A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Autobiography of a YOGI

P >> Paramhansa Yogananda >> Autobiography of a YOGI




"Yes?"

"That you promise to reveal God to me!"

An hour-long verbal tussle ensued. A master's word cannot be
falsified; it is not lightly given. The implications in the pledge
open out vast metaphysical vistas. A guru must be on intimate
terms indeed with the Creator before he can obligate Him to appear!
I sensed Sri Yukteswar's divine unity, and was determined, as his
disciple, to press my advantage.

"You are of exacting disposition!" Then Master's consent rang out
with compassionate finality:

"Let your wish be my wish."

Lifelong shadow lifted from my heart; the vague search, hither and
yon, was over. I had found eternal shelter in a true guru.

"Come; I will show you the hermitage." Master rose from his tiger
mat. I glanced about me; my gaze fell with astonishment on a wall
picture, garlanded with a spray of jasmine.

"Lahiri Mahasaya!"

"Yes, my divine guru." Sri Yukteswar's tone was reverently vibrant.
"Greater he was, as man and yogi, than any other teacher whose life
came within the range of my investigations."

Silently I bowed before the familiar picture. Soul-homage sped to
the peerless master who, blessing my infancy, had guided my steps
to this hour.

Led by my guru, I strolled over the house and its grounds.
Large, ancient and well-built, the hermitage was surrounded by a
massive-pillared courtyard. Outer walls were moss-covered; pigeons
fluttered over the flat gray roof, unceremoniously sharing the
ashram quarters. A rear garden was pleasant with jackfruit, mango,
and plantain trees. Balustraded balconies of upper rooms in the
two-storied building faced the courtyard from three sides. A spacious
ground-floor hall, with high ceiling supported by colonnades, was
used, Master said, chiefly during the annual festivities of DURGAPUJA.
{FN12-1} A narrow stairway led to Sri Yukteswar's sitting room,
whose small balcony overlooked the street. The ashram was plainly
furnished; everything was simple, clean, and utilitarian. Several
Western styled chairs, benches, and tables were in evidence.

Master invited me to stay overnight. A supper of vegetable curry was
served by two young disciples who were receiving hermitage training.

"Guruji, please tell me something of your life." I was squatting
on a straw mat near his tiger skin. The friendly stars were very
close, it seemed, beyond the balcony.

"My family name was Priya Nath Karar. I was born {FN12-2} here
in Serampore, where Father was a wealthy businessman. He left me
this ancestral mansion, now my hermitage. My formal schooling was
little; I found it slow and shallow. In early manhood, I undertook
the responsibilities of a householder, and have one daughter, now
married. My middle life was blessed with the guidance of Lahiri
Mahasaya. After my wife died, I joined the Swami Order and received
the new name of Sri Yukteswar Giri. {FN12-3} Such are my simple
annals."

Master smiled at my eager face. Like all biographical sketches,
his words had given the outward facts without revealing the inner
man.

"Guruji, I would like to hear some stories of your childhood."

"I will tell you a few-each one with a moral!" Sri Yukteswar's
eyes twinkled with his warning. "My mother once tried to frighten
me with an appalling story of a ghost in a dark chamber. I went
there immediately, and expressed my disappointment at having missed
the ghost. Mother never told me another horror-tale. Moral: Look
fear in the face and it will cease to trouble you.

"Another early memory is my wish for an ugly dog belonging to
a neighbor. I kept my household in turmoil for weeks to get that
dog. My ears were deaf to offers of pets with more prepossessing
appearance. Moral: Attachment is blinding; it lends an imaginary
halo of attractiveness to the object of desire.

"A third story concerns the plasticity of the youthful mind. I
heard my mother remark occasionally: 'A man who accepts a job under
anyone is a slave.' That impression became so indelibly fixed that
even after my marriage I refused all positions. I met expenses by
investing my family endowment in land. Moral: Good and positive
suggestions should instruct the sensitive ears of children. Their
early ideas long remain sharply etched."

Master fell into tranquil silence. Around midnight he led me to
a narrow cot. Sleep was sound and sweet the first night under my
guru's roof.

