That man with piercing eyes sold cigarettes to earn his living. He lived in a poor neighborhood of Bombay. Nothing indicated that, in the attic of his house, that man imparted a Supreme teaching. Some rare people used to go to hear him, only those interested in scrutinizing the mysteries of existence. They called him Nisargadatta Maharaj. At first glance he seemed a normal man, like the rest of his neighbors. Yet appearances deceive. Pleasure or pain, joy or misery, nothing could reach him. He had penetrated the Absolute, the Unborn, that which has no beginning or end, which is always present and is witness to all. He had left what is false, and no longer had the slightest implication in the mundane. His legacy is present, his teaching is available to anyone: the way to Eternity, the end of the problems and miseries of life. Only a few chosen people, thirsty for the transcendent, will stop to drink at his source. Everyone else, intoxicated by the pleasures of life at the same time that crushed by its miseries, will continue thirsty.