I Go to America

“America! Surely these people are Americans!” This was my thought as a panoramic vision of Western faces passed before my inward view.

“America! Surely these people are Americans!” I thought as a sweeping vision of Western faces passed before my mind’s eye.

Immersed in meditation, I was sitting behind some dusty boxes in the storeroom of the Ranchi school. A private spot was difficult to find during those busy years with the youngsters!

Deep in meditation, I sat behind some dusty boxes in the storeroom of the Ranchi school. A private spot was hard to find during those busy years with the children!

The vision continued; a vast multitude, [^37] gazing at me intently, swept actorlike across the stage of consciousness.

The vision continued. A vast crowd, [^37] gazing intently at me, swept like actors across the stage of my consciousness.

The storeroom door opened; as usual, one of the young lads had discovered my hiding place.

The storeroom door opened. As usual, one of the young boys had found my hiding place.

“Come here, Bimal,” I cried gaily. “I have news for you: the Lord is calling me to America!”

“Come here, Bimal,” I called out happily. “I have news for you: the Lord is calling me to America!”

“To America?” The boy echoed my words in a tone that implied I had said “to the moon.”

“To America?” The boy repeated my words as if I had said “to the moon.”

“Yes! I am going forth to discover America, like Columbus. He thought he had found India; surely there is a karmic link between those two lands!”

“Yes! I’m setting out to discover America, like Columbus. He thought he had found India. Surely there is a karmic link between America and India!”

Bimal scampered away; soon the whole school was informed by the two- legged newspaper. [^37] I summoned the bewildered faculty and gave the school into its charge.

Bimal scampered away. Soon the two-legged newspaper had spread the news to the whole school. [^37] I called together the bewildered teachers and put them in charge of the school.

“I know you will keep Lahiri Mahasaya’s yoga ideals of education ever to the fore,” I said. “I shall write you frequently; God willing, someday I shall be back.”

“I know you will always make Lahiri Mahasaya’s yoga ideals of education a priority,” I said. “I’ll write to you often. God willing, I’ll return someday.”

Tears stood in my eyes as I cast a last look at the little boys and the sunny acres of Ranchi. A definite epoch in my life had now closed, I knew; henceforth I would dwell in far lands. I entrained for Calcutta a few hours after my vision. The following day I received an invitation to serve as the delegate from India to an International Congress of Religious Liberals in America. It was to convene that year in Boston, under the auspices of the American Unitarian Association.

Tears filled my eyes as I took one last look at the little boys and the sunny acres of Ranchi. I knew a chapter of my life had ended. From then on, I would live in distant lands. A few hours after my vision, I boarded a train for Calcutta. The next day, I received an invitation to represent India at an International Congress of Religious Liberals in America. The congress would meet that year in Boston, sponsored by the American Unitarian Association.

My head in a whirl, I sought out Sri Yukteswar in Serampore.

My head was spinning as I went to find Sri Yukteswar in Serampore.

“Guruji, I have just been invited to address a religious congress in America. Shall I go?”

“Guruji, I’ve just been invited to speak at a religious conference in America. Should I go?”

“All doors are open for you,” Master replied simply. “It is now or never.”

“All doors are open to you,” Master replied simply. “It’s now or never.”

“But, sir,” I said in dismay, “what do I know about public speaking? Seldom have I given a lecture, and never in English.”

“But, sir,” I said in dismay, “what do I know about public speaking? I’ve rarely given a lecture, and never in English.”

“English or no English, your words on yoga shall be heard in the West.”

“English or no English, your words on yoga will be heard in the West.”

I laughed. “Well, dear guruji, I hardly think the Americans will learn Bengali! Please bless me with a push over the hurdles of the English language.” [^37]

I laughed. “Well, dear guruji, I hardly think the Americans will learn Bengali! Please bless me with a push to help me overcome the challenges of English.” [^37]

When I broke the news of my plans to Father, he was utterly taken aback. To him America seemed incredibly remote; he feared he might never see me again.

When I told Father about my plans, he was completely shocked. America seemed incredibly far away to him. He feared he might never see me again.

“How can you go?” he asked sternly. “Who will finance you?” As he had affectionately borne the expenses of my education and whole life, he doubtless hoped that his question would bring my project to an embarrassing halt.

“How can you go?” he asked sternly. “Who will pay for it?” He had lovingly paid for my education and supported me all my life. So he doubtless hoped his question would bring my plans to an embarrassing halt.

