Because we got everything we wanted from his teachings we never felt the need to run after him in person. Our first course in 1976 was given through his tapes but he seemed to be right there and he was our teacher from then on. However, as it turned out we were lucky that we saw him when he came to the UK in 1979, and thereafter many times in India when we went to sit long courses, or back in the west when he came on tour. Looking back we feel so fortunate to have managed courses with him, and later assisted him on courses as ATs.
Although he had such an impact on our lives, it is the small everyday things that we remember him saying or doing that illustrate his character and made deep learning points for us.
Once we asked him about U Ba Khin. We don't remember what he said exactly, but we do remember a kind of reverie that came over him. His eyes seemed to sink back inside and reflected back out the deepest feelings of gratitude and devotion he felt for his teacher. Sometimes a look can convey more than a thousand words. A look that seemed to connect us to the whole line of teachers going back to the Buddha.
Goenkaji was a constant force - he never wavered, even in the face of difficulties or challenges. He was the same whoever he was talking to, regardless of status or position or background, and regardless of whether a person was addressing him with respect or otherwise. An incident on a course in the UK in 1981 where a large marquee (lent) had been crected as a Dhamma Hall. It was Day 5, the evening discourse. Goenkaji was in full flow. Suddenly, a male student came striding down the aisle towards the Dhamma seat, waving his arms. He started shouting angrily at Goenkaji. The managers jumped to their feet but the man stood his ground and continued berating Goenkaji. Goenkaji calmly and smilingly indicated to the man to sit down. But he wouldn't move - he turned round and started addressing people in the hall, urging them to 'rebel'. Still Goenkaji sat, smiling and patient. Eventually the man turned and strode back down the aisle. He stopped and addressed his girlfriend, who was sitting right behind Reinette. 'I'm going - are you coming? She replied 'No'. So off he stormed, and out of the course. It was a very disturbing incident for the students, who naturally felt shaken. What on earth was Goenkaji going to do now? Well - he and Mataji looked completely unperturbed and just smiled benevolently, as he continued the discourse as if nothing had happened. It so happened, on that course a Dhamma colleague was recording the discourses. He was using a large reel-to-reel tape recording machine of those days. The recording machine was running throughout the incident. He told us afterwards that when he came to listen to the recording he found he could splice the tape where the man started his tirade and again at the end, as Goenkaji had resumed his discourse exactly where he left off, and there was no perceptible break. Such calm, clarity and presence of mind in the face of adversity! This story doesn't end there. The course venue was a former farmhouse with outbuildings. Reinette was sleeping in a makeshift dormitory upstairs in a barn, next to the man's girlfriend. That night as she was falling off to sleep. she heard a Dhamma server come quietly up the steps and whisper to the girl 'Goenkaji wants to know - what's the name of your friend - he wants to send him metta'.
For four consecutive years in the mid 1980s Goenkaji came to the UK to give huge summer courses. People attended from all over Europe. There were many stories we remember from then. One time on Day 4 Goenkaji had just instructed the students to go to the top of the head at the beginning of the Vipassana session and at that exact same moment the largest thunderbolt we have ever heard crashed down from the sky. Immediately all the electricity went out. Goenkaji calmly carried on. The students certainly felt strong sensations at the top of the head and knew they were in for something life changing! Later during this course a female student at the back started crying loudly and was brought back to the job in hand when Goenkaji's serious gravelly voice came through the speakers, 'There is no crying business on the path of Dhamma.' There were always many lighter moments. Behind Goenkaji's seat in the wall of the gymnasium that served as a Dhamma Hall, a cat had got in and given birth to two kittens. All along the bottom of the wall was a ventilation grill, and the two kittens' cute faces looked out at the rows of students opposite them, mewing from time to time. As they witnessed the students bending forward saying 'Sadhu Sadhu Sadhu' to Goenkaji's 'Bhavatu Sabba Mangalam', it's not surprising the kittens were called Sadhu and Metta and later adopted by meditators.
