I Meet My Master, Sri Yukteswar

“Faith in God can produce any miracle except one-passing an examination without study.” Distastefully I closed the book I had picked up in an idle moment.

“Faith in God can produce any miracle except one: passing an exam without studying.” With distaste, I closed the book I had picked up in an idle moment.

“The writer’s exception shows his complete lack of faith,” I thought. “Poor chap, he has great respect for the midnight oil!”

“The writer’s objection shows his complete lack of faith,” I thought. “Poor fellow, he has great respect for late-night studying!”

My promise to Father had been that I would complete my high school studies. I cannot pretend to diligence. The passing months found me less frequently in the classroom than in secluded spots along the Calcutta bathing ghats. The adjoining crematory grounds, especially gruesome at night, are considered highly attractive by the yogi. He who would find the Deathless Essence must not be dismayed by a few unadorned skulls. Human inadequacy becomes clear in the gloomy abode of miscellaneous bones. My midnight vigils were thus of a different nature from the scholar’s.

I had promised Father I would finish high school. I cannot pretend I was a diligent student. As the months passed, I spent less time in class than in secluded spots along Calcutta’s bathing ghats. The nearby cremation grounds are especially gruesome at night, but yogis find them very appealing. Anyone seeking the Deathless Essence must not be frightened by a few bare skulls. Human limitations become clear in that gloomy resting place of assorted bones. My midnight vigils were therefore quite different from a scholar’s.

The week of final examinations at the Hindu High School was fast approaching. This interrogatory period, like the sepulchral haunts, inspires a well-known terror. My mind was nevertheless at peace. Braving the ghouls, I was exhuming a knowledge not found in lecture halls. But it lacked the art of Swami Pranabananda, who easily appeared in two places at one time. My educational dilemma was plainly a matter for the Infinite Ingenuity. This was my reasoning, though to many it seems illogic. The devotee’s irrationality springs from a thousand inexplicable demonstrations of God’s instancy in trouble.

The week of final examinations at the Hindu High School was fast approaching. Like graveyards, this period of questioning inspires a familiar terror. Yet my mind was at peace. Braving the ghouls, I was digging up knowledge not found in lecture halls. But something was missing: the art of Swami Pranabananda, who easily appeared in two places at once. My educational dilemma was clearly a matter for the Infinite Ingenuity. This was my reasoning, though many find it illogical. The devotee’s apparent irrationality comes from a thousand inexplicable demonstrations of God’s immediate help in times of trouble.

“Hello, Mukunda! I catch hardly a glimpse of you these days!” A classmate accosted me one afternoon on Gurpar Road.

“Hello, Mukunda! I hardly ever see you these days!” A classmate stopped me one afternoon on Gurpar Road.

“Hello, Nantu! My invisibility at school has actually placed me there in a decidedly awkward position.” I unburdened myself under his friendly gaze.

“Hello, Nantu! Being invisible at school has actually put me in a very awkward position there.” I shared my troubles as he looked at me kindly.

Nantu, who was a brilliant student, laughed heartily; my predicament was not without a comic aspect.

Nantu, a brilliant student, laughed heartily. My difficult situation did have a funny side.

“You are utterly unprepared for the finals! I suppose it is up to me to help you!”

“You’re completely unprepared for the finals! I suppose I’ll have to help you!”

The simple words conveyed divine promise to my ears; with alacrity I visited my friend’s home. He kindly outlined the solutions to various problems he considered likely to be set by the instructors.

The simple words sounded like a divine promise to me. I eagerly visited my friend’s home. He kindly outlined solutions to various problems he thought the instructors were likely to assign.

“These questions are the bait which will catch many trusting boys in the examination trap. Remember my answers, and you will escape without injury.”

“These questions are bait that will catch many trusting boys in the exam trap. Remember my answers, and you will escape unharmed.”

The night was far gone when I departed. Bursting with unseasoned erudition, I devoutly prayed it would remain for the next few critical days. Nantu had coached me in my various subjects but, under press of time, had forgotten my course in Sanskrit. Fervently I reminded God of the oversight.

It was very late at night when I left. Brimming with hastily acquired knowledge, I prayed earnestly that I would retain it through the next few crucial days. Nantu had coached me in my various subjects but, short on time, had forgotten my Sanskrit course. I fervently reminded God of the oversight.