“The Lord will surely finance me.” As I made this reply, I thought of the similar one I had given long ago to my brother Ananta in Agra. Without very much guile, I added, “Father, perhaps God will put it into your mind to help me.”

“The Lord will surely provide the money I need.” As I replied, I remembered giving a similar answer long ago to my brother Ananta in Agra. Without much attempt to be sly, I added, “Father, perhaps God will give you the idea to help me.”

“No, never!” He glanced at me piteously.

“No, never!” He glanced at me with a pitiful expression.

I was astounded, therefore, when Father handed me, the following day, a check made out for a large amount.

So I was amazed when Father handed me a check for a large amount the next day.

“I give you this money,” he said, “not in my capacity as a father, but as a faithful disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya. Go then to that far Western land; spread there the creedless teachings of Kriya Yoga.”

“I give you this money,” he said, “not as your father, but as a devoted disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya. So go to that distant Western land. Spread the teachings of Kriya Yoga there, free from any creed.”

I was immensely touched at the selfless spirit in which Father had been able to quickly put aside his personal desires. The just realization had come to him during the preceding night that no ordinary desire for foreign travel was motivating my voyage.

I was deeply moved by how selflessly Father had set aside his own wishes so quickly. The night before, he had rightly realized that no ordinary desire to travel abroad was driving my journey.

“Perhaps we shall not meet again in this life.” Father, who was sixty- seven at this time, spoke sadly.

“Perhaps we won’t meet again in this life.” Father was sixty-seven at the time. He spoke sadly.

An intuitive conviction prompted me to reply, “Surely the Lord will bring us together once more.”

A deep inner certainty led me to reply, “Surely the Lord will bring us together again.”

As I went about my preparations to leave Master and my native land for the unknown shores of America, I experienced not a little trepidation. I had heard many stories about the materialistic Western atmosphere, one very different from the spiritual background of India, pervaded with the centuried aura of saints. “An Oriental teacher who will dare the Western airs,” I thought, “must be hardy beyond the trials of any Himalayan cold!”

As I prepared to leave Master and my homeland for the unknown shores of America, I felt considerable anxiety. I had heard many stories about the materialistic atmosphere of the West. It was very different from India’s spiritual atmosphere, filled with the presence of saints over the centuries. “An Eastern teacher who dares to face the Western climate,” I thought, “must be tougher than any Himalayan cold demands!”

One early morning I began to pray, with an adamant determination to continue, to even die praying, until I heard the voice of God. I wanted His blessing and assurance that I would not lose myself in the fogs of modern utilitarianism. My heart was set to go to America, but even more strongly was it resolved to hear the solace of divine permission.

Early one morning, I began to pray, determined to continue until I heard the voice of God, even if I died praying. I wanted his blessing and assurance that I would not lose myself in the fog of modern utilitarian thinking. My heart was set on going to America. But even more, I longed for the comfort of hearing God give his permission.

I prayed and prayed, muffling my sobs. No answer came. My silent petition increased in excruciating crescendo until, at noon, I had reached a zenith; my brain could no longer withstand the pressure of my agonies. If I cried once more with an increased depth of my inner passion, I felt as though my brain would split. At that moment there came a knock outside the vestibule adjoining the Gurpar Road room in which I was sitting. Opening the door, I saw a young man in the scanty garb of a renunciate. He came in, closed the door behind him and, refusing my request to sit down, indicated with a gesture that he wished to talk to me while standing.

I prayed and prayed, holding back the sound of my sobs. No answer came. My silent plea grew more and more agonizing until, at noon, it reached its peak. My brain could no longer bear the pressure of my anguish. If I cried out once more with even deeper passion, I felt as though my brain would split. At that moment, I heard a knock outside the entryway adjoining the room on Gurpar Road where I was sitting. I opened the door and saw a young man wearing the sparse clothing of a renunciate. He came in and closed the door behind him. He declined my invitation to sit down and gestured that he wanted to speak to me standing up.

“He must be Babaji!” I thought, dazed, because the man before me had the features of a younger Lahiri Mahasaya.

“He must be Babaji!” I thought. I was dazed because the man before me looked like a younger Lahiri Mahasaya.

He answered my thought. “Yes, I am Babaji.” He spoke melodiously in Hindi. “Our Heavenly Father has heard your prayer. He commands me to tell you: Follow the behests of your guru and go to America. Fear not; you will be protected.”

