Autobiography of a Yogi. Paramahansa Yogananda

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Autobiography of a Yogi - Paramahansa Yogananda

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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.

      "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!

       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

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