I set out on a short walk the next morning, assimilating my new knowledge to the rhythm of swinging footsteps. As I took a short cut through the weeds of a corner lot, my eye fell on a few loose printed sheets. A triumphant pounce proved them to be Sanskrit verse. I sought out a pundit for aid in my stumbling interpretation. His rich voice filled the air with the edgeless, honeyed beauty of the ancient tongue. [^10]

I went for a short walk the next morning, absorbing my new knowledge to the rhythm of my footsteps. As I took a shortcut through the weeds of a corner lot, I spotted a few loose printed pages. I pounced on them triumphantly and found they contained Sanskrit verse. I sought out a pundit, a Sanskrit scholar, to help with my clumsy attempts to understand the verses. His rich voice filled the air with the smooth, honeyed beauty of the ancient language. [^10]

“These exceptional stanzas cannot possibly be of aid in your Sanskrit test.” The scholar dismissed them skeptically.

“These remarkable verses cannot possibly help you on your Sanskrit test.” The scholar dismissed them skeptically.

But familiarity with that particular poem enabled me on the following day to pass the Sanskrit examination. Through the discerning help Nantu had given, I also attained the minimum grade for success in all my other subjects.

But knowing that particular poem helped me pass the Sanskrit exam the next day. Thanks to Nantu’s thoughtful help, I also earned the minimum passing grade in all my other subjects.

Father was pleased that I had kept my word and concluded my secondary school course. My gratitude sped to the Lord, whose sole guidance I perceived in my visit to Nantu and my walk by the unhabitual route of the debris-filled lot. Playfully He had given a dual expression to His timely design for my rescue.

Father was pleased that I had kept my word and finished secondary school. My gratitude went straight to the Lord. I saw his guidance alone in my visit to Nantu and my unusual walk through the debris-filled lot. In his playful way, he had carried out his timely plan to rescue me in two different ways.

I came across the discarded book whose author had denied God precedence in the examination halls. I could not restrain a chuckle at my own silent comment:

I came across the discarded book whose author had refused to put God first in the exam halls. I couldn't help chuckling at my own unspoken comment:

“It would only add to this fellow’s confusion, if I were to tell him that divine meditation among the cadavers is a short cut to a high school diploma!”

“I would only confuse this fellow more if I told him that divine meditation among corpses is a shortcut to a high school diploma!”

In my new dignity, I was now openly planning to leave home. Together with a young friend, Jitendra Mazumdar, [^10] I decided to join a Mahamandal hermitage in Benares, and receive its spiritual discipline.

With my new status, I was now openly planning to leave home. Together with a young friend, Jitendra Mazumdar, [^10] I decided to join a Mahamandal hermitage in Benares. We would receive spiritual training there.

A desolation fell over me one morning at thought of separation from my family. Since Mother’s death, my affection had grown especially tender for my two younger brothers, Sananda and Bishnu. I rushed to my retreat, the little attic which had witnessed so many scenes in my turbulent sadhana. [^10] After a two-hour flood of tears, I felt singularly transformed, as by some alchemical cleanser. All attachment [^10] disappeared; my resolution to seek God as the Friend of friends set like granite within me. I quickly completed my travel preparations.

One morning, I felt overwhelmed by sadness at the thought of leaving my family. Since Mother’s death, my love for my two younger brothers, Sananda and Bishnu, had grown especially tender. I rushed to my retreat, the little attic that had witnessed so many scenes in my turbulent sadhana. [^10] After crying for two hours, I felt strangely transformed, as if cleansed by some alchemical process. All attachment [^10] disappeared. My resolve to seek God as the Friend of friends became as firm as granite within me. I quickly finished preparing for my journey.

“I make one last plea.” Father was distressed as I stood before him for final blessing. “Do not forsake me and your grieving brothers and sisters.”

“I’m asking you one last time.” Father was distressed as I stood before him for his final blessing. “Do not abandon me and your grieving brothers and sisters.”

“Revered Father, how can I tell my love for you! But even greater is my love for the Heavenly Father, who has given me the gift of a perfect father on earth. Let me go, that I someday return with a more divine understanding.”

“Dear Father, how can I express my love for you! But my love for the Heavenly Father is even greater. He has given me the gift of a perfect father on earth. Let me go so that I can someday return with a more divine understanding.”

With reluctant parental consent, I set out to join Jitendra, already in Benares at the hermitage. On my arrival the young head swami, Dyananda, greeted me cordially. Tall and thin, of thoughtful mien, he impressed me favorably. His fair face had a Buddhalike composure.

With my parents’ reluctant consent, I set out to join Jitendra, who was already at the hermitage in Benares. When I arrived, Dyananda, the young head swami, greeted me warmly. He was tall and thin, with a thoughtful expression, and made a good impression on me. His fair face had a calmness like the Buddha’s.