He answered my thought. “Yes, I am Babaji.” He spoke in Hindi, his voice musical. “Our Heavenly Father has heard your prayer. He commands me to tell you: Follow your guru’s instructions and go to America. Do not be afraid. You will be protected.”

After a vibrant pause, Babaji addressed me again. “You are the one I have chosen to spread the message of Kriya Yoga in the West. Long ago I met your guru Yukteswar at a Kumbha Mela; I told him then I would send you to him for training.”

After a pause filled with energy, Babaji spoke to me again. “You are the one I have chosen to spread the message of Kriya Yoga in the West. Long ago I met your guru Yukteswar at a Kumbha Mela. I told him then I would send you to him for training.”

I was speechless, choked with devotional awe at his presence, and deeply touched to hear from his own lips that he had guided me to Sri Yukteswar. I lay prostrate before the deathless guru. He graciously lifted me from the floor. Telling me many things about my life, he then gave me some personal instruction, and uttered a few secret prophecies.

I was speechless, overcome with devotion and awe in his presence. I was deeply moved to hear him say he had guided me to Sri Yukteswar. I lay face down before the immortal guru. He graciously lifted me from the floor. He told me many things about my life, then gave me some personal guidance and shared a few secret prophecies.

“Kriya Yoga, the scientific technique of God-realization,” he finally said with solemnity, “will ultimately spread in all lands, and aid in harmonizing the nations through man’s personal, transcendental perception of the Infinite Father.”

“Kriya Yoga is the scientific technique for realizing God,” he finally said solemnly. “It will eventually spread to all lands. It will help bring nations into harmony through each person’s direct, transcendent experience of the Infinite Father.”

With a gaze of majestic power, the master electrified me by a glimpse of his cosmic consciousness. In a short while he started toward the door.

With a powerful, majestic gaze, the master electrified me with a glimpse of his cosmic consciousness. A short time later, he started toward the door.

“Do not try to follow me,” he said. “You will not be able to do so.”

“Don’t try to follow me,” he said. “You won’t be able to.”

“Please, Babaji, don’t go away!” I cried repeatedly. “Take me with you!”

“Please, Babaji, don’t leave!” I cried again and again. “Take me with you!”

Looking back, he replied, “Not now. Some other time.”

He looked back and said, “Not now. Some other time.”

Overcome by emotion, I disregarded his warning. As I tried to pursue him, I discovered that my feet were firmly rooted to the floor. From the door, Babaji gave me a last affectionate glance. He raised his hand by way of benediction and walked away, my eyes fixed on him longingly.

Overcome by emotion, I ignored his warning. As I tried to follow him, I found my feet firmly rooted to the floor. From the doorway, Babaji gave me one last affectionate look. He raised his hand in blessing and walked away as I gazed longingly after him.

After a few minutes my feet were free. I sat down and went into a deep meditation, unceasingly thanking God not only for answering my prayer but for blessing me by a meeting with Babaji. My whole body seemed sanctified through the touch of the ancient, ever-youthful master. Long had it been my burning desire to behold him.

After a few minutes, my feet were free. I sat down and entered a deep meditation. I kept thanking God, not only for answering my prayer but also for blessing me with a meeting with Babaji. My whole body seemed made holy by the touch of the ancient master, who remained forever young. I had long felt a burning desire to see him.

Until now, I have never recounted to anyone this story of my meeting with Babaji. Holding it as the most sacred of my human experiences, I have hidden it in my heart. But the thought occurred to me that readers of this autobiography may be more inclined to believe in the reality of the secluded Babaji and his world interests if I relate that I saw him with my own eyes. I have helped an artist to draw a true picture of the great Yogi-Christ of modern India; it appears in this book.

Until now, I have never told anyone the story of my meeting with Babaji. I have kept it hidden in my heart as the most sacred experience of my life. But I thought readers of this autobiography might more readily believe in Babaji’s existence and his concern for the world if I described seeing him myself. Babaji lives in seclusion. I helped an artist create an accurate portrait of this great Yogi-Christ of modern India. The portrait appears in this book.

The eve of my departure for the United States found me in Sri Yukteswar’s holy presence.

The evening before I left for the United States, I was in Sri Yukteswar’s holy presence.

“Forget you were born a Hindu, and don’t be an American. Take the best of them both,” Master said in his calm way of wisdom. “Be your true self, a child of God. Seek and incorporate into your being the best qualities of all your brothers, scattered over the earth in various races.”

