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
transformation. I am going to undo every wrong I have done you. From
tonight we will use our large bedroom only as a place of worship;
your small meditation room shall be changed into our sleeping
quarters. I am sincerely sorry that I have ridiculed your brother.
For the shameful way I have been acting, I will punish myself by
not talking to Mukunda until I have progressed in the spiritual
path. Deeply I will seek the Divine Mother from now on; someday I
must surely find Her!’”
Years later, I visited my brother-in-law in Delhi. I was overjoyed
to perceive that he had developed highly in self-realization, and
had been blessed by the vision of Divine Mother. During my stay
with him, I noticed that Satish secretly spent the greater part
of every night in divine meditation, though he was suffering from
a serious ailment, and was engaged during the day at his office.
The thought came to me that my brother-in-law’s life span would
not be a long one. Roma must have read my mind.
“Dear brother,” she said, “I am well, and my husband is sick.
Nevertheless, I want you to know that, as a devoted Hindu wife, I
am going to be the first one to die. {FN22-2} It won’t be long now
before I pass on.”
Taken aback at her ominous words, I yet realized their sting of
truth. I was in America when my sister died, about a year after
her prediction. My youngest brother Bishnu later gave me the details.
“Roma and Satish were in Calcutta at the time of her death,” Bishnu
told me. “That morning she dressed herself in her bridal finery.
“‘Why this special costume?’ Satish inquired.
“‘This is my last day of service to you on earth,’ Roma replied.
A short time later she had a heart attack. As her son was rushing
out for aid, she said:
“‘Son, do not leave me. It is no use; I shall be gone before a
doctor could arrive.’ Ten minutes later, holding the feet of her
husband in reverence, Roma consciously left her body, happily and
without suffering.
“Satish became very reclusive after his wife’s death,” Bishnu
continued. “One day he and I were looking at a large smiling
photograph of Roma.
“‘Why do you smile?’ Satish suddenly exclaimed, as though his wife
were present. ‘You think you were clever in arranging to go before
me. I shall prove that you cannot long remain away from me; soon
I shall join you.’
“Although at this time Satish had fully recovered from his sickness,
and was enjoying excellent health, he died without apparent cause
shortly after his strange remark before the photograph.”
Thus prophetically passed my dearly beloved eldest sister Roma, and
her husband Satish-he who changed at Dakshineswar from an ordinary
worldly man to a silent saint.
{FN22-1} Goddess.
{FN22-2} The Hindu wife believes it is a sign of spiritual advancement
if she dies before her husband, as a proof of her loyal service to
him, or “dying in harness.”
CHAPTER: 23
I RECEIVE MY UNIVERSITY DEGREE
“You ignore your textbook assignments in philosophy. No doubt you
are depending on an unlaborious ‘intuition’ to get you through the
examinations. But unless you apply yourself in a more scholarly
manner, I shall see to it that you don’t pass this course.”
Professor D. C. Ghoshal of Serampore College was addressing me
sternly. If I failed to pass his final written classroom test, I
would be ineligible to take the conclusive examinations. These are
formulated by the faculty of Calcutta University, which numbers
Serampore College among its affiliated branches. A student in Indian
universities who is unsuccessful in one subject in the A.B. finals
must be examined anew in ALL his subjects the following year.
My instructors at Serampore College usually treated me with kindness,
not untinged by an amused tolerance. “Mukunda is a bit over-drunk
with religion.” Thus summing me up, they tactfully spared me the
embarrassment of answering classroom questions; they trusted the
final written tests to eliminate me from the list of A.B. candidates.
The judgment passed by my fellow students was expressed in their
nickname for me-“Mad Monk.”
I took an ingenious step to nullify Professor Ghoshal’s threat to
me of failure in philosophy. When the results of the final tests
were about to be publicly announced, I asked a classmate to accompany
me to the professor’s study.
“Come along; I want a witness,” I told my companion. “I shall be
very much disappointed if I have not succeeded in outwitting the
instructor.”
Professor Ghoshal shook his head after I had inquired what rating
he had given my paper.
“You are not among those who have passed,” he said in triumph. He
hunted through a large pile on his desk. “Your paper isn’t here at
all; you have failed, in any case, through non-appearance at the
examination.”
I chuckled. “Sir, I was there. May I look through the stack myself?”
The professor, nonplused, gave his permission; I quickly found my
paper, where I had carefully omitted any identification mark except
my roll call number. Unwarned by the “red flag” of my name, the
instructor had given a high rating to my answers even though they
were unembellished by textbook quotations. {FN23-1}
Seeing through my trick, he now thundered, “Sheer brazen luck!” He
added hopefully, “You are sure to fail in the A.B. finals.”
For the tests in my other subjects, I received some coaching,
particularly from my dear friend and cousin, Prabhas Chandra
Ghose, {FN23-2} son of my Uncle Sarada. I staggered painfully but
successfully-with the lowest possible passing marks-through all my
final tests.
Now, after four years of college, I was eligible to sit for the
A.B. examinations. Nevertheless, I hardly expected to avail myself
of the privilege. The Serampore College finals were child’s play
compared to the stiff ones which would be set by Calcutta University
for the A.B. degree. My almost daily visits to Sri Yukteswar had
left me little time to enter the college halls. There it was my
presence rather than my absence that brought forth ejaculations of
amazement from my classmates!
My customary routine was to set out on my bicycle about nine-thirty
in the morning. In one hand I would carry an offering for my guru-a
few flowers from the garden of my PANTHI boardinghouse. Greeting
me affably, Master would invite me to lunch. I invariably accepted
with alacrity, glad to banish the thought of college for the day.
After hours with Sri Yukteswar, listening to his incomparable flow of
wisdom, or helping with ashram duties, I would reluctantly depart
around midnight for the PANTHI. Occasionally I stayed all night with
my guru, so happily engrossed in his conversation that I scarcely
noticed when darkness changed into dawn.
One night about eleven o’clock, as I was putting on my shoes
{FN23-3} in preparation for the ride to the boardinghouse, Master
questioned me gravely.
“When do your A.B. examinations start?”
“Five days hence, sir.”
“I hope you are in readiness for them.”
Transfixed with alarm, I held one shoe in the air. “Sir,” I
protested, “you know how my days have been passed with you rather
than with the professors. How can I enact a farce by appearing for
those difficult finals?”
Sri Yukteswar’s eyes were turned piercingly on mine. “You must
appear.” His tone was coldly peremptory. “We should not give cause
for your father and other relatives to criticize your preference
for ashram life. Just promise me that you will be present for the
examinations; answer them the best way you can.”
Uncontrollable tears were coursing down my face. I felt that
Master’s command was unreasonable, and that his interest was, to
say the least, belated.
“I will appear if you wish it,” I said amidst sobs. “But no time
remains for proper preparation.” Under my breath I muttered, “I will
fill up the sheets with your teachings in answer to the questions!”
When I entered the hermitage the following day at my usual hour,
I presented my bouquet with a certain mournful solemnity. Sri
Yukteswar laughed at my woebegone air.
“Mukunda, has the Lord ever failed you, at an examination or
elsewhere?”
“No, sir,” I responded warmly. Grateful memories came in a revivifying
flood.
“Not laziness but burning zeal for God has prevented you from
seeking college honors,” my guru said kindly. After a silence, he
quoted, “‘Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness;
and all these things shall be added unto you.’” {FN23-4}
For the thousandth time, I felt my burdens lifted in Master’s
presence. When we had finished our early lunch, he suggested that
I return to the PANTHI.
“Does your friend, Romesh Chandra Dutt, still live in your
boardinghouse?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get in touch with him; the Lord will inspire him to help you with
the examinations.”
“Very well, sir; but Romesh is unusually busy. He is the honor man
in our class, and carries a heavier course than the others.”
Master waved aside my objections. “Romesh will find time for you.
Now go.”
I bicycled back to the PANTHI. The first person I met in the
boardinghouse compound was the scholarly Romesh. As though his days
were quite free, he obligingly agreed to my diffident request.
“Of course; I am at your service.” He spent several hours of that
afternoon and of succeeding days in coaching me in my various
subjects.
“I believe many questions in English literature will be centered
in the route of Childe Harold,” he told me. “We must get an atlas
at once.”
I hastened to the home of my Uncle Sarada and borrowed an atlas.
Romesh marked the European map at the places visited by Byron’s
romantic traveler.
A few classmates had gathered around to listen to the tutoring.
“Romesh is advising you wrongly,” one of them commented to me at
the end of a session. “Usually only fifty per cent of the questions
are about the books; the other half will involve the authors’
lives.”
When I sat for the examination in English literature the following
day, my first glance at the questions caused tears of gratitude
to pour forth, wetting my paper. The classroom monitor came to my
desk and made a sympathetic inquiry.
“My guru foretold that Romesh would help me,” I explained. “Look;
the very questions dictated to me by Romesh are here on the examination
sheet! Fortunately for me, there are very few questions this year
on English authors, whose lives are wrapped in deep mystery so far
as I am concerned!”
