The Saint Who Never Sleeps

“Please permit me to go to the Himalayas. I hope in unbroken solitude to achieve continuous divine communion.”

“Please let me go to the Himalayas. I hope that in uninterrupted solitude, I can achieve constant communion with God.”

I actually once addressed these ungrateful words to my Master. Seized by one of the unpredictable delusions which occasionally assail the devotee, I felt a growing impatience with hermitage duties and college studies. A feebly extenuating circumstance is that my proposal was made when I had been only six months with Sri Yukteswar. Not yet had I fully surveyed his towering stature.

I actually once said these ungrateful words to my Master. One of the unpredictable delusions that occasionally overcome devotees had taken hold of me. I grew increasingly impatient with my duties at the hermitage and my college studies. My only weak excuse is that I made my proposal after just six months with Sri Yukteswar. I had not yet fully understood his greatness.

“Many hillmen live in the Himalayas, yet possess no God-perception.” My guru’s answer came slowly and simply. “Wisdom is better sought from a man of realization than from an inert mountain.”

“Many mountain people live in the Himalayas, yet have no direct awareness of God.” My guru answered slowly and simply. “Wisdom is better sought from a man who has realized God than from a lifeless mountain.”

Ignoring Master’s plain hint that he, and not a hill, was my teacher, I repeated my plea. Sri Yukteswar vouchsafed no reply. I took his silence for consent, a precarious interpretation readily accepted at one’s convenience.

Ignoring Master’s clear hint that he, not a hill, was my teacher, I repeated my plea. Sri Yukteswar gave no reply. I took his silence as consent. It was a shaky interpretation, easily accepted when it suited me.

In my Calcutta home that evening, I busied myself with travel preparations. Tying a few articles inside a blanket, I remembered a similar bundle, surreptitiously dropped from my attic window a few years earlier. I wondered if this were to be another ill-starred flight toward the Himalayas. The first time my spiritual elation had been high; tonight conscience smote heavily at thought of leaving my guru.

That evening at my Calcutta home, I kept busy preparing for the trip. As I tied a few things inside a blanket, I remembered a similar bundle. A few years earlier, I had secretly dropped it from my attic window. I wondered if this would be another doomed escape toward the Himalayas. The first time, I had felt spiritually uplifted. Tonight, I felt deeply guilty at the thought of leaving my guru.

The following morning I sought out Behari Pundit, my Sanskrit professor at Scottish Church College.

The next morning, I went to find Behari Pundit, my Sanskrit professor at Scottish Church College.

“Sir, you have told me of your friendship with a great disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya. Please give me his address.”

“Sir, you told me you're friends with a great disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya. Please give me his address.”

“You mean Ram Gopal Muzumdar. I call him the ‘sleepless saint.’ He is always awake in an ecstatic consciousness. His home is at Ranbajpur, near Tarakeswar.”

“You mean Ram Gopal Muzumdar. I call him the ‘sleepless saint.’ He is always awake in a state of ecstatic awareness. He lives in Ranbajpur, near Tarakeswar.”

I thanked the pundit, and entrained immediately for Tarakeswar. I hoped to silence my misgivings by wringing a sanction from the “sleepless saint” to engage myself in lonely Himalayan meditation. Behari’s friend, I heard, had received illumination after many years of Kriya Yoga practice in isolated caves.

I thanked the pundit and immediately boarded a train for Tarakeswar. I hoped to quiet my doubts by pressing the “sleepless saint” for permission to meditate alone in the Himalayas. I had heard that Behari’s friend had gained enlightenment after many years of Kriya Yoga practice in isolated caves.

At Tarakeswar I approached a famous shrine. Hindus regard it with the same veneration that Catholics give to the Lourdes sanctuary in France. Innumerable healing miracles have occurred at Tarakeswar, including one for a member of my family.

At Tarakeswar I approached a famous shrine. Hindus honor this shrine as deeply as Catholics honor the Lourdes sanctuary in France. Countless healing miracles have happened at Tarakeswar, including one for a member of my family.

