Autobiography of a Yogi
Numerous bewildered seekers in the West erroneously think that an
eloquent speaker or writer on metaphysics must be a master. The
rishis, however, have pointed out that the acid test of a master
is a man’s ability to enter at will the breathless state, and to
maintain the unbroken SAMADHI of NIRBIKALPA. {FN21-5} Only by these
achievements can a human being prove that he has “mastered” MAYA
or the dualistic Cosmic Delusion. He alone can say from the depths
of realization: “EKAM SAT,”-“Only One exists.”
“The VEDAS declare that the ignorant man who rests content with
making the slightest distinction between the individual soul and
the Supreme Self is exposed to danger,” Shankara the great monist
has written. “Where there is duality by virtue of ignorance, one
sees all things as distinct from the Self. When everything is seen
as the Self, then there is not even an atom other than the Self. . . .
“As soon as the knowledge of the Reality has sprung up, there
can be no fruits of past actions to be experienced, owing to the
unreality of the body, in the same way as there can be no dream
after waking.”
Only great gurus are able to assume the karma of disciples. Sri
Yukteswar would not have suffered in Kashmir unless he had received
permission from the Spirit within him to help his disciples in that
strange way. Few saints were ever more sensitively equipped with
wisdom to carry out divine commands than my God-tuned Master.
When I ventured a few words of sympathy over his emaciated figure,
my guru said gaily:
“It has its good points; I am able now to get into some small GANJIS
(undershirts) that I haven’t worn in years!”
Listening to Master’s jovial laugh, I remembered the words of St.
Francis de Sales: “A saint that is sad is a sad saint!”
{FN21-1} It is a mark of disrespect, in India, to smoke in the
presence of one’s elders and superiors.
{FN21-2} The Oriental plane tree..
{FN21-3} Many Christian saints, including Therese Neumann (see
chapter 39), are familiar with the metaphysical transfer of disease.
{FN21-4} Christ said, just before he was led away to be crucified:
“Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall
presently give me more than twelve legions of angels? But how then
shall the scriptures be fulfilled, that thus it must be?”-MATTHEW
26:53-54.
{FN21-5} See ../chapters 26, 43 NOTES.
CHAPTER: 22
THE HEART OF A STONE IMAGE
“As a loyal Hindu wife, I do not wish to complain of my husband. But
I yearn to see him turn from his materialistic views. He delights
in ridiculing the pictures of saints in my meditation room. Dear
brother, I have deep faith that you can help him. Will you?”
My eldest sister Roma gazed beseechingly at me. I was paying
a short visit at her Calcutta home on Girish Vidyaratna Lane. Her
plea touched me, for she had exercised a profound spiritual influence
over my early life, and had lovingly tried to fill the void left
in the family circle by Mother’s death.
“Beloved sister, of course I will do anything I can.” I smiled,
eager to lift the gloom plainly visible on her face, in contrast
to her usual calm and cheerful expression.
Roma and I sat awhile in silent prayer for guidance. A year earlier,
my sister had asked me to initiate her into KRIYA YOGA, in which
she was making notable progress.
An inspiration seized me. “Tomorrow,” I said, “I am going to the
Dakshineswar temple. Please come with me, and persuade your husband
to accompany us. I feel that in the vibrations of that holy place,
Divine Mother will touch his heart. But don’t disclose our object
in wanting him to go.”
Sister agreed hopefully. Very early the next morning I was pleased
to find that Roma and her husband were in readiness for the trip.
As our hackney carriage rattled along Upper Circular Road toward
Dakshineswar, my brother-in-law, Satish Chandra Bose, amused himself
by deriding spiritual gurus of the past, present, and future. I
noticed that Roma was quietly weeping.
“Sister, cheer up!” I whispered. “Don’t give your husband the
satisfaction of believing that we take his mockery seriously.”
“Mukunda, how can you admire worthless humbugs?” Satish was saying.
“A SADHU’S very appearance is repulsive. He is either as thin as
a skeleton, or as unholily fat as an elephant!”
I shouted with laughter. My good-natured reaction was annoying
to Satish; he retired into sullen silence. As our cab entered the
Dakshineswar grounds, he grinned sarcastically.
“This excursion, I suppose, is a scheme to reform me?”
As I turned away without reply, he caught my arm. “Young Mr. Monk,”
he said, “don’t forget to make proper arrangements with the temple
authorities to provide for our noon meal.”
“I am going to meditate now. Do not worry about your lunch,” I
replied sharply. “Divine Mother will look after it.”
“I don’t trust Divine Mother to do a single thing for me. But I do
hold you responsible for my food.” Satish’s tones were threatening.
I proceeded alone to the colonnaded hall which fronts the large
temple of Kali, or Mother Nature. Selecting a shady spot near one
of the pillars, I arranged my body in the lotus posture. Although
it was only about seven o’clock, the morning sun would soon be
oppressive.
The world receded as I became devotionally entranced. My mind was
concentrated on Goddess Kali, whose image at Dakshineswar had been
the special object of adoration by the great master, Sri Ramakrishna
Paramhansa. In answer to his anguished demands, the stone image of
this very temple had often taken a living form and conversed with
him.
“Silent Mother with stony heart,” I prayed, “Thou becamest filled
with life at the request of Thy beloved devotee Ramakrishna; why
dost Thou not also heed the wails of this yearning son of Thine?”