“Forget you were born a Hindu, and don’t be an American. Take the best of both,” Master said with calm wisdom. “Be your true self, a child of God. Seek out and make part of yourself the best qualities of all your brothers, of every race around the world.”

Then he blessed me: “All those who come to you with faith, seeking God, will be helped. As you look at them, the spiritual current emanating from your eyes will enter into their brains and change their material habits, making them more God-conscious.”

Then he blessed me: “All who come to you with faith, seeking God, will be helped. As you look at them, a spiritual current from your eyes will enter their brains. This current will change their material habits, making them more aware of God.”

He went on, “Your lot to attract sincere souls is very good. Everywhere you go, even in a wilderness, you will find friends.”

He continued, “You are very fortunate to attract sincere souls. Everywhere you go, even in the wilderness, you will find friends.”

Both of his blessings have been amply demonstrated. I came alone to America, into a wilderness without a single friend, but there I found thousands ready to receive the time-tested soul-teachings.

Both of his blessings have been fully confirmed. I came to America alone, into a wilderness without a single friend. But there I found thousands ready to receive the time-tested teachings of the soul.

I left India in August, 1920, on The City Of Sparta, the first passenger boat sailing for America after the close of World War I. I had been able to book passage only after the removal, in ways fairly miraculous, of many “red-tape” difficulties concerned with the granting of my passport.

I left India in August 1920 aboard The City Of Sparta. It was the first passenger ship to sail for America after World War I ended. I could book passage only after many “red-tape” obstacles to getting my passport were removed in almost miraculous ways.

During the two-months’ voyage a fellow passenger found out that I was the Indian delegate to the Boston congress.

During the two-month voyage, another passenger learned I was the Indian delegate to the Boston congress.

“Swami Yogananda,” he said, with the first of many quaint pronunciations by which I was later to hear my name spoken by the Americans, “please favor the passengers with a lecture next Thursday night. I think we would all benefit by a talk on ‘The Battle of Life and How to Fight It.’”

“Swami Yogananda,” he said. His quaint pronunciation was the first of many I would later hear Americans use for my name. “Please give the passengers a talk next Thursday night. I think we would all benefit from a talk on ‘The Battle of Life and How to Fight It.’”

Alas! I had to fight the battle of my own life, I discovered on Wednesday. Desperately trying to organize my ideas into a lecture in English, I finally abandoned all preparations; my thoughts, like a wild colt eyeing a saddle, refused any cooperation with the laws of English grammar. Fully trusting in Master’s past assurances, however, I appeared before my Thursday audience in the saloon of the steamer. No eloquence rose to my lips; speechlessly I stood before the assemblage. After an endurance contest lasting ten minutes, the audience realized my predicament and began to laugh.

Alas! On Wednesday, I discovered I had to fight the battle of my own life. I desperately tried to organize my ideas into a lecture in English, but finally gave up all preparation. My thoughts, like a wild colt eyeing a saddle, refused to cooperate with the rules of English grammar. Still, I fully trusted Master’s earlier assurances and faced my Thursday audience in the steamer’s lounge. No eloquent words came to my lips. I stood speechless before the gathering. After ten minutes of this endurance contest, the audience understood my predicament and began to laugh.

The situation was not funny to me at the moment; indignantly I sent a silent prayer to Master.

I didn’t find the situation funny at the time. Feeling indignant, I sent a silent prayer to Master.

“You can! Speak!” His voice sounded instantly within my consciousness.

“You can! Speak!” His voice instantly sounded in my mind.

My thoughts fell at once into a friendly relation with the English language. Forty-five minutes later the audience was still attentive. The talk won me a number of invitations to lecture later before various groups in America.

My thoughts immediately flowed easily in English. Forty-five minutes later, the audience was still listening closely. The talk brought me several invitations to speak later to various groups in America.

I never could remember, afterward, a word that I had spoken. By discreet inquiry I learned from a number of passengers: “You gave an inspiring lecture in stirring and correct English.” At this delightful news I humbly thanked my guru for his timely help, realizing anew that he was ever with me, setting at naught all barriers of time and space.

Afterward, I could never remember a word I had spoken. By asking discreetly, I learned from several passengers: “You gave an inspiring lecture in moving and correct English.” Delighted by the news, I humbly thanked my guru for his timely help. I realized once again that he was always with me, overcoming all barriers of time and space.