“I sat in the temple there for a week,” my eldest aunt once told me. “Observing a complete fast, I prayed for the recovery of your Uncle Sarada from a chronic malady. On the seventh day I found a herb materialized in my hand! I made a brew from the leaves, and gave it to your uncle. His disease vanished at once, and has never reappeared.”

“I sat in the temple there for a week,” my oldest aunt once told me. “I ate nothing and prayed for your Uncle Sarada to recover from a long-term illness. On the seventh day, an herb appeared out of nowhere in my hand! I brewed the leaves and gave the brew to your uncle. His illness disappeared at once and has never returned.”

I entered the sacred Tarakeswar shrine; the altar contains nothing but a round stone. Its circumference, beginningless and endless, makes it aptly significant of the Infinite. Cosmic abstractions are not alien even to the humblest Indian peasant; he has been accused by Westerners, in fact, of living on abstractions!

I entered the sacred Tarakeswar shrine. The altar holds only a round stone. The stone’s circumference has no beginning or end, making it a fitting symbol of the Infinite. Even the humblest Indian peasant is familiar with abstract ideas about the cosmos. In fact, Westerners have accused him of living on abstractions!

My own mood at the moment was so austere that I felt disinclined to bow before the stone symbol. God should be sought, I reflected, only within the soul.

My mood was so stern that I felt reluctant to bow before the stone symbol. God should be sought only within the soul, I thought.

I left the temple without genuflection and walked briskly toward the outlying village of Ranbajpur. My appeal to a passer-by for guidance caused him to sink into long cogitation.

I left the temple without kneeling and walked briskly toward the outlying village of Ranbajpur. When I asked a passerby for directions, he paused to think for a long time.

“When you come to a crossroad, turn right and keep going,” he finally pronounced oracularly.

“When you reach a crossroads, turn right and keep going,” he finally said with the authority of an oracle.

Obeying the directions, I wended my way alongside the banks of a canal. Darkness fell; the outskirts of the jungle village were alive with winking fireflies and the howls of near-by jackals. The moonlight was too faint to supply any reassurance; I stumbled on for two hours.

Following the directions, I walked along the banks of a canal. Darkness fell. On the outskirts of the jungle village, fireflies flashed and nearby jackals howled. The moonlight was too faint to offer any reassurance. I stumbled on for two hours.

Welcome clang of a cowbell! My repeated shouts eventually brought a peasant to my side.

What a welcome sound, the clang of a cowbell! My repeated shouts finally brought a farmer to my side.

“I am looking for Ram Gopal Babu.”

“I’m looking for Ram Gopal Babu.”

“No such person lives in our village.” The man’s tone was surly. “You are probably a lying detective.”

“No one like that lives in our village.” The man’s tone was rude and unfriendly. “You’re probably a detective who’s lying.”

Hoping to allay suspicion in his politically troubled mind, I touchingly explained my predicament. He took me to his home and offered a hospitable welcome.

Hoping to ease the suspicions in his politically troubled mind, I gave a moving account of my difficult situation. He took me to his home and welcomed me warmly.

“Ranbajpur is far from here,” he remarked. “At the crossroad, you should have turned left, not right.”

“Ranbajpur is far from here,” he said. “At the crossroads, you should have turned left, not right.”

My earlier informant, I thought sadly, was a distinct menace to travelers. After a relishable meal of coarse rice, lentil-dhal , and curry of potatoes with raw bananas, I retired to a small hut adjoining the courtyard. In the distance, villagers were singing to the loud accompaniment of mridangas [^13] and cymbals. Sleep was inconsiderable that night; I prayed deeply to be directed to the secret yogi, Ram Gopal.

I sadly thought that the man who had given me directions earlier was a real danger to travelers. I enjoyed a meal of coarse rice, lentil-dhal, and potato curry with raw bananas. Afterward, I went to rest in a small hut beside the courtyard. In the distance, villagers were singing to the loud accompaniment of mridangas [^13] and cymbals. I barely slept that night. I prayed deeply for guidance to the secret yogi, Ram Gopal.

