Autobiography of a Yogi
master to disciple. With an antenna of irrefragable insight I sensed
that my guru knew God, and would lead me to Him. The obscuration
of this life disappeared in a fragile dawn of prenatal memories.
Dramatic time! Past, present, and future are its cycling scenes.
This was not the first sun to find me at these holy feet!
My hand in his, my guru led me to his temporary residence in the
Rana Mahal section of the city. His athletic figure moved with firm
tread. Tall, erect, about fifty-five at this time, he was active
and vigorous as a young man. His dark eyes were large, beautiful with
plumbless wisdom. Slightly curly hair softened a face of striking
power. Strength mingled subtly with gentleness.
As we made our way to the stone balcony of a house overlooking the
Ganges, he said affectionately:
“I will give you my hermitages and all I possess.”
“Sir, I come for wisdom and God-contact. Those are your treasure-troves
I am after!”
The swift Indian twilight had dropped its half-curtain before my
master spoke again. His eyes held unfathomable tenderness.
“I give you my unconditional love.”
Precious words! A quarter-century elapsed before I had another
auricular proof of his love. His lips were strange to ardor; silence
became his oceanic heart.
“Will you give me the same unconditional love?” He gazed at me with
childlike trust.
“I will love you eternally, Gurudeva!”
“Ordinary love is selfish, darkly rooted in desires and satisfactions.
Divine love is without condition, without boundary, without change.
The flux of the human heart is gone forever at the transfixing touch
of pure love.” He added humbly, “If ever you find me falling from
a state of God-realization, please promise to put my head on your
lap and help to bring me back to the Cosmic Beloved we both worship.”
He rose then in the gathering darkness and guided me to an inner
room. As we ate mangoes and almond sweetmeats, he unobtrusively
wove into his conversation an intimate knowledge of my nature. I
was awe-struck at the grandeur of his wisdom, exquisitely blended
with an innate humility.
“Do not grieve for your amulet. It has served its purpose.” Like
a divine mirror, my guru apparently had caught a reflection of my
whole life.
“The living reality of your presence, Master, is joy beyond any
symbol.”
“It is time for a change, inasmuch as you are unhappily situated
in the hermitage.”
I had made no references to my life; they now seemed superfluous!
By his natural, unemphatic manner, I understood that he wished no
astonished ejaculations at his clairvoyance.
“You should go back to Calcutta. Why exclude relatives from your
love of humanity?”
His suggestion dismayed me. My family was predicting my return,
though I had been unresponsive to many pleas by letter. “Let the
young bird fly in the metaphysical skies,” Ananta had remarked.
“His wings will tire in the heavy atmosphere. We shall yet see him
swoop toward home, fold his pinions, and humbly rest in our family
nest.” This discouraging simile fresh in my mind, I was determined
to do no “swooping” in the direction of Calcutta.
“Sir, I am not returning home. But I will follow you anywhere.
Please give me your address, and your name.”
“Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri. My chief hermitage is in Serampore, on
Rai Ghat Lane. I am visiting my mother here for only a few days.”
I wondered at God’s intricate play with His devotees. Serampore is
but twelve miles from Calcutta, yet in those regions I had never
caught a glimpse of my guru. We had had to travel for our meeting
to the ancient city of Kasi (Benares), hallowed by memories of
Lahiri Mahasaya. Here too the feet of Buddha, Shankaracharya and
other Yogi—Christs had blessed the soil.
“You will come to me in four weeks.” For the first time, Sri
Yukteswar’s voice was stern. “Now I have told my eternal affection,
and have shown my happiness at finding you-that is why you disregard
my request. The next time we meet, you will have to reawaken my
interest: I won’t accept you as a disciple easily. There must be
complete surrender by obedience to my strict training.”
I remained obstinately silent. My guru easily penetrated my
difficulty.
“Do you think your relatives will laugh at you?”
“I will not return.”
“You will return in thirty days.”
“Never.” Bowing reverently at his feet, I departed without lightening
the controversial tension. As I made my way in the midnight darkness,
I wondered why the miraculous meeting had ended on an inharmonious
note. The dual scales of MAYA, that balance every joy with a grief!
My young heart was not yet malleable to the transforming fingers
of my guru.
The next morning I noticed increased hostility in the attitude
of the hermitage members. My days became spiked with invariable
rudeness. In three weeks, Dyananda left the ashram to attend a
conference in Bombay; pandemonium broke over my hapless head.
“Mukunda is a parasite, accepting hermitage hospitality without
making proper return.” Overhearing this remark, I regretted for the
first time that I had obeyed the request to send back my money to
Father. With heavy heart, I sought out my sole friend, Jitendra.
“I am leaving. Please convey my respectful regrets to Dyanandaji
when he returns.”
“I will leave also! My attempts to meditate here meet with no more
favor than your own.” Jitendra spoke with determination.
“I have met a Christlike saint. Let us visit him in Serampore.”
And so the “bird” prepared to “swoop” perilously close to Calcutta!
{FN10-1} SANSKRITA, polished; complete. Sanskrit is the eldest
sister of all Indo-European tongues. Its alphabetical script is
DEVANAGARI, literally “divine abode.” “Who knows my grammar knows
God!” Panini, great philologist of ancient India, paid this tribute
to the mathematical and psychological perfection in Sanskrit. He
who would track language to its lair must indeed end as omniscient.
{FN10-2} He was not Jatinda (Jotin Ghosh), who will be remembered
for his timely aversion to tigers!
