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Preface 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40: 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 |
Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramhansa Yogananda
Chapter 40: I Return to IndiaGratefully I was inhaling the blessed air of India. Our boat Rajputana docked on August 22, 1935 in the huge harbor of Bombay. Even this, my first day off the ship, was a foretaste of the year aheadtwelve months of ceaseless activity. Friends had gathered at the dock with garlands and greetings; soon, at our suite in the Taj Mahal Hotel, there was a stream of reporters and photographers.
Bombay
was a city new to me; I found it energetically modern, with many
innovations from the West. Palms line the spacious boulevards;
magnificent state structures vie for interest with ancient temples.
Very little time was given to sight-seeing, however; I was impatient,
eager to see my beloved guru and other dear ones. Consigning the
Ford to a baggage car, our party was soon speeding eastward by train
toward Calcutta.1
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Our arrival
at Howrah Station found such an immense crowd assembled to greet
us that for awhile we were unable to dismount from the train. The
young Maharaja of Kasimbazar and my brother Bishnu headed the reception
committee; I was unprepared for the warmth and magnitude of our
welcome.
Preceded by
a line of automobiles and motorcycles, and amidst the joyous sound
of drums and conch shells, Miss Bletch, Mr. Wright, and myself,
flower-garlanded from head to foot, drove slowly to my father's
home.
My aged parent
embraced me as one returning from the dead; long we gazed on each
other, speechless with joy. Brothers and sisters, uncles, aunts,
and cousins, students and friends of years long past were grouped
around me, not a dry eye among us. Passed now into the archives
of memory, the scene of loving reunion vividly endures, unforgettable
in my heart.
As for my meeting
with Sri Yukteswar, words fail me; let the following description
from my secretary suffice.
"Today,
filled with the highest anticipations, I drove Yoganandaji from
Calcutta to Serampore," Mr. Wright recorded in his travel diary.
"We passed by quaint shops, one of them the favorite eating
haunt of Yoganandaji during his college days, and finally entered
a narrow, walled lane. A sudden left turn, and there before us towered
the simple but inspiring two-story ashram, its Spanish-style balcony
jutting from the upper floor. The pervasive impression was that
of peaceful solitude.
"In grave
humility I walked behind Yoganandaji into the courtyard within the
hermitage walls. Hearts beating fast, we proceeded up some old cement
steps, trod, no doubt, by myriads of truth-seekers. The tension
grew keener and keener as on we strode. Before us, near the head
of the stairs, quietly appeared the Great One, Swami Sri Yukteswarji,
standing in the noble pose of a sage.
"My heart
heaved and swelled as I felt myself blessed by the privilege of
being in his sublime presence. Tears blurred my eager sight when
Yoganandaji dropped to his knees, and with bowed head offered his
soul's gratitude and greeting, touching with his hand his guru's
feet and then, in humble obeisance, his own head. He rose then and
was embraced on both sides of the bosom by Sri Yukteswarji.
"No words
passed at the beginning, but the most intense feeling was expressed
in the mute phrases of the soul. How their eyes sparkled and were
fired with the warmth of renewed soul-union! A tender vibration
surged through the quiet patio, and even the sun eluded the clouds
to add a sudden blaze of glory.
"On bended
knee before the master I gave my own unexpressed love and thanks,
touching his feet, calloused by time and service, and receiving
his blessing. I stood then and faced two beautiful deep eyes smouldering
with introspection, yet radiant with joy. We entered his sitting
room, whose whole side opened to the outer balcony first seen from
the street. The master braced himself against a worn davenport,
sitting on a covered mattress on the cement floor. Yoganandaji and
I sat near the guru's feet, with orange-colored pillows to lean
against and ease our positions on the straw mat.
"I tried
and tried to penetrate the Bengali conversation between the two
Swamijisfor English, I discovered, is null and void when they are
together, although Swamiji Maharaj, as the great guru is called
by others, can and often does speak it. But I perceived the saintliness
of the Great One through his heart-warming smile and twinkling eyes.