My boardinghouse was in an uproar when I returned. The boys who
had been ridiculing Romesh’s method of coaching looked at me in
awe, almost deafening me with congratulations. During the week of
the examinations, I spent many hours with Romesh, who formulated
questions that he thought were likely to be set by the professors.
Day by day, Romesh’s questions appeared in almost the same form on
the examination sheets.
The news was widely circulated in the college that something resembling
a miracle was occurring, and that success seemed probable for the
absent-minded “Mad Monk.” I made no attempt to hide the facts of the
case. The local professors were powerless to alter the questions,
which had been arranged by Calcutta University.
Thinking over the examination in English literature, I realized
one morning that I had made a serious error. One section of the
questions had been divided into two parts of A or B, and C or D.
Instead of answering one question from each part, I had carelessly
answered both questions in Group I, and had failed to consider
anything in Group II. The best mark I could score in that paper
would be 33, three less than the passing mark of 36. I rushed to
Master and poured out my troubles.
“Sir, I have made an unpardonable blunder. I don’t deserve the
divine blessings through Romesh; I am quite unworthy.”
“Cheer up, Mukunda.” Sri Yukteswar’s tones were light and unconcerned.
He pointed to the blue vault of the heavens. “It is more possible
for the sun and moon to interchange their positions in space than
it is for you to fail in getting your degree!”
I left the hermitage in a more tranquil mood, though it seemed
mathematically inconceivable that I could pass. I looked once or
twice apprehensively into the sky; the Lord of Day appeared to be
securely anchored in his customary orbit!
As I reached the PANTHI, I overheard a classmate’s remark: “I
have just learned that this year, for the first time, the required
passing mark in English literature has been lowered.”
I entered the boy’s room with such speed that he looked up in alarm.
I questioned him eagerly.
“Long-haired monk,” he said laughingly, “why this sudden interest
in scholastic matters? Why cry in the eleventh hour? But it is true
that the passing mark has just been lowered to 33 points.”
A few joyous leaps took me into my own room, where I sank to my
knees and praised the mathematical perfections of my Divine Father.
Every day I thrilled with the consciousness of a spiritual presence
that I clearly felt to be guiding me through Romesh. A significant
incident occurred in connection with the examination in Bengali.
Romesh, who had touched little on that subject, called me back
one morning as I was leaving the boardinghouse on my way to the
examination hall.
“There is Romesh shouting for you,” a classmate said to me impatiently.
“Don’t return; we shall be late at the hall.”
Ignoring the advice, I ran back to the house.
“The Bengali examination is usually easily passed by our Bengali
boys,” Romesh told me. “But I have just had a hunch that this
year the professors have planned to massacre the students by asking
questions from our ancient literature.” My friend then briefly outlined
two stories from the life of Vidyasagar, a renowned philanthropist.
I thanked Romesh and quickly bicycled to the college hall.
The examination sheet in Bengali proved to contain two parts. The
first instruction was: “Write two instances of the charities of
Vidyasagar.” As I transferred to the paper the lore that I had so
recently acquired, I whispered a few words of thanksgiving that
I had heeded Romesh’s last-minute summons. Had I been ignorant of
Vidyasagar’s benefactions to mankind (including ultimately myself),
I could not have passed the Bengali examination. Failing in one
subject, I would have been forced to stand examination anew in all
subjects the following year. Such a prospect was understandably
abhorrent.
The second instruction on the sheet read: “Write an essay in Bengali
on the life of the man who has most inspired you.” Gentle reader,
I need not inform you what man I chose for my theme. As I covered
page after page with praise of my guru, I smiled to realize that
my muttered prediction was coming true: “I will fill up the sheets
with your teachings!”
I had not felt inclined to question Romesh about my course in
philosophy. Trusting my long training under Sri Yukteswar, I safely
disregarded the textbook explanations. The highest mark given to
any of my papers was the one in philosophy. My score in all other
subjects was just barely within the passing mark.
It is a pleasure to record that my unselfish friend Romesh received
his own degree CUM LAUDE.
Father was wreathed in smiles at my graduation. “I hardly thought
you would pass, Mukunda,” he confessed. “You spend so much time
with your guru.” Master had indeed correctly detected the unspoken
criticism of my father.
For years I had been uncertain that I would ever see the day
when an A.B. would follow my name. I seldom use the title without
reflecting that it was a divine gift, conferred on me for reasons
somewhat obscure. Occasionally I hear college men remark that
very little of their crammed knowledge remained with them after
graduation. That admission consoles me a bit for my undoubted
academic deficiencies.
On the day I received my degree from Calcutta University, I knelt
at my guru’s feet and thanked him for all the blessings flowing
from his life into mine.
“Get up, Mukunda,” he said indulgently. “The Lord simply found it
more convenient to make you a graduate than to rearrange the sun
and moon!”
{FN23-1} I must do Professor Ghoshal the justice of admitting
that the strained relationship between us was not due to any fault
of his, but solely to my absences from classes and inattention
in them. Professor Ghoshal was, and is, a remarkable orator with
vast philosophical knowledge. In later years we came to a cordial
understanding..
{FN23-2} Although my cousin and I have the same family name of
Ghosh, Prabhas has accustomed himself to transliterating his name
in English as Ghose; therefore I follow his own spelling here.
{FN23-3} A disciple always removes his shoes in an Indian hermitage.
{FN23-4} MATTHEW 6:33.
CHAPTER: 24
I BECOME A MONK OF THE SWAMI ORDER
“Master, my father has been anxious for me to accept an executive
position with the Bengal-Nagpur Railway. But I have definitely
refused it.” I added hopefully, “Sir, will you not make me a monk of
the Swami Order?” I looked pleadingly at my guru. During preceding
years, in order to test the depth of my determination, he had
refused this same request. Today, however, he smiled graciously.
“Very well; tomorrow I will initiate you into swamiship.” He went
on quietly, “I am happy that you have persisted in your desire to
be a monk. Lahiri Mahasaya often said: ‘If you don’t invite God to
be your summer Guest, He won’t come in the winter of your life.’”
“Dear master, I could never falter in my goal to belong to the Swami
Order like your revered self.” I smiled at him with measureless
affection.
“He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord,
how he may please the Lord: but he that is married careth for the
things of the world, how he may please his wife.” {FN24-1} I had
analyzed the lives of many of my friends who, after undergoing
certain spiritual discipline, had then married. Launched on the sea
of worldly responsibilities, they had forgotten their resolutions
to meditate deeply.
To allot God a secondary place in life was, to me, inconceivable.
Though He is the sole Owner of the cosmos, silently showering us
with gifts from life to life, one thing yet remains which He does
not own, and which each human heart is empowered to withhold or
bestow-man’s love. The Creator, in taking infinite pains to shroud
with mystery His presence in every atom of creation, could have had
but one motive-a sensitive desire that men seek Him only through
free will. With what velvet glove of every humility has He not
covered the iron hand of omnipotence!
The following day was one of the most memorable in my life. It
was a sunny Thursday, I remember, in July, 1914, a few weeks after
my graduation from college. On the inner balcony of his Serampore
hermitage, Master dipped a new piece of white silk into a dye of
ocher, the traditional color of the Swami Order. After the cloth
had dried, my guru draped it around me as a renunciate’s robe.
“Someday you will go to the West, where silk is preferred,” he said.
“As a symbol, I have chosen for you this silk material instead of
the customary cotton.”
In India, where monks embrace the ideal of poverty, a silk-clad
swami is an unusual sight. Many yogis, however, wear garments of
silk, which preserves certain subtle bodily currents better than
cotton.
“I am averse to ceremonies,” Sri Yukteswar remarked. “I will make
you a swami in the BIDWAT (non-ceremonious) manner.”
The BIBIDISA or elaborate initiation into swamiship includes a fire
ceremony, during which symbolical funeral rites are performed. The
physical body of the disciple is represented as dead, cremated in
the flame of wisdom. The newly-made swami is then given a chant,
such as: “This ATMA is Brahma” {FN24-2} or “Thou art That” or “I am
He.” Sri Yukteswar, however, with his love of simplicity, dispensed
with all formal rites and merely asked me to select a new name.
“I will give you the privilege of choosing it yourself,” he said,
smiling.
“Yogananda,” I replied, after a moment’s thought. The name literally
means “Bliss (ANANDA) through divine union (YOGA).”
“Be it so. Forsaking your family name of Mukunda Lal Ghosh,
henceforth you shall be called Yogananda of the Giri branch of the
Swami Order.”
As I knelt before Sri Yukteswar, and for the first time heard him
pronounce my new name, my heart overflowed with gratitude. How
lovingly and tirelessly had he labored, that the boy Mukunda be
someday transformed into the monk Yogananda! I joyfully sang a few
verses from the long Sanskrit chant of Lord Shankara:
“Mind, nor intellect, nor ego, feeling;
Sky nor earth nor metals am I.
I am He, I am He, Blessed Spirit, I am He!
No birth, no death, no caste have I;
Father, mother, have I none.
I am He, I am He, Blessed Spirit, I am He!
Beyond the flights of fancy, formless am I,
Permeating the limbs of all life;
Bondage I do not fear; I am free, ever free,
I am He, I am He, Blessed Spirit, I am He!”
