Autobiography of a Yogi
o’clock in the morning, while I was still in Benares, my room was
suffused with a great light. Lo! before me stood the flesh and
blood form of Lahiri Mahasaya! It looked exactly like his old body,
except that it appeared younger and more radiant. My divine guru
spoke to me.
“‘Keshabananda,’ he said, ‘it is I. From the disintegrated atoms
of my cremated body, I have resurrected a remodeled form. My
householder work in the world is done; but I do not leave the earth
entirely. Henceforth I shall spend some time with Babaji in the
Himalayas, and with Babaji in the cosmos.’
“With a few words of blessing to me, the transcendent master
vanished. Wondrous inspiration filled my heart; I was uplifted
in Spirit even as were the disciples of Christ and Kabir {FN36-9}
when they had gazed on their living gurus after physical death.
“When I returned to my isolated Hardwar hermitage,” Keshabananda
went on, “I carried with me the sacred ashes of my guru. I know he
has escaped the spatio-temporal cage; the bird of omnipresence is
freed. Yet it comforted my heart to enshrine his sacred remains.”
Another disciple who was blessed by the sight of his resurrected
guru was the saintly Panchanon Bhattacharya, founder of the Calcutta
Arya Mission Institution. {FN36-10}
I visited Panchanon at his Calcutta home, and listened with delight
to the story of his many years with the master. In conclusion, he
told me of the most marvelous event in his life.
“Here in Calcutta,” Panchanon said, “at ten o’clock of the morning
which followed his cremation, Lahiri Mahasaya appeared before me
in living glory.”
Swami Pranabananda, the “saint with two bodies,” also confided to
me the details of his own supernal experience.
“A few days before Lahiri Mahasaya left his body,” Pranabananda told
me at the time he visited my Ranchi school, “I received a letter
from him, requesting me to come at once to Benares. I was delayed,
however, and could not leave immediately. As I was in the midst
of my travel preparations, about ten o’clock in the morning, I was
suddenly overwhelmed with joy to see the shining figure of my guru.
“‘Why hurry to Benares?’ Lahiri Mahasaya said, smiling. ‘You shall
find me there no longer.’
“As the import of his words dawned on me, I sobbed broken-heartedly,
believing that I was seeing him only in a vision.
“The master approached me comfortingly. ‘Here, touch my flesh,’
he said. ‘I am living, as always. Do not lament; am I not with you
forever?’”
From the lips of these three great disciples, a story of wondrous
truth has emerged: At the morning hour of ten, on the day after
the body of Lahiri Mahasaya had been consigned to the flames, the
resurrected master, in a real but transfigured body, appeared before
three disciples, each one in a different city.
“So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this
mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass
the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O
death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” {FN36-11}
{FN36-1} Sri Yukteswar was later formally initiated into the Swami
Order by the MAHANT (monastery head) of Buddh Gaya.
{FN36-2} “Great King”-a title of respect.
{FN36-3} A guru usually refers to his own disciple simply by his
name, omitting any title. Thus, Babaji said “Lahiri,” not “Lahiri
Mahasaya.”
{FN36-4} Literally, “eternal religion,” the name given to the body
of Vedic teachings. SANATAN DHARMA has come to be called HINDUISM
since the time of the Greeks who designated the people on the banks
of the river Indus as INDOOS, or HINDUS. The word HINDU, properly
speaking, refers only to followers of SANATAN DHARMA or Hinduism.
The term INDIAN applies equally to Hindus and Mohammedans and other
INHABITANTS of the soil of India (and also through the confusing
geographical error of Columbus, to the American Mongoloid aboriginals).
The ancient name for India is ARYAVARTA, literally, “abode of the
Aryans.” The Sanskrit root of ARYA is “worthy, holy, noble.” The
later ethnological misuse of ARYAN to signify not spiritual, but
physical, characteristics, led the great Orientalist, Max Muller,
to say quaintly: “To me an ethnologist who speaks of an Aryan
race, Aryan blood, Aryan eyes and hair, is as great a sinner as a
linguist who speaks of a dolichocephalic dictionary or a brachycephalic
grammar.”
{FN36-5} PARAM-GURU is literally “guru supreme” or “guru beyond,”
signifying a line or succession of teachers. Babaji, the GURU of
Lahiri Mahasaya, was the PARAM-GURU of Sri Yukteswar.
{FN36-6} My visit to Keshabananda’s ashram is described on pp.
405-408.
{FN36-7} September 26, 1895 is the date on which Lahiri Mahasaya left
his body. In a few more days he would have reached his sixty-eighth
birthday.
{FN36-8} Facing the north, and thrice revolving the body, are parts
of a Vedic rite used by masters who know beforehand when the final
hour is about to strike for the physical body. The last meditation,
during which the master merges himself in the Cosmic AUM, is called
the MAHA, or great, SAMADHI.
{FN36-9} Kabir was a great sixteenth-century saint whose large
following included both Hindus and Mohammedans. At the time of his
death, the disciples quarreled over the manner of conducting the
funeral ceremonies. The exasperated master rose from his final sleep,
and gave his instructions. “Half of my remains shall be buried by
the Moslem rites;” he said, “let the other half be cremated with
a Hindu sacrament.” He then vanished. When the disciples opened
the coffin which had contained his body, nothing was found but a
dazzling array of gold-colored champak flowers. Half of these were
obediently buried by the Moslems, who revere his shrine to this
day.
