk with intense attention. He found no falsehood in what Krishnamurti spoke and perceived only Truth. Yet he was inwardly disturbed by Krishnamurti’s sharp criticism of gurus and the chanting of mantras.

On one occasion, after a talk, Krishnamurti walked casually through the waiting crowd. Ram Surat Kunwar stood among them, gazing at him with intense longing. Krishnamurti noticed him, walked straight up to him, smiled broadly, and gently patted him on the back. Later, Yogi Ramsuratkumar would recount this incident, saying repeatedly, “Krishnamurti came directly to this beggar, patted him on the back—and this beggar slept,”indicating that the touch plunged him into a deep state of samadhi.

When Krishnamurti later went to Rishi Valley School, Ram Surat Kunwar followed him there as well. As before, he was not allowed to stay on the premises due to his appearance and lived instead in secluded and feared places nearby, observing Krishnamurti from a distance.

Once, while Krishnamurti was conversing with friends, he noticed Ram Surat Kunwar watching from afar and pointed him out, saying something about him. When others tried to approach Ram Surat Kunwar, he quietly slipped away and disappeared.

In the summer of 1962, Krishnamurti left India for the United States. Ram Surat Kunwar remained in Madras for a time. Finding it difficult to continue living in the Vinayaka temple, he approached Sri Devasenapathi, a devotee of Swami Ramdas, and requested temporary shelter, offering to teach Devasenapathi’s children.

Devasenapathi agreed briefly but wrote to Swami Ramdas for guidance. Swami Ramdas replied firmly, advising him not to encourage such sadhus and to ask Ram Surat Kunwar to leave at once. On receiving the letter, Devasenapathi conveyed the message. Ram Surat Kunwar silently left.

He understood his Guru’s intention clearly. A true sadhu must live in seclusion, free from worldly association. To remain among respectable householders would only strengthen the desire to be a “good man.” His aim was not goodness—he had long surpassed that—but the total dissolution of the self in God. Finding Madras unsuitable thereafter, he returned to Tiruvannamalai. When Swami Ramdas shed his body in 1963, Ram Surat Kunwar did not go to Anandashram, for he knew his Father-Guru to be immortal.

In the winter of 1962, he again went to Madras to attend Krishnamurti’s talks and stayed once more at the Vinayaka temple. During this period, he came into contact with N. Sri Ram, then President of the Theosophical Society. Sri Ram recognized the intensity of Ram Surat Kunwar’s spiritual aspiration and helped him in several ways. Later, in 1971, Sri Ram sent Truman Caylor Wadlington to Tiruvannamalai to live with Yogi Ramsuratkumar and document his life. Truman stayed with him for seven months and published the book Yogi Ramsuratkumar: The Godchild, Tiruvannamalai in 1972, which quietly aided Yogi’s work in the world.

Krishnamurti returned to India again in the winters of 1962, 1963, and 1964. Ram Surat Kunwar attended all his talks in Madras, Rishi Valley, Bombay, Delhi, and Kasi. Though deeply moved by the clarity of Krishnamurti’s exposition of Truth, his inner conflict regarding gurus and mantras remained unresolved.

Finally, in February 1965, during a question session in Bombay, an elderly man asked Krishnamurti why his remarks on gurus and mantras hurt people of faith. Krishnamurti replied sharply, “Why do you come here, sir? This is not the place for people who have faith.”

On hearing this, Ram Surat Kunwar felt a sudden inner illumination. All doubts vanished. He understood that Krishnamurti’s mission was to guide those without faith toward Truth through enquiry.

Later, Yogi Ramsuratkumar would explain simply that Krishnamurti’s teachings were meant for non-believers, and he would always speak of Krishnamurti with respect, calling him a great mahatma.

In 1965, after all his inner doubts were finally resolved, Ram Surat Kunwar returned to Tiruvannamalai with the resolve to live there permanently. Until that time, Yogi had experimented with every possible form of yoga, meditation, and spiritual discipline in his intense search for God.

At moments, he attained sublime divine experiences, but those states were never permanent. They would arise and then fade away. Whenever he tried to pursue or repeat those exalted states through effort or method, they slipped further away. This left him utterly baffled and helpless.

After deeply listening to J. Krishnamurti, he abandoned all pursuit of spiritual states. He discovered the art of doing nothing. He simply observed what was within.

He no longer attempted to hold on to the pure energy, the Vast Divine Presence. Instead, he dissolved completely into that immense divine emptiness. In that instant, the veil between God and himself fell away.

God consumed Ram Surat Kunwar entirely. Ram Surat Kunwar vanished once and for all. Only the Supreme Father remained, functioning through the beggarly form. He became ‘That’.