Every swami belongs to the ancient monastic order which was organized
in its present form by Shankara. {FN24-3} Because it is a formal
order, with an unbroken line of saintly representatives serving
as active leaders, no man can give himself the title of swami.
He rightfully receives it only from another swami; all monks thus
trace their spiritual lineage to one common guru, Lord Shankara. By
vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience to the spiritual teacher,
many Catholic Christian monastic orders resemble the Order of
Swamis.
In addition to his new name, usually ending in ANANDA, the swami
takes a title which indicates his formal connection with one of
the ten subdivisions of the Swami Order. These DASANAMIS or ten
agnomens include the GIRI (mountain), to which Sri Yukteswar, and
hence myself, belong. Among the other branches are the SAGAR (sea),
BHARATI (land), ARANYA (forest), PURI (tract), TIRTHA (place of
pilgrimage), and SARASWATI (wisdom of nature).
The new name received by a swami thus has a twofold significance,
and represents the attainment of supreme bliss (ANANDA) through some
divine quality or state-love, wisdom, devotion, service, yoga-and
through a harmony with nature, as expressed in her infinite vastness
of oceans, mountains, skies.
[Illustration: THE LORD IN HIS ASPECT AS SHIVA, Not a historical
personage like Krishna, Shiva is the name given to God in the last
aspect of His threefold nature (Creator-Preserver-Destroyer). Shiva,
the Annihilator of maya or delusion, is symbolically represented
in the scriptures as the Lord of Renunciates, the King of Yogis.
In Hindu art He is always shown with the new moon in His hair, and
wearing a garland of hooded snakes, ancient emblem of evil overcome
and perfect wisdom. The “single” eye of omniscience is open on His
forehead.—see shiva.jpg]
The ideal of selfless service to all mankind, and of renunciation
of personal ties and ambitions, leads the majority of swamis to
engage actively in humanitarian and educational work in India, or
occasionally in foreign lands. Ignoring all prejudices of caste,
creed, class, color, sex, or race, a swami follows the precepts of
human brotherhood. His goal is absolute unity with Spirit. Imbuing
his waking and sleeping consciousness with the thought, “I am He,”
he roams contentedly, in the world but not of it. Thus only may
he justify his title of swami-one who seeks to achieve union with
the SWA or Self. It is needless to add that not all formally titled
swamis are equally successful in reaching their high goal.
Sri Yukteswar was both a swami and a yogi. A swami, formally a monk
by virtue of his connection with the ancient order, is not always
a yogi. Anyone who practices a scientific technique of God-contact
is a yogi; he may be either married or unmarried, either a worldly
man or one of formal religious ties. A swami may conceivably follow
only the path of dry reasoning, of cold renunciation; but a yogi
engages himself in a definite, step-by-step procedure by which
the body and mind are disciplined, and the soul liberated. Taking
nothing for granted on emotional grounds, or by faith, a yogi
practices a thoroughly tested series of exercises which were first
mapped out by the early rishis. Yoga has produced, in every age
of India, men who became truly free, truly Yogi-Christs.
Like any other science, yoga is applicable to people of every clime
and time. The theory advanced by certain ignorant writers that yoga
is “unsuitable for Westerners” is wholly false, and has lamentably
prevented many sincere students from seeking its manifold blessings.
Yoga is a method for restraining the natural turbulence of thoughts,
which otherwise impartially prevent all men, of all lands, from
glimpsing their true nature of Spirit. Yoga cannot know a barrier
of East and West any more than does the healing and equitable
light of the sun. So long as man possesses a mind with its restless
thoughts, so long will there be a universal need for yoga or control.
The ancient rishi Patanjali defines “yoga” as “control of the
fluctuations of the mind-stuff.” {FN24-4} His very short and masterly
expositions, the YOGA SUTRAS, form one of the six systems of Hindu
philosophy. {FN24-5} In contradistinction to Western philosophies,
all six Hindu systems embody not only theoretical but practical
teachings. In addition to every conceivable ontological inquiry,
the six systems formulate six definite disciplines aimed at the
permanent removal of suffering and the attainment of timeless bliss.
The common thread linking all six systems is the declaration that
no true freedom for man is possible without knowledge of the ultimate
Reality. The later UPANISHADS uphold the YOGA SUTRAS, among the six
systems, as containing the most efficacious methods for achieving
direct perception of truth. Through the practical techniques of
yoga, man leaves behind forever the barren realms of speculation
and cognizes in experience the veritable Essence.
The YOGA system as outlined by Patanjali is known as the Eightfold
Path. The first steps, (1) YAMA and (2) NIYAMA, require observance
of ten negative and positive moralities-avoidance of injury to others,
of untruthfulness, of stealing, of incontinence, of gift-receiving
(which brings obligations); and purity of body and mind, contentment,
self-discipline, study, and devotion to God.
The next steps are (3) ASANA (right posture); the spinal column
must be held straight, and the body firm in a comfortable position
for meditation; (4) PRANAYAMA (control of PRANA, subtle life currents);
and (5) PRATYAHARA (withdrawal of the senses from external objects).
The last steps are forms of yoga proper: (6) DHARANA (concentration);
holding the mind to one thought; (7) DHYANA (meditation), and (8)
SAMADHI (superconscious perception). This is the Eightfold Path
of Yoga {FN24-6} which leads one to the final goal of KAIVALYA
(Absoluteness), a term which might be more comprehensibly put as
“realization of the Truth beyond all intellectual apprehension.”
“Which is greater,” one may ask, “a swami or a yogi?” If and when
final oneness with God is achieved, the distinctions of the various
paths disappear. The BHAGAVAD GITA, however, points out that the
methods of yoga are all-embracive. Its techniques are not meant only
for certain types and temperaments, such as those few who incline
toward the monastic life; yoga requires no formal allegiance.
Because the yogic science satisfies a universal need, it has a
natural universal applicability.
A true yogi may remain dutifully in the world; there he is like
butter on water, and not like the easily-diluted milk of unchurned
and undisciplined humanity. To fulfill one’s earthly responsibilities
is indeed the higher path, provided the yogi, maintaining a mental
uninvolvement with egotistical desires, plays his part as a willing
instrument of God.
There are a number of great souls, living in American or European
or other non-Hindu bodies today who, though they may never have
heard the words YOGI and SWAMI, are yet true exemplars of those
terms. Through their disinterested service to mankind, or through
their mastery over passions and thoughts, or through their single
hearted love of God, or through their great powers of concentration,
they are, in a sense, yogis; they have set themselves the goal of
yoga-self-control. These men could rise to even greater heights if
they were taught the definite science of yoga, which makes possible
a more conscious direction of one’s mind and life.
Yoga has been superficially misunderstood by certain Western
writers, but its critics have never been its practitioners. Among
many thoughtful tributes to yoga may be mentioned one by Dr. C. G.
Jung, the famous Swiss psychologist.
“When a religious method recommends itself as ‘scientific,’ it can
be certain of its public in the West. Yoga fulfills this expectation,”
Dr. Jung writes. {FN24-7} “Quite apart from the charm of the new,
and the fascination of the half-understood, there is good cause
for Yoga to have many adherents. It offers the possibility of
controllable experience, and thus satisfies the scientific need
of ‘facts,’ and besides this, by reason of its breadth and depth,
its venerable age, its doctrine and method, which include every
phase of life, it promises undreamed-of possibilities.
“Every religious or philosophical practice means a psychological
discipline, that is, a method of mental hygiene. The manifold,
purely bodily procedures of Yoga {FN24-8} also mean a physiological
hygiene which is superior to ordinary gymnastics and breathing
exercises, inasmuch as it is not merely mechanistic and scientific,
but also philosophical; in its training of the parts of the body,
it unites them with the whole of the spirit, as is quite clear,
for instance, in the PRANAYAMA exercises where PRANA is both the
breath and the universal dynamics of the cosmos.
“When the thing which the individual is doing is also a cosmic event,
the effect experienced in the body (the innervation), unites with
the emotion of the spirit (the universal idea), and out of this there
develops a lively unity which no technique, however scientific, can
produce. Yoga practice is unthinkable, and would also be ineffectual,
without the concepts on which Yoga is based. It combines the bodily
and the spiritual with each other in an extraordinarily complete
way.
“In the East, where these ideas and practices have developed, and
where for several thousand years an unbroken tradition has created
the necessary spiritual foundations, Yoga is, as I can readily
believe, the perfect and appropriate method of fusing body and
mind together so that they form a unity which is scarcely to be
questioned. This unity creates a psychological disposition which
makes possible intuitions that transcend consciousness.”
The Western day is indeed nearing when the inner science of self-control
will be found as necessary as the outer conquest of nature. This
new Atomic Age will see men’s minds sobered and broadened by the
now scientifically indisputable truth that matter is in reality a
concentrate of energy. Finer forces of the human mind can and must
liberate energies greater than those within stones and metals, lest
the material atomic giant, newly unleashed, turn on the world in
mindless destruction. {FN24-9}
{FN24-1} I CORINTHIANS 7:32-33.