I was pleased that my new home possessed an attic, where I managed to spend the dawn and morning hours. The ashram members, knowing little of meditation practices, thought I should employ my whole time in organizational duties. They gave me praise for my afternoon work in their office.

I was pleased that my new home had an attic, where I managed to spend the dawn and morning hours. The ashram members knew little about meditation practices and thought I should spend all my time on organizational duties. They praised me for my afternoon work in their office.

“Don’t try to catch God so soon!” This ridicule from a fellow resident accompanied one of my early departures toward the attic. I went to Dyananda, busy in his small sanctum overlooking the Ganges.

“Don’t try to catch God so soon!” A fellow resident mocked me as I headed toward the attic on one of my early visits. I went to Dyananda, who was busy in his small private room overlooking the Ganges.

“Swamiji, [^10] I don’t understand what is required of me here. I am seeking direct perception of God. Without Him, I cannot be satisfied with affiliation or creed or performance of good works.”

“Swamiji, [^10] I don’t understand what I’m expected to do here. I am seeking to experience God directly. Without him, I cannot be satisfied with belonging to a religious group, following a creed, or doing good works.”

The orange-robed ecclesiastic gave me an affectionate pat. Staging a mock rebuke, he admonished a few near-by disciples. “Don’t bother Mukunda. He will learn our ways.”

The religious leader in orange robes gave me an affectionate pat. Pretending to scold a few nearby disciples, he said, “Don’t bother Mukunda. He will learn our ways.”

I politely concealed my doubt. The students left the room, not overly bent with their chastisement. Dyananda had further words for me.

I politely hid my doubt. The students left the room, not too troubled by the scolding. Dyananda had more to say to me.

“Mukunda, I see your father is regularly sending you money. Please return it to him; you require none here. A second injunction for your discipline concerns food. Even when you feel hunger, don’t mention it.”

“Mukunda, I see your father is sending you money regularly. Please send the money back to him. You don’t need any here. A second rule for your discipline concerns food. Even when you feel hungry, don’t mention your hunger.”

Whether famishment gleamed in my eye, I knew not. That I was hungry, I knew only too well. The invariable hour for the first hermitage meal was twelve noon. I had been accustomed in my own home to a large breakfast at nine o’clock.

I didn’t know whether hunger showed in my eyes. But I knew all too well that I was hungry. The first meal at the hermitage was always served at noon. At home, I had been used to a large breakfast at nine o’clock.

The three-hour gap became daily more interminable. Gone were the Calcutta years when I could rebuke the cook for a ten-minute delay. Now I tried to control my appetite; one day I undertook a twenty-four hour fast. With double zest I awaited the following midday.

The three-hour wait felt more endless each day. Gone were the years in Calcutta when I could scold the cook for a ten-minute delay. Now I tried to control my appetite. One day I went without food for twenty-four hours. I looked forward to noon the next day with twice the eagerness.

“Dyanandaji’s train is late; we are not going to eat until he arrives.” Jitendra brought me this devastating news. As gesture of welcome to the swami, who had been absent for two weeks, many delicacies were in readiness. An appetizing aroma filled the air. Nothing else offering, what else could be swallowed except pride over yesterday’s achievement of a fast?

“Dyanandaji’s train is late. We are not going to eat until he arrives.” Jitendra brought me this devastating news. Many delicious dishes were ready to welcome the swami back after his two-week absence. An appetizing aroma filled the air. With no food available yet, what could I swallow but my pride in yesterday’s successful fast?

“Lord hasten the train!” The Heavenly Provider, I thought, was hardly included in the interdiction with which Dyananda had silenced me. Divine Attention was elsewhere, however; the plodding clock covered the hours. Darkness was descending as our leader entered the door. My greeting was one of unfeigned joy.

“Lord, hurry the train!” I thought the Heavenly Provider was hardly covered by the ban Dyananda had imposed to silence me. But God's attention was elsewhere, and the hours dragged by. Darkness was falling as our leader came through the door. I greeted him with genuine joy.

“Dyanandaji will bathe and meditate before we can serve food.” Jitendra approached me again as a bird of ill omen.

“Dyanandaji will bathe and meditate before we can serve food.” Jitendra approached me again like a bird bringing bad news.

I was in near-collapse. My young stomach, new to deprivation, protested with gnawing vigor. Pictures I had seen of famine victims passed wraithlike before me.

I was close to collapse. My young stomach, unused to going without food, protested with intense, gnawing hunger. Pictures I had seen of famine victims drifted like ghosts before my eyes.