My aspiring zeal increased boundlessly, accompanied by a divine
peace. Yet, when five hours had passed, and the Goddess whom
I was inwardly visualizing had made no response, I felt slightly
disheartened. Sometimes it is a test by God to delay the fulfillment
of prayers. But He eventually appears to the persistent devotee
in whatever form he holds dear. A devout Christian sees Jesus; a
Hindu beholds Krishna, or the Goddess Kali, or an expanding Light
if his worship takes an impersonal turn.
Reluctantly I opened my eyes, and saw that the temple doors were
being locked by a priest, in conformance with a noon-hour custom.
I rose from my secluded seat under the open, roofed hall, and stepped
into the courtyard. Its stone floor was scorching under the midday
sun; my bare feet were painfully burned.
“Divine Mother,” I silently remonstrated, “Thou didst not come to
me in vision, and now Thou art hidden in the temple behind closed
doors. I wanted to offer a special prayer to Thee today on behalf
of my brother-in-law.”
My inward petition was instantly acknowledged. First, a delightful
cold wave descended over my back and under my feet, banishing
all discomfort. Then, to my amazement, the temple became greatly
magnified. Its large door slowly opened, revealing the stone figure
of Goddess Kali. Gradually it changed into a living form, smilingly
nodding in greeting, thrilling me with joy indescribable. As if by
a mystic syringe, the breath was withdrawn from my lungs; my body
became very still, though not inert.
An ecstatic enlargement of consciousness followed. I could see
clearly for several miles over the Ganges River to my left, and
beyond the temple into the entire Dakshineswar precincts. The walls
of all buildings glimmered transparently; through them I observed
people walking to and fro over distant acres.
Though I was breathless and my body in a strangely quiet state, yet
I was able to move my hands and feet freely. For several minutes
I experimented in closing and opening my eyes; in either state I
saw distinctly the whole Dakshineswar panorama.
Spiritual sight, x-raylike, penetrates into all matter; the divine
eye is center everywhere, circumference nowhere. I realized anew,
standing there in the sunny courtyard, that when man ceases to be a
prodigal child of God, engrossed in a physical world indeed dream,
baseless as a bubble, he reinherits his eternal realms. If “escapism”
be a need of man, cramped in his narrow personality, can any escape
compare with the majesty of omnipresence?
In my sacred experience at Dakshineswar, the only extraordinarily-enlarged
objects were the temple and the form of the Goddess. Everything
else appeared in its normal dimensions, although each was enclosed
in a halo of mellow light-white, blue, and pastel rainbow hues. My
body seemed to be of ethereal substance, ready to levitate. Fully
conscious of my material surroundings, I was looking about me and
taking a few steps without disturbing the continuity of the blissful
vision.
Behind the temple walls I suddenly glimpsed my brother-in-law
as he sat under the thorny branches of a sacred BEL tree. I could
effortlessly discern the course of his thoughts. Somewhat uplifted
under the holy influence of Dakshineswar, his mind yet held unkind
reflections about me. I turned directly to the gracious form of
the Goddess.
“Divine Mother,” I prayed, “wilt Thou not spiritually change my
sister’s husband?”
The beautiful figure, hitherto silent, spoke at last: “Thy wish is
granted!”
I looked happily at Satish. As though instinctively aware that some
spiritual power was at work, he rose resentfully from his seat on
the ground. I saw him running behind the temple; he approached me,
shaking his fist.
The all-embracing vision disappeared. No longer could I see the
glorious Goddess; the towering temple was reduced to its ordinary
size, minus its transparency. Again my body sweltered under the
fierce rays of the sun. I jumped to the shelter of the pillared
hall, where Satish pursued me angrily. I looked at my watch. It
was one o’clock; the divine vision had lasted an hour.
“You little fool,” my brother-in-law blurted out, “you have been
sitting there cross-legged and cross-eyed for six hours. I have
gone back and forth watching you. Where is my food? Now the temple
is closed; you failed to notify the authorities; we are left without
lunch!”
The exaltation I had felt at the Goddess’ presence was still vibrant
within my heart. I was emboldened to exclaim, “Divine Mother will
feed us!”
Satish was beside himself with rage. “Once and for all,” he shouted,
“I would like to see your Divine Mother giving us food here without
prior arrangements!”
His words were hardly uttered when a temple priest crossed the
courtyard and joined us.
“Son,” he addressed me, “I have been observing your face serenely
glowing during hours of meditation. I saw the arrival of your party
this morning, and felt a desire to put aside ample food for your
lunch. It is against the temple rules to feed those who do not make
a request beforehand, but I have made an exception for you.”
I thanked him, and gazed straight into Satish’s eyes. He flushed
with emotion, lowering his gaze in silent repentance. When we were
served a lavish meal, including out-of-season mangoes, I noticed
that my brother-in-law’s appetite was meager. He was bewildered,
diving deep into the ocean of thought. On the return journey to
Calcutta, Satish, with softened expression, occasionally glanced at
me pleadingly. But he did not speak a single word after the moment
the priest had appeared to invite us to lunch, as though in direct
answer to Satish’s challenge.
The following afternoon I visited my sister at her home. She greeted
me affectionately.
“Dear brother,” she cried, “what a miracle! Last evening my husband
wept openly before me.
“‘Beloved DEVI,’ {FN22-1} he said, ‘I am happy beyond expression
that this reforming scheme of your brother’s has wrought a