Her Divine Grace
In the past, my daughter was not particularly interested in Amma. During one of Amma’s visits to Bangalore, she managed to receive Amma’s darśan one morning, despite the exceptionally large crowd of devotees that day. Later that afternoon, my daughter surprised me by asking if she could go for darśan again. Since she had never shown any special enthusiasm for Amma before, her request took me aback.
Seeing this as a positive sign, I arranged for another darśan token for her, even though I knew inwardly that it was not the right thing to do. I asked her to stand at the very end of the darśan line, which extended beyond the main gate. As she waited there, I silently prayed to Amma to grant my daughter a little extra time during darśan.
After several hours, my daughter finally reached Amma. I stood nearby, watching closely. Amma held my daughter in her arms while simultaneously speaking to someone else. At that moment, I realized that Amma had answered my prayer. Filled with gratitude, I bowed to her mentally.
The very next second, Amma picked up the microphone and announced, “There are thousands of people waiting to receive Amma’s darśan. Some have not received darśan even after waiting for eight or nine hours. My dear children, is it right to come for darśan a second time?”
Tears of remorse welled up in my eyes. At the same time, I marvelled at Amma’s omniscience. I knew I alone was responsible. In my eagerness for my daughter to develop devotion towards Amma, I had acted selfishly. I silently apologized to Amma from the depths of my heart.
About twenty-five years ago, my daughter once went to the bus stop to catch her school bus. When the bus arrived, instead of boarding it, she ran back home, threw her schoolbag aside, collapsed onto the bed, and began foaming at the mouth. She regained consciousness only after two days. Neighbours suggested that she might have suffered some form of epileptic seizure. I had my doubts — if it truly was a seizure, how had she managed to run home safely?
Local doctors were unable to diagnose her condition. I took her to renowned hospitals in Bangalore and Kerala. The doctors prescribed multiple tablets to be taken morning and evening. Despite this, the episodes continued — twice a month — for over six years.
One doctor referred us to a well-known neurologist, who ordered fresh tests and prescribed even more medication. Yet, even after six months, there was no improvement. The neurologist eventually declared the condition incurable and said my daughter would need to remain on medication for life.
I continued praying fervently to Amma. By her grace, although the episodes persisted, they never occurred while my daughter was travelling to school or to her tuition centre, only at home.
Swāmīs and brahmacāris who knew me urged me repeatedly to inform Amma. Many times, I resolved to tell her, but whenever I approached Amma, an inexplicable silence would overcome me.
Once, when volunteers in Bangalore went for darśan, a devotee firmly insisted that I speak to Amma about my daughter’s condition. Yet again, when I stood before Amma, I said nothing. As I was about to leave, that devotee sternly warned me, “If you’re not going to tell Amma, then I will!”
Hearing this, Amma turned to me and asked gently, “What’s wrong, son? What happened?” At last, I opened my heart and spoke about my daughter’s illness. Amma listened compassionately and said, “Amma will make a saṅkalpa (divine resolve), son.”
Though more than 25 years have passed, I still vividly remember the boundless compassion on Amma’s face. Seeing that expression, I was unable to speak; I could only weep.
After that momentous darśan, I stopped my daughter’s medication. From that day onward, she never experienced another episode. If this is not Amma’s divine grace, then what is? By Amma’s blessings, my daughter is today enjoying good health and a happy married life.
— Damodaran, India
Her Voice
In early 2010, I dreamt that Amma arrived at a palm-leaf hut with her disciples. She took my hands, made me sit down, and taught me a song. The dream then ended. Unsure of its meaning, I assumed Amma had simply granted me a dream darśan and thought nothing more of it.
A few days later, my younger sister called me and said that she had had a dream in which Amma taught me a song. Our dreams were identical. It then dawned on me that this was no ordinary dream — Amma herself had taught me how to sing. Thereafter, by Amma’s grace, I began singing bhajans.
Years later, a devotee rebuked me sharply: “Do you think you’re great just because you sing bhajans? Has pride entered your head? Do you think we are here to serve your singing? One should serve only those in need — that is karma yōga.”
I remained silent, but inwardly I was deeply hurt and angry with that devotee. When I returned home, I stood before Amma’s photograph and prayed: “Amma, I am deeply hurt. What do I know? You are the one who made me sing. Therefore, whether I receive praise or blame for my singing, it all belongs to you alone. Please take my pain as well.”
Although the hurt lingered and the anger continued to simmer, I restrained myself for Amma’s sake.
Soon afterward, the same devotee approached me and said, “I dreamt of you. In that dream, you were leaning against a pillar and singing, yet your mouth wasn’t moving. I asked you, ‘How are you singing when your mouth isn’t moving?’ You replied, ‘Look inside!’ We were standing in a temple. When I looked inside, I saw Goddess Kālī singing. All along, Kālī alone had been singing through your voice.”
I was stunned. I returned home in a state of awe and bliss. Kneeling before the altar of Amma, I thanked her. From this incident, I realized that my voice is not mine — it belongs to Kālī. Not just my voice, but all voices are Hers — Amma’s. I also understood that on the path of devotion, patience is essential. Once we surrender a problem to Amma, we must wait patiently for her to resolve it in her own way.