“The next Benares death from starvation is due at once in this hermitage,” I thought. Impending doom averted at nine o’clock. Ambrosial summons! In memory that meal is vivid as one of life’s perfect hours.

“The next death from starvation in Benares will happen any moment, right here in this hermitage,” I thought. At nine o’clock, my impending doom was averted. What a heavenly call to eat! I still vividly remember that meal as one of life’s perfect hours.

Intense absorption yet permitted me to observe that Dyananda ate absent-mindedly. He was apparently above my gross pleasures.

Even though I was deeply absorbed, I still noticed that Dyananda ate absent-mindedly. He apparently rose above the physical pleasures I enjoyed.

“Swamiji, weren’t you hungry?” Happily surfeited, I was alone with the leader in his study.

“Swamiji, weren’t you hungry?” Happily full, I was alone with the leader in his study.

“O yes! I have spent the last four days without food or drink. I never eat on trains, filled with the heterogenous vibrations of worldly people. Strictly I observe the shastric [^10] rules for monks of my particular order.

“Oh yes! I have spent the last four days without food or drink. I never eat on trains, which are filled with the varied vibrations of worldly people. I strictly follow the shastric [^10] rules for monks of my particular order.

“Certain problems of our organizational work lie on my mind. Tonight at home I neglected my dinner. What’s the hurry? Tomorrow I’ll make it a point to have a proper meal.” He laughed merrily.

“Some problems with our organizational work are weighing on my mind. Tonight at home I skipped dinner. What’s the hurry? Tomorrow I’ll make sure to have a proper meal.” He laughed cheerfully.

Shame spread within me like a suffocation. But the past day of my torture was not easily forgotten; I ventured a further remark.

Shame spread through me until I felt suffocated. But I could not easily forget the past day's torment, so I dared to say more.

“Swamiji, I am puzzled. Following your instruction, suppose I never asked for food, and nobody gives me any. I should starve to death.”

“Swamiji, I’m puzzled. Suppose I follow your instructions and never ask for food, and nobody gives me any. I would starve to death.”

“Die then!” This alarming counsel split the air. “Die if you must Mukunda! Never admit that you live by the power of food and not by the power of God! He who has created every form of nourishment, He who has bestowed appetite, will certainly see that His devotee is sustained! Do not imagine that rice maintains you, or that money or men support you! Could they aid if the Lord withdraws your life-breath? They are His indirect instruments merely. Is it by any skill of yours that food digests in your stomach? Use the sword of your discrimination, Mukunda! Cut through the chains of agency and perceive the Single Cause!”

“Then die!” This alarming advice rang out. “Die if you must, Mukunda! Never admit that you live by the power of food rather than the power of God! He created every kind of nourishment and gave you your appetite. He will certainly make sure his devotee is sustained! Do not imagine that rice keeps you alive, or that money or people support you! Could any of them help if the Lord took away your breath of life? Food, money, and people are merely his indirect instruments. Does food digest in your stomach through any skill of yours? Use your power to distinguish truth from illusion like a sword, Mukunda! Cut through the chain of intermediate causes and recognize the One Cause!”

I found his incisive words entering some deep marrow. Gone was an age- old delusion by which bodily imperatives outwit the soul. There and then I tasted the Spirit’s all-sufficiency. In how many strange cities, in my later life of ceaseless travel, did occasion arise to prove the serviceability of this lesson in a Benares hermitage!

His sharp words reached deep into me. The age-old illusion that the body’s demands could outwit the soul was gone. Then and there, I experienced how the Spirit alone was enough. Later, during my life of constant travel, how many unfamiliar cities gave me chances to prove this lesson’s usefulness! I had learned the lesson in a Benares hermitage.

The sole treasure which had accompanied me from Calcutta was the SADHU’S silver amulet bequeathed to me by Mother. Guarding it for years, I now had it carefully hidden in my ashram room. To renew my joy in the talismanic testimony, one morning I opened the locked box. The sealed covering untouched, lo! the amulet was gone. Mournfully I tore open its envelope and made unmistakably sure. It had vanished, in accordance with the SADHU’S prediction, into the ether whence he had summoned it.

The only treasure I had brought from Calcutta was the SADHU’S silver amulet, left to me by Mother. I had guarded it for years and now kept it carefully hidden in my ashram room. One morning, I opened the locked box to feel again the joy of this talisman and the proof it offered. The sealed wrapping was untouched, but to my surprise, the amulet was gone. In sorrow, I tore open the envelope to make absolutely sure. The amulet had vanished, just as the SADHU had predicted, into the ether from which he had summoned it.

