Autobiography of a Yogi
of meditation. “The flower falls when the fruit appears.” But saints
often cling to spiritual forms for the encouragement of disciples.
As midnight approached, my guru might fall into a doze with the
naturalness of a child. There was no fuss about bedding. He often
lay down, without even a pillow, on a narrow davenport which was
the background for his customary tiger-skin seat.
A night-long philosophical discussion was not rare; any disciple
could summon it by intensity of interest. I felt no tiredness then,
no desire for sleep; Master’s living words were sufficient. “Oh,
it is dawn! Let us walk by the Ganges.” So ended many of my periods
of nocturnal edification.
My early months with Sri Yukteswar culminated in a useful lesson-“How
to Outwit a Mosquito.” At home my family always used protective
curtains at night. I was dismayed to discover that in the Serampore
hermitage this prudent custom was honored in the breach. Yet the
insects were in full residency; I was bitten from head to foot. My
guru took pity on me.
“Buy yourself a curtain, and also one for me.” He laughed and added,
“If you buy only one, for yourself, all mosquitoes will concentrate
on me!”
I was more than thankful to comply. Every night that I spent in
Serampore, my guru would ask me to arrange the bedtime curtains.
The mosquitoes one evening were especially virulent. But Master
failed to issue his usual instructions. I listened nervously to
the anticipatory hum of the insects. Getting into bed, I threw a
propitiatory prayer in their general direction. A half hour later,
I coughed pretentiously to attract my guru’s attention. I thought
I would go mad with the bites and especially the singing drone as
the mosquitoes celebrated bloodthirsty rites.
No responsive stir from Master; I approached him cautiously. He was
not breathing. This was my first observation of him in the yogic
trance; it filled me with fright.
“His heart must have failed!” I placed a mirror under his nose;
no breath-vapor appeared. To make doubly certain, for minutes I
closed his mouth and nostrils with my fingers. His body was cold
and motionless. In a daze, I turned toward the door to summon help.
“So! A budding experimentalist! My poor nose!” Master’s voice was
shaky with laughter. “Why don’t you go to bed? Is the whole world
going to change for you? Change yourself: be rid of the mosquito
consciousness.”
Meekly I returned to my bed. Not one insect ventured near. I realized
that my guru had previously agreed to the curtains only to please
me; he had no fear of mosquitoes. His yogic power was such that
he either could will them not to bite, or could escape to an inner
invulnerability.
“He was giving me a demonstration,” I thought. “That is the yogic
state I must strive to attain.” A yogi must be able to pass into,
and continue in, the superconsciousness, regardless of multitudinous
distractions never absent from this earth. Whether in the buzz of
insects or the pervasive glare of daylight, the testimony of the
senses must be barred. Sound and sight come then indeed, but to
worlds fairer than the banished Eden. {FN12-7}
The instructive mosquitoes served for another early lesson at the
ashram. It was the gentle hour of dusk. My guru was matchlessly
interpreting the ancient texts. At his feet, I was in perfect peace.
A rude mosquito entered the idyl and competed for my attention. As
it dug a poisonous hypodermic needle into my thigh, I automatically
raised an avenging hand. Reprieve from impending execution! An
opportune memory came to me of one of Patanjali’s yoga aphorisms-that
on AHIMSA (harmlessness).
“Why didn’t you finish the job?”
“Master! Do you advocate taking life?”
“No; but the deathblow already had been struck in your mind.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Patanjali’s meaning was the removal of DESIRE to kill.” Sri
Yukteswar had found my mental processes an open book. “This world
is inconveniently arranged for a literal practice of AHIMSA. Man
may be compelled to exterminate harmful creatures. He is not under
similar compulsion to feel anger or animosity. All forms of life
have equal right to the air of MAYA. The saint who uncovers the
secret of creation will be in harmony with its countless bewildering
expressions. All men may approach that understanding who curb the
inner passion for destruction.”
“Guruji, should one offer himself a sacrifice rather than kill a
wild beast?”
“No; man’s body is precious. It has the highest evolutionary
value because of unique brain and spinal centers. These enable the
advanced devotee to fully grasp and express the loftiest aspects
of divinity. No lower form is so equipped. It is true that one
incurs the debt of a minor sin if he is forced to kill an animal or
any living thing. But the VEDAS teach that wanton loss of a human
body is a serious transgression against the karmic law.”
I sighed in relief; scriptural reinforcement of one’s natural
instincts is not always forthcoming.
It so happened that I never saw Master at close quarters with a
leopard or a tiger. But a deadly cobra once confronted him, only
to be conquered by my guru’s love. This variety of snake is much
feared in India, where it causes more than five thousand deaths
annually. The dangerous encounter took place at Puri, where Sri
Yukteswar had a second hermitage, charmingly situated near the Bay
of Bengal. Prafulla, a young disciple of later years, was with
Master on this occasion.
“We were seated outdoors near the ashram,” Prafulla told me. “A
cobra appeared near-by, a four-foot length of sheer terror. Its
hood was angrily expanded as it raced toward us. My guru gave a
welcoming chuckle, as though to a child. I was beside myself with
consternation to see Master engage in a rhythmical clapping of
hands. {FN12-8} He was entertaining the dread visitor! I remained
absolutely quiet, inwardly ejaculating what fervent prayers I could
muster. The serpent, very close to my guru, was now motionless,
seemingly magnetized by his caressing attitude. The frightful hood
gradually contracted; the snake slithered between Master’s feet
and disappeared into the bushes.