{FN24-2} Literally, “This soul is Spirit.” The Supreme Spirit,
the Uncreated, is wholly unconditioned (NETI, NETI, not this, not
that) but is often referred to in VEDANTA as SAT-CHIT-ANANDA, that
is, Being-Intelligence-Bliss.
{FN24-3} Sometimes called Shankaracharya. ACHARYA means “religious
teacher.” Shankara’s date is a center of the usual scholastic dispute.
A few records indicate that the peerless monist lived from 510 to
478 B.C.; Western historians assign him to the late eighth century
A.D. Readers who are interested in Shankara’s famous exposition
of the BRAHMA SUTRAS will find a careful English translation in Dr.
Paul Deussen’s SYSTEM OF THE VEDANTA (Chicago: Open Court Publishing
Company, 1912). Short extracts from his writings will be found in
SELECTED WORKS OF SRI SHANKARACHARYA (Natesan & Co., Madras).
{FN24-4} “CHITTA VRITTI NIRODHA”-YOGA SUTRA I:2. Patanjali’s date
is unknown, though a number of scholars place him in the second
century B.C. The rishis gave forth treatises on all subjects with
such insight that ages have been powerless to outmode them; yet,
to the subsequent consternation of historians, the sages made no
effort to attach their own dates and personalities to their literary
works. They knew their lives were only temporarily important as
flashes of the great infinite Life; and that truth is timeless,
impossible to trademark, and no private possession of their own.
{FN24-5} The six orthodox systems (SADDARSANA) are SANKHYA, YOGA,
VEDANTA, MIMAMSA, NYAYA, and VAISESIKA. Readers of a scholarly bent
will delight in the subtleties and broad scope of these ancient
formulations as summarized, in English, in HISTORY OF INDIAN
PHILOSOPHY, Vol. I, by Prof. Surendranath DasGupta (Cambridge
University Press, 1922).
{FN24-6} Not to be confused with the “Noble Eightfold Path” of
Buddhism, a guide to man’s conduct of life, as follows (1) Right
Ideals, (2) Right Motive, (3) Right Speech, (4) Right Action, (5)
Right Means of Livelihood, (6) Right Effort, (7) Right Remembrance
(of the Self), (8) Right Realization (SAMADHI).
{FN24-7} Dr. Jung attended the Indian Science Congress in 1937 and
received an honorary degree from the University of Calcutta.
{FN24-8} Dr. Jung is here referring to HATHA YOGA, a specialized
branch of bodily postures and techniques for health and longevity.
HATHA is useful, and produces spectacular physical results, but this
branch of yoga is little used by yogis bent on spiritual liberation.
{FN24-9} In Plato’s TIMAEUS story of Atlantis, he tells of
the inhabitants’ advanced state of scientific knowledge. The lost
continent is believed to have vanished about 9500 B.C. through a
cataclysm of nature; certain metaphysical writers, however, state
that the Atlanteans were destroyed as a result of their misuse of
atomic power. Two French writers have recently compiled a BIBLIOGRAPHY
OF ATLANTIS, listing over 1700 historical and other references.
CHAPTER: 25
BROTHER ANANTA AND SISTER NALINI
“Ananta cannot live; the sands of his karma for this life have run
out.”
These inexorable words reached my inner consciousness as I sat one
morning in deep meditation. Shortly after I had entered the Swami
Order, I paid a visit to my birthplace, Gorakhpur, as a guest of
my elder brother Ananta. A sudden illness confined him to his bed;
I nursed him lovingly.
The solemn inward pronouncement filled me with grief. I felt that
I could not bear to remain longer in Gorakhpur, only to see my
brother removed before my helpless gaze. Amidst uncomprehending
criticism from my relatives, I left India on the first available
boat. It cruised along Burma and the China Sea to Japan. I disembarked
at Kobe, where I spent only a few days. My heart was too heavy for
sightseeing.
On the return trip to India, the boat touched at Shanghai. There
Dr. Misra, the ship’s physician, guided me to several curio shops,
where I selected various presents for Sri Yukteswar and my family
and friends. For Ananta I purchased a large carved bamboo piece.
No sooner had the Chinese salesman handed me the bamboo souvenir
than I dropped it on the floor, crying out, “I have bought this
for my dear dead brother!”
A clear realization had swept over me that his soul was just being
freed in the Infinite. The souvenir was sharply and symbolically
cracked by its fall; amidst sobs, I wrote on the bamboo surface:
“For my beloved Ananta, now gone.”
My companion, the doctor, was observing these proceedings with a
sardonic smile.
“Save your tears,” he remarked. “Why shed them until you are sure
he is dead?”
When our boat reached Calcutta, Dr. Misra again accompanied me. My
youngest brother Bishnu was waiting to greet me at the dock.
“I know Ananta has departed this life,” I said to Bishnu, before he
had had time to speak. “Please tell me, and the doctor here, when
Ananta died.”
Bishnu named the date, which was the very day that I had bought
the souvenirs in Shanghai.
“Look here!” Dr. Misra ejaculated. “Don’t let any word of this
get around! The professors will be adding a year’s study of mental
telepathy to the medical course, which is already long enough!”
Father embraced me warmly as I entered our Gurpar Road home. “You
have come,” he said tenderly. Two large tears dropped from his
eyes. Ordinarily undemonstrative, he had never before shown me
these signs of affection. Outwardly the grave father, inwardly he
possessed the melting heart of a mother. In all his dealings with
the family, his dual parental role was distinctly manifest.
Soon after Ananta’s passing, my younger sister Nalini was brought
back from death’s door by a divine healing. Before relating the
story, I will refer to a few phases of her earlier life.
The childhood relationship between Nalini and myself had not been
of the happiest nature. I was very thin; she was thinner still.
Through an unconscious motive or “complex” which psychiatrists will
have no difficulty in identifying, I often used to tease my sister
about her cadaverous appearance. Her retorts were equally permeated
with the callous frankness of extreme youth. Sometimes Mother
intervened, ending the childish quarrels, temporarily, by a gentle
box on my ear, as the elder ear.
Time passed; Nalini was betrothed to a young Calcutta physician,
Panchanon Bose. He received a generous dowry from Father, presumably
(as I remarked to Sister) to compensate the bridegroom-to-be for
his fate in allying himself with a human bean-pole.
Elaborate marriage rites were celebrated in due time. On the wedding
night, I joined the large and jovial group of relatives in the
living room of our Calcutta home. The bridegroom was leaning on an
immense gold-brocaded pillow, with Nalini at his side. A gorgeous
purple silk SARI {FN25-1} could not, alas, wholly hide her angularity.
I sheltered myself behind the pillow of my new brother-in-law and
grinned at him in friendly fashion. He had never seen Nalini until
the day of the nuptial ceremony, when he finally learned what he
was getting in the matrimonial lottery.
Feeling my sympathy, Dr. Bose pointed unobtrusively to Nalini, and
whispered in my ear, “Say, what’s this?”
“Why, Doctor,” I replied, “it is a skeleton for your observation!”
Convulsed with mirth, my brother-in-law and I were hard put to it
to maintain the proper decorum before our assembled relatives.
As the years went on, Dr. Bose endeared himself to our family, who
called on him whenever illness arose. He and I became fast friends,
often joking together, usually with Nalini as our target.
“It is a medical curiosity,” my brother-in-law remarked to me one
day. “I have tried everything on your lean sister-cod liver oil,
butter, malt, honey, fish, meat, eggs, tonics. Still she fails to
bulge even one-hundredth of an inch.” We both chuckled.
A few days later I visited the Bose home. My errand there took only
a few minutes; I was leaving, unnoticed, I thought, by Nalini. As
I reached the front door, I heard her voice, cordial but commanding.
“Brother, come here. You are not going to give me the slip this
time. I want to talk to you.”
I mounted the stairs to her room. To my surprise, she was in tears.
“Dear brother,” she said, “let us bury the old hatchet. I see that
your feet are now firmly set on the spiritual path. I want to become
like you in every way.” She added hopefully, “You are now robust
in appearance; can you help me? My husband does not come near me,
and I love him so dearly! But still more I want to progress in
God-realization, even if I must remain thin {FN25-2} and unattractive.”
My heart was deeply touched at her plea. Our new friendship steadily
progressed; one day she asked to become my disciple.
“Train me in any way you like. I put my trust in God instead of
tonics.” She gathered together an armful of medicines and poured
them down the roof drain.
As a test of her faith, I asked her to omit from her diet all fish,
meat, and eggs.
After several months, during which Nalini had strictly followed
the various rules I had outlined, and had adhered to her vegetarian
diet in spite of numerous difficulties, I paid her a visit.
“Sis, you have been conscientiously observing the spiritual
injunctions; your reward is near.” I smiled mischievously. “How
plump do you want to be-as fat as our aunt who hasn’t seen her feet
in years?”
“No! But I long to be as stout as you are.”
I replied solemnly. “By the grace of God, as I have spoken truth
always, I speak truly now. {FN25-3} Through the divine blessings,
your body shall verily change from today; in one month it shall
have the same weight as mine.”