One quality easily discernible in his merry, serious conversation
is a decided positiveness in statementthe mark of a wise man, who
knows he knows, because he knows God. His great wisdom, strength
of purpose, and determination are apparent in every way.
"Studying
him reverently from time to time, I noted that he is of large, athletic
stature, hardened by the trials and sacrifices of renunciation.
His poise is majestic. A decidedly sloping forehead, as if seeking
the heavens, dominates his divine countenance. He has a rather large
and homely nose, with which he amuses himself in idle moments, flipping
and wiggling it with his fingers, like a child. His powerful dark
eyes are haloed by an ethereal blue ring. His hair, parted in the
middle, begins as silver and changes to streaks of silvery-gold
and silvery-black, ending in ringlets at his shoulders. His beard
and moustache are scant or thinned out, yet seem to enhance his
features and, like his character, are deep and light at the same
time.
"He has
a jovial and rollicking laugh which comes from deep in his chest,
causing him to shake and quiver throughout his bodyvery cheerful
and sincere. His face and stature are striking in their power, as
are his muscular fingers. He moves with a dignified tread and erect
posture.
"He
was clad simply in the common dhoti and shirt, both once
dyed a strong ocher color, but now a faded orange.
"Glancing
about, I observed that this rather dilapidated room suggested the
owner's non-attachment to material comforts. The weather-stained
white walls of the long chamber were streaked with fading blue plaster.
At one end of the room hung a picture of Lahiri Mahasaya, garlanded
in simple devotion. There was also an old picture showing Yoganandaji
as he had first arrived in Boston, standing with the other delegates
to the Congress of Religions.
"I noted
a quaint concurrence of modernity and antiquation. A huge, cut-glass,
candle-light chandelier was covered with cobwebs through disuse,
and on the wall was a bright, up-to-date calendar. The whole room
emanated a fragrance of peace and calmness. Beyond the balcony I
could see coconut trees towering over the hermitage in silent protection.
"It
is interesting to observe that the master has merely to clap his
hands together and, before finishing, he is served or attended by
some small disciple. Incidentally, I am much attracted to one of
thema thin lad, named Prafulla,2
with long black hair to his shoulders, a most penetrating pair of
sparkling black eyes, and a heavenly smile; his eyes twinkle, as
the corners of his mouth rise, like the stars and the crescent moon
appearing at twilight.
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"Swami
Sri Yukteswarji's joy is obviously intense at the return of his
'product' (and he seems to be somewhat inquisitive about the 'product's
product'). However, predominance of the wisdom-aspect in the Great
One's nature hinders his outward expression of feeling.
"Yoganandaji
presented him with some gifts, as is the custom when the disciple
returns to his guru. We sat down later to a simple but well-cooked
meal. All the dishes were vegetable and rice combinations. Sri Yukteswarji
was pleased at my use of a number of Indian customs, 'finger-eating'
for example.
"After
several hours of flying Bengali phrases and the exchange of warm
smiles and joyful glances, we paid obeisance at his feet, bade adieu
with a pronam,3
and departed
for Calcutta with an everlasting memory of a sacred meeting and
greeting. Although I write chiefly of my external impressions of
him, yet I was always conscious of the true basis of the sainthis
spiritual glory. I felt his power, and shall carry that feeling
as my divine blessing."
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From America,
Europe, and Palestine I had brought many presents for Sri Yukteswar.
He received them smilingly, but without remark. For my own use,
I had bought in Germany a combination umbrella-cane. In India I
decided to give the cane to Master.
"This gift
I appreciate indeed!" My guru's eyes were turned on me with
affectionate understanding as he made the unwonted comment. From
all the presents, it was the cane that he singled out to display
to visitors.
"Master,
please permit me to get a new carpet for the sitting room."
I had noticed that Sri Yukteswar's tiger skin was placed over a
torn rug.
"Do so
if it pleases you." My guru's voice was not enthusiastic. "Behold,
my tiger mat is nice and clean; I am monarch in my own little kingdom.