Sri Yukteswar chose the following morning to grant me his KRIYA YOGA
initiation. The technique I had already received from two disciples
of Lahiri Mahasaya-Father and my tutor, Swami Kebalananda-but in
Master's presence I felt transforming power. At his touch, a great
light broke upon my being, like glory of countless suns blazing
together. A flood of ineffable bliss, overwhelming my heart to an
innermost core, continued during the following day. It was late
that afternoon before I could bring myself to leave the hermitage.

"You will return in thirty days." As I reached my Calcutta home,
the fulfillment of Master's prediction entered with me. None of my
relatives made the pointed remarks I had feared about the reappearance
of the "soaring bird."

I climbed to my little attic and bestowed affectionate glances,
as though on a living presence. "You have witnessed my meditations,
and the tears and storms of my SADHANA. Now I have reached the
harbor of my divine teacher."

"Son, I am happy for us both." Father and I sat together in the
evening calm. "You have found your guru, as in miraculous fashion
I once found my own. The holy hand of Lahiri Mahasaya is guarding
our lives. Your master has proved no inaccessible Himalayan saint,
but one near-by. My prayers have been answered: you have not in
your search for God been permanently removed from my sight."

Father was also pleased that my formal studies would be resumed;
he made suitable arrangements. I was enrolled the following day at
the Scottish Church College in Calcutta.

Happy months sped by. My readers have doubtless made the perspicacious
surmise that I was little seen in the college classrooms. The
Serampore hermitage held a lure too irresistible. Master accepted
my ubiquitous presence without comment. To my relief, he seldom
referred to the halls of learning. Though it was plain to all that
I was never cut out for a scholar, I managed to attain minimum
passing grades from time to time.

Daily life at the ashram flowed smoothly, infrequently varied. My
guru awoke before dawn. Lying down, or sometimes sitting on the bed,
he entered a state of SAMADHI. {FN12-4} It was simplicity itself
to discover when Master had awakened: abrupt halt of stupendous
snores. {FN12-5} A sigh or two; perhaps a bodily movement. Then a
soundless state of breathlessness: he was in deep yogic joy.

Breakfast did not follow; first came a long walk by the Ganges.
Those morning strolls with my guru-how real and vivid still! In
the easy resurrection of memory, I often find myself by his side:
the early sun is warming the river. His voice rings out, rich with
the authenticity of wisdom.

A bath; then the midday meal. Its preparation, according to Master's
daily directions, had been the careful task of young disciples. My
guru was a vegetarian. Before embracing monkhood, however, he had
eaten eggs and fish. His advice to students was to follow any simple
diet which proved suited to one's constitution.

Master ate little; often rice, colored with turmeric or juice of
beets or spinach and lightly sprinkled with buffalo GHEE or melted
butter. Another day he might have lentil-DHAL or CHANNA {FN12-6}
curry with vegetables. For dessert, mangoes or oranges with rice
pudding, or jackfruit juice.

Visitors appeared in the afternoons. A steady stream poured from
the world into the hermitage tranquillity. Everyone found in Master
an equal courtesy and kindness. To a man who has realized himself
as a soul, not the body or the ego, the rest of humanity assumes
a striking similarity of aspect.

The impartiality of saints is rooted in wisdom. Masters have escaped
MAYA; its alternating faces of intellect and idiocy no longer cast
an influential glance. Sri Yukteswar showed no special consideration
to those who happened to be powerful or accomplished; neither did
he slight others for their poverty or illiteracy. He would listen
respectfully to words of truth from a child, and openly ignore a
conceited pundit.

[Illustration: My Master, Sri Yukteswar, Disciple of Lahiri
Mahasaya--see yukteswar.jpg]

Eight o'clock was the supper hour, and sometimes found lingering
guests. My guru would not excuse himself to eat alone; none left his
ashram hungry or dissatisfied. Sri Yukteswar was never at a loss,
never dismayed by unexpected visitors; scanty food would emerge
a banquet under his resourceful direction. Yet he was economical;
his modest funds went far. "Be comfortable within your purse,"
he often said. "Extravagance will buy you discomfort." Whether in
the details of hermitage entertainment, or his building and repair
work, or other practical concerns, Master manifested the originality
of a creative spirit.

