In the previous issue of Saranagati, we concluded a two-part series on ignorance. Yet, following the second part's publication, it became clear that key themes remained unaddressed. Specifically, we had not adequately explored the nature of maya and the veils—why they arise, how they function, and how we might effectively pierce through them. Nor did we examine more fundamentally the ultimate nature of ignorance and why it exists instead of knowledge. Is ignorance simply a condition that befalls us, or are we complicit in its arising? What are its roots and causes, and why does it persist? These are the questions to be explored in this postscript.

In the earlier segments, we traced the arc from ignorance to clarity through Bhagavan's teachings. We saw how his silent gaze conveyed a mind free of delusion, radiating a perfect love born of non-separation. In contrast, our own lives are governed by a deep-rooted ignorance that conceals the truth and projects illusion. Rooted in ego and layered with samskaras, ignorance creates the illusion of a separate self and gives rise to maya, distorting our perception.

Blind faith, magical thinking, and self-preferential assumptions are among the ego's many disguises, replacing surrender, whereas Bhagavan's vichara nudges us toward the root of thought. Our healing arises, Bhagavan tells us, not by outward feats or inherited beliefs, but through the inward unmasking of ignorance through enquiry.

Bhagavan's teaching remains emphatic: liberation is not attained through knowledge alone but through direct seeing within and the wisdom born of the clarity such seeing brings. Our true home is not in outer forms but in inner stillness, where ignorance falls away and only the Real remains.

The Nature of Maya
Bhagavan tells us maya is what is not.¹ But what does this mean? And how did we come to put our faith in what is not?

Tradition tells us that maya is the source of the veils, the Supreme's mysterious sakti, composed of the three gunas. Though beyond being and non-being, form and formlessness, sakti is known through the ever-changing universe. Her three modes are: 1) rajas or activity, the source of desire, restlessness, and bondage; 2) tamas or inertia, which veils the truth, leading to ignorance, confusion, and spiritual blindness; and 3) sattva or clarity, which in purity through faith, devotion, and inner peace reveals the Self. The Mahabharatha comments:
It is not the fault of maya but my fault, that looking away from God I became attached to maya.

Bhagavan sums up:
Maya is that which makes us regard as non-existent the Self, the Reality, which is always and everywhere present, all-pervasive and Self-luminous; and as existent, the individual soul (jiva), the world (jagat), and God (para) which have been conclusively proved to ever be non-existent.²

The Nature of the Veils
Maya is the cause of delusion, and, through its qualities, keeps one vainly dangling like a ghost, to quote the Vivekachudamani. The text adds:

If the veiling power is destroyed, the Self will shine of itself, and there will be no room either for doubt or obstruction. Then maya's projecting power will vanish. But the projecting power cannot disappear unless the veiling power also disappears. Only when the subject is perfectly distinguished from objects, like milk from water, will the veiling power be destroyed.³

Distorted Perception
The veiling and projecting power of ignorance is the most confounding of all obstacles on the spiritual path. The veils adapt to every historical time period, preventing us from detecting them in their many disguises.

Cognitive dissonance is the inner tension we feel when our actions, beliefs, or values are in conflict. It gives rise to moha—delusion—by prompting the mind to cling to false narratives that preserve a sense of coherence and self-worth. To avoid facing painful truths, we unconsciously distort perception, projecting a filtered version of reality shaped by fear and desire. This becomes a veil that conceals the Real and presents illusion as truth. In this distorted state, we confuse egoic constructs for authentic identity, and temporary comforts for lasting fulfilment. Thus, the unresolved conflict within becomes the seed of illusion, perpetuating the sense of separation, suffering, and a world seen through the lens of falsehood.

Strikingly, we can easily discern the delusion of others but cannot understand why they don't see it themselves. Our sight is clear because we have no personal stake in their delusion. But then we have to wonder about the times when we have a stake in the narrative at hand but cannot see it for what it is by virtue of our investment in it. Relatedly, we may notice that our eagerness to find fault elsewhere corresponds to the degree with which we have not yet adequately addressed the same fault within ourselves.