My relationship with Dyananda’s followers grew steadily worse. The household was alienated, hurt by my determined aloofness. My strict adherence to meditation on the very Ideal for which I had left home and all worldly ambitions called forth shallow criticism on all sides.

My relationship with Dyananda’s followers grew steadily worse. Everyone in the household felt alienated and hurt by my determination to keep my distance. I remained firmly committed to meditating on the very Ideal for which I had left home and all worldly ambitions. This commitment drew shallow criticism from all sides.

Torn by spiritual anguish, I entered the attic one dawn, resolved to pray until answer was vouchsafed.

Torn by spiritual anguish, I went into the attic one dawn. I was determined to pray until I received an answer.

“Merciful Mother of the Universe, teach me Thyself through visions, or through a guru sent by Thee!”

“Merciful Mother of the Universe, teach me yourself through visions or through a guru you send!”

The passing hours found my sobbing pleas without response. Suddenly I felt lifted as though bodily to a sphere uncircumscribed.

Hours passed, but my sobbing pleas went unanswered. Suddenly I felt lifted, as though my body were rising into a realm without limits.

“Thy Master cometh today!” A divine womanly voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

“Your Master is coming today!” A divine female voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

This supernal experience was pierced by a shout from a definite locale. A young priest nicknamed Habu was calling me from the downstairs kitchen.

A shout from a specific place interrupted this heavenly experience. A young priest nicknamed Habu was calling me from the downstairs kitchen.

“Mukunda, enough of meditation! You are needed for an errand.”

“Mukunda, enough meditation! You need to run an errand.”

Another day I might have replied impatiently; now I wiped my tear- swollen face and meekly obeyed the summons. Together Habu and I set out for a distant market place in the Bengali section of Benares. The ungentle Indian sun was not yet at zenith as we made our purchases in the bazaars. We pushed our way through the colorful medley of housewives, guides, priests, simply-clad widows, dignified Brahmins, and the ubiquitous holy bulls. Passing an inconspicuous lane, I turned my head and surveyed the narrow length.

On another day, I might have answered impatiently. Now I wiped my face, swollen from crying, and meekly answered the call. Habu and I set out together for a distant marketplace in the Bengali section of Benares. The harsh Indian sun had not yet reached its highest point as we shopped in the bazaars. We pushed through the colorful crowd of housewives, guides, priests, plainly dressed widows, dignified Brahmins, and holy bulls everywhere. As we passed an easy-to-miss lane, I turned my head and looked down its narrow length.

A Christlike man in the ocher robes of a swami stood motionless at the end of the road. Instantly and anciently familiar he seemed; my gaze fed hungrily for a trice. Then doubt assailed me.

A Christlike man in the ocher robes of a swami stood motionless at the end of the road. He seemed instantly familiar, as though I had known him long ago. For a moment, I gazed at him hungrily. Then doubt struck me.

“You are confusing this wandering monk with someone known to you,” I thought. “Dreamer, walk on.”

“You’re mistaking this wandering monk for someone you know,” I thought. “Dreamer, keep walking.”

After ten minutes, I felt heavy numbness in my feet. As though turned to stone, they were unable to carry me farther. Laboriously I turned around; my feet regained normalcy. I faced the opposite direction; again the curious weight oppressed me.

After ten minutes, my feet felt heavy and numb. As if turned to stone, my feet could no longer carry me forward. With great effort, I turned around, and my feet returned to normal. I faced the opposite direction, and the strange heaviness weighed me down again.

“The saint is magnetically drawing me to him!” With this thought, I heaped my parcels into the arms of Habu. He had been observing my erratic footwork with amazement, and now burst into laughter.

“The saint is drawing me to him like a magnet!” With that thought, I piled my packages into Habu’s arms. He had been watching my erratic movements in amazement and now burst out laughing.

“What ails you? Are you crazy?”

“What’s wrong with you? Are you crazy?”

My tumultuous emotion prevented any retort; I sped silently away.

I was too overwhelmed by emotion to answer back. I hurried away in silence.

Retracing my steps as though wing-shod, I reached the narrow lane. My quick glance revealed the quiet figure, steadily gazing in my direction. A few eager steps and I was at his feet.

I hurried back to the narrow lane as if my feet had wings. A quick glance showed the quiet figure gazing steadily in my direction. A few eager steps brought me to his feet.

“Gurudeva!” [^10] The divine face was none other than he of my thousand visions. These halcyon eyes, in leonine head with pointed beard and flowing locks, had oft peered through gloom of my nocturnal reveries, holding a promise I had not fully understood.

