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Autobiography of a YOGI

P >> Paramhansa Yogananda >> Autobiography of a YOGI




Our little party visited the Birth Manger, Joseph's carpenter shop,
the tomb of Lazarus, the house of Martha and Mary, the hall of the
Last Supper. Antiquity unfolded; scene by scene, I saw the divine
drama that Christ once played for the ages.

On to Egypt, with its modern Cairo and ancient pyramids. Then a
boat down the narrow Red Sea, over the vasty Arabian Sea; lo, India!

{FN39-1} The remarkable inclusion here of a complete date is due
to the fact that my secretary, Mr. Wright, kept a travel diary.

{FN39-2} Other books on her life are THERESE NEUMANN: A STIGMATIST
OF OUR DAY, and FURTHER CHRONICLES OF THERESE NEUMANN, both by
Friedrich Ritter von Lama (Milwaukee: Bruce Pub. Co.).

{FN39-3} MATTHEW 4:4. Man's body battery is not sustained by gross
food (bread) alone, but by the vibratory cosmic energy (word, or
AUM). The invisible power flows into the human body through the
gate of the medulla oblongata. This sixth bodily center is located
at the back of the neck at the top of the five spinal CHAKRAS
(Sanskrit for "wheels" or centers of radiating force). The medulla
is the principal entrance for the body's supply of universal
life force (AUM), and is directly connected with man's power of
will, concentrated in the seventh or Christ Consciousness center
(KUTASTHA) in the third eye between the eyebrows. Cosmic energy is
then stored up in the brain as a reservoir of infinite potentialities,
poetically mentioned in the VEDAS as the "thousand-petaled lotus
of light." The Bible invariably refers to AUM as the "Holy Ghost"
or invisible life force which divinely upholds all creation. "What?
know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which
is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?"-I
CORINTHIANS 6:19.

{FN39-4} During the hours preceding my arrival, Therese had already
passed through many visions of the closing days in Christ's life.
Her entrancement usually starts with scenes of the events which
followed the Last Supper. Her visions end with Jesus' death on the
cross or, occasionally, with his entombment.

{FN39-5} Therese has survived the Nazi persecution, and is still
present in Konnersreuth, according to 1945 American news dispatches
from Germany.

{FN39-6} A passage in Eusebius relates an interesting encounter
between Socrates and a Hindu sage. The passage runs: "Aristoxenus,
the musician, tells the following story about the Indians. One of
these men met Socrates at Athens, and asked him what was the scope
of his philosophy. 'An inquiry into human phenomena,' replied
Socrates. At this the Indian burst out laughing. 'How can a man
inquire into human phenomena,' he said, 'when he is ignorant of
divine ones?'" The Aristoxenus mentioned was a pupil of Aristotle,
and a noted writer on harmonics. His date is 330 B.C.



CHAPTER: 40

I RETURN TO INDIA

Gratefully 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
ahead-twelve 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. {FN40-1}

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 Swamijis-for 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 statement-the
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 body-very
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 them-a thin lad, named Prafulla, {FN40-2} 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.

"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, {FN40-3} 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 saint-his spiritual glory. I
felt his power, and shall carry that feeling as my divine blessing."

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. {FN40-4}

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 India-five hundred fruit trees-mango,
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."

{FN40-1} We broke our journey in Central Provinces, halfway across
the continent, to see Mahatma Gandhi at Wardha. Those days are
described in chapter 44.

{FN40-2} Prafulla was the lad who had been present with Master when
a cobra approached (see page 116).

{FN40-3} 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.

{FN40-4} 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."



CHAPTER: 41

AN IDYL IN SOUTH INDIA

"You are the first Westerner, Dick, ever to enter that shrine. Many
others have tried in vain."

At my words Mr. Wright looked startled, then pleased. We had just
left the beautiful Chamundi Temple in the hills overlooking Mysore
in southern India. There we had bowed before the gold and silver
altars of the Goddess Chamundi, patron deity of the family of the
reigning maharaja.