The sacred mantra “Om Sri Ram Jai Ram Jai Jai Ram” resounded through his entire being, and he became the living embodiment of the Holy Name and Form.

From that moment, he was fully aware of his divine mission. His entire being was transformed. He stopped bathing altogether—sometimes bathing only once in a year, or even after several years. Ram Surat Kunwar no longer existed. His Father—God alone— lived and moved within that physical body. His very complexion changed, his form radiating a luminous divine brilliance. Having reached the summit of human evolution, he merged with God and with all the great realized souls. Everywhere—within and without—he saw only his Father. He became one with God in totality.

From then on, the divided name Ram Surat Kunwar mysteriously merged into the unified name Ramsuratkumar. No one knew who changed the name. Yogi himself never revealed it. But in later years he would say,

“This name, Yogi Ramsuratkumar, is not this beggar’s name. It is my Father’s Name. My Father has invested Himself in this Name. Whoever remembers this Name, my Father will surely come to their rescue.”

Ram Surat Kunwar’s journey in search of God and Guru began in 1947 and culminated in complete God-realisation in 1965. Eighteen long years of intense struggle—physical, mental, and spiritual—were required for this final awakening. His sufferings during those years are beyond description. God allowed him to suffer deeply so that, in the future, he could guide suffering humanity with true compassion and clarity, leading them along the right path to God.

Having become whole, he began his Father’s work. He uplifted sincere sadhakas toward God-realisation and guided confused seekers with the light of direct spiritual insight. Through pure love and compassion, he alleviated the pains and sorrows of ordinary people.

He carried a dry coconut shell, which he used both for begging food and drinking water. A palmyra fan accompanied him, protecting him from the scorching Tiruvannamalai summers. Recognizing his exalted spiritual state, Pandit T. K. Sundaresa Iyer bestowed upon him the title “Yogi.” From then on, Yogi Ramsuratkumar became one of the living names of God.

Yogi Ramsuratkumar often said that he had three Fathers—Ramana Maharishi, Sri Aurobindo, and Swami Ramdas. He never explicitly included Krishnamurti among them. Yet, a close observation of his life reveals a deeper truth: Ramana initiated the inner journey, Aurobindo helped him penetrate deeper, Ramdas infused him with divine madness through initiation, and Krishnamurti completed the process by helping him drop the final sense of self. Yogi later advised a few close friends, including the author, to study the teachings of all four masters and visit their sacred places.

In his early years, Ram Surat Kunwar was a deeply devotional bhakta. The encounter with Ramana Maharishi drew him toward silence, wisdom, and renunciation. The teachings of Sri Aurobindo intensified his seriousness and depth. Though playful by nature in childhood, these encounters transformed him into a seeker of intense austerity. He meditated for long hours, fasted extensively, and observed prolonged silence.

After Ramana and Aurobindo left their bodies, Swami Ramdas became his sole refuge. Ramdas’s unconventional ways initially confused him. After initiation in 1952, he entered a state of divine madness and developed an overwhelming love for Mataji Krishnabai and Swami Ramdas. His emotional intensity became unmanageable, forcing the masters to send him away for his own spiritual completion.

Swami Ramdas knowingly cast him into a life of wandering, fully aware of the sadhaka’s immense potential. This wandering exposed him to saints and seekers of every spiritual tradition, equipping him later to guide people of diverse temperaments.

Unlike Swami Ramdas, who wandered in ochre robes as a recognized sannyasi, Yogi Ramsuratkumar wandered in torn white clothes, mistaken for a mere beggar. This made his path far more painful. Swami Ramdas documented his wanderings; Yogi Ramsuratkumar recorded nothing—perhaps because he felt it unnecessary.

Through years of wandering, intense sadhana, and relentless inner struggle, Arunachala became his silent Guru. The holy hill guided him after the physical departure of his masters, finally leading him to Krishnamurti, whose touch and words enabled him to drop the last remnants of the seeking self. Once the self dissolved, he stood revealed not as a seeker but as the Father Himself.

Only then did Yogi fully understand the boundless compassion of Swami Ramdas and Mataji Krishnabai. He realized that the divine madness and expulsion from the ashram were acts of supreme grace. Had this not happened, he might have remained a humble, ego-bound servant in some ashram. Instead, he became a living beacon for humanity.

One could clearly see in Yogi Ramsuratkumar the reflection of Swami Ramdas—especially in his spontaneous, riotous laughter, erupting without reason, radiating pure joy and bliss. Both masters disregarded ritualistic religion and emphasized a single truth throughout their lives: constant remembrance of God’s Name.