“Why my guru would move his hands, and why the cobra would not
strike them, were inexplicable to me then,” Prafulla concluded. “I
have since come to realize that my divine master is beyond fear of
hurt from any living creature.”
One afternoon during my early months at the ashram, found Sri
Yukteswar’s eyes fixed on me piercingly.
“You are too thin, Mukunda.”
His remark struck a sensitive point. That my sunken eyes and
emaciated appearance were far from my liking was testified to by
rows of tonics in my room at Calcutta. Nothing availed; chronic
dyspepsia had pursued me since childhood. My despair reached an
occasional zenith when I asked myself if it were worth-while to
carry on this life with a body so unsound.
“Medicines have limitations; the creative life-force has none.
Believe that: you shall be well and strong.”
Sri Yukteswar’s words aroused a conviction of personally-applicable
truth which no other healer-and I had tried many!-had been able to
summon within me.
Day by day, behold! I waxed. Two weeks after Master’s hidden
blessing, I had accumulated the invigorating weight which eluded
me in the past. My persistent stomach ailments vanished with
a lifelong permanency. On later occasions I witnessed my guru’s
instantaneous divine healings of persons suffering from ominous
disease-tuberculosis, diabetes, epilepsy, or paralysis. Not one
could have been more grateful for his cure than I was at sudden
freedom from my cadaverous aspect.
“Years ago, I too was anxious to put on weight,” Sri Yukteswar told
me. “During convalescence after a severe illness, I visited Lahiri
Mahasaya in Benares.
“‘Sir, I have been very sick and lost many pounds.’
“‘I see, Yukteswar, {FN12-9} you made yourself unwell, and now you
think you are thin.’
“This reply was far from the one I had expected; my guru, however,
added encouragingly:
“‘Let me see; I am sure you ought to feel better tomorrow.’
“Taking his words as a gesture of secret healing toward my receptive
mind, I was not surprised the next morning at a welcome accession
of strength. I sought out my master and exclaimed exultingly, ‘Sir,
I feel much better today.’
“‘Indeed! Today you invigorate yourself.’
“‘No, master!’ I protested. ‘It was you who helped me; this is the
first time in weeks that I have had any energy.’
“‘O yes! Your malady has been quite serious. Your body is frail
yet; who can say how it will be tomorrow?’
“The thought of possible return of my weakness brought me a shudder
of cold fear. The following morning I could hardly drag myself to
Lahiri Mahasaya’s home.
“‘Sir, I am ailing again.’
“My guru’s glance was quizzical. ‘So! Once more you indispose
yourself.’
“‘Gurudeva, I realize now that day by day you have been ridiculing
me.’ My patience was exhausted. ‘I don’t understand why you disbelieve
my truthful reports.’
“‘Really, it has been your thoughts that have made you feel
alternately weak and strong.’ My master looked at me affectionately.
‘You have seen how your health has exactly followed your expectations.
Thought is a force, even as electricity or gravitation. The human
mind is a spark of the almighty consciousness of God. I could show
you that whatever your powerful mind believes very intensely would
instantly come to pass.’
“Knowing that Lahiri Mahasaya never spoke idly, I addressed him
with great awe and gratitude: ‘Master, if I think I am well and
have regained my former weight, shall that happen?’
“‘It is so, even at this moment.’ My guru spoke gravely, his gaze
concentrated on my eyes.
“Lo! I felt an increase not alone of strength but of weight. Lahiri
Mahasaya retreated into silence. After a few hours at his feet, I
returned to my mother’s home, where I stayed during my visits to
Benares.
“‘My son! What is the matter? Are you swelling with dropsy?’ Mother
could hardly believe her eyes. My body was now of the same robust
dimensions it had possessed before my illness.
“I weighed myself and found that in one day I had gained fifty
pounds; they remained with me permanently. Friends and acquaintances
who had seen my thin figure were aghast with wonderment. A number
of them changed their mode of life and became disciples of Lahiri
Mahasaya as a result of this miracle.
“My guru, awake in God, knew this world to be nothing but an objectivized
dream of the Creator. Because he was completely aware of his unity
with the Divine Dreamer, Lahiri Mahasaya could materialize or
dematerialize or make any change he wished in the cosmic vision.
{FN12-10}
“All creation is governed by law,” Sri Yukteswar concluded. “The ones
which manifest in the outer universe, discoverable by scientists,
are called natural laws. But there are subtler laws ruling the
realms of consciousness which can be known only through the inner
science of yoga. The hidden spiritual planes also have their
natural and lawful principles of operation. It is not the physical
scientist but the fully self-realized master who comprehends the
true nature of matter. Thus Christ was able to restore the servant’s
ear after it had been severed by one of the disciples.” {FN12-11}
Sri Yukteswar was a peerless interpreter of the scriptures. Many of
my happiest memories are centered in his discourses. But his jeweled
thoughts were not cast into ashes of heedlessness or stupidity. One
restless movement of my body, or my slight lapse into absent-mindedness,
sufficed to put an abrupt period to Master’s exposition.
“You are not here.” Master interrupted himself one afternoon with
this disclosure. As usual, he was keeping track of my attention
with a devastating immediacy.