Once in awhile, during the remainder of the ocean trip, I experienced a few apprehensive twinges about the coming English-lecture ordeal at the Boston congress.

Now and then during the rest of the ocean trip, I felt brief pangs of anxiety. I dreaded the upcoming challenge of lecturing in English at the Boston congress.

“Lord,” I prayed, “please let my inspiration be Thyself, and not again the laughter-bombs of the audience!”

“Lord,” I prayed, “please let you be my inspiration, not the audience’s explosive laughter again!”

A group of delegates to the 1920 International Congress of Religious Liberals at Boston, where I gave my maiden speech in America. (Left to right) Rev. Clay MacCauley, Rev. T. Rhondda Williams, Prof. S. Ushigasaki, Rev. Jabez T. Sunderland, myself, Rev. Chas. W. Wendte, Rev. Samuel A. Eliot, Rev. Basil Martin, Rev. Christopher J. Street, Rev. Samuel M. Crothers.

A group of delegates to the 1920 International Congress of Religious Liberals in Boston. I gave my first speech in America at the congress. (Left to right) Rev. Clay MacCauley, Rev. T. Rhondda Williams, Prof. S. Ushigasaki, Rev. Jabez T. Sunderland, me, Rev. Chas. W. Wendte, Rev. Samuel A. Eliot, Rev. Basil Martin, Rev. Christopher J. Street, Rev. Samuel M. Crothers.

The City Of Sparta docked near Boston in late September. On the sixth of October I addressed the congress with my maiden speech in America. It was well received; I sighed in relief. The magnanimous secretary of the American Unitarian Association wrote the following comment in a published account [^37] of the congress proceedings:

The City Of Sparta docked near Boston in late September. On October 6, I gave my first speech in America at the congress. The speech was well received, and I sighed with relief. The generous secretary of the American Unitarian Association wrote the following comment in a published account [^37] of the congress proceedings:

“Swami Yogananda, delegate from the Brahmacharya Ashram of Ranchi, India, brought the greetings of his Association to the Congress. In fluent English and a forcible delivery he gave an address of a philosophical character on ‘The Science of Religion,’ which has been printed in pamphlet form for a wider distribution. Religion, he maintained, is universal and it is one. We cannot possibly universalize particular customs and convictions, but the common element in religion can be universalized, and we can ask all alike to follow and obey it.”

“Swami Yogananda, a delegate from the Brahmacharya Ashram of Ranchi, India, brought his Association’s greetings to the Congress. He spoke in fluent English with a forceful delivery, giving a philosophical talk on ‘The Science of Religion.’ The talk has been printed as a pamphlet for wider distribution. He argued that religion is universal and one. We cannot possibly make particular customs and beliefs universal. But the common element in religion can be made universal, and we can ask everyone alike to follow and obey that common element.”

Due to Father’s generous check, I was able to remain in America after the congress was over. Four happy years were spent in humble circumstances in Boston. I gave public lectures, taught classes, and wrote a book of poems, Songs Of The Soul, with a preface by Dr. Frederick B. Robinson, president of the College of the City of New York. [^37]

Thanks to Father’s generous check, I was able to stay in America after the congress ended. I spent four happy years living modestly in Boston. I gave public lectures, taught classes, and wrote a book of poems, Songs Of The Soul. Dr. Frederick B. Robinson, president of the College of the City of New York, wrote the preface. [^37]

Starting a transcontinental tour in the summer of 1924, I spoke before thousands in the principal cities, ending my western trip with a vacation in the beautiful Alaskan north.

In the summer of 1924, I began a tour across the continent, speaking to thousands in the major cities. I ended my western trip with a vacation in the beautiful Alaskan north.

With the help of large-hearted students, by the end of 1925 I had established an American headquarters on the Mount Washington Estates in Los Angeles. The building is the one I had seen years before in my vision at Kashmir. I hastened to send Sri Yukteswar pictures of these distant American activities. He replied with a postcard in Bengali, which I here translate:

With help from generous students, I had established an American headquarters by the end of 1925. It was on the Mount Washington Estates in Los Angeles. The building is the one I had seen years earlier in my vision in Kashmir. I quickly sent Sri Yukteswar pictures of these activities in faraway America. He replied with a postcard in Bengali, which I translate here:

11th August, 1926

August 11, 1926

Child of my heart, O Yogananda!

My beloved child, Yogananda!

