Autobiography of a Yogi
As faith invaded the serious realms of finance, my friend spoke
protestingly. “Ananta, give me one or two rupees as a safeguard.
Then I can telegraph you in case of misfortune.”
“Jitendra!” My ejaculation was sharply reproachful. “I will not
proceed with the test if you take any money as final security.”
“There is something reassuring about the clink of coins.” Jitendra
said no more as I regarded him sternly.
“Mukunda, I am not heartless.” A hint of humility had crept into
Ananta’s voice. It may be that his conscience was smiting him;
perhaps for sending two insolvent boys to a strange city; perhaps
for his own religious skepticism. “If by any chance or grace you
pass successfully through the Brindaban ordeal, I shall ask you to
initiate me as your disciple.”
This promise had a certain irregularity, in keeping with the
unconventional occasion. The eldest brother in an Indian family
seldom bows before his juniors; he receives respect and obedience
second only to a father. But no time remained for my comment; our
train was at point of departure.
Jitendra maintained a lugubrious silence as our train covered the
miles. Finally he bestirred himself; leaning over, he pinched me
painfully at an awkward spot.
“I see no sign that God is going to supply our next meal!”
“Be quiet, doubting Thomas; the Lord is working with us.”
“Can you also arrange that He hurry? Already I am famished merely
at the prospect before us. I left Benares to view the Taj’s mausoleum,
not to enter my own!”
“Cheer up, Jitendra! Are we not to have our first glimpse of the
sacred wonders of Brindaban? {FN11-4} I am in deep joy at thought
of treading the ground hallowed by feet of Lord Krishna.”
The door of our compartment opened; two men seated themselves. The
next train stop would be the last.
“Young lads, do you have friends in Brindaban?” The stranger opposite
me was taking a surprising interest.
“None of your business!” Rudely I averted my gaze.
“You are probably flying away from your families under the enchantment
of the Stealer of Hearts. {FN11-5} I am of devotional temperament
myself. I will make it my positive duty to see that you receive
food, and shelter from this overpowering heat.”
“No, sir, let us alone. You are very kind; but you are mistaken in
judging us to be truants from home.”
No further conversation ensued; the train came to a halt. As Jitendra
and I descended to the platform, our chance companions linked arms
with us and summoned a horse cab.
We alit before a stately hermitage, set amidst the evergreen trees
of well-kept grounds. Our benefactors were evidently known here; a
smiling lad led us without comment to a parlor. We were soon joined
by an elderly woman of dignified bearing.
“Gauri Ma, the princes could not come.” One of the men addressed
the ashram hostess. “At the last moment their plans went awry; they
send deep regrets. But we have brought two other guests. As soon
as we met on the train, I felt drawn to them as devotees of Lord
Krishna.”
“Good-by, young friends.” Our two acquaintances walked to the door.
“We shall meet again, if God be willing.”
“You are welcome here.” Gauri Ma smiled in motherly fashion on her
two unexpected charges. “You could not have come on a better day.
I was expecting two royal patrons of this hermitage. What a shame
if my cooking had found none to appreciate it!”
These appetizing words had disastrous effect on Jitendra: he burst
into tears. The “prospect” he had feared in Brindaban was turning
out as royal entertainment; his sudden mental adjustment proved
too much for him. Our hostess looked at him with curiosity, but
without remark; perhaps she was familiar with adolescent quirks.
Lunch was announced; Gauri Ma led the way to a dining patio, spicy
with savory odors. She vanished into an adjoining kitchen.
I had been premeditating this moment. Selecting the appropriate
spot on Jitendra’s anatomy, I administered a pinch as resounding
as the one he had given me on the train.
“Doubting Thomas, the Lord works-in a hurry, too!”
The hostess reentered with a PUNKHA. She steadily fanned us in the
Oriental fashion as we squatted on ornate blanket-seats. Ashram
disciples passed to and fro with some thirty courses. Rather than
“meal,” the description can only be “sumptuous repast.” Since
arriving on this planet, Jitendra and I had never before tasted
such delicacies.
“Dishes fit for princes indeed, Honored Mother! What your royal
patrons could have found more urgent than attending this banquet,
I cannot imagine! You have given us a memory for a lifetime!”
Silenced as we were by Ananta’s requirement, we could not explain
to the gracious lady that our thanks held a double significance.
Our sincerity at least was patent. We departed with her blessing
and an attractive invitation to revisit the hermitage.
The heat outdoors was merciless. My friend and I made for the
shelter of a lordly cadamba tree at the ashram gate. Sharp words
followed; once again Jitendra was beset with misgivings.
“A fine mess you have got me into! Our luncheon was only accidental
good fortune! How can we see the sights of this city, without a
single pice between us? And how on earth are you going to take me
back to Ananta’s?”
“You forget God quickly, now that your stomach is filled.” My words,
not bitter, were accusatory. How short is human memory for divine
favors! No man lives who has not seen certain of his prayers granted.
“I am not likely to forget my folly in venturing out with a madcap
like you!”
“Be quiet, Jitendra! The same Lord who fed us will show us Brindaban,
and return us to Agra.”
A slight young man of pleasing countenance approached at rapid
pace. Halting under our tree, he bowed before me.
“Dear friend, you and your companion must be strangers here. Permit
me to be your host and guide.”