"As a souvenir of the unique honor," Mr. Wright said, carefully
stowing away a few blessed rose petals, "I will always preserve
this flower, sprinkled by the priest with rose water."

My companion and I {FN41-1} were spending the month of November,
1935, as guests of the State of Mysore. The Maharaja, H.H.
Sri Krishnaraja Wadiyar IV, is a model prince with intelligent
devotion to his people. A pious Hindu, the Maharaja has empowered
a Mohammedan, the able Mirza Ismail, as his Dewan or Premier.
Popular representation is given to the seven million inhabitants
of Mysore in both an Assembly and a Legislative Council.

The heir to the Maharaja, H.H. the Yuvaraja, Sir Sri Krishna
Narasingharaj Wadiyar, had invited my secretary and me to visit
his enlightened and progressive realm. During the past fortnight
I had addressed thousands of Mysore citizens and students, at the
Town Hall, the Maharajah's College, the University Medical School;
and three mass meetings in Bangalore, at the National High School,
the Intermediate College, and the Chetty Town Hall where over
three thousand persons had assembled. Whether the eager listeners
had been able to credit the glowing picture I drew of America,
I know not; but the applause had always been loudest when I spoke
of the mutual benefits that could flow from exchange of the best
features in East and West.

Mr. Wright and I were now relaxing in the tropical peace. His travel
diary gives the following account of his impressions of Mysore:

"Brilliantly green rice fields, varied by tasseled sugar cane
patches, nestle at the protective foot of rocky hills-hills dotting
the emerald panorama like excrescences of black stone-and the play
of colors is enhanced by the sudden and dramatic disappearance of
the sun as it seeks rest behind the solemn hills.

"Many rapturous moments have been spent in gazing, almost absent-mindedly,
at the ever-changing canvas of God stretched across the firmament,
for His touch alone is able to produce colors that vibrate with the
freshness of life. That youth of colors is lost when man tries to
imitate with mere pigments, for the Lord resorts to a more simple
and effective medium-oils that are neither oils nor pigments, but
mere rays of light. He tosses a splash of light here, and it reflects
red; He waves the brush again and it blends gradually into orange
and gold; then with a piercing thrust He stabs the clouds with a
streak of purple that leaves a ringlet or fringe of red oozing out
of the wound in the clouds; and so, on and on, He plays, night and
morning alike, ever-changing, ever-new, ever-fresh; no patterns,
no duplicates, no colors just the same. The beauty of the Indian
change in day to night is beyond compare elsewhere; often the sky
looks as if God had taken all the colors in His kit and given them
one mighty kaleidoscopic toss into the heavens.

"I must relate the splendor of a twilight visit to the huge
Krishnaraja Sagar Dam, {FN41-2} constructed twelve miles outside
of Mysore. Yoganandaji and I boarded a small bus and, with a small
boy as official cranker or battery substitute, started off over a
smooth dirt road, just as the sun was setting on the horizon and
squashing like an overripe tomato.

"Our journey led past the omnipresent square rice fields, through
a line of comforting banyan trees, in between a grove of towering
coconut palms, with vegetation nearly as thick as in a jungle,
and finally, approaching the crest of a hill, we came face-to-face
with an immense artificial lake, reflecting the stars and fringe
of palms and other trees, surrounded by lovely terraced gardens
and a row of electric lights on the brink of the dam-and below
it our eyes met a dazzling spectacle of colored beams playing on
geyserlike fountains, like so many streams of brilliant ink pouring
forth-gorgeously blue waterfalls, arresting red cataracts, green
and yellow sprays, elephants spouting water, a miniature of the
Chicago World's Fair, and yet modernly outstanding in this ancient
land of paddy fields and simple people, who have given us such a
loving welcome that I fear it will take more than my strength to
bring Yoganandaji back to America.

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