Very often we are critical of another's delusions in order to deflect attention away from our own. We self- define as ones who are aware of the ego's tricks, not recognising that such glowing self-assessments have an egoic origin.

Seeing through delusions is tricky because they do not reveal themselves. We have to assume that they are there everywhere and train our sight to look more closely.

This process is part and parcel of Bhagavan's vichara.

Wilful Self-Deception
Internal equilibrium is often preserved not by truth but by concealment. To feel well, we unconsciously filter reality, avoiding a clear view of what lies within. This avoidance is unconscious, is meant to protect us.

Driven by a deep need to preserve a sense of stability, we construct narratives that make everything appear acceptable. While self-deception may offer temporary relief, it generates unconscious conflict, as the truth we deny continues to press against the seams of our fabricated reality. Over time, internal dissonances can tax our vitality and intensify the sense of disconnection. The psyche, in striving to avoid inner disruption, paradoxically creates a more enduring fragmentation. True healing begins with honest self-confrontation and the courage to see clearly.

The Fortress
As described earlier, the veils of ignorance do not merely obscure reality. They are maintained by an unconscious effort to shield us from discomfort. In the face of painful self-reckoning, the psyche turns to surface-level experiences such as compulsive thought, intellectualization, entertainment, and aimless preoccupations. These are not incidental, but mechanisms designed to avoid the discomfort of depth in the face of an overactive mind. Bhagavan comments:

Concentration is putting off all thoughts which obstruct the vision of our true nature. All our efforts are directed to lifting the veil of ignorance. Now it appears difficult to quell the thoughts. But is there anything to think of ? There is [in reality] only the Self. The habit makes us believe that it is difficult to cease to think. When the error is found out, one will not be foolish enough to exert oneself unnecessarily by way of thinking. ⁴

When we edge too close to uncomfortable truths, our defences are reactivated. Rooted in fear—the fear of facing what lies beneath the identity we have fabricated—the ego constructs a fortress of superficiality. Vichara is the means for dismantling it and revealing what is hidden beneath it.

Scaffolding Encasing the Heart
Ignorance is not random; it is supported by a scaffold of  strategies:  self-deceit,  denial,  externalization, sentimentality,  romanticism,  and  nostalgia.  Each mechanism  serves  to  insulate  the  ego.  Denial avoids our flaws, externalization shifts blame, and sentimentality covers over pain and discomfort with melodrama.  Romanticism  and  nostalgia,  honey- tipped and poison-rooted, glorify the past or future to escape the vexations of the present. They bring short-term satisfaction while directing us towards what is not, upholding the illusion of a small self.

As Bhagavan teaches, liberation arises not from constructing narcissistically indulgent narratives, but from dismantling them through inward honesty and persistent self-awareness.

The  Greek  root narkē means  numbness  or stupor,  from  which  we  derive  "narcotic"  and, etymologically, "narcissism." In this light, narcissism can be understood as a form of psychic anaesthesia, a numbing of the heart's capacity to feel, relate, and see clearly. Ignorance functions like a narcotic, where illusion  displaces  genuine  connection.  Bhagavan comments:
Illusion is itself illusory. Illusion must be seen by one beyond it. Can such a seer be subject to illusion? There are scenes on the screen in a cinema show. Fire appears to burn buildings to ashes. Water seems to wreck vessels. But the screen on which the pictures are projected remain unscorched and dry. Why? Because the pictures are unreal whereas the screen is real. Again, reflections pass through a mirror; but the mirror is not in any way affected by the quality or quantity of the reflections. So, the world is a phenomenon on [the screen of] a single Reality, which is not affected in any manner. Reality is only one.⁵

The Mirror of Disconnection
Exiled from our heart, we project dissatisfaction onto the world. We perceive our spouse, children, parents, colleagues, or society as inadequate or disappointing because we have not connected with the deeper layers of our own being. Life begins to appear flawed, undeserving of our full participation. This distorted perception stems from not having touched the deeper layers of our being where longing, vulnerability, and the capacity for genuine empathy reside. The shallow relationship to the heart reflects as criticism, blame, and cynicism. Our judgments of others mask unconscious judgments of self. What we find intolerable outside is often what we have not yet reconciled within. As we deepen the relationship with our heart, we find our vision clearing. Others appear more human, more tender, more real.