In his youth Kabir was approached by two disciples who wanted minute
intellectual guidance along the mystic path. The master responded
simply:
“Path presupposes distance;
If He be near, no path needest thou at all.
Verily it maketh me smile
To hear of a fish in water athirst!”
{FN36-10} Panchanon established, in a seventeen-acre garden
at Deogarh in Bihar, a temple containing a stone statue of Lahiri
Mahasaya. Another statue of the great master has been set by
disciples in the little parlor of his Benares home.
{FN36-11} I CORINTHIANS 15:54-55.
CHAPTER: 37
I GO TO AMERICA
“America! Surely these people are Americans!” This was my thought
as a panoramic vision of Western faces passed before my inward
view.
Immersed in meditation, I was sitting behind some dusty boxes in
the storeroom of the Ranchi school. A private spot was difficult
to find during those busy years with the youngsters!
The vision continued; a vast multitude, {FN37-1} gazing at me
intently, swept actorlike across the stage of consciousness.
The storeroom door opened; as usual, one of the young lads had
discovered my hiding place.
“Come here, Bimal,” I cried gaily. “I have news for you: the Lord
is calling me to America!”
“To America?” The boy echoed my words in a tone that implied I had
said “to the moon.”
“Yes! I am going forth to discover America, like Columbus. He
thought he had found India; surely there is a karmic link between
those two lands!”
Bimal scampered away; soon the whole school was informed by the
two-legged newspaper. {FN37-2} I summoned the bewildered faculty
and gave the school into its charge.
“I know you will keep Lahiri Mahasaya’s yoga ideals of education ever
to the fore,” I said. “I shall write you frequently; God willing,
someday I shall be back.”
Tears stood in my eyes as I cast a last look at the little boys
and the sunny acres of Ranchi. A definite epoch in my life had now
closed, I knew; henceforth I would dwell in far lands. I entrained
for Calcutta a few hours after my vision. The following day I
received an invitation to serve as the delegate from India to an
International Congress of Religious Liberals in America. It was
to convene that year in Boston, under the auspices of the American
Unitarian Association.
My head in a whirl, I sought out Sri Yukteswar in Serampore.
“Guruji, I have just been invited to address a religious congress
in America. Shall I go?”
“All doors are open for you,” Master replied simply. “It is now or
never.”
“But, sir,” I said in dismay, “what do I know about public speaking?
Seldom have I given a lecture, and never in English.”
“English or no English, your words on yoga shall be heard in the
West.”
I laughed. “Well, dear guruji, I hardly think the Americans will
learn Bengali! Please bless me with a push over the hurdles of the
English language.” {FN37-3}
When I broke the news of my plans to Father, he was utterly taken
aback. To him America seemed incredibly remote; he feared he might
never see me again.
“How can you go?” he asked sternly. “Who will finance you?” As he
had affectionately borne the expenses of my education and whole
life, he doubtless hoped that his question would bring my project
to an embarrassing halt.
“The Lord will surely finance me.” As I made this reply, I thought
of the similar one I had given long ago to my brother Ananta in
Agra. Without very much guile, I added, “Father, perhaps God will
put it into your mind to help me.”
“No, never!” He glanced at me piteously.
I was astounded, therefore, when Father handed me, the following
day, a check made out for a large amount.
“I give you this money,” he said, “not in my capacity as a father,
but as a faithful disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya. Go then to that far
Western land; spread there the creedless teachings of KRIYA YOGA.”
I was immensely touched at the selfless spirit in which Father
had been able to quickly put aside his personal desires. The just
realization had come to him during the preceding night that no
ordinary desire for foreign travel was motivating my voyage.
“Perhaps we shall not meet again in this life.” Father, who was
sixty-seven at this time, spoke sadly.
An intuitive conviction prompted me to reply, “Surely the Lord will
bring us together once more.”
As I went about my preparations to leave Master and my native
land for the unknown shores of America, I experienced not a little
trepidation. I had heard many stories about the materialistic
Western atmosphere, one very different from the spiritual background
of India, pervaded with the centuried aura of saints. “An Oriental
teacher who will dare the Western airs,” I thought, “must be hardy
beyond the trials of any Himalayan cold!”
One early morning I began to pray, with an adamant determination
to continue, to even die praying, until I heard the voice of God.
I wanted His blessing and assurance that I would not lose myself
in the fogs of modern utilitarianism. My heart was set to go to
America, but even more strongly was it resolved to hear the solace
of divine permission.
I prayed and prayed, muffling my sobs. No answer came. My silent
petition increased in excruciating crescendo until, at noon, I had
reached a zenith; my brain could no longer withstand the pressure
of my agonies. If I cried once more with an increased depth of my
inner passion, I felt as though my brain would split. At that moment
there came a knock outside the vestibule adjoining the Gurpar Road
room in which I was sitting. Opening the door, I saw a young man
in the scanty garb of a renunciate. He came in, closed the door
behind him and, refusing my request to sit down, indicated with a
gesture that he wished to talk to me while standing.
“He must be Babaji!” I thought, dazed, because the man before me
had the features of a younger Lahiri Mahasaya.
He answered my thought. “Yes, I am Babaji.” He spoke melodiously
in Hindi. “Our Heavenly Father has heard your prayer. He commands