These words from my heart found fulfillment. In thirty days, Nalini’s
weight equalled mine. The new roundness gave her beauty; her husband
fell deeply in love. Their marriage, begun so inauspiciously, turned
out to be ideally happy.
On my return from Japan, I learned that during my absence Nalini
had been stricken with typhoid fever. I rushed to her home, and was
aghast to find her reduced to a mere skeleton. She was in a coma.
“Before her mind became confused by illness,” my brother-in-law
told me, “she often said: ‘If brother Mukunda were here, I would
not be faring thus.’” He added despairingly, “The other doctors
and myself see no hope. Blood dysentery has set in, after her long
bout with typhoid.”
I began to move heaven and earth with my prayers. Engaging
an Anglo-Indian nurse, who gave me full cooperation, I applied to
my sister various yoga techniques of healing. The blood dysentery
disappeared.
But Dr. Bose shook his head mournfully. “She simply has no more
blood left to shed.”
“She will recover,” I replied stoutly. “In seven days her fever
will be gone.”
A week later I was thrilled to see Nalini open her eyes and gaze at
me with loving recognition. From that day her recovery was swift.
Although she regained her usual weight, she bore one sad scar of her
nearly fatal illness: her legs were paralyzed. Indian and English
specialists pronounced her a hopeless cripple.
The incessant war for her life which I had waged by prayer had
exhausted me. I went to Serampore to ask Sri Yukteswar’s help. His
eyes expressed deep sympathy as I told him of Nalini’s plight.
“Your sister’s legs will be normal at the end of one month.” He
added, “Let her wear, next to her skin, a band with an unperforated
two-carat pearl, held on by a clasp.”
I prostrated myself at his feet with joyful relief.
“Sir, you are a master; your word of her recovery is enough. But if
you insist I shall immediately get her a pearl.”
My guru nodded. “Yes, do that.” He went on to correctly describe
the physical and mental characteristics of Nalini, whom he had
never seen.
“Sir,” I inquired, “is this an astrological analysis? You do not
know her birth day or hour.”
Sri Yukteswar smiled. “There is a deeper astrology, not dependent
on the testimony of calendars and clocks. Each man is a part of
the Creator, or Cosmic Man; he has a heavenly body as well as one
of earth. The human eye sees the physical form, but the inward eye
penetrates more profoundly, even to the universal pattern of which
each man is an integral and individual part.”
I returned to Calcutta and purchased a pearl for Nalini. A month
later, her paralyzed legs were completely healed.
Sister asked me to convey her heartfelt gratitude to my guru. He
listened to her message in silence. But as I was taking my leave,
he made a pregnant comment.
“Your sister has been told by many doctors that she can never bear
children. Assure her that in a few years she will give birth to
two daughters.”
Some years later, to Nalini’s joy, she bore a girl, followed in a
few years by another daughter.
“Your master has blessed our home, our entire family,” my sister
said. “The presence of such a man is a sanctification on the whole
of India. Dear brother, please tell Sri Yukteswarji that, through
you, I humbly count myself as one of his KRIYA YOGA disciples.”
{FN25-1} The gracefully draped dress of Indian women.
{FN25-2} Because most persons in India are thin, reasonable plumpness
is considered very desirable.
{FN25-3} The Hindu scriptures declare that those who habitually
speak the truth will develop the power of materializing their words.
What commands they utter from the heart will come true in life.
CHAPTER: 26
THE SCIENCE OF KRIYA YOGA
The science of KRIYA YOGA, mentioned so often in these pages, became
widely known in modern India through the instrumentality of Lahiri
Mahasaya, my guru’s guru. The Sanskrit root of KRIYA is KRI, to
do, to act and react; the same root is found in the word KARMA, the
natural principle of cause and effect. KRIYA YOGA is thus “union
(yoga) with the Infinite through a certain action or rite.” A yogi
who faithfully follows its technique is gradually freed from karma
or the universal chain of causation.
Because of certain ancient yogic injunctions, I cannot give a full
explanation of KRIYA YOGA in the pages of a book intended for the
general public. The actual technique must be learned from a KRIYABAN
or KRIYA YOGI; here a broad reference must suffice.
KRIYA YOGA is a simple, psychophysiological method by which the
human blood is decarbonized and recharged with oxygen. The atoms
of this extra oxygen are transmuted into life current to rejuvenate
the brain and spinal centers. {FN26-1} By stopping the accumulation
of venous blood, the yogi is able to lessen or prevent the decay of
tissues; the advanced yogi transmutes his cells into pure energy.
Elijah, Jesus, Kabir and other prophets were past masters in the
use of KRIYA or a similar technique, by which they caused their
bodies to dematerialize at will.
KRIYA is an ancient science. Lahiri Mahasaya received it from his
guru, Babaji, who rediscovered and clarified the technique after
it had been lost in the Dark Ages.
“The KRIYA YOGA which I am giving to the world through you in this
nineteenth century,” Babaji told Lahiri Mahasaya, “is a revival of
the same science which Krishna gave, millenniums ago, to Arjuna,
and which was later known to Patanjali, and to Christ, St. John,
St. Paul, and other disciples.”
KRIYA YOGA is referred to by Krishna, India’s greatest prophet, in
a stanza of the BHAGAVAD GITA: “Offering inhaling breath into the
outgoing breath, and offering the outgoing breath into the inhaling
breath, the yogi neutralizes both these breaths; he thus releases
the life force from the heart and brings it under his control.”
{FN26-2} The interpretation is: “The yogi arrests decay in the body
by an addition of life force, and arrests the mutations of growth
in the body by APAN (eliminating current). Thus neutralizing decay
and growth, by quieting the heart, the yogi learns life control.”
Krishna also relates {FN26-3} that it was he, in a former incarnation,
who communicated the indestructible yoga to an ancient illuminato,
Vivasvat, who gave it to Manu, the great legislator. {FN26-4} He,
in turn, instructed Ikshwaku, the father of India’s solar warrior
dynasty. Passing thus from one to another, the royal yoga was
guarded by the rishis until the coming of the materialistic ages.
{FN26-5} Then, due to priestly secrecy and man’s indifference, the
sacred knowledge gradually became inaccessible.
KRIYA YOGA is mentioned twice by the ancient sage Patanjali, foremost
exponent of yoga, who wrote: “KRIYA YOGA consists of body discipline,
mental control, and meditating on AUM.” {FN26-6} Patanjali speaks
of God as the actual Cosmic Sound of AUM heard in meditation. {FN26-7}
AUM is the Creative Word, {FN26-8} the sound of the Vibratory Motor.
Even the yoga-beginner soon inwardly hears the wondrous sound of
AUM. Receiving this blissful spiritual encouragement, the devotee
becomes assured that he is in actual touch with divine realms.
Patanjali refers a second time to the life-control or KRIYA technique
thus: “Liberation can be accomplished by that PRANAYAMA which is
attained by disjoining the course of inspiration and expiration.”
{FN26-9}
St. Paul knew KRIYA YOGA, or a technique very similar to it, by
which he could switch life currents to and from the senses. He was
therefore able to say: “Verily, I protest by our rejoicing which
I have in Christ, I DIE DAILY.” {FN26-10} By daily withdrawing his
bodily life force, he united it by yoga union with the rejoicing
(eternal bliss) of the Christ consciousness. In that felicitous
state, he was consciously aware of being dead to the delusive
sensory world of MAYA.
In the initial states of God-contact (SABIKALPA SAMADHI) the
devotee’s consciousness merges with the Cosmic Spirit; his life
force is withdrawn from the body, which appears “dead,” or motionless
and rigid. The yogi is fully aware of his bodily condition of
suspended animation. As he progresses to higher spiritual states
(NIRBIKALPA SAMADHI), however, he communes with God without bodily
fixation, and in his ordinary waking consciousness, even in the
midst of exacting worldly duties. {FN26-11}
“KRIYA YOGA is an instrument through which human evolution can be
quickened,” Sri Yukteswar explained to his students. “The ancient
yogis discovered that the secret of cosmic consciousness is
intimately linked with breath mastery. This is India’s unique and
deathless contribution to the world’s treasury of knowledge. The life
force, which is ordinarily absorbed in maintaining the heart-pump,
must be freed for higher activities by a method of calming and
stilling the ceaseless demands of the breath.”
The KRIYA YOGI mentally directs his life energy to revolve, upward
and downward, around the six spinal centers (medullary, cervical,
dorsal, lumbar, sacral, and coccygeal plexuses) which correspond
to the twelve astral signs of the zodiac, the symbolic Cosmic
Man. One-half minute of revolution of energy around the sensitive
spinal cord of man effects subtle progress in his evolution; that
half-minute of KRIYA equals one year of natural spiritual unfoldment.
The astral system of a human being, with six (twelve by polarity)
inner constellations revolving around the sun of the omniscient
spiritual eye, is interrelated with the physical sun and the twelve
zodiacal signs. All men are thus affected by an inner and an outer
universe. The ancient rishis discovered that man’s earthly and
heavenly environment, in twelve-year cycles, push him forward on
his natural path. The scriptures aver that man requires a million
years of normal, diseaseless evolution to perfect his human brain
sufficiently to express cosmic consciousness.