{FN10-3} Path or preliminary road to God.
{FN10-4} Hindu scriptures teach that family attachment is delusive
if it prevents the devotee from seeking the Giver of all boons,
including the one of loving relatives, not to mention life itself.
Jesus similarly taught: “Who is my mother? and who are my brethren?”
(MATTHEW 12:48.)
{FN10-5} JI is a customary respectful suffix, particularly used
in direct address; thus “swamiji,” “guruji,” “Sri Yukteswarji,”
“paramhansaji.”
{FN10-6} Pertaining to the SHASTRAS, literally, “sacred books,”
comprising four classes of scripture: the SHRUTI, SMRITI, PURANA,
and TANTRA. These comprehensive treatises cover every aspect
of religious and social life, and the fields of law, medicine,
architecture, art, etc. The SHRUTIS are the “directly heard” or
“revealed” scriptures, the VEDAS. The SMRITIS or “remembered” lore
was finally written down in a remote past as the world’s longest
epic poems, the MAHABHARATA and the RAMAYANA. PURANAS are literally
“ancient” allegories; TANTRAS literally mean “rites” or “rituals”;
these treatises convey profound truths under a veil of detailed
symbolism.
{FN10-7} “Divine teacher,” the customary Sanskrit term for one’s
spiritual preceptor. I have rendered it in English as simply
“Master.”
CHAPTER: 11
TWO PENNILESS BOYS IN BRINDABAN
“It would serve you right if Father disinherited you, Mukunda! How
foolishly you are throwing away your life!” An elder-brother sermon
was assaulting my ears.
Jitendra and I, fresh from the train (a figure of speech merely;
we were covered with dust), had just arrived at the home of Ananta,
recently transferred from Calcutta to the ancient city of Agra.
Brother was a supervising accountant for the Bengal-Nagpur Railway.
“You well know, Ananta, I seek my inheritance from the Heavenly
Father.”
“Money first; God can come later! Who knows? Life may be too long.”
“God first; money is His slave! Who can tell? Life may be too
short.”
My retort was summoned by the exigencies of the moment, and held
no presentiment. Yet the leaves of time unfolded to early finality
for Ananta; a few years later {FN11-1} he entered the land where
bank notes avail neither first nor last.
“Wisdom from the hermitage, I suppose! But I see you have left
Benares.” Ananta’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction; he yet hoped to
secure my pinions in the family nest.
“My sojourn in Benares was not in vain! I found there everything my
heart had been longing for! You may be sure it was not your pundit
or his son!”
Ananta joined me in reminiscent laughter; he had had to admit that
the Benares “clairvoyant” he selected was a shortsighted one.
“What are your plans, my wandering brother?”
“Jitendra persuaded me to Agra. We shall view the beauties of the
Taj Mahal {FN11-2} here,” I explained. “Then we are going to my
newly-found guru, who has a hermitage in Serampore.”
Ananta hospitably arranged for our comfort. Several times during
the evening I noticed his eyes fixed on me reflectively.
“I know that look!” I thought. “A plot is brewing!”
The denouement took place during our early breakfast.
“So you feel quite independent of Father’s wealth.” Ananta’s gaze
was innocent as he resumed the barbs of yesterday’s conversation.
“I am conscious of my dependence on God.”
“Words are cheap! Life has shielded you thus far! What a plight
if you were forced to look to the Invisible Hand for your food and
shelter! You would soon be begging on the streets!”
“Never! I would not put faith in passers-by rather than God! He can
devise for His devotee a thousand resources besides the begging-bowl!”
“More rhetoric! Suppose I suggest that your vaunted philosophy be
put to a test in this tangible world?”
“I would agree! Do you confine God to a speculative world?”
“We shall see; today you shall have opportunity either to enlarge
or to confirm my own views!” Ananta paused for a dramatic moment;
then spoke slowly and seriously.
“I propose that I send you and your fellow disciple Jitendra this
morning to the near-by city of Brindaban. You must not take a
single rupee; you must not beg, either for food or money; you must
not reveal your predicament to anyone; you must not go without your
meals; and you must not be stranded in Brindaban. If you return
to my bungalow here before twelve o’clock tonight, without having
broken any rule of the test, I shall be the most astonished man in
Agra!”
“I accept the challenge.” No hesitation was in my words or in
my heart. Grateful memories flashed of the Instant Beneficence:
my healing of deadly cholera through appeal to Lahiri Mahasaya’s
picture; the playful gift of the two kites on the Lahore roof with
Uma; the opportune amulet amidst my discouragement; the decisive
message through the unknown Benares SADHU outside the compound of
the pundit’s home; the vision of Divine Mother and Her majestic
words of love; Her swift heed through Master Mahasaya to my trifling
embarrassments; the last-minute guidance which materialized my
high school diploma; and the ultimate boon, my living Master from
the mist of lifelong dreams. Never could I admit my “philosophy”
unequal to any tussle on the world’s harsh proving ground!
“Your willingness does you credit. I’ll escort you to the train
at once.” Ananta turned to the openmouthed Jitendra. “You must go
along as a witness and, very likely, a fellow victim!”
A half hour later Jitendra and I were in possession of one-way
tickets for our impromptu trip. We submitted, in a secluded corner
of the station, to a search of our persons. Ananta was quickly
satisfied that we were carrying no hidden hoard; our simple DHOTIS
{FN11-3} concealed nothing more than was necessary.