As the first streaks of dawn penetrated the fissures of my dark room, I set out for Ranbajpur. Crossing rough paddy fields, I trudged over sickled stumps of the prickly plant and mounds of dried clay. An occasionally-met peasant would inform me, invariably, that my destination was “only a krosha (two miles).” In six hours the sun traveled victoriously from horizon to meridian, but I began to feel that I would ever be distant from Ranbajpur by one krosha .

As the first light of dawn came through the cracks in my dark room, I set out for Ranbajpur. I trudged across rough rice fields, over prickly stalks cut with sickles and mounds of dried clay. Every peasant I met along the way told me my destination was “only a krosha (two miles).” In six hours, the sun made its triumphant journey from the horizon to directly overhead. But I began to feel I would always be one krosha away from Ranbajpur.

At midafternoon my world was still an endless paddy field. Heat pouring from the avoidless sky was bringing me to near-collapse. As a man approached at leisurely pace, I hardly dared utter my usual question, lest it summon the monotonous: “Just a krosha .”

By midafternoon, my world was still an endless rice field. The heat from the sky offered no escape and was bringing me close to collapse. As a man approached at a leisurely pace, I hardly dared ask my usual question. I feared hearing the same tiresome reply: “Just a krosha.”

The stranger halted beside me. Short and slight, he was physically unimpressive save for an extraordinary pair of piercing dark eyes.

The stranger stopped beside me. He was short and thin, with an unremarkable appearance except for his extraordinary, piercing dark eyes.

“I was planning to leave Ranbajpur, but your purpose was good, so I awaited you.” He shook his finger in my astounded face. “Aren’t you clever to think that, unannounced, you could pounce on me? That professor Behari had no right to give you my address.”

“I was planning to leave Ranbajpur, but you had good intentions, so I waited for you.” He wagged his finger in my astonished face. “Aren’t you clever, thinking you could show up unannounced and catch me by surprise? That professor Behari had no right to give you my address.”

Considering that introduction of myself would be mere verbosity in the presence of this master, I stood speechless, somewhat hurt at my reception. His next remark was abruptly put.

I felt that introducing myself would be a waste of words in the presence of this master. So I stood silent, somewhat hurt by the way he had received me. He made his next remark abruptly.

“Tell me; where do you think God is?”

“Tell me, where do you think God is?”

“Why, He is within me and everywhere.” I doubtless looked as bewildered as I felt.

“Why, he is inside me and everywhere.” I must have looked as confused as I felt.

“All-pervading, eh?” The saint chuckled. “Then why, young sir, did you fail to bow before the Infinite in the stone symbol at the Tarakeswar temple yesterday? [^13] Your pride caused you the punishment of being misdirected by the passer-by who was not bothered by fine distinctions of left and right. Today, too, you have had a fairly uncomfortable time of it!”

“All-pervading, eh?” The saint chuckled. “Then why, young man, didn’t you bow before the Infinite in the stone symbol at the Tarakeswar temple yesterday? [^13] Your pride brought you punishment: a passerby sent you the wrong way, not bothering with distinctions between left and right. Today, too, you’ve had a fairly uncomfortable time!”

I agreed wholeheartedly, wonder-struck that an omniscient eye hid within the unremarkable body before me. Healing strength emanated from the yogi; I was instantly refreshed in the scorching field.

I agreed wholeheartedly, amazed that an all-knowing eye was hidden within the ordinary-looking body before me. Healing energy flowed from the yogi. I felt instantly refreshed in the scorching field.

“The devotee inclines to think his path to God is the only way,” he said. “Yoga, through which divinity is found within, is doubtless the highest road: so Lahiri Mahasaya has told us. But discovering the Lord within, we soon perceive Him without. Holy shrines at Tarakeswar and elsewhere are rightly venerated as nuclear centers of spiritual power.”

“A devotee tends to think his path to God is the only way,” he said. “Yoga, through which we find divinity within ourselves, is undoubtedly the highest path. Lahiri Mahasaya has told us so. But once we discover the Lord within ourselves, we soon recognize him outside ourselves too. Holy shrines at Tarakeswar and elsewhere are rightly honored as centers of spiritual power.”