Quiet evening hours often brought one of my guru's discourses,
treasures against time. His every utterance was measured and chiseled
by wisdom. A sublime self-assurance marked his mode of expression:
it was unique. He spoke as none other in my experience ever spoke.
His thoughts were weighed in a delicate balance of discrimination
before he permitted them an outward garb. The essence of truth,
all-pervasive with even a physiological aspect, came from him like
a fragrant exudation of the soul. I was conscious always that I
was in the presence of a living manifestation of God. The weight
of his divinity automatically bowed my head before him.

If late guests detected that Sri Yukteswar was becoming engrossed
with the Infinite, he quickly engaged them in conversation. He was
incapable of striking a pose, or of flaunting his inner withdrawal.
Always one with the Lord, he needed no separate time for communion.
A self-realized master has already left behind the stepping stone
of meditation. "The flower falls when the fruit appears." But saints
often cling to spiritual forms for the encouragement of disciples.

As midnight approached, my guru might fall into a doze with the
naturalness of a child. There was no fuss about bedding. He often
lay down, without even a pillow, on a narrow davenport which was
the background for his customary tiger-skin seat.

A night-long philosophical discussion was not rare; any disciple
could summon it by intensity of interest. I felt no tiredness then,
no desire for sleep; Master's living words were sufficient. "Oh,
it is dawn! Let us walk by the Ganges." So ended many of my periods
of nocturnal edification.

My early months with Sri Yukteswar culminated in a useful lesson-"How
to Outwit a Mosquito." At home my family always used protective
curtains at night. I was dismayed to discover that in the Serampore
hermitage this prudent custom was honored in the breach. Yet the
insects were in full residency; I was bitten from head to foot. My
guru took pity on me.

"Buy yourself a curtain, and also one for me." He laughed and added,
"If you buy only one, for yourself, all mosquitoes will concentrate
on me!"

I was more than thankful to comply. Every night that I spent in
Serampore, my guru would ask me to arrange the bedtime curtains.

The mosquitoes one evening were especially virulent. But Master
failed to issue his usual instructions. I listened nervously to
the anticipatory hum of the insects. Getting into bed, I threw a
propitiatory prayer in their general direction. A half hour later,
I coughed pretentiously to attract my guru's attention. I thought
I would go mad with the bites and especially the singing drone as
the mosquitoes celebrated bloodthirsty rites.

No responsive stir from Master; I approached him cautiously. He was
not breathing. This was my first observation of him in the yogic
trance; it filled me with fright.

"His heart must have failed!" I placed a mirror under his nose;
no breath-vapor appeared. To make doubly certain, for minutes I
closed his mouth and nostrils with my fingers. His body was cold
and motionless. In a daze, I turned toward the door to summon help.

"So! A budding experimentalist! My poor nose!" Master's voice was
shaky with laughter. "Why don't you go to bed? Is the whole world
going to change for you? Change yourself: be rid of the mosquito
consciousness."

Meekly I returned to my bed. Not one insect ventured near. I realized
that my guru had previously agreed to the curtains only to please
me; he had no fear of mosquitoes. His yogic power was such that
he either could will them not to bite, or could escape to an inner
invulnerability.

"He was giving me a demonstration," I thought. "That is the yogic
state I must strive to attain." A yogi must be able to pass into,
and continue in, the superconsciousness, regardless of multitudinous
distractions never absent from this earth. Whether in the buzz of
insects or the pervasive glare of daylight, the testimony of the
senses must be barred. Sound and sight come then indeed, but to
worlds fairer than the banished Eden. {FN12-7}

The instructive mosquitoes served for another early lesson at the
ashram. It was the gentle hour of dusk. My guru was matchlessly
interpreting the ancient texts. At his feet, I was in perfect peace.
A rude mosquito entered the idyl and competed for my attention. As
it dug a poisonous hypodermic needle into my thigh, I automatically
raised an avenging hand. Reprieve from impending execution! An
opportune memory came to me of one of Patanjali's yoga aphorisms-that
on AHIMSA (harmlessness).

"Why didn't you finish the job?"

"Master! Do you advocate taking life?"

"No; but the deathblow already had been struck in your mind."

"I don't understand."

"Patanjali's meaning was the removal of DESIRE to kill." Sri
Yukteswar had found my mental processes an open book. "This world
is inconveniently arranged for a literal practice of AHIMSA. Man
may be compelled to exterminate harmful creatures. He is not under
similar compulsion to feel anger or animosity. All forms of life
have equal right to the air of MAYA. The saint who uncovers the
secret of creation will be in harmony with its countless bewildering
expressions. All men may approach that understanding who curb the
inner passion for destruction."