One thousand KRIYA practiced in eight hours gives the yogi, in one
day, the equivalent of one thousand years of natural evolution:
365,000 years of evolution in one year. In three years, a KRIYA
YOGI can thus accomplish by intelligent self-effort the same result
which nature brings to pass in a million years. The KRIYA short
cut, of course, can be taken only by deeply developed yogis. With
the guidance of a guru, such yogis have carefully prepared their
bodies and brains to receive the power created by intensive practice.
The KRIYA beginner employs his yogic exercise only fourteen to
twenty-eight times, twice daily. A number of yogis achieve emancipation
in six or twelve or twenty-four or forty-eight years. A yogi who
dies before achieving full realization carries with him the good
karma of his past KRIYA effort; in his new life he is harmoniously
propelled toward his Infinite Goal.
The body of the average man is like a fifty-watt lamp, which cannot
accommodate the billion watts of power roused by an excessive practice
of KRIYA. Through gradual and regular increase of the simple and
“foolproof” methods of KRIYA, man’s body becomes astrally transformed
day by day, and is finally fitted to express the infinite potentials
of cosmic energy-the first materially active expression of Spirit.
KRIYA YOGA has nothing in common with the unscientific breathing
exercises taught by a number of misguided zealots. Their attempts
to forcibly hold breath in the lungs is not only unnatural but
decidedly unpleasant. KRIYA, on the other hand, is accompanied
from the very beginning by an accession of peace, and by soothing
sensations of regenerative effect in the spine.
The ancient yogic technique converts the breath into mind. By
spiritual advancement, one is able to cognize the breath as an act
of mind-a dream-breath.
Many illustrations could be given of the mathematical relationship
between man’s respiratory rate and the variations in his states of
consciousness. A person whose attention is wholly engrossed, as in
following some closely knit intellectual argument, or in attempting
some delicate or difficult physical feat, automatically breathes
very slowly. Fixity of attention depends on slow breathing; quick
or uneven breaths are an inevitable accompaniment of harmful
emotional states: fear, lust, anger. The restless monkey breathes
at the rate of 32 times a minute, in contrast to man’s average of
18 times. The elephant, tortoise, snake and other animals noted for
their longevity have a respiratory rate which is less than man’s.
The tortoise, for instance, who may attain the age of 300 years,
{FN26-12} breathes only 4 times per minute.
The rejuvenating effects of sleep are due to man’s temporary
unawareness of body and breathing. The sleeping man becomes a yogi;
each night he unconsciously performs the yogic rite of releasing
himself from bodily identification, and of merging the life force
with healing currents in the main brain region and the six sub-dynamos
of his spinal centers. The sleeper thus dips unknowingly into the
reservoir of cosmic energy which sustains all life.
The voluntary yogi performs a simple, natural process consciously,
not unconsciously like the slow-paced sleeper. The KRIYA YOGI uses
his technique to saturate and feed all his physical cells with
undecaying light and keep them in a magnetized state. He scientifically
makes breath unnecessary, without producing the states of subconscious
sleep or unconsciousness.
By KRIYA, the outgoing life force is not wasted and abused in the
senses, but constrained to reunite with subtler spinal energies.
By such reinforcement of life, the yogi’s body and brain cells
are electrified with the spiritual elixir. Thus he removes himself
from studied observance of natural laws, which can only take him-by
circuitous means as given by proper food, sunlight, and harmonious
thoughts-to a million-year Goal. It needs twelve years of normal
healthful living to effect even slight perceptible change in brain
structure, and a million solar returns are exacted to sufficiently
refine the cerebral tenement for manifestation of cosmic consciousness.
Untying the cord of breath which binds the soul to the body, KRIYA
serves to prolong life and enlarge the consciousness to infinity.
The yoga method overcomes the tug of war between the mind and the
matter-bound senses, and frees the devotee to reinherit his eternal
kingdom. He knows his real nature is bound neither by physical
encasement nor by breath, symbol of the mortal enslavement to air,
to nature’s elemental compulsions.
Introspection, or “sitting in the silence,” is an unscientific
way of trying to force apart the mind and senses, tied together by
the life force. The contemplative mind, attempting its return to
divinity, is constantly dragged back toward the senses by the life
currents. KRIYA, controlling the mind DIRECTLY through the life
force, is the easiest, most effective, and most scientific avenue
of approach to the Infinite. In contrast to the slow, uncertain
“bullock cart” theological path to God, KRIYA may justly be called
the “airplane” route.
The yogic science is based on an empirical consideration of all
forms of concentration and meditation exercises. Yoga enables the
devotee to switch off or on, at will, life current from the five
sense telephones of sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. Attaining
this power of sense-disconnection, the yogi finds it simple to unite
his mind at will with divine realms or with the world of matter.
No longer is he unwillingly brought back by the life force to the
mundane sphere of rowdy sensations and restless thoughts. Master
of his body and mind, the KRIYA YOGI ultimately achieves victory
over the “last enemy,” death.
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men: And Death once
dead, there’s no more dying then. {FN26-13}
The life of an advanced KRIYA YOGI is influenced, not by effects of
past actions, but solely by directions from the soul. The devotee
thus avoids the slow, evolutionary monitors of egoistic actions,
good and bad, of common life, cumbrous and snail-like to the eagle
hearts.
The superior method of soul living frees the yogi who, shorn of
his ego-prison, tastes the deep air of omnipresence. The thralldom
of natural living is, in contrast, set in a pace humiliating.
Conforming his life to the evolutionary order, a man can command no
concessionary haste from nature but, living without error against
the laws of his physical and mental endowment, still requires about
a million years of incarnating masquerades to know final emancipation.
The telescopic methods of yogis, disengaging themselves from physical
and mental identifications in favor of soul-individuality, thus
commend themselves to those who eye with revolt a thousand thousand
years. This numerical periphery is enlarged for the ordinary man,
who lives in harmony not even with nature, let alone his soul, but
pursues instead unnatural complexities, thus offending in his body
and thoughts the sweet sanities of nature. For him, two times a
million years can scarce suffice for liberation.
Gross man seldom or never realizes that his body is a kingdom,
governed by Emperor Soul on the throne of the cranium, with subsidiary
regents in the six spinal centers or spheres of consciousness. This
theocracy extends over a throng of obedient subjects: twenty-seven
thousand billion cells-endowed with a sure if automatic intelligence
by which they perform all duties of bodily growths, transformations,
and dissolutions-and fifty million substratal thoughts, emotions,
and variations of alternating phases in man’s consciousness in an
average life of sixty years. Any apparent insurrection of bodily
or cerebral cells toward Emperor Soul, manifesting as disease
or depression, is due to no disloyalty among the humble citizens,
but to past or present misuse by man of his individuality or free
will, given to him simultaneous with a soul, and revocable never.
Identifying himself with a shallow ego, man takes for granted that
it is he who thinks, wills, feels, digests meals, and keeps himself
alive, never admitting through reflection (only a little would
suffice!) that in his ordinary life he is naught but a puppet
of past actions (karma) and of nature or environment. Each man’s
intellectual reactions, feelings, moods, and habits are circumscribed
by effects of past causes, whether of this or a prior life. Lofty
above such influences, however, is his regal soul. Spurning the
transitory truths and freedoms, the KRIYA YOGI passes beyond all
disillusionment into his unfettered Being. All scriptures declare
man to be not a corruptible body, but a living soul; by KRIYA he
is given a method to prove the scriptural truth.
“Outward ritual cannot destroy ignorance, because they are not
mutually contradictory,” wrote Shankara in his famous CENTURY OF
VERSES. “Realized knowledge alone destroys ignorance. . . . Knowledge
cannot spring up by any other means than inquiry. ‘Who am I? How
was this universe born? Who is its maker? What is its material
cause?’ This is the kind of inquiry referred to.” The intellect
has no answer for these questions; hence the rishis evolved yoga
as the technique of spiritual inquiry.
KRIYA YOGA is the real “fire rite” often extolled in the BHAGAVAD
GITA. The purifying fires of yoga bring eternal illumination, and
thus differ much from outward and little-effective religious fire
ceremonies, where perception of truth is oft burnt, to solemn
chanted accompaniment, along with the incense!
The advanced yogi, withholding all his mind, will, and feeling from
false identification with bodily desires, uniting his mind with
superconscious forces in the spinal shrines, thus lives in this
world as God hath planned, not impelled by impulses from the past
nor by new witlessnesses of fresh human motivations. Such a yogi
receives fulfillment of his Supreme Desire, safe in the final haven
of inexhaustibly blissful Spirit.
The yogi offers his labyrinthine human longings to a monotheistic
bonfire dedicated to the unparalleled God. This is indeed the true
yogic fire ceremony, in which all past and present desires are fuel
consumed by love divine. The Ultimate Flame receives the sacrifice
of all human madness, and man is pure of dross. His bones stripped
of all desirous flesh, his karmic skeleton bleached in the antiseptic
suns of wisdom, he is clean at last, inoffensive before man and
Maker.