The saint’s censorious attitude vanished; his eyes became compassionately soft. He patted my shoulder.

The saint’s disapproving attitude vanished. His eyes softened with compassion. He patted my shoulder.

“Young yogi, I see you are running away from your master. He has everything you need; you must return to him. Mountains cannot be your guru.” Ram Gopal was repeating the same thought which Sri Yukteswar had expressed at our last meeting.

“Young yogi, I see you are running away from your master. He has everything you need. You must return to him. Mountains cannot be your guru.” Ram Gopal was repeating the same idea Sri Yukteswar had expressed at our last meeting.

“Masters are under no cosmic compulsion to limit their residence.” My companion glanced at me quizzically. “The Himalayas in India and Tibet have no monopoly on saints. What one does not trouble to find within will not be discovered by transporting the body hither and yon. As soon as the devotee is willing to go even to the ends of the earth for spiritual enlightenment, his guru appears near-by.”

“Masters are under no cosmic obligation to live in any particular place.” My companion gave me a questioning look. “The Himalayas in India and Tibet are not the only places with saints. What you do not bother to seek within yourself cannot be found by traveling from place to place. As soon as the devotee is willing to travel even to the ends of the earth for spiritual enlightenment, his guru appears nearby.”

I silently agreed, recalling my prayer in the Benares hermitage, followed by the meeting with Sri Yukteswar in a crowded lane.

I silently agreed, remembering my prayer in the Benares hermitage and my meeting with Sri Yukteswar afterward in a crowded lane.

“Are you able to have a little room where you can close the door and be alone?”

“Can you have a small room where you can close the door and be alone?”

“Yes.” I reflected that this saint descended from the general to the particular with disconcerting speed.

“Yes.” I thought about how this saint moved from general ideas to specifics with unsettling speed.

“That is your cave.” The yogi bestowed on me a gaze of illumination which I have never forgotten. “That is your sacred mountain. That is where you will find the kingdom of God.”

“That is your cave.” The yogi gave me an illuminating look that I have never forgotten. “That is your sacred mountain. That is where you will find the kingdom of God.”

His simple words instantaneously banished my lifelong obsession for the Himalayas. In a burning paddy field I awoke from the monticolous dreams of eternal snows.

His simple words instantly ended my lifelong obsession with the Himalayas. In a scorching rice field, I awoke from my dreams of mountains covered in eternal snow.

“Young sir, your divine thirst is laudable. I feel great love for you.” Ram Gopal took my hand and led me to a quaint hamlet. The adobe houses were covered with coconut leaves and adorned with rustic entrances.

“Young man, your thirst for the divine is admirable. I feel great love for you.” Ram Gopal took my hand and led me to a charming little village. The adobe houses were covered with coconut leaves and decorated with simple, rustic entrances.

The saint seated me on the umbrageous bamboo platform of his small cottage. After giving me sweetened lime juice and a piece of rock candy, he entered his patio and assumed the lotus posture. In about four hours I opened my meditative eyes and saw that the moonlit figure of the yogi was still motionless. As I was sternly reminding my stomach that man does not live by bread alone, Ram Gopal approached me.

The saint seated me on the shaded bamboo platform of his small cottage. After giving me sweetened lime juice and a piece of rock candy, he went into his patio. There he sat in the lotus position. About four hours later, I opened my eyes after meditating. I saw that the yogi’s moonlit figure was still motionless. As I sternly reminded my stomach that man does not live by bread alone, Ram Gopal approached me.

“I see you are famished; food will be ready soon.”

“I can see you’re very hungry. Food will be ready soon.”

A fire was kindled under a clay oven on the patio; rice and dhal were quickly served on large banana leaves. My host courteously refused my aid in all cooking chores. “The guest is God,” a Hindu proverb, has commanded devout observance from time immemorial. In my later world travels, I was charmed to see that a similar respect for visitors is manifested in rural sections of many countries. The city dweller finds the keen edge of hospitality blunted by superabundance of strange faces.

