Devotion in this framework acts less like an afterthought and more like fertile soil where the seeds of self‐inquiry can sprout. Far from being pitted against jnana (knowledge), bhakti gently clears the mind’s clutter—old fears, stubborn doubts, lingering anxieties—so that the question “Who am I?” can land on firm ground. It’s as if devotion provides a warm hearth for inquiry to take flame, tenderly guiding attention inward.

Through practices such as chanting Arunachala’s name, heartfelt prayer, or simply resting in grateful attention, bhakti loosens the grip of the ego’s demands. This isn’t blind faith in some distant deity but a loving surrender to the ever-present Self, revealed by Maharshi as the silent watcher behind every thought. Stories in Godman’s summary often describe newcomers finding peace when personal modes of grace—tears, laughter, spontaneous prostrations—open a direct channel to silence. Once the heart softens, the razor‐sharp tool of self‐inquiry cuts through deeper layers of identification.

In today’s wellness scene, where apps boast “scientifically proven” meditations, Ramana’s version of bhakti feels refreshingly raw—no data sets or progress bars, just simple acts of devotion that dissolve barriers. Even modern seekers, drawn by viral mindfulness trends or celebrity retreats, stumble upon a timeless truth here: surrendering to something larger than personal will actually empowers the will to see reality as it is.

Devotion, then, isn’t relegated to the sidelines. It’s the unsung hero that fuels perseverance, erodes self-centeredness, and turns the inward journey into a dance of love. In that light, bhakti and jnana become inseparable partners—heart and mind waltzing toward the same destination of pure, unobstructed being.