It is scarcely possible for an Indian to pale, but Jitendra’s face
was suddenly sickly. I politely declined the offer.
“You are surely not banishing me?” The stranger’s alarm would have
been comic in any other circumstances.
“Why not?”
“You are my guru.” His eyes sought mine trustfully. “During my
midday devotions, the blessed Lord Krishna appeared in a vision.
He showed me two forsaken figures under this very tree. One face
was yours, my master! Often have I seen it in meditation! What joy
if you accept my humble services!”
“I too am glad you have found me. Neither God nor man has forsaken
us!” Though I was motionless, smiling at the eager face before me,
an inward obeisance cast me at the Divine Feet.
“Dear friends, will you not honor my home for a visit?”
“You are kind; but the plan is unfeasible. Already we are guests
of my brother in Agra.”
“At least give me memories of touring Brindaban with you.”
I gladly consented. The young man, who said his name was Pratap
Chatterji, hailed a horse carriage. We visited Madanamohana Temple
and other Krishna shrines. Night descended while we were at our
temple devotions.
“Excuse me while I get SANDESH.” {FN11-6} Pratap entered a shop
near the railroad station. Jitendra and I sauntered along the
wide street, crowded now in the comparative coolness. Our friend
was absent for some time, but finally returned with gifts of many
sweetmeats.
“Please allow me to gain this religious merit.” Pratap smiled
pleadingly as he held out a bundle of rupee notes and two tickets,
just purchased, to Agra.
The reverence of my acceptance was for the Invisible Hand. Scoffed
at by Ananta, had Its bounty not far exceeded necessity?
We sought out a secluded spot near the station.
“Pratap, I will instruct you in the KRIYA of Lahiri Mahasaya, the
greatest yogi of modern times. His technique will be your guru.”
The initiation was concluded in a half hour. “KRIYA is your CHINTAMANI,”
{FN11-7} I told the new student. “The technique, which as you see
is simple, embodies the art of quickening man’s spiritual evolution.
Hindu scriptures teach that the incarnating ego requires a million
years to obtain liberation from MAYA. This natural period is
greatly shortened through KRIYA YOGA. Just as Jagadis Chandra Bose
has demonstrated that plant growth can be accelerated far beyond
its normal rate, so man’s psychological development can be also
speeded by an inner science. Be faithful in your practice; you will
approach the Guru of all gurus.”
“I am transported to find this yogic key, long sought!” Pratap
spoke thoughtfully. “Its unshackling effect on my sensory bonds
will free me for higher spheres. The vision today of Lord Krishna
could only mean my highest good.”
We sat awhile in silent understanding, then walked slowly to the
station. Joy was within me as I boarded the train, but this was
Jitendra’s day for tears. My affectionate farewell to Pratap had
been punctuated by stifled sobs from both my companions. The journey
once more found Jitendra in a welter of grief. Not for himself this
time, but against himself.
“How shallow my trust! My heart has been stone! Never in future
shall I doubt God’s protection!”
Midnight was approaching. The two “Cinderellas,” sent forth
penniless, entered Ananta’s bedroom. His face, as he had promised,
was a study in astonishment. Silently I showered the table with
rupees.
“Jitendra, the truth!” Ananta’s tone was jocular. “Has not this
youngster been staging a holdup?”
But as the tale was unfolded, my brother turned sober, then solemn.
“The law of demand and supply reaches into subtler realms than I
had supposed.” Ananta spoke with a spiritual enthusiasm never before
noticeable. “I understand for the first time your indifference to
the vaults and vulgar accumulations of the world.”
Late as it was, my brother insisted that he receive DIKSHA {FN11-8}
into KRIYA YOGA. The “guru” Mukunda had to shoulder the responsibility
of two unsought disciples in one day.
Breakfast the following morning was eaten in a harmony absent the
day before. I smiled at Jitendra.
“You shall not be cheated of the Taj. Let us view it before starting
for Serampore.”
Bidding farewell to Ananta, my friend and I were soon before the
glory of Agra, the Taj Mahal. White marble dazzling in the sun,
it stands a vision of pure symmetry. The perfect setting is dark
cypress, glossy lawn, and tranquil lagoon. The interior is exquisite
with lacelike carvings inlaid with semiprecious stones. Delicate
wreaths and scrolls emerge intricately from marbles, brown and
violet. Illumination from the dome falls on the cenotaphs of Emperor
Shah-Jahan and Mumtaz Mahall, queen of his realm and his heart.
Enough of sight-seeing! I was longing for my guru. Jitendra and I
were shortly traveling south by train toward Bengal.
“Mukunda, I have not seen my family in months. I have changed my
mind; perhaps later I shall visit your master in Serampore.”
My friend, who may mildly be described as vacillating in temperament,
left me in Calcutta. By local train I soon reached Serampore, twelve
miles to the north.
A throb of wonderment stole over me as I realized that twenty-eight
days had elapsed since the Benares meeting with my guru. “You will
come to me in four weeks!” Here I was, heart pounding, standing
within his courtyard on quiet Rai Ghat Lane. I entered for the first
time the hermitage where I was to spend the best part of the next
ten years with India’s JYANAVATAR, “incarnation of wisdom.”
{FN11-1} See chapter 25.
{FN11-2} The world-famous mausoleum..
{FN11-3} A DHOTI-cloth is knotted around the waist and covers the
legs..