Beyond it is the vast world, interested only in externals."
As he uttered
these words I felt the years roll back; once again I am a young
disciple, purified in the daily fires of chastisement!
As soon as I
could tear myself away from Serampore and Calcutta, I set out, with
Mr. Wright, for Ranchi. What a welcome there, a veritable ovation!
Tears stood in my eyes as I embraced the selfless teachers who had
kept the banner of the school flying during my fifteen years' absence.
The bright faces and happy smiles of the residential and day students
were ample testimony to the worth of their many-sided school and
yoga training.
Yet, alas! the
Ranchi institution was in dire financial difficulties. Sir Manindra
Chandra Nundy, the old Maharaja whose Kasimbazar Palace had been
converted into the central school building, and who had made many
princely donations was now dead. Many free, benevolent features
of the school were now seriously endangered for lack of sufficient
public support.
I had not spent
years in America without learning some of its practical wisdom,
its undaunted spirit before obstacles. For one week I remained in
Ranchi, wrestling with critical problems. Then came interviews in
Calcutta with prominent leaders and educators, a long talk with
the young Maharaja of Kasimbazar, a financial appeal to my father,
and lo! the shaky foundations of Ranchi began to be righted. Many
donations including one huge check arrived in the nick of time from
my American students.
Within a few
months after my arrival in India, I had the joy of seeing the Ranchi
school legally incorporated. My lifelong dream of a permanently
endowed yoga educational center stood fulfilled. That vision had
guided me in the humble beginnings in 1917 with a group of seven
boys.
In the decade
since 1935, Ranchi has enlarged its scope far beyond the boys' school.
Widespread humanitarian activities are now carried on there in the
Shyama Charan Lahiri Mahasaya Mission.
The school,
or Yogoda Sat-Sanga Brahmacharya Vidyalaya, conducts outdoor classes
in grammar and high school subjects. The residential students and
day scholars also receive vocational training of some kind. The
boys themselves regulate most of their activities through autonomous
committees. Very early in my career as an educator I discovered
that boys who impishly delight in outwitting a teacher will cheerfully
accept disciplinary rules that are set by their fellow students.
Never a model pupil myself, I had a ready sympathy for all boyish
pranks and problems.
Sports and games are encouraged; the fields resound with hockey and football practice. Ranchi students often win the cup at competitive events. The outdoor gymnasium is known far and wide. Muscle recharging through will power is the Yogoda feature: mental direction of life energy to any part of the body. The boys are also taught asanas (postures), sword and lathi (stick) play, and jujitsu. The Yogoda Health Exhibitions at the Ranchi Vidyalaya have been attended by thousands.
Instruction in primary subjects is given in Hindi to the Kols, Santals, and Mundas, aboriginal tribes of the province. Classes for girls only have been organized in near-by villages.
The unique feature at Ranchi is the initiation into Kriya Yoga. The boys daily practice their spiritual exercises, engage in Gita chanting, and are taught by precept and example the virtues of simplicity, self-sacrifice, honor, and truth. Evil is pointed out to them as being that which produces misery; good as those actions which result in true happiness. Evil may be compared to poisoned honey, tempting but laden with death.
Overcoming restlessness of body and mind by concentration techniques has achieved astonishing results: it is no novelty at Ranchi to see an appealing little figure, aged nine or ten years, sitting for an hour or more in unbroken poise, the unwinking gaze directed to the spiritual eye. Often the picture of these Ranchi students has returned to my mind, as I observed collegians over the world who are hardly able to sit still through one class period.4 face="Arial,Helvetica,Univers,Zurich BT">
Ranchi lies 2000 feet above sea level; the climate is mild and equable. The twenty-five acre site, by a large bathing pond, includes one of the finest orchards in Indiafive hundred fruit treesmango, guava, litchi, jackfruit, date. The boys grow their own vegetables, and spin at their charkas.