A fire was lit under a clay oven on the patio. Rice and dhal were soon served on large banana leaves. My host politely refused my help with all the cooking chores. “The guest is God” is a Hindu proverb that people have faithfully followed since ancient times. Later, as I traveled around the world, I was delighted to find similar respect for visitors in many countries’ rural areas. For city dwellers, the overwhelming number of unfamiliar faces dulls the spirit of hospitality.

The marts of men seemed remotely dim as I squatted by the yogi in the isolation of the tiny jungle village. The cottage room was mysterious with a mellow light. Ram Gopal arranged some torn blankets on the floor for my bed, and seated himself on a straw mat. Overwhelmed by his spiritual magnetism, I ventured a request.

The busy markets of the world seemed distant and dim as I squatted beside the yogi in the tiny, isolated jungle village. A soft light gave the cottage room a mysterious feel. Ram Gopal arranged some torn blankets on the floor for my bed, then sat on a straw mat. Overwhelmed by his spiritual magnetism, I dared to make a request.

“Sir, why don’t you grant me a samadhi ?”

“Sir, why don’t you give me samadhi?”

“Dear one, I would be glad to convey the divine contact, but it is not my place to do so.” The saint looked at me with half-closed eyes. “Your master will bestow that experience shortly. Your body is not tuned just yet. As a small lamp cannot withstand excessive electrical voltage, so your nerves are unready for the cosmic current. If I gave you the infinite ecstasy right now, you would burn as if every cell were on fire.

“Dear one, I would gladly give you contact with the divine, but doing so is not my role.” The saint looked at me with half-closed eyes. “Your master will give you that experience soon. Your body is not yet tuned for it. Just as a small lamp cannot handle too much electrical voltage, your nerves are not ready for the cosmic current. If I gave you infinite ecstasy right now, you would burn as if every cell were on fire.

“You are asking illumination from me,” the yogi continued musingly, “while I am wondering-inconsiderable as I am, and with the little meditation I have done-if I have succeeded in pleasing God, and what worth I may find in His eyes at the final reckoning.”

“You are asking me for spiritual insight,” the yogi continued thoughtfully, “while I wonder whether I have pleased God. I am so insignificant, and I have meditated so little. I also wonder what worth I may have in his eyes at the final judgment.”

“Sir, have you not been singleheartedly seeking God for a long time?”

“Sir, haven’t you been seeking God with all your heart for a long time?”

“I have not done much. Behari must have told you something of my life. For twenty years I occupied a secret grotto, meditating eighteen hours a day. Then I moved to a more inaccessible cave and remained there for twenty-five years, entering the yoga union for twenty hours daily. I did not need sleep, for I was ever with God. My body was more rested in the complete calmness of the superconsciousness than it could be by the partial peace of the ordinary subconscious state.

“I have not done much. Behari must have told you something about my life. For twenty years I lived in a hidden cave, meditating eighteen hours a day. Then I moved to a cave that was harder to reach and stayed there for twenty-five years. There I entered the state of union through yoga for twenty hours each day. I did not need sleep because I was always with God. My body found more rest in the complete calm of superconsciousness than in the partial peace of ordinary subconsciousness.

“The muscles relax during sleep, but the heart, lungs, and circulatory system are constantly at work; they get no rest. In superconsciousness, the internal organs remain in a state of suspended animation, electrified by the cosmic energy. By such means I have found it unnecessary to sleep for years. The time will come when you too will dispense with sleep.”

“The muscles relax during sleep, but the heart, lungs, and circulatory system keep working without rest. In superconsciousness, the internal organs stay in a state of suspended animation, charged with cosmic energy. Through this process, I have had no need to sleep for years. The time will come when you too will no longer need sleep.”

“My goodness, you have meditated for so long and yet are unsure of the Lord’s favor!” I gazed at him in astonishment. “Then what about us poor mortals?”

“My goodness, you’ve meditated for so long, yet you’re still unsure of the Lord’s favor!” I stared at him in astonishment. “Then what about us poor mortals?”