Yet, despite these lessons, I faltered again. Once, while alone in the local āśram, I began singing bhajans in various pitches using a śruti box, an instrument that provides a continuous drone to help maintain pitch. After some time, a thought crept in: “Aha! How talented I am! How else could I sing so skilfully in different pitches?”
The very moment this thought arose, the śruti box suddenly stopped working. No matter how many times I tried, it would not start.
Realizing my folly, I prayed contritely to Amma. I saw clearly that I had been singing not with devotion, but with ego. Prostrating before Amma’s photograph, I prayed with tears: “Amma, this voice is yours, yet I foolishly claim it as mine. Please forgive me.”
With deep feeling, I began chanting:
twamēva mātā ca pitā twamēva
twamēva bandhuśca sakhā twamēva
twamēva vidyā draviṇam twamēva
twamēva sarvam amṛtēśvarī mā
You are my mother and my father,
You are my relative and my friend.
You are my knowledge and my wealth,
You are my everything, O Mother Amṛtēśwarī.
As I sang, the śruti box began to function again. The pitch it produced perfectly matched the pitch of my voice.
— Ramachandran Murugayah, Malaysia
Magic of Divine Love
During Amma’s 2025 Europe Tour, I invited a friend — who lives about three hours away from the Hof Herrenberg āśram in Germany — to visit me at the āśram. I had spoken to her about Amma a few years earlier, and she agreed to come.
Whenever my friends are about to meet Amma for the first time, I find myself becoming more excited than they are. I began imagining how this meeting would transform my friend’s life and how she would soon become Amma’s devotee.
However, a day before the program, she sent me a message:
I don’t really care about Amma’s program. I’m not a big fan of her hugs, especially since I’d have to queue for a long time to get darśan. Maybe I’ll skip it. I just want to see you and have a fun, relaxing weekend.
I felt disappointed and lost all interest in meeting her. I began judging her, labelling her as a worldly person who knew nothing about spirituality.
After I calmed down, I asked myself what Amma would do if she were in my place. If I truly wished to introduce my friends to Amma, the most important thing was not to judge them. Between my friends and Amma, there is a bridge — me. If I am impatient and judgmental, it is as though that bridge is already broken.
I remembered that I, too, had once been a worldly person, with no interest at all in spiritual liberation. Yet Amma has been infinitely patient with me. She never gave up on me. That is why I am close to her today.
So, I decided to practise patience. I messaged my friend: “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you when you get here.”
She was travelling with her one-year-old daughter and had many concerns: Would she be able to get a darśan token? How long would she have to wait in line? Would she need to stay overnight? Would her baby be able to rest during the program?
I reassured her, saying, “I’ll be your babysitter for three days. I’ll queue up and get the tokens for you and your daughter. You can both rest during that time.”
When my friend arrived, I stayed by her side for the entire three days. She had never met a spiritual master before. Although she seemed respectful towards Amma, I sensed that she did not truly believe in Amma’s divinity. Still, Amma’s grace flowed to her effortlessly.
On the first day of the program, just as Amma entered the hall, my friend’s daughter suddenly stood up in her mother’s arms and began clapping and jumping with joy. My friend was stunned — her daughter had never behaved like this before. In fact, she was usually nervous around people.
As Amma walked in, the baby began laughing. Then, for the first time ever, she leaned forward and kissed her mother on the lips.
The look of disbelief on my friend’s face said everything. Tears welled up in her eyes. Soon after, her daughter began playing joyfully on the floor, light and carefree, like a butterfly. It was hard to believe that this was the same shy, introverted toddler. Over the next three days, she made many friends at the venue.
After witnessing this, my friend began looking forward to her first darśan and insisted that I accompany her. As Amma was about to hug her, the bhajan group sang:
In the still of the night,
From the darkness comes a light.
Then I know from my heart,
It is you… it is you… it is you!
I burst into tears. “Yes, it is you, Amma,” my heart whispered. “Thank you for loving my friend. You are our only hope on the spiritual path. Please help us all.”
The friend who had earlier said that she had no interest in Amma’s hug now wanted darśan again. On the second day, we woke up at 6 a.m. and reached the hall by 7:30 a.m. to join the darśan line. Before the program, my friend had made me promise her that I would not ask her to wake up early. On the third day, she said, “I want a mantra from Amma.”
Her love for Amma grew day by day. It was astonishing to see someone who had never met Amma before transform so deeply in such a short time.
Through this experience, I realized once again how essential patience is. It is only because Amma is endlessly patient with all of us that we are able to change. Day after day, month after month, year after year, she remains available — singing and meditating with us and repeating her teachings again and again. Amma has said it so beautifully: the Guru’s patience is what redeems the disciple.
I learned yet again that the power of Amma’s love and presence cannot be explained. We do not need to worry about turning anyone into Amma’s devotee. She has her own way of reaching hearts and showering divine love. — Gita (Wang Yixuan), China