The Eyes That Saw More After They Were Gone
“When the heart is filled with the Lord, even those who caused us pain become objects of compassion.”
Yesterday…
I stood in Kooram. I thought I had come to learn about a great disciple.
Instead…
I discovered that Koorathāzhvān was teaching me what it truly means to belong to an Āhcārya.
He had surrendered wealth.
He had surrendered comfort. He had surrendered reputation.
And finally… he had surrendered even his physical eyes…..
Yet…
the story did not end in darkness.
Because the greatest miracle was not that Koorathāzhvān would one day see again.
The greatest miracle… was that his heart had no hatred left to see.
As I mentioned yesterday…
during our visit, a young Bhattar, radiant with tejas, unexpectedly asked my daughter:
“Will you forgive the person who hurt you?”
She immediately replied, “How can I?” The Bhattar smiled. Then he told us about Koorathāzhvān.
He told us about the Chola persecution. About Periya Nambi. About the terrible suffering.
About the loss of Koorathāzhvān’s eyes. And then…
he took us to the moment that changed everything. I listened. My daughter listened. And slowly…
it felt as though the centuries between us and Koorathāzhvān had disappeared.
After the terrible events…
Koorathāzhvān eventually received a command from his beloved Āhcārya.
Śrī Rāmānuja wanted him to go to Kanchipuram.
There… he was to pray before Śrī Varadarāja Perumāḷ.
The Āhcārya believed that the Lord would respond to the devotion of His devotee.
And so… the blind Koorathāzhvān began the journey.
Imagine that journey. The roads. The uncertainty.
The physical weakness. The darkness.
And yet… there was something within him that remained completely luminous.
His physical eyes were gone. But his inner vision…
was becoming brighter.
At last… he reached Kanchipuram.
He stood before Śrī Varadarāja Perumāḷ. The Lord whom he had seen many times before…
when he still possessed his physical sight. But now… he could no longer see the divine form with his eyes.
He could only see Him…with his heart. And there… before the Lord…
Koorathāzhvān composed and recited the Varadarāja Stavam.
Each word was filled with devotion.
Each verse was an offering. Each breath… was surrender.
Then…
the impossible happened.
Perarulāḷan appeared before His devotee.
The Lord of Kanchipuram. The Lord who had witnessed everything.
The Lord who knew every wound. The Lord who knew every tear.
And He asked… “What do you want?”
Just imagine that moment.
The Lord Himself… standing before him.
The devotee had suffered terribly. His eyes had been destroyed.
His body had endured immense pain. He had every worldly reason to ask for restoration.
And the Lord was ready to grant him anything.
Anything. As I listened…
I began asking myself: What would I have asked?
Would I have asked for my eyesight? Would I have asked for justice?
Would I have asked that those who harmed me suffer?
Would I have asked the Lord to erase every painful memory?
Perhaps… I would have asked for all of these.
But Koorathāzhvān… was different.
Something extraordinary had happened within him.
He had gone beyond himself.
The name of NāḷUūrān arose in his heart. The very man associated with the persecution.
The man who had helped create the circumstances that caused such suffering.
And yet…
Koorathāzhvān did not ask the Lord to punish him.
He did not ask for revenge.
He did not ask for justice.
Instead… with folded hands…
he prayed that Nāḷūrān too should experience the same divine bliss that he himself was experiencing before Lord Varadarāja Perumāḷ.
I could hardly contain my tears.
At that moment… I understood.
The greatest miracle was not the restoration of eyesight.
The greatest miracle was the disappearance of hatred.
Koorathāzhvān had reached a place where another person’s wrongdoing could no longer control his heart.
His enemy had become… an object of compassion.
an object of compassion.
That… is Vaiṣhṇava greatness.
Who Is a True Śrīvaiṣhṇava?
The young Bhattar’s question to my daughter suddenly became clear.
“Will you forgive the person who hurt you?”
This was not merely a question about forgiveness. It was a question about identity.
If I say, “I belong to the Lord,”
then I must slowly learn to cultivate the qualities of the Lord.
The Lord forgives. The Lord protects. The Lord gives another opportunity.
The Lord does not abandon the fallen. How then can I claim to belong to Him…
while deliberately preserving hatred within my heart?
