Autobiography of a Yogi. Paramahansa Yogananda

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.

      "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."

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

      "Do you think your relatives will laugh at you?"

      "I will not return."

      "You will return 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.

      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.

      "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.

      "I am leaving. Please convey my respectful regrets to Dyanandaji 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 have met a Christlike saint. Let us visit him in Serampore."

      And so the "bird" prepared to "swoop" perilously 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.

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

10–3: Path or preliminary road 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.)

10–5: Ji is a customary respectful suffix, particularly used in direct address; thus "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.

10–7: "Divine teacher," the customary Sanskrit term for one's spiritual preceptor. I have rendered it in English as simply "Master."

CHAPTER: 11

       Table of Contents

      Two Penniless Boys In Brindaban

       Table of Contents

      "It would serve you right if Father disinherited you, Mukunda! How foolishly you are throwing away your life!" An elder-brother sermon was assaulting my ears.

      Jitendra and I, fresh from the train (a figure of speech merely; we were covered with dust), had just arrived at the home of Ananta, recently transferred from Calcutta to the ancient city of Agra. Brother was a supervising accountant for the Bengal-Nagpur Railway.

      "You well know, Ananta, I seek my inheritance from the Heavenly Father."

      "Money first; God can come later! Who knows? Life may be too long."

      "God first; money is His slave! Who can tell? Life may be too short."

      My retort was summoned by the exigencies of the moment, and held no presentiment. Yet the leaves of time unfolded to early finality for Ananta; a few years later ^11–1 he entered the land where bank notes avail neither first nor last.

      "Wisdom from the hermitage, I suppose! But I see you have left Benares." Ananta's eyes gleamed with satisfaction; he yet hoped to secure my pinions in the family nest.

      "My sojourn in Benares was not in vain! I found there everything my heart had been longing for! You may be sure it was not your pundit or his son!"

      Ananta joined me in reminiscent laughter; he had had to admit that the Benares "clairvoyant" he selected was a shortsighted one.

      "What are your plans, my wandering brother?"

      "Jitendra persuaded me to Agra. We shall view the beauties of the Taj Mahal ^11–2 here," I explained. "Then we are going to my newly-found guru, who has a hermitage in Serampore."

      Ananta hospitably arranged for our comfort. Several times during the evening I noticed his eyes fixed on me reflectively.

      "I know that look!" I thought. "A plot is brewing!"

      The denouement took place during our early breakfast.

      "So you feel quite independent of Father's wealth." Ananta's gaze was innocent as he resumed the barbs of yesterday's conversation.

      "I am conscious of my dependence on God."

      "Words are cheap! Life has shielded you thus far! What a plight if you were forced to look to the Invisible Hand for your food and shelter! You would soon be begging on the streets!"

      "Never! I would not put faith in passers-by rather than God! He can devise for His devotee a thousand resources besides the begging-bowl!"

      "More rhetoric! Suppose I suggest that your vaunted philosophy be put to a test in this tangible world?"

      "I would agree! Do you confine God to a speculative world?"

      "We shall see; today you shall have opportunity either to enlarge or to confirm my own views!" Ananta paused for a dramatic moment; then spoke slowly and seriously.

      "I propose that I send you and your fellow disciple Jitendra this morning to the near-by city of Brindaban. You must not take a single rupee; you must not beg, either for food or money; you must not reveal your predicament to anyone; you must not go without your meals; and you must not be stranded in Brindaban. If you return to my bungalow here before twelve o'clock tonight, without having broken any rule of the test, I shall be the most astonished man in Agra!"

      "I accept the challenge." No hesitation was in my words or in my heart. Grateful memories