“Gurudeva!” [^10] The divine face was the very one I had seen in a thousand visions. Those calm eyes belonged to a lionlike face framed by a pointed beard and flowing hair. They had often peered through the darkness of my nighttime dreams, holding a promise I had not fully understood.

“O my own, you have come to me!” My guru uttered the words again and again in Bengali, his voice tremulous with joy. “How many years I have waited for you!”

“My dear, you have come to me!” My guru repeated these words again and again in Bengali, his voice trembling with joy. “I have waited so many years for you!”

We entered a oneness of silence; words seemed the rankest superfluities. Eloquence flowed in soundless chant from heart of master to disciple. With an antenna of irrefragable insight I sensed that my guru knew God, and would lead me to Him. The obscuration of this life disappeared in a fragile dawn of prenatal memories. Dramatic time! Past, present, and future are its cycling scenes. This was not the first sun to find me at these holy feet!

We became one in silence. Words seemed utterly unnecessary. A silent, eloquent chant flowed from the master's heart to the disciple's. With insight as certain as an antenna's signal, I sensed that my guru knew God and would lead me to him. The haze of this life cleared in the faint dawn of memories from before my birth. What a drama time is! Past, present, and future are its repeating scenes. This was not the first sunrise to find me at these holy feet!

My hand in his, my guru led me to his temporary residence in the Rana Mahal section of the city. His athletic figure moved with firm tread. Tall, erect, about fifty-five at this time, he was active and vigorous as a young man. His dark eyes were large, beautiful with plumbless wisdom. Slightly curly hair softened a face of striking power. Strength mingled subtly with gentleness.

Holding my hand, my guru led me to his temporary home in the city’s Rana Mahal section. His athletic body moved with firm steps. He was tall and stood straight, about fifty-five at the time, but as active and vigorous as a young man. His dark eyes were large and beautiful, filled with wisdom too deep to measure. Slightly curly hair softened his strikingly powerful face. Strength blended subtly with gentleness.

As we made our way to the stone balcony of a house overlooking the Ganges, he said affectionately:

As we walked toward the stone balcony of a house overlooking the Ganges, he said warmly:

“I will give you my hermitages and all I possess.”

“I will give you my hermitages and everything I own.”

“Sir, I come for wisdom and God-contact. Those are your treasure- troves I am after!”

“Sir, I’ve come for wisdom and contact with God. Those are the treasures of yours I’m after!”

The swift Indian twilight had dropped its half-curtain before my master spoke again. His eyes held unfathomable tenderness.

The fast-falling Indian twilight had drawn its curtain halfway before my master spoke again. His eyes held a tenderness too deep to measure.

“I give you my unconditional love.”

“I love you unconditionally.”

Precious words! A quarter-century elapsed before I had another auricular proof of his love. His lips were strange to ardor; silence became his oceanic heart.

Precious words! Twenty-five years passed before I again heard proof of his love. He was not used to expressing deep feelings in words. Silence suited his heart, as vast as the ocean.

“Will you give me the same unconditional love?” He gazed at me with childlike trust.

“Will you give me the same unconditional love?” He looked at me with childlike trust.

“I will love you eternally, Gurudeva!”

“I will love you forever, Gurudeva!”

“Ordinary love is selfish, darkly rooted in desires and satisfactions. Divine love is without condition, without boundary, without change. The flux of the human heart is gone forever at the transfixing touch of pure love.” He added humbly, “If ever you find me falling from a state of God-realization, please promise to put my head on your lap and help to bring me back to the Cosmic Beloved we both worship.”

“Ordinary love is selfish, rooted in the darkness of desire and satisfaction. Divine love has no conditions, no limits, and never changes. The heart’s shifting feelings disappear forever at the overwhelming touch of pure love.” He added humbly, “If you ever find me slipping from a state of God-realization, please promise to rest my head in your lap. Help bring me back to the Cosmic Beloved we both worship.”

He rose then in the gathering darkness and guided me to an inner room. As we ate mangoes and almond sweetmeats, he unobtrusively wove into his conversation an intimate knowledge of my nature. I was awe-struck at the grandeur of his wisdom, exquisitely blended with an innate humility.

He then stood up in the deepening darkness and led me to an inner room. As we ate mangoes and almond sweets, he subtly revealed through our conversation how deeply he understood my nature. I was awestruck by his great wisdom, so beautifully blended with his natural humility.

“Do not grieve for your amulet. It has served its purpose.” Like a divine mirror, my guru apparently had caught a reflection of my whole life.

