Autobiography of a Yogi
plaster. At one end of the room hung a picture of Lahiri Mahasaya,
garlanded in simple devotion. There was also an old picture showing
Yoganandaji as he had first arrived in Boston, standing with the
other delegates to the Congress of Religions.
“I noted a quaint concurrence of modernity and antiquation. A
huge, cut-glass, candle-light chandelier was covered with cobwebs
through disuse, and on the wall was a bright, up-to-date calendar.
The whole room emanated a fragrance of peace and calmness. Beyond
the balcony I could see coconut trees towering over the hermitage
in silent protection.
“It is interesting to observe that the master has merely to clap
his hands together and, before finishing, he is served or attended
by some small disciple. Incidentally, I am much attracted to one
of them-a thin lad, named Prafulla, {FN40-2} with long black hair
to his shoulders, a most penetrating pair of sparkling black eyes,
and a heavenly smile; his eyes twinkle, as the corners of his mouth
rise, like the stars and the crescent moon appearing at twilight.
“Swami Sri Yukteswarji’s joy is obviously intense at the return of
his ‘product’ (and he seems to be somewhat inquisitive about the
‘product’s product’). However, predominance of the wisdom-aspect
in the Great One’s nature hinders his outward expression of feeling.
“Yoganandaji presented him with some gifts, as is the custom when
the disciple returns to his guru. We sat down later to a simple
but well-cooked meal. All the dishes were vegetable and rice
combinations. Sri Yukteswarji was pleased at my use of a number of
Indian customs, ‘finger-eating’ for example.
“After several hours of flying Bengali phrases and the exchange
of warm smiles and joyful glances, we paid obeisance at his feet,
bade adieu with a PRONAM, {FN40-3} and departed for Calcutta with
an everlasting memory of a sacred meeting and greeting. Although I
write chiefly of my external impressions of him, yet I was always
conscious of the true basis of the saint-his spiritual glory. I
felt his power, and shall carry that feeling as my divine blessing.”
From America, Europe, and Palestine I had brought many presents
for Sri Yukteswar. He received them smilingly, but without remark.
For my own use, I had bought in Germany a combination umbrella-cane.
In India I decided to give the cane to Master.
“This gift I appreciate indeed!” My guru’s eyes were turned on me
with affectionate understanding as he made the unwonted comment.
From all the presents, it was the cane that he singled out to
display to visitors.
“Master, please permit me to get a new carpet for the sitting room.”
I had noticed that Sri Yukteswar’s tiger skin was placed over a
torn rug.
“Do so if it pleases you.” My guru’s voice was not enthusiastic.
“Behold, my tiger mat is nice and clean; I am monarch in my own
little kingdom. Beyond it is the vast world, interested only in
externals.”
As he uttered these words I felt the years roll back; once again
I am a young disciple, purified in the daily fires of chastisement!
As soon as I could tear myself away from Serampore and Calcutta,
I set out, with Mr. Wright, for Ranchi. What a welcome there, a
veritable ovation! Tears stood in my eyes as I embraced the selfless
teachers who had kept the banner of the school flying during my
fifteen years’ absence. The bright faces and happy smiles of the
residential and day students were ample testimony to the worth of
their many-sided school and yoga training.
Yet, alas! the Ranchi institution was in dire financial difficulties.
Sir Manindra Chandra Nundy, the old Maharaja whose Kasimbazar Palace
had been converted into the central school building, and who had
made many princely donations was now dead. Many free, benevolent
features of the school were now seriously endangered for lack of
sufficient public support.
I had not spent years in America without learning some of its
practical wisdom, its undaunted spirit before obstacles. For one
week I remained in Ranchi, wrestling with critical problems. Then
came interviews in Calcutta with prominent leaders and educators,
a long talk with the young Maharaja of Kasimbazar, a financial
appeal to my father, and lo! the shaky foundations of Ranchi began
to be righted. Many donations including one huge check arrived in
the nick of time from my American students.
Within a few months after my arrival in India, I had the joy of
seeing the Ranchi school legally incorporated. My lifelong dream
of a permanently endowed yoga educational center stood fulfilled.
That vision had guided me in the humble beginnings in 1917 with a
group of seven boys.
In the decade since 1935, Ranchi has enlarged its scope far beyond
the boys’ school. Widespread humanitarian activities are now carried
on there in the Shyama Charan Lahiri Mahasaya Mission.
The school, or Yogoda Sat-Sanga Brahmacharya Vidyalaya, conducts
outdoor classes in grammar and high school subjects. The residential
students and day scholars also receive vocational training of some
kind. The boys themselves regulate most of their activities through
autonomous committees. Very early in my career as an educator I
discovered that boys who impishly delight in outwitting a teacher
will cheerfully accept disciplinary rules that are set by their
fellow students. Never a model pupil myself, I had a ready sympathy
for all boyish pranks and problems.