Disconnection from the heart creates a vacuum that the ego rushes to fill. It offers a false coherence, substituting roles and opinions for true being. Because the heart is not informing perception, the ego becomes the default interpreter of reality. Thus, ego as a defence arises not from evil but from avoidance—born of fear, separation, and the refusal to feel. In trying to avoid one or two problems, the ego creates a dozen. We blame the world, our loved ones, our circumstances. Yet the root of the problem does not lie outside us. If we give up the fool's game of concealing inner truth, we can begin to offer others what we had previously— perhaps, unfairly—demanded of them.

Belonging
If former generations experienced healthier com-munity and family life, in the collective psyche of the 21st century, concerns about belonging have moved to the fore. Our increasing longing to be seen and held within a social matrix speaks to a gradual decline in family and community life. When the need to belong becomes predominant, we may feel inclined to betray what we inwardly know to be true in order to maintain a sense of inclusion. But to live meaningfully is not to be accepted at all costs. Rather, it is to stand in what we know to be true, even when doing so may risk distance with another. True belonging arises not from conformity but from genuineness. In honouring what is true, we begin to heal the wounds of unworthiness and discover that real acceptance begins with self-acceptance.

The Highest Knowledge
The discovery we are seeking is to know the lay of the land within. True wisdom is not conceptual but experiential—direct  and  immediate.  Reading  the sacred text of the heart is made practicable through the lens of Bhagavan's enquiry. It reveals what is going on within at any given moment. Such knowing never grows old, never ceases to instruct, and never fails to yield insights. It allows us to observe the subtle currents of thought, emotion, desire, and fear that shape experience moment by moment. ⁶

Bathing in Enquiry
Of course, some devotees believe enquiry is only for advanced seekers. But this is a misunderstanding. If a bathing tank is not intended for those already clean, but for those who long to wash themselves, enquiry is for those who struggle, falter, and long for clarity amid the confusion.

What makes enquiry difficult? The veils—the inner resistances, fears, and denial that arise to preserve our constructed identity. They are not enemies. When approached in gentleness, they yield. Each act of honest seeing is a soft unveiling and with each unveiling, we become a little freer, a little lighter. Bhagavan comments:

Veiling is a characteristic of ignorance; it is not of the Self: it cannot affect the Self in any manner; it can only veil the jiva. The ego is insentient: united with the light of the Self. But the ego and the light cannot be seen distinct from each other; they are ever united. The mixed product is the jiva, the root of all differentiation. ⁷

Heart-Centred Enquiry
In imitating Sri Ramana through the practice of gentle enquiry, we mediate the clash between our need to belong and our yearning to live dharmically. When we turn inward with kindness rather than aggression, the heart opens naturally. On the other hand, if we approach enquiry like soldiers attacking a fortress, intent on vanquishing the enemy within, the ego will retreat, defend, or disguise itself more cleverly. The harder we push, the more deeply entrenched our inner defences will become. In contrast, when we meet contradictions— our hypocrisy, vanity, and insecurity—with curiosity and compassion, change becomes possible.

We hold space for what is misguided within us, not forcing the heart but allowing it to soften. We recall Bhagavan in the hall who by his kind presence never humiliated devotees for their shortcomings. His silence and the gentle tone of his soft words served as a mirror that revealed without attacking. His quiet affection allowed the real to surface without shame.

Enquiry, free of self-condemnation, is fruitful when the most unflattering parts of ourselves feel safe enough to be seen. This leads to the wisdom of accurately reading inner conditions. This is Bhagavan's path.

The Ramana Way
Sri Bhagavan followed this path and thus, embodied a life utterly free of inner contradiction. In him, the polarity between the need to belong and the need to be authentic had dissolved. He had nothing to prove, nothing to defend, and nothing to conceal, for the very sense of a separate "someone" had vanished. The usual tensions that animate the human psyche—between pleasing others and remaining true to oneself—found no foothold in him. There was no desire to belong because there was no inner exile; he was at home in the Self. Equally, there was no striving for any kind of perfection since there was no ego needing validation.