“Well, don’t you see, my dear boy, that God is Eternity Itself? To assume that one can fully know Him by forty-five years of meditation is rather a preposterous expectation. Babaji assures us, however, that even a little meditation saves one from the dire fear of death and after-death states. Do not fix your spiritual ideal on a small mountain, but hitch it to the star of unqualified divine attainment. If you work hard, you will get there.”

“Well, my dear boy, don’t you see that God is eternity itself? It’s rather absurd to expect to know him fully after forty-five years of meditation. Yet Babaji assures us that even a little meditation saves us from the terrible fear of death and states after death. Do not set your spiritual sights on a small mountain. Instead, aim for the star of complete divine attainment. If you work hard, you will reach that goal.”

Enthralled by the prospect, I asked him for further enlightening words. He related a wondrous story of his first meeting with Lahiri Mahasaya’s guru, Babaji. [^13] Around midnight Ram Gopal fell into silence, and I lay down on my blankets. Closing my eyes, I saw flashes of lightning; the vast space within me was a chamber of molten light. I opened my eyes and observed the same dazzling radiance. The room became a part of that infinite vault which I beheld with interior vision.

Thrilled by the prospect, I asked him to share more of his wisdom. He told a wondrous story about his first meeting with Lahiri Mahasaya’s guru, Babaji. [^13] Around midnight, Ram Gopal grew silent, and I lay down on my blankets. I closed my eyes and saw flashes of lightning. The vast space within me was a chamber of molten light. I opened my eyes and saw the same dazzling radiance. The room became part of the infinite expanse I saw with my inner vision.

“Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“Why don’t you go to sleep?”

“Sir, how can I sleep in the presence of lightning, blazing whether my eyes are shut or open?”

“Sir, how can I sleep with lightning blazing around me, whether my eyes are open or closed?”

“You are blessed to have this experience; the spiritual radiations are not easily seen.” The saint added a few words of affection.

“You are blessed to have this experience. Spiritual radiations are not easy to see.” The saint added a few affectionate words.

At dawn Ram Gopal gave me rock candies and said I must depart. I felt such reluctance to bid him farewell that tears coursed down my cheeks.

At dawn Ram Gopal gave me rock candy and told me I had to leave. I was so reluctant to say goodbye to him that tears streamed down my cheeks.

“I will not let you go empty-handed.” The yogi spoke tenderly. “I will do something for you.”

“I won’t let you leave empty-handed.” The yogi spoke gently. “I’ll do something for you.”

He smiled and looked at me steadfastly. I stood rooted to the ground, peace rushing like a mighty flood through the gates of my eyes. I was instantaneously healed of a pain in my back, which had troubled me intermittently for years. Renewed, bathed in a sea of luminous joy, I wept no more. After touching the saint’s feet, I sauntered into the jungle, making my way through its tropical tangle until I reached Tarakeswar.

He smiled and looked steadily at me. I stood rooted to the ground as peace rushed like a mighty flood through my eyes. I was instantly healed of back pain that had troubled me on and off for years. I felt renewed, bathed in a sea of radiant joy, and stopped weeping. After touching the saint’s feet, I strolled into the jungle. I made my way through the tangled tropical growth until I reached Tarakeswar.

There I made a second pilgrimage to the famous shrine, and prostrated myself fully before the altar. The round stone enlarged before my inner vision until it became the cosmical spheres, ring within ring, zone after zone, all dowered with divinity.

There I made a second pilgrimage to the famous shrine and lay face down before the altar. In my inner vision, the round stone grew until it became the spheres of the cosmos. Ring within ring, region after region, all were filled with divinity.

I entrained happily an hour later for Calcutta. My travels ended, not in the lofty mountains, but in the Himalayan presence of my Master.

An hour later, I happily boarded a train for Calcutta. My travels ended not in the towering mountains, but in the Himalayan presence of my Master.

13-1: Hand-played drums, used only for devotional music.

13-1: Drums played by hand, used only for devotional music.

13-2: One is reminded here of Dostoevski’s observation: “A man who bows down to nothing can never bear the burden of himself.”

13-2: This brings to mind Dostoevski’s observation: “A man who bows down to nothing can never bear the burden of himself.”

13-3: See [^35].

13-3: See [^35].