Seeing the photos of your school and students, what joy comes in my life I cannot express in words. I am melting in joy to see your yoga students of different cities. Beholding your methods in chant affirmations, healing vibrations, and divine healing prayers, I cannot refrain from thanking you from my heart. Seeing the gate, the winding hilly way upward, and the beautiful scenery spread out beneath the Mount Washington Estates, I yearn to behold it all with my own eyes.

Seeing the photos of your school and students brings me more joy than words can express. My heart melts with joy at seeing your yoga students from different cities. Seeing your methods of chant affirmations, healing vibrations, and divine healing prayers, I cannot help thanking you wholeheartedly. I see the gate, the winding road uphill, and the beautiful scenery spread out below the Mount Washington Estates. I long to see it all with my own eyes.

Everything here is going on well. Through the grace of God, may you ever be in bliss.

Everything here is going well. Through God’s grace, may you always be filled with bliss.

SRI YUKTESWAR GIRI

SRI YUKTESWAR GIRI

Main building at the Mount Washington Estates in Los Angeles, established in 1925 as American headquarters for the Self- Realization Fellowship.

Main building at the Mount Washington Estates in Los Angeles, established in 1925 as the American headquarters for the Self-Realization Fellowship.

Years sped by. I lectured in every part of my new land, and addressed hundreds of clubs, colleges, churches, and groups of every denomination.

Years flew by. I gave lectures in every part of my new country. I also spoke to hundreds of clubs, colleges, churches, and groups of every denomination.

Tens of thousands of Americans received yoga initiation. To them all I dedicated a new book of prayer thoughts in 1929-Whispers From Eternity, with a preface by Amelita Galli-Curci. [^37] I give here, from the book, a poem entitled “God! God! God!”, composed one night as I stood on a lecture platform:

Tens of thousands of Americans received yoga initiation. In 1929, I dedicated a new book of prayerful thoughts to them all: Whispers From Eternity. Amelita Galli-Curci wrote the preface. [^37] Here is a poem from the book entitled “God! God! God!” I composed it one night as I stood on a lecture platform:

Sometimes-usually on the first of the month when the bills rolled in for upkeep of the Mount Washington and other Self-Realization Fellowship centers!-I thought longingly of the simple peace of India. But daily I saw a widening understanding between West and East; my soul rejoiced.

Sometimes I longed for the simple peace of India. Usually, these feelings came on the first of the month, when upkeep bills arrived for Mount Washington and other Self-Realization Fellowship centers! But every day I saw growing understanding between West and East. My soul rejoiced.

I have found the great heart of America expressed in the wondrous lines by Emma Lazarus, carved at the base of the Statue of Liberty, the “Mother of Exiles”:

I have found America’s great heart expressed in these beautiful lines by Emma Lazarus. The lines are carved at the base of the Statue of Liberty, the “Mother of Exiles”:

37-1: Many of those faces I have since seen in the West, and instantly recognized..

37-1: I have since seen many of those faces in the West and recognized them instantly.

37-2: Swami Premananda, now the leader of the Self-Realization Church of All Religions in Washington, D.C., was one of the students at the Ranchi school at the time I left there for America. (He was then Brahmachari Jotin.)

37-2: Swami Premananda now leads the Self-Realization Church of All Religions in Washington, D.C. He was a student at the Ranchi school when I left for America. (He was then known as Brahmachari Jotin.)

37-3: Sri Yukteswar and I ordinarily conversed in Bengali.

37-3: Sri Yukteswar and I usually spoke in Bengali.

37-4: New Pilgrimages Of The Spirit (Boston: Beacon Press, 1921).

37-4: New Pilgrimages Of The Spirit (Boston: Beacon Press, 1921).

37-5: Dr. and Mrs. Robinson visited India in 1939, and were honored guests at the Ranchi school.

37-5: Dr. and Mrs. Robinson visited India in 1939. They were honored guests at the Ranchi school.

37-6: Mme. Galli-Curci and her husband, Homer Samuels, the pianist, have been Kriya Yoga students for twenty years. The inspiring story of the famous prima donna’s years of music has been recently published (Galli-Curci’s Life Of Song, by C. E. LeMassena, Paebar Co., New York, 1945).

37-6: Mme. Galli-Curci and her husband, pianist Homer Samuels, have been Kriya Yoga students for twenty years. The inspiring story of the famous opera singer’s musical career was recently published (Galli-Curci’s Life Of Song, by C. E. LeMassena, Paebar Co., New York, 1945).