Referring to yoga’s sure and methodical efficacy, Lord Krishna
praises the technological yogi in the following words: “The yogi
is greater than body-disciplining ascetics, greater even than the
followers of the path of wisdom (JNANA YOGA), or of the path of
action (KARMA YOGA); be thou, O disciple Arjuna, a yogi!” {FN26-14}
{FN26-1} The noted scientist, Dr. George W. Crile of Cleveland,
explained before a 1940 meeting of the American Association for
the Advancement of Science the experiments by which he had proved
that all bodily tissues are electrically negative, except the
brain and nervous system tissues which remain electrically positive
because they take up revivifying oxygen at a more rapid rate.
{FN26-2} BHAGAVAD GITA, IV:29.
{FN26-3} BHAGAVAD GITA IV:1-2.
{FN26-4} The author of MANAVA DHARMA SHASTRAS. These institutes of
canonized common law are effective in India to this day. The French
scholar, Louis Jacolliot, writes that the date of Manu “is lost
in the night of the ante-historical period of India; and no scholar
has dared to refuse him the title of the most ancient lawgiver in the
world.” In LA BIBLE DANS L’INDE, pages 33-37, Jacolliot reproduces
parallel textual references to prove that the Roman CODE OF JUSTINIAN
follows closely the LAWS OF MANU.
{FN26-5} The start of the materialistic ages, according to Hindu
scriptural reckonings, was 3102 B.C. This was the beginning of the
Descending Dwapara Age (see page 174). Modern scholars, blithely
believing that 10,000 years ago all men were sunk in a barbarous
Stone Age, summarily dismiss as “myths” all records and traditions
of very ancient civilizations in India, China, Egypt, and other
lands.
{FN26-6} Patanjali’s APHORISMS, II:1. In using the words KRIYA
YOGA, Patanjali was referring to either the exact technique taught
by Babaji, or one very similar to it. That it was a definite
technique of life control is proved by Patanjali’s APHORISM II:49.
{FN26-7} Patanjali’s APHORISMS, I:27.
{FN26-8} “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with
God, and the Word was God. . . . All things were made by him; and
without him was not any thing made that was made.”-JOHN 1:1-3. AUM
(OM) of the VEDAS became the sacred word AMIN of the Moslems, HUM
of the Tibetans, and AMEN of the Christians (its meaning in Hebrew
being SURE, FAITHFUL). “These things saith the Amen, the faithful
and true witness, the beginning of the creation of God.”-REVELATIONS
3:14.
{FN26-9} APHORISMS II:49..
{FN26-10} I CORINTHIANS 15:31. “Our rejoicing” is the correct
translation; not, as usually given, “your rejoicing.” St. Paul was
referring to the OMNIPRESENCE of the Christ consciousness..
{FN26-11} KALPA means time or aeon. SABIKALPA means subject to time
or change; some link with PRAKRITI or matter remains. NIRBIKALPA
means timeless, changeless; this is the highest state of SAMADHI.
{FN26-12} According to the LINCOLN LIBRARY OF ESSENTIAL INFORMATION,
p. 1030, the giant tortoise lives between 200 and 300 years.
{FN26-13} Shakespeare: SONNET #146.
{FN26-14} BHAGAVAD GITA, VI:46.
CHAPTER: 27
FOUNDING A YOGA SCHOOL AT RANCHI
“Why are you averse to organizational work?”
Master’s question startled me a bit. It is true that my private
conviction at the time was that organizations were “hornets’ nests.”
“It is a thankless task, sir,” I answered. “No matter what the
leader does or does not, he is criticized.”
“Do you want the whole divine CHANNA (milk curd) for yourself alone?”
My guru’s retort was accompanied by a stern glance. “Could you or
anyone else achieve God-contact through yoga if a line of generous-hearted
masters had not been willing to convey their knowledge to others?”
He added, “God is the Honey, organizations are the hives; both are
necessary. Any FORM is useless, of course, without the spirit, but
why should you not start busy hives full of the spiritual nectar?”
His counsel moved me deeply. Although I made no outward reply, an
adamant resolution arose in my breast: I would share with my fellows,
so far as lay in my power, the unshackling truths I had learned at
my guru’s feet. “Lord,” I prayed, “may Thy Love shine forever on
the sanctuary of my devotion, and may I be able to awaken that Love
in other hearts.”
On a previous occasion, before I had joined the monastic order,
Sri Yukteswar had made a most unexpected remark.
“How you will miss the companionship of a wife in your old age!” he
had said. “Do you not agree that the family man, engaged in useful
work to maintain his wife and children, thus plays a rewarding role
in God’s eyes?”
“Sir,” I had protested in alarm, “you know that my desire in this
life is to espouse only the Cosmic Beloved.”
Master had laughed so merrily that I understood his observation
was made merely as a test of my faith.
“Remember,” he had said slowly, “that he who discards his worldly
duties can justify himself only by assuming some kind of responsibility
toward a much larger family.”
The ideal of an all-sided education for youth had always been close
to my heart. I saw clearly the arid results of ordinary instruction,
aimed only at the development of body and intellect. Moral and
spiritual values, without whose appreciation no man can approach
happiness, were yet lacking in the formal curriculum. I determined to
found a school where young boys could develop to the full stature
of manhood. My first step in that direction was made with seven
children at Dihika, a small country site in Bengal.
A year later, in 1918, through the generosity of Sir Manindra
Chandra Nundy, the Maharaja of Kasimbazar, I was able to transfer my
fast-growing group to Ranchi. This town in Bihar, about two hundred
miles from Calcutta, is blessed with one of the most healthful
climates in India. The Kasimbazar Palace at Ranchi was transformed
into the headquarters for the new school, which I called BRAHMACHARYA
VIDYALAYA {FN27-1} in accordance with the educational ideals
of the rishis. Their forest ashrams had been the ancient seats of
learning, secular and divine, for the youth of India.
At Ranchi I organized an educational program for both grammar
and high school grades. It included agricultural, industrial,
commercial, and academic subjects. The students were also taught
yoga concentration and meditation, and a unique system of physical
development, “Yogoda,” whose principles I had discovered in 1916.
Realizing that man’s body is like an electric battery, I reasoned
that it could be recharged with energy through the direct agency of
the human will. As no action, slight or large, is possible without
WILLING, man can avail himself of his prime mover, will, to renew
his bodily tissues without burdensome apparatus or mechanical
exercises. I therefore taught the Ranchi students my simple “Yogoda”
techniques by which the life force, centred in man’s medulla
oblongata, can be consciously and instantly recharged from the
unlimited supply of cosmic energy.
[Illustration: Central building of the Yogoda Sat-Sanga Brahmacharya
Vidyalaya at Ranchi, Bihar, established in 1918 as a yoga school
for boys, with grammar and high school education. Connected with
it is the philanthropic Lahiri Mahasaya Mission.—see ranchi.jpg]
The boys responded wonderfully to this training, developing
extraordinary ability to shift the life energy from one part of
the body to another part, and to sit in perfect poise in difficult
body postures. {FN27-2} They performed feats of strength and
endurance which many powerful adults could not equal. My youngest
brother, Bishnu Charan Ghosh, joined the Ranchi school; he later
became a leading physical culturist in Bengal. He and one of his
students traveled to Europe and America, giving exhibitions of
strength and skill which amazed the university savants, including
those at Columbia University in New York.
At the end of the first year at Ranchi, applications for admission
reached two thousand. But the school, which at that time was solely
residential, could accommodate only about one hundred. Instruction
for day students was soon added.
In the VIDYALAYA I had to play father-mother to the little children,
and to cope with many organizational difficulties. I often remembered
Christ’s words: “Verily I say unto you, There is no man that hath
left house, or brethren or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife,
or children, or lands, for my sake, and the gospel’s, but he shall
receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses and brethren, and
sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions;
and in the world to come eternal life.” {FN27-3} Sri Yukteswar had
interpreted these words: “The devotee who forgoes the life-experiences
of marriage and family, and exchanges the problems of a small
household and limited activities for the larger responsibilities
of service to society in general, is undertaking a task which is
often accompanied by persecution from a misunderstanding world,
but also by a divine inner contentment.”
One day my father arrived in Ranchi to bestow a paternal blessing,
long withheld because I had hurt him by refusing his offer of a
position with the Bengal-Nagpur Railway.
“Son,” he said, “I am now reconciled to your choice in life. It gives
me joy to see you amidst these happy, eager youngsters; you belong
here rather than with the lifeless figures of railroad timetables.”
He waved toward a group of a dozen little ones who were tagging at
my heels. “I had only eight children,” he observed with twinkling
eyes, “but I can feel for you!”
With a large fruit orchard and twenty-five fertile acres at our
disposal, the students, teachers, and myself enjoyed many happy
hours of outdoor labor in these ideal surroundings. We had many pets,
including a young deer who was fairly idolized by the children. I
too loved the fawn so much that I allowed it to sleep in my room.
At the light of dawn, the little creature would toddle over to my
bed for a morning caress.