Sports and games are encouraged; the fields resound with hockey and
football practice. Ranchi students often win the cup at competitive
events. The outdoor gymnasium is known far and wide. Muscle recharging
through will power is the YOGODA feature: mental direction of life
energy to any part of the body. The boys are also taught ASANAS
(postures), sword and LATHI (stick) play, and jujitsu. The Yogoda
Health Exhibitions at the Ranchi VIDYALAYA have been attended by
thousands.
Instruction in primary subjects is given in Hindi to the KOLS,
SANTALS, and MUNDAS, aboriginal tribes of the province. Classes
for girls only have been organized in near-by villages.
The unique feature at Ranchi is the initiation into KRIYA YOGA.
The boys daily practice their spiritual exercises, engage in GITA
chanting, and are taught by precept and example the virtues of
simplicity, self-sacrifice, honor, and truth. Evil is pointed out
to them as being that which produces misery; good as those actions
which result in true happiness. Evil may be compared to poisoned
honey, tempting but laden with death.
Overcoming restlessness of body and mind by concentration techniques
has achieved astonishing results: it is no novelty at Ranchi to
see an appealing little figure, aged nine or ten years, sitting for
an hour or more in unbroken poise, the unwinking gaze directed to
the spiritual eye. Often the picture of these Ranchi students has
returned to my mind, as I observed collegians over the world who
are hardly able to sit still through one class period. {FN40-4}
Ranchi lies 2000 feet above sea level; the climate is mild and
equable. The twenty-five acre site, by a large bathing pond, includes
one of the finest orchards in India-five hundred fruit trees-mango,
guava, litchi, jackfruit, date. The boys grow their own vegetables,
and spin at their CHARKAS.
A guest house is hospitably open for Western visitors. The Ranchi
library contains numerous magazines, and about a thousand volumes
in English and Bengali, donations from the West and the East. There
is a collection of the scriptures of the world. A well-classified
museum displays archeological, geological, and anthropological
exhibits; trophies, to a great extent, of my wanderings over the
Lord’s varied earth.
The charitable hospital and dispensary of the Lahiri Mahasaya
Mission, with many outdoor branches in distant villages, have
already ministered to 150,000 of India’s poor. The Ranchi students
are trained in first aid, and have given praiseworthy service to
their province at tragic times of flood or famine.
In the orchard stands a Shiva temple, with a statue of the blessed
master, Lahiri Mahasaya. Daily prayers and scripture classes are
held in the garden under the mango bowers.
Branch high schools, with the residential and yoga features of Ranchi,
have been opened and are now flourishing. These are the Yogoda
Sat-Sanga Vidyapith (School) for Boys, at Lakshmanpur in Bihar;
and the Yogoda Sat-Sanga High School and hermitage at Ejmalichak
in Midnapore.
A stately Yogoda Math was dedicated in 1939 at Dakshineswar,
directly on the Ganges. Only a few miles north of Calcutta, the
new hermitage affords a haven of peace for city dwellers. Suitable
accommodations are available for Western guests, and particularly
for those seekers who are intensely dedicating their lives to
spiritual realization. The activities of the Yogoda Math include
a fortnightly mailing of Self-Realization Fellowship teachings to
students in various parts of India.
It is needless to say that all these educational and humanitarian
activities have required the self-sacrificing service and devotion
of many teachers and workers. I do not list their names here,
because they are so numerous; but in my heart each one has a lustrous
niche. Inspired by the ideals of Lahiri Mahasaya, these teachers
have abandoned promising worldly goals to serve humbly, to give
greatly.
Mr. Wright formed many fast friendships with Ranchi boys; clad in
a simple DHOTI, he lived for awhile among them. At Ranchi, Calcutta,
Serampore, everywhere he went, my secretary, who has a vivid gift
of description, hauled out his travel diary to record his adventures.
One evening I asked him a question.
“Dick, what is your impression of India?”
“Peace,” he said thoughtfully. “The racial aura is peace.”
{FN40-1} We broke our journey in Central Provinces, halfway across
the continent, to see Mahatma Gandhi at Wardha. Those days are
described in chapter 44.
{FN40-2} Prafulla was the lad who had been present with Master when
a cobra approached (see page 116).
{FN40-3} Literally, “holy name,” a word of greeting among Hindus,
accompanied by palm-folded hands lifted from the heart to the
forehead in salutation. A PRONAM in India takes the place of the
Western greeting by handshaking.
{FN40-4} Mental training through certain concentration techniques
has produced in each Indian generation men of prodigious memory.
Sir T. Vijayaraghavachari, in the HINDUSTAN TIMES, has described
the tests put to the modern professional “memory men” of Madras.
“These men,” he wrote, “were unusually learned in Sanskrit literature.
Seated in the midst of a large audience, they were equal to the
tests that several members of the audience simultaneously put them
to. The test would be like this: one person would start ringing
a bell, the number of rings having to be counted by the ‘memory
man.’ A second person would dictate from a paper a long exercise
in arithmetic, involving addition, subtraction, multiplication,
and division. A third would go on reciting from the RAMAYANA or
the MAHABHARATA a long series of poems, which had to be reproduced;
a fourth would set problems in versification which required the
composition of verses in proper meter on a given subject, each
line to end in a specified word, a fifth man would carry on with