We often used to marvel at Goenkaji's tremendous Dhamma energy. By 1994 he had personally conducted 400 courses. Often he would conduct twenty or more courses in one year, many times the next course beginning the same day as the previous one ended, or with just a day or two gap for travelling. He was also not just dealing with the students' questions, but for decades he was giving all the instructions live, as well as giving evening discourses in both Hindi and then English It was a remarkable feat of compassion, devotion and stamina in itself. We remember an occasion when he arrived in the U.K. and Reinette mentioned to him that the 'servers had all worked so hard to get the centre set up and ready for his visit. Instead of commiserating with the poor servers, he replied without sentiment, 'Well, they have to! For Goenkaji the element of work was always there and he understood that this was necessary for all of us to make progress in Dhamma, and that Dhamma work was an opportunity to be joyously taken up in two hands to develop our paramis, rather than to gain the thanks of others. As he used to say, 'If you thank me then I have to thank you and then you have to thank me for thanking you etc.
Appointing people to serve in various roles was done in a very matter of fact way. For example, when he asked us to be Ats, he merely asked out of the blue, 'If you were ATs, how many courses could you give?' This approach gave us the correct understanding that we had not been awarded any special title to build up our egos, but had a job of work to do to help our teacher in his mission. It did not seem we were given a choice whether to take it up or not. We took it that he knew we were completely surrendered and would do whatever we could, and we were glad that was how he felt. This implicit acknowledgement of connection touched us.
Giving so many courses Goenkaji met all types of people. It was the time to spread the seeds of Dhamma far and wide. Occasionally people who were not mentally balanced came on courses. On a course in France one young student who described himself as a 'psychic navigator' on his application form turned up. It quickly became apparent that he was unbalanced. He had come from another country with a few friends so although he was not fit to continue the course Goenkaji directed that he had to remain on site until the end of the course when he could travel back home with his friends. Goenkaji was very tolerant and unmoved by his strange behaviour. In the early mornings when Goenkaji would leave the Dhamma Hall at 6.30 and walk back to his residence still chanting, this young boy would rush up to him after picking great bouquets of wild grasses and wild flowers and thrust them at him. Goenakji just carried on his way, chanting and giving metta. On another occasion Goenkaji was informed regretfully by the manager that a student had left the course. We always remember his response when we now conduct courses and have somebody leave. He smiled and simply said, 'Well, we've got it!' He offered the Dhamma freely with all the compassion, but gained nothing personally from whether anyone came on a course or not, or whether they stayed or not. That was purely to their own advantage, and they were free to take it up or not.
We remember now all the precious moments that we had with Goenkaji. For us he was, and remains, the personification of Dhamma. A last meeting is always very poignant. Sitting at his feet one last time, as one of the five hundred ATS, SATs and Ts at the International AT Meeting in 2012, was special. Whether or not he knew this was his last meeting with his ATs we can't say, but he had called all his ATS to make a special effort to attend this important and historic' occasion. He wanted very much to address us all personally. As well as explaining the new devolved system of worldwide organization, he wanted a chance to answer any queries that his ATS had. I remember him clearly - body visibly worn out and exhausted from decades of unrelenting service, and sustained only by some near miraculous willpower, but mind as sharp as ever and full of metta. At one point after quite a long talk he gave in Hindi as well as answering questions, someone said, 'And now in English please.' Goenkaji visibly blanched but he did go on to give a short talk in English. His sense of humour shone through. After years of saying there is no thanks in Dhamma, he ended the whole session by joking with a twinkle in his eye and a gentle chuckle, 'Now thank me!!!' Truly, and as he well knew, there is nothing we can do to pay back the debt of gratitude we owe our Dhamma Father, other than to carry on walking the path of Dhamma and serving others to fulfill his mission. The gift we have to give him, the gurudakshinā he mentions at the end of every 10-day course, is not one of thanks, but is one of practice and sending Metta to all beings, he being one amongst them!
- Kirk and Reinette Brown, UK
https://www.vridhamma.org/node/4668