His presence radiated a peace unburdened by psychological conflict, a silence untroubled by self-concern. His clarity arose not from discipline or effort but from the complete absence of the self-image born of ignorance. Bhagavan is what remains when all the veils have fallen away.

Root of the Sting
Sri Ramana exemplifies cleaning up the mess within to open the path to the deathless. A proverb reads: the sting of death is born of transgression.⁸ In other words, the terrifying aspect of death is not the body's demise, as one would imagine, but rather all that remains unresolved within the heart. Transgression here does not refer only to moral infractions, but to our habit of routinely turning away from what is true, turning away from the heart's integrity, and from the principled voice of conscience. Each act of self-betrayal leaves a residue. The unexamined life accumulates inner debris. This is the source of the sting.

To be free of the sting is to face what we have long avoided. Each layer of earnest enquiry loosens ego's grip, and death loses its terror only when the heart is at peace.

Renouncing Scraps
If our hearts are not yet at peace and we remain unaware of the fact, it is because ours is the only life we have ever known.

In a forgotten alley, a small band of orphaned children scavenge for scraps. It is their way of life. But one day, one of them is taken in by a kind stranger who offers him a real meal—warm rice, fresh vegetables, spiced with care, served with love. As he eats, something changes in him. When he returns to his friends, he no longer hungers for scraps. To the others, it appears he has renounced scavenging. But for his part he has not renounced anything. He has simply tasted something real and has no yearning for the former way of living.

So too with us. Living for so long outside the heart, on the wrong side of the veils, we have learned to make do with the world's scraps—attention, status, distraction, and accumulation. But once having been taken in by the Sage, having tasted the stillness of the Self, we no longer crave for the world's illusions. There is no conscious decision to renounce the world. We simply stop mistaking it for home.

An old saying goes, the only thing you have to lose are your chains. In other words, the only thing we have to give up are the things that cause us misery.

Conclusion
In this series, we have been looking for the root mechanism behind ignorance, why it would arise in the first place and how it is sustained over an entire lifetime. The answer is simple: Ignorance is a necessary feature of the egoic endeavour to maintain the delusion of separateness. Ego by its nature must be concealed. It cannot bear the light of day. It cannot hold up under scrutiny. This is why Bhagavan's vichara is so effective. And why we do not want to practice it. Identified as we are with ego, which we call 'myself ', we instinctively avoid holding it up to the penetrating light of awareness. Ignorance represents all that is hidden within us, and we invariably conspire to support it in the interest of maintaining the status quo.

If the heart is the source of all karma, every thought, word, and deed originates there, shaped by intention and desire. When the heart is burdened by samskaras, the psyche is wounded. A wounded psyche flees from stillness, just as the ego hides from the light of awareness. The psyche turns to stimulation—words, noise, media, excess—to numb the ache. These are not mere habits; they are evasions—strategies for avoiding the uncomfortable task of turning inward. We revere our desires, whims and impulses, imagining they issue from the Self, imagining they are enduring and can lead us to fullness, and so follow them blindly, not recognising they lead nowhere except to disappointment and heartache. Bhagavan shows us where our true freedom lies:

Samadhi alone can reveal the truth. Thoughts cast a veil over Reality and so it cannot be clear in states other than samadhi…The Self is within the direct experience of everyone, but not as one imagines it to be. It is only as it is. Samadhi must be the natural life of every seeker.⁹

If stilling the mind is challenging, if excavating the heart is painful, if subjecting our egoic longings to Bhagavan's vichara is deeply uncomfortable, we recall a line that speaks to self-unveiling: The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things. ¹⁰

The heart, even when veiled, remembers. It knows. No distraction can silence its longing. Overcoming ignorance begins by turning inward and glimpsing the pristine realm behind the veils. Our greatest illusion and darkest ignorance is failing to see how separate we have become from ourselves and from the world around us, calling it 'myself ', as if this were how things were supposed to be.

Through the practice of vichara, silence, and stillness, we can begin to dissolve the veils, enabling the heart to return to its natural state—pure, pristine, whole, and free. —
(series concluded)