One day I fed the pet earlier than usual, as I had to attend to
some business in the town of Ranchi. Although I cautioned the boys
not to feed the fawn until my return, one of them was disobedient,
and gave the baby deer a large quantity of milk. When I came back
in the evening, sad news greeted me: “The little fawn is nearly
dead, through over feeding.”
In tears, I placed the apparently lifeless pet on my lap. I prayed
piteously to God to spare its life. Hours later, the small creature
opened its eyes, stood up, and walked feebly. The whole school
shouted for joy.
But a deep lesson came to me that night, one I can never forget.
I stayed up with the fawn until two o’clock, when I fell asleep.
The deer appeared in a dream, and spoke to me:
“You are holding me back. Please let me go; let me go!”
“All right,” I answered in the dream.
I awoke immediately, and cried out, “Boys, the deer is dying!” The
children rushed to my side.
I ran to the corner of the room where I had placed the pet. It
made a last effort to rise, stumbled toward me, then dropped at my
feet, dead.
According to the mass karma which guides and regulates the destinies
of animals, the deer’s life was over, and it was ready to progress
to a higher form. But by my deep attachment, which I later realized
was selfish, and by my fervent prayers, I had been able to hold
it in the limitations of the animal form from which the soul was
struggling for release. The soul of the deer made its plea in a
dream because, without my loving permission, it either would not
or could not go. As soon as I agreed, it departed.
All sorrow left me; I realized anew that God wants His children to
love everything as a part of Him, and not to feel delusively that
death ends all. The ignorant man sees only the unsurmountable wall
of death, hiding, seemingly forever, his cherished friends. But
the man of unattachment, he who loves others as expressions of the
Lord, understands that at death the dear ones have only returned
for a breathing-space of joy in Him.
The Ranchi school grew from small and simple beginnings to an
institution now well-known in India. Many departments of the school
are supported by voluntary contributions from those who rejoice in
perpetuating the educational ideals of the rishis. Under the general
name of YOGODA SAT-SANGA, {FN27-4} flourishing branch schools have
been established at Midnapore, Lakshmanpur, and Puri.
The Ranchi headquarters maintains a Medical Department where
medicines and the services of doctors are supplied freely to the
poor of the locality. The number treated has averaged more than
18,000 persons a year. The VIDYALAYA has made its mark, too, in
Indian competitive sports, and in the scholastic field, where many
Ranchi alumni have distinguished themselves in later university
life.
The school, now in its twenty-eighth year and the center of many
activities, {FN27-5} has been honored by visits of eminent men
from the East and the West. One of the earliest great figures to
inspect the VIDYALAYA in its first year was Swami Pranabananda,
the Benares “saint with two bodies.” As the great master viewed
the picturesque outdoor classes, held under the trees, and saw in
the evening that young boys were sitting motionless for hours in
yoga meditation, he was profoundly moved.
“Joy comes to my heart,” he said, “to see that Lahiri Mahasaya’s
ideals for the proper training of youth are being carried on in
this institution. My guru’s blessings be on it.”
A young lad sitting by my side ventured to ask the great yogi a
question.
“Sir,” he said, “shall I be a monk? Is my life only for God?”
Though Swami Pranabananda smiled gently, his eyes were piercing
the future.
“Child,” he replied, “when you grow up, there is a beautiful bride
waiting for you.” The boy did eventually marry, after having planned
for years to enter the Swami Order.
Sometime after Swami Pranabananda had visited Ranchi, I accompanied
my father to the Calcutta house where the yogi was temporarily
staying. Pranabananda’s prediction, made to me so many years before,
came rushing to my mind: “I shall see you, with your father, later
on.”
As Father entered the swami’s room, the great yogi rose from his
seat and embraced my parent with loving respect.
“Bhagabati,” he said, “what are you doing about yourself? Don’t you
see your son racing to the Infinite?” I blushed to hear his praise
before my father. The swami went on, “You recall how often our
blessed guru used to say: ‘BANAT, BANAT, BAN JAI.’ {FN26-6} So keep
up KRIYA YOGA ceaselessly, and reach the divine portals quickly.”
The body of Pranabananda, which had appeared so well and strong
during my amazing first visit to him in Benares, now showed definite
aging, though his posture was still admirably erect.
“Swamiji,” I inquired, looking straight into his eyes, “please tell
me the truth: Aren’t you feeling the advance of age? As the body
is weakening, are your perceptions of God suffering any diminution?”
He smiled angelically. “The Beloved is more than ever with me now.”
His complete conviction overwhelmed my mind and soul. He went on,
“I am still enjoying the two pensions-one from Bhagabati here, and
one from above.” Pointing his finger heavenward, the saint fell
into an ecstasy, his face lit with a divine glow-an ample answer
to my question.
Noticing that Pranabananda’s room contained many plants and packages
of seed, I asked their purpose.
“I have left Benares permanently,” he said, “and am now on my way
to the Himalayas. There I shall open an ashram for my disciples.
These seeds will produce spinach and a few other vegetables. My dear
ones will live simply, spending their time in blissful God-union.
Nothing else is necessary.”
Father asked his brother disciple when he would return to Calcutta.
“Never again,” the saint replied. “This year is the one in which
Lahiri Mahasaya told me I would leave my beloved Benares forever
and go to the Himalayas, there to throw off my mortal frame.”
My eyes filled with tears at his words, but the swami smiled
tranquilly. He reminded me of a little heavenly child, sitting
securely on the lap of the Divine Mother. The burden of the years
has no ill effect on a great yogi’s full possession of supreme
spiritual powers. He is able to renew his body at will; yet sometimes
he does not care to retard the aging process, but allows his karma
to work itself out on the physical plane, using his old body as a
time-saving device to exclude the necessity of working out karma
in a new incarnation.
Months later I met an old friend, Sanandan, who was one of
Pranabananda’s close disciples.
“My adorable guru is gone,” he told me, amidst sobs. “He established
a hermitage near Rishikesh, and gave us loving training. When we
were pretty well settled, and making rapid spiritual progress in his
company, he proposed one day to feed a huge crowd from Rishikesh.
I inquired why he wanted such a large number.
“‘This is my last festival ceremony,’ he said. I did not understand
the full implications of his words.
“Pranabanandaji helped with the cooking of great amounts of food.
We fed about 2000 guests. After the feast, he sat on a high platform
and gave an inspired sermon on the Infinite. At the end, before
the gaze of thousands, he turned to me, as I sat beside him on the
dais, and spoke with unusual force.
“‘Sanandan, be prepared; I am going to kick the frame.’ {FN27-7}
“After a stunned silence, I cried loudly, ‘Master, don’t do it!
Please, please, don’t do it!’ The crowd was tongue-tied, watching
us curiously. My guru smiled at me, but his solemn gaze was already
fixed on Eternity.
“‘Be not selfish,’ he said, ‘nor grieve for me. I have been long
cheerfully serving you all; now rejoice and wish me Godspeed. I
go to meet my Cosmic Beloved.’ In a whisper, Pranabanandaji added,
‘I shall be reborn shortly. After enjoying a short period of the
Infinite Bliss, I shall return to earth and join Babaji. {FN27-8}
You shall soon know when and where my soul has been encased in a
new body.’
“He cried again, ‘Sanandan, here I kick the frame by the second
KRIYA YOGA.’ {FN27-9}
“He looked at the sea of faces before us, and gave a blessing.
Directing his gaze inwardly to the spiritual eye, he became immobile.
While the bewildered crowd thought he was meditating in an ecstatic
state, he had already left the tabernacle of flesh and plunged
his soul into the cosmic vastness. The disciples touched his body,
seated in the lotus posture, but it was no longer the warm flesh.
Only a stiffened frame remained; the tenant had fled to the immortal
shore.”
I inquired where Pranabananda was to be reborn.
“That’s a sacred trust I cannot divulge to anyone,” Sanandan replied.
“Perhaps you may find out some other way.”
Years later I discovered from Swami Keshabananda {FN27-10} that
Pranabananda, a few years after his birth in a new body, had gone
to Badrinarayan in the Himalayas, and there joined the group of
saints around the great Babaji.
{FN27-1} VIDYALAYA, school. BRAHMACHARYA here refers to one of the
four stages in the Vedic plan for man’s life, as comprising that
of (1) the celibate student (BRAHMACHARI); (2) the householder with
worldly responsibilities (GRIHASTHA); (3) the hermit (VANAPRASTHA);
(4) the forest dweller or wanderer, free from all earthly concerns
(SANNYASI). This ideal scheme of life, while not widely observed
in modern India, still has many devout followers. The four stages
are carried out religiously under the lifelong direction of a guru.
{FN27-2} A number of American students also have mastered various
ASANAS or postures, including Bernard Cole, an instructor in Los
Angeles of the Self-Realization Fellowship teachings.
{FN27-3} MARK 10:29-30..
{FN27-4} Yogoda: YOGA, union, harmony, equilibrium; DA, that which
imparts. Sat-Sanga: SAT, truth; SANGA, fellowship. In the West,
to avoid the use of a Sanskrit name, the YOGODA SAT-SANGA movement
has been called the SELF-REALIZATION FELLOWSHIP.
{FN27-5} The activities at Ranchi are described more fully in