Koorathāzhvān showed us the answer.
Our PūrvĀhcāryas never taught that wrongdoing should be called righteousness.
They taught something far deeper.
Do not allow another person’s wrongdoing to become the owner of your heart.
Koorathāzhvān did not deny what had happened.
He did not pretend that suffering had not occurred.
But he refused to carry hatred into the presence of the Lord.
That is the greatness of surrender.
Standing there… my thoughts naturally returned to Śrī Rāmānuja.
What kind of Āchārya must he have been…
to produce a disciple like Koorathāzhvān?
An Āchārya who did not merely produce scholars. An Āchārya who transformed hearts.
An Āchārya whose disciples could look beyond themselves…
even after being wounded by the world.
Suddenly… I understood something else.
Koorathāzhvān was not merely Rāmānuja’s disciple.
He was… Rāmānuja’s teaching made visible.
As the Bhattar continued speaking… my daughter listened silently.
I watched her face.
The question with which the Bhattar had begun had now become something much deeper.
Perhaps… he was not merely telling us the story of Koorathāzhvān.
Perhaps… the Āchārya was speaking through him.
Perhaps the question was meant for all of us:
“How long will you carry the person who hurt you inside your heart?”
We carry resentment. We carry old conversations.
We carry insults. We carry memories of betrayal.
We carry wounds that nobody else can see.
And then… we approach the Lord asking for peace.
Koorathāzhvān quietly shows us the way.
Let it go. Not because the wound was insignificant. But because…
the Lord is infinitely greater than the wound.
I now understand why the title of today’s chapter came to me:
The Eyes That Saw More After They Were Gone.
Koorathāzhvān lost his physical eyes. But perhaps…
for the first time… he saw the world without the distortion of ego.
He saw only the Lord. He saw compassion. He saw the suffering of others.
He saw the possibility of forgiveness. He saw the eternal destination.
And above everything…he saw his Āchārya’s lotus feet.
As I listened… my own lips began moving silently.
I repeated: “Rāmānujasya caraṇau śaraṇaṁ prapadye.”
Again…
“Rāmānujasya caraṇau śaraṇaṁ prapadye.”
And again…
“Rāmānujasya caraṇau śaraṇaṁ prapadye.”
I seek refuge in the feet of Śrī Rāmānuja.
Suddenly…
I did not want anything else.
Not knowledge.
Not recognition.
Not even spiritual accomplishment.
Only… the lotus feet of my Āchārya.
“Koorathāzhvān did not become great because he suffered.
He became great because suffering could not make him hateful.”
“The Lord gave him the opportunity to ask for anything.
He asked that his enemy should also receive divine bliss.” “Forgiveness is not weakness.
In the hands of a surrendered soul, forgiveness becomes spiritual strength.”
“The eyes may see the world.
Only the heart surrendered to the Āchārya can see the Lord.”
Today… I have to ask myself honestly:
Whom am I still carrying in my heart Who hurt me…
and still occupies a room inside me? Who insulted me…
and still controls my peace? Who disappointed me…
and still lives in my thoughts?
Perhaps… the Lord is waiting for me to release them.
Not because they deserve my forgiveness.
But because…
I deserve the freedom of surrender. Koorathāzhvān teaches me…
that the journey toward Vaikuṇṭha is not merely about walking toward the Lord.
It is also about… leaving behind everything that prevents the heart from becoming like His.
I thought… after Koorathāzhvān… the story of Śrī Rāmānuja’s disciples would be complete.
I was wrong.
Our Āchārya’s life was surrounded by extraordinary souls.
Each one revealed another dimension of surrender. And among them…
there was one whose name is inseparable from my own spiritual journey.
The one whom Śrī Rāmānuja loved as his very own shadow.
The one whose life would later become deeply connected with my own search for Āchārya.
Tomorrow…
The Shadow Who Never Left His Āchārya.
“Koorathāzhvān stood before the Lord without hatred.
He had lost his eyes… but he had found a vision greater than sight.
He saw what every soul must one day discover:
When everything becomes His… nothing remains to hate.”
To be continued…
Śrīmate Rāmānujāya Namaḥ
Adiyen Ramanuja dasan
Pictures : Courtesy Google Images
