Autobiography of a Yogi. Paramahansa Yogananda

'the great masters wish you to know that your stay on earth will not be long. Your next illness shall prove to be your last.' ^2–4 There was a silence, during which I felt no alarm but only a vibration of great peace. Finally he addressed me again:

      "'You are to be the custodian of a certain silver amulet. I will not give it to you today; to demonstrate the truth in my words, the talisman shall materialize in your hands tomorrow as you meditate. On your deathbed, you must instruct your eldest son Ananta to keep the amulet for one year and then to hand it over to your second son. Mukunda will understand the meaning of the talisman from the great ones. He should receive it about the time he is ready to renounce all worldly hopes and start his vital search for God. When he has retained the amulet for some years, and when it has served its purpose, it shall vanish. Even if kept in the most secret spot, it shall return whence it came.'

      "I proffered alms ^2–5 to the saint, and bowed before him in great reverence. Not taking the offering, he departed with a blessing. The next evening, as I sat with folded hands in meditation, a silver amulet materialized between my palms, even as the sadhu had promised. It made itself known by a cold, smooth touch. I have jealously guarded it for more than two years, and now leave it in Ananta's keeping. Do not grieve for me, as I shall have been ushered by my great guru into the arms of the Infinite. Farewell, my child; the Cosmic Mother will protect you."

      A blaze of illumination came over me with possession of the amulet; many dormant memories awakened. The talisman, round and anciently quaint, was covered with Sanskrit characters. I understood that it came from teachers of past lives, who were invisibly guiding my steps. A further significance there was, indeed; but one does not reveal fully the heart of an amulet.

      How the talisman finally vanished amidst deeply unhappy circumstances of my life; and how its loss was a herald of my gain of a guru, cannot be told in this chapter.

      But the small boy, thwarted in his attempts to reach the Himalayas, daily traveled far on the wings of his amulet.

2–1: Sanskrit root meaning of swami is "he who is one with his Self (Swa)." Applied to a member of the Indian order of monks, the title has the formal respect of "the reverend."

2–2: The Indian custom, whereby parents choose the life-partner for their child, has resisted the blunt assaults of time. The percentage is high of happy Indian marriages.

2–3: An anchorite; one who pursues a sadhana or path of spiritual discipline.

2–4: When I discovered by these words that Mother had possessed secret knowledge of a short life, I understood for the first time why she had been insistent on hastening the plans for Ananta's marriage. Though she died before the wedding, her natural maternal wish had been to witness the rites.

2–5: A customary gesture of respect to sadhus .

CHAPTER: 3

       Table of Contents

      The Saint With Two Bodies

       Table of Contents

      "Father, if I promise to return home without coercion, may I take a sight-seeing trip to Benares?"

      My keen love of travel was seldom hindered by Father. He permitted me, even as a mere boy, to visit many cities and pilgrimage spots. Usually one or more of my friends accompanied me; we would travel comfortably on first-class passes provided by Father. His position as a railroad official was fully satisfactory to the nomads in the family.

      Father promised to give my request due consideration. The next day he summoned me and held out a round-trip pass from Bareilly to Benares, a number of rupee notes, and two letters.

      "I have a business matter to propose to a Benares friend, Kedar Nath Babu. Unfortunately I have lost his address. But I believe you will be able to get this letter to him through our common friend, Swami Pranabananda. The swami, my brother disciple, has attained an exalted spiritual stature. You will benefit by his company; this second note will serve as your introduction."

      Father's eyes twinkled as he added, "Mind, no more flights from home!"

      I set forth with the zest of my twelve years (though time has never dimmed my delight in new scenes and strange faces). Reaching Benares, I proceeded immediately to the swami's residence. The front door was open; I made my way to a long, hall-like room on the second floor. A rather stout man, wearing only a loincloth, was seated in lotus posture on a slightly raised platform. His head and unwrinkled face were clean-shaven; a beatific smile played about his lips. To dispel my thought that I had intruded, he greeted me as an old friend.

      "Baba anand (bliss to my dear one)." His welcome was given heartily in a childlike voice. I knelt and touched his feet.

      "Are you Swami Pranabananda?"

      He nodded. "Are you Bhagabati's son?" His words were out before I had had time to get Father's letter from my pocket. In astonishment, I handed him the note of introduction, which now seemed superfluous.

      "Of course I will locate Kedar Nath Babu for you." The saint again surprised me by his clairvoyance. He glanced at the letter, and made a few affectionate references to my parent.

      "You know, I am enjoying two pensions. One is by the recommendation of your father, for whom I once worked in the railroad office. The other is by the recommendation of my Heavenly Father, for whom I have conscientiously finished my earthly duties in life."

      I found this remark very obscure. "What kind of pension, sir, do you receive from the Heavenly Father? Does He drop money in your lap?"

      He laughed. "I mean a pension of fathomless peace-a reward for many years of deep meditation. I never crave money now. My few material needs are amply provided for. Later you will understand the significance of a second pension."

      Abruptly terminating our conversation, the saint became gravely motionless. A sphinxlike air enveloped him. At first his eyes sparkled, as if observing something of interest, then grew dull. I felt abashed at his pauciloquy; he had not yet told me how I could meet Father's friend. A trifle restlessly, I looked about me in the bare room, empty except for us two. My idle gaze took in his wooden sandals, lying under the platform seat.

      "Little sir, ^3–1 don't get worried. The man you wish to see will be with you in half an hour." The yogi was reading my mind-a feat not too difficult at the moment!

      Again he fell into inscrutable silence. My watch informed me that thirty minutes had elapsed.

      The swami aroused himself. "I think Kedar Nath Babu is nearing the door."

      I heard somebody coming up the stairs. An amazed incomprehension arose suddenly; my thoughts raced in confusion: "How is it possible that Father's friend has been summoned to this place without the help of a messenger? The swami has spoken to no one but myself since my arrival!"

      Abruptly I quitted the room and descended the steps. Halfway down I met a thin, fair-skinned man of medium height. He appeared to be in a hurry.

      "Are you Kedar Nath Babu?" Excitement colored my voice.

      "Yes. Are you not Bhagabati's son who has been waiting here to meet me?" He smiled in friendly fashion.

      "Sir, how do you happen to come here?" I felt baffled resentment over his inexplicable presence.

      "Everything is mysterious today! Less than an hour ago I had just finished my bath in the Ganges when Swami Pranabananda approached me.