A
guest house is hospitably open for Western visitors. The Ranchi
library contains numerous magazines, and about a thousand volumes
in English and Bengali, donations from the West and the East. There
is a collection of the scriptures of the world. A well-classified
museum displays archeological, geological, and anthropological exhibits;
trophies, to a great extent, of my wanderings over the Lord's varied
earth.
The charitable
hospital and dispensary of the Lahiri Mahasaya Mission, with many
outdoor branches in distant villages, have already ministered to
150,000 of India's poor. The Ranchi students are trained in first
aid, and have given praiseworthy service to their province at tragic
times of flood or famine.
In the orchard
stands a Shiva temple, with a statue of the blessed master, Lahiri
Mahasaya. Daily prayers and scripture classes are held in the garden
under the mango bowers.
Branch high
schools, with the residential and yoga features of Ranchi, have
been opened and are now flourishing. These are the Yogoda Sat-Sanga
Vidyapith (School) for Boys, at Lakshmanpur in Bihar; and the Yogoda
Sat-Sanga High School and hermitage at Ejmalichak in Midnapore.
A stately Yogoda
Math was dedicated in 1939 at Dakshineswar, directly on the Ganges.
Only a few miles north of Calcutta, the new hermitage affords a
haven of peace for city dwellers. Suitable accommodations are available
for Western guests, and particularly for those seekers who are intensely
dedicating their lives to spiritual realization. The activities
of the Yogoda Math include a fortnightly mailing of Self-Realization
Fellowship teachings to students in various parts of India.
It is needless
to say that all these educational and humanitarian activities have
required the self-sacrificing service and devotion of many teachers
and workers. I do not list their names here, because they are so
numerous; but in my heart each one has a lustrous niche. Inspired
by the ideals of Lahiri Mahasaya, these teachers have abandoned
promising worldly goals to serve humbly, to give greatly.
Mr.
Wright formed many fast friendships with Ranchi boys; clad in a
simple dhoti, he lived for awhile among them. At Ranchi,
Calcutta, Serampore, everywhere he went, my secretary, who has a
vivid gift of description, hauled out his travel diary to record
his adventures. One evening I asked him a question.
"Dick,
what is your impression of India?"
"Peace,"
he said thoughtfully. "The racial aura is peace."
1
We broke our journey in Central Provinces, halfway across the continent,
to see Mahatma Gandhi at Wardha. Those days are described in chapter
44.
Back to text
2
Prafulla was the lad who had been present with Master when a cobra
approached (see page 116).
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3
Literally, "holy name," a word of greeting among Hindus,
accompanied by palm-folded hands lifted from the heart to the forehead
in salutation. A pronam in India takes the place of the Western
greeting by handshaking.
Back to text
4
Mental training through certain concentration techniques has produced
in each Indian generation men of prodigious memory. Sir T. Vijayaraghavachari,
in the Hindustan Times, has described the tests put to the modern
professional "memory men" of Madras. "These men,"
he wrote, "were unusually learned in Sanskrit literature. Seated
in the midst of a large audience, they were equal to the tests that
several members of the audience simultaneously put them to. The
test would be like this: one person would start ringing a bell,
the number of rings having to be counted by the 'memory man.' A
second person would dictate from a paper a long exercise in arithmetic,
involving addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. A
third would go on reciting from the Ramayana or the Mahabharata
a long series of poems, which had to be reproduced; a fourth would
set problems in versification which required the composition of
verses in proper meter on a given subject, each line to end in a
specified word, a fifth man would carry on with a sixth a theological
disputation, the exact language of which had to be quoted in the
precise order in which the disputants conducted it, and a seventh
man was all the while turning a wheel, the number of revolutions
of which had to be counted. The memory expert had simultaneously
to do all these feats purely by mental processes, as he was allowed
no paper and pencil. The strain on the faculties must have been
terrific. Ordinarily men in unconscious envy are apt to depreciate
such efforts by affecting to believe that they involve only the
exercise of the lower functionings of the brain. It is not, however,
a pure question of memory. The greater factor is the immense concentration
of mind."
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Contents |
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