“Don’t grieve over your amulet. It has served its purpose.” Like a divine mirror, my guru seemed to have caught a reflection of my whole life.

“The living reality of your presence, Master, is joy beyond any symbol.”

“Your living presence, Master, is a joy no symbol can capture.”

“It is time for a change, inasmuch as you are unhappily situated in the hermitage.”

“It is time for a change, since you are unhappy at the hermitage.”

I had made no references to my life; they now seemed superfluous! By his natural, unemphatic manner, I understood that he wished no astonished ejaculations at his clairvoyance.

I had said nothing about my life. Now any mention seemed unnecessary! His natural, understated manner told me he wanted no exclamations of amazement at his clairvoyance.

“You should go back to Calcutta. Why exclude relatives from your love of humanity?”

“You should go back to Calcutta. Why leave your relatives out of your love for humanity?”

His suggestion dismayed me. My family was predicting my return, though I had been unresponsive to many pleas by letter. “Let the young bird fly in the metaphysical skies,” Ananta had remarked. “His wings will tire in the heavy atmosphere. We shall yet see him swoop toward home, fold his pinions, and humbly rest in our family nest.” This discouraging simile fresh in my mind, I was determined to do no “swooping” in the direction of Calcutta.

His suggestion upset me. My family expected me to return, though I had ignored many pleas in their letters. “Let the young bird fly in the skies of metaphysics,” Ananta had said. “His wings will tire in the heavy air. We shall yet see him swoop toward home, fold his wings, and rest humbly in our family nest.” With this discouraging comparison fresh in my mind, I was determined to do no “swooping” toward Calcutta.

“Sir, I am not returning home. But I will follow you anywhere. Please give me your address, and your name.”

“Sir, I’m not going home. But I’ll follow you anywhere. Please give me your address and your name.”

“Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri. My chief hermitage is in Serampore, on Rai Ghat Lane. I am visiting my mother here for only a few days.”

“Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri. My main hermitage is on Rai Ghat Lane in Serampore. I am here to visit my mother for only a few days.”

I wondered at God’s intricate play with His devotees. Serampore is but twelve miles from Calcutta, yet in those regions I had never caught a glimpse of my guru. We had had to travel for our meeting to the ancient city of Kasi (Benares), hallowed by memories of Lahiri Mahasaya. Here too the feet of Buddha, Shankaracharya and other Yogi- Christs had blessed the soil.

I marveled at God’s intricate play with his devotees. Serampore is only twelve miles from Calcutta, yet I had never glimpsed my guru in those areas. We had to travel to the ancient city of Kasi (Benares) to meet. The city was made sacred by memories of Lahiri Mahasaya. Here too, the feet of Buddha, Shankaracharya and other Yogi-Christs had blessed the soil.

“You will come to me in four weeks.” For the first time, Sri Yukteswar’s voice was stern. “Now I have told my eternal affection, and have shown my happiness at finding you-that is why you disregard my request. The next time we meet, you will have to reawaken my interest: I won’t accept you as a disciple easily. There must be complete surrender by obedience to my strict training.”

“You will come to me in four weeks.” For the first time, Sri Yukteswar’s voice was stern. “Now I have told you of my eternal love and shown you my happiness at finding you. That is why you ignore my request. The next time we meet, you will have to awaken my interest again. I won’t easily accept you as a disciple. You must surrender completely by obeying my strict training.”

I remained obstinately silent. My guru easily penetrated my difficulty.

I stubbornly stayed silent. My guru easily understood my difficulty.

“Do you think your relatives will laugh at you?”

“Do you think your relatives will laugh at you?”

“I will not return.”

“I will not come back.”

“You will return in thirty days.”

“You’ll be back in thirty days.”

“Never.” Bowing reverently at his feet, I departed without lightening the controversial tension. As I made my way in the midnight darkness, I wondered why the miraculous meeting had ended on an inharmonious note. The dual scales of maya, that balance every joy with a grief! My young heart was not yet malleable to the transforming fingers of my guru.

“Never.” I bowed respectfully at his feet and left without easing the tension of our disagreement. Walking through the midnight darkness, I wondered why the miraculous meeting had ended on such a discordant note. The two scales of maya, balancing every joy with a sorrow! My young heart was not yet ready to be shaped by my guru’s transforming fingers.

The next morning I noticed increased hostility in the attitude of the hermitage members. My days became spiked with invariable rudeness. In three weeks, Dyananda left the ashram to attend a conference in Bombay; pandemonium broke over my hapless head.

The next morning, I noticed that the hermitage members had become more hostile toward me. Every day, I faced constant rudeness. Three weeks later, Dyananda left the ashram to attend a conference in Bombay. Then chaos descended on me, unlucky as I was.

“Mukunda is a parasite, accepting hermitage hospitality without making proper return.” Overhearing this remark, I regretted for the first time that I had obeyed the request to send back my money to Father. With heavy heart, I sought out my sole friend, Jitendra.

“Mukunda is a parasite, accepting the hermitage’s hospitality without giving enough in return.” When I overheard this remark, I regretted for the first time agreeing to send my money back to Father. With a heavy heart, I went to find my only friend, Jitendra.

“I am leaving. Please convey my respectful regrets to Dyanandaji when he returns.”

“I’m leaving. Please give Dyanandaji my respectful apologies when he returns.”

“I will leave also! My attempts to meditate here meet with no more favor than your own.” Jitendra spoke with determination.

“I’ll leave too! My attempts to meditate here are no more welcome than yours.” Jitendra spoke with determination.

“I have met a Christlike saint. Let us visit him in Serampore.”

“I’ve met a Christlike saint. Let’s visit him in Serampore.”

And so the “bird” prepared to “swoop” perilously close to Calcutta!

And so the “bird” got ready to “swoop” dangerously close to Calcutta!

10-1: Sanskrita, polished; complete. Sanskrit is the eldest sister of all Indo-European tongues. Its alphabetical script is Devanagari, literally “divine abode.” “Who knows my grammar knows God!” Panini, great philologist of ancient India, paid this tribute to the mathematical and psychological perfection in Sanskrit. He who would track language to its lair must indeed end as omniscient.

10-1: Sanskrita, polished, complete. Sanskrit is the oldest sister of all Indo-European languages. Its alphabet is Devanagari, literally “divine abode.” “Who knows my grammar knows God!” Panini, the great scholar of language in ancient India, offered this tribute to Sanskrit’s mathematical and psychological perfection. Anyone who seeks to trace language to its source must indeed end up knowing everything.

10-2: He was not Jatinda (Jotin Ghosh), who will be remembered for his timely aversion to tigers!

10-2: He was not Jatinda (Jotin Ghosh), who will be remembered for his well-timed dislike of tigers!

10-3: Path or preliminary road to God.

10-3: A path or preparatory route to God.

10-4: Hindu scriptures teach that family attachment is delusive if it prevents the devotee from seeking the Giver of all boons, including the one of loving relatives, not to mention life itself. Jesus similarly taught: “Who is my mother? and who are my brethren?” (Matthew 12:48.)

10-4: Hindu scriptures teach that attachment to family is misleading if it keeps the devotee from seeking the Giver of all blessings. These blessings include loving relatives, not to mention life itself. Jesus similarly taught: “Who is my mother? And who are my brothers?” (Matthew 12:48.)

10-5: Ji is a customary respectful suffix, particularly used in direct address; thus “swamiji,” “guruji,” “Sri Yukteswarji,” “paramhansaji.”

10-5: Ji is a traditional suffix showing respect, especially when addressing someone directly. Examples include “swamiji,” “guruji,” “Sri Yukteswarji,” “paramhansaji.”

10-6: Pertaining to the shastras, literally, “sacred books,” comprising four classes of scripture: the shruti, smriti, purana, and tantra. These comprehensive treatises cover every aspect of religious and social life, and the fields of law, medicine, architecture, art, etc. The shrutis are the “directly heard” or “revealed” scriptures, the Vedas. The smritis or “remembered” lore was finally written down in a remote past as the world’s longest epic poems, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana. Puranas are literally “ancient” allegories; tantras literally mean “rites” or “rituals”; these treatises convey profound truths under a veil of detailed symbolism.

10-6: Relating to the shastras, literally, “sacred books,” which include four classes of scripture: the shruti, smriti, purana, and tantra. These wide-ranging works cover every aspect of religious and social life, along with law, medicine, architecture, art, and other fields. The shrutis are the “directly heard” or “revealed” scriptures, the Vedas. The smritis, or “remembered” traditions, were finally written down in the distant past as the world’s longest epic poems. These are the Mahabharata and the Ramayana. Puranas are literally “ancient” allegories. Tantras literally mean “rites” or “rituals”. These works convey profound truths beneath a veil of detailed symbolism.

10-7: “Divine teacher,” the customary Sanskrit term for one’s spiritual preceptor. I have rendered it in English as simply “Master.”

10-7: “Divine teacher,” the usual Sanskrit term for one’s spiritual teacher. I have translated the term into English simply as “Master.”