"Guruji, should one offer himself a sacrifice rather than kill a
wild beast?"

"No; man's body is precious. It has the highest evolutionary
value because of unique brain and spinal centers. These enable the
advanced devotee to fully grasp and express the loftiest aspects
of divinity. No lower form is so equipped. It is true that one
incurs the debt of a minor sin if he is forced to kill an animal or
any living thing. But the VEDAS teach that wanton loss of a human
body is a serious transgression against the karmic law."

I sighed in relief; scriptural reinforcement of one's natural
instincts is not always forthcoming.

It so happened that I never saw Master at close quarters with a
leopard or a tiger. But a deadly cobra once confronted him, only
to be conquered by my guru's love. This variety of snake is much
feared in India, where it causes more than five thousand deaths
annually. The dangerous encounter took place at Puri, where Sri
Yukteswar had a second hermitage, charmingly situated near the Bay
of Bengal. Prafulla, a young disciple of later years, was with
Master on this occasion.

"We were seated outdoors near the ashram," Prafulla told me. "A
cobra appeared near-by, a four-foot length of sheer terror. Its
hood was angrily expanded as it raced toward us. My guru gave a
welcoming chuckle, as though to a child. I was beside myself with
consternation to see Master engage in a rhythmical clapping of
hands. {FN12-8} He was entertaining the dread visitor! I remained
absolutely quiet, inwardly ejaculating what fervent prayers I could
muster. The serpent, very close to my guru, was now motionless,
seemingly magnetized by his caressing attitude. The frightful hood
gradually contracted; the snake slithered between Master's feet
and disappeared into the bushes.

"Why my guru would move his hands, and why the cobra would not
strike them, were inexplicable to me then," Prafulla concluded. "I
have since come to realize that my divine master is beyond fear of
hurt from any living creature."

One afternoon during my early months at the ashram, found Sri
Yukteswar's eyes fixed on me piercingly.

"You are too thin, Mukunda."

His remark struck a sensitive point. That my sunken eyes and
emaciated appearance were far from my liking was testified to by
rows of tonics in my room at Calcutta. Nothing availed; chronic
dyspepsia had pursued me since childhood. My despair reached an
occasional zenith when I asked myself if it were worth-while to
carry on this life with a body so unsound.

"Medicines have limitations; the creative life-force has none.
Believe that: you shall be well and strong."

Sri Yukteswar's words aroused a conviction of personally-applicable
truth which no other healer-and I had tried many!-had been able to
summon within me.

Day by day, behold! I waxed. Two weeks after Master's hidden
blessing, I had accumulated the invigorating weight which eluded
me in the past. My persistent stomach ailments vanished with
a lifelong permanency. On later occasions I witnessed my guru's
instantaneous divine healings of persons suffering from ominous
disease-tuberculosis, diabetes, epilepsy, or paralysis. Not one
could have been more grateful for his cure than I was at sudden
freedom from my cadaverous aspect.

"Years ago, I too was anxious to put on weight," Sri Yukteswar told
me. "During convalescence after a severe illness, I visited Lahiri
Mahasaya in Benares.

"'Sir, I have been very sick and lost many pounds.'

"'I see, Yukteswar, {FN12-9} you made yourself unwell, and now you
think you are thin.'

"This reply was far from the one I had expected; my guru, however,
added encouragingly:

"'Let me see; I am sure you ought to feel better tomorrow.'

"Taking his words as a gesture of secret healing toward my receptive
mind, I was not surprised the next morning at a welcome accession
of strength. I sought out my master and exclaimed exultingly, 'Sir,
I feel much better today.'

"'Indeed! Today you invigorate yourself.'

"'No, master!' I protested. 'It was you who helped me; this is the
first time in weeks that I have had any energy.'

"'O yes! Your malady has been quite serious. Your body is frail
yet; who can say how it will be tomorrow?'

"The thought of possible return of my weakness brought me a shudder
of cold fear. The following morning I could hardly drag myself to
Lahiri Mahasaya's home.

"'Sir, I am ailing again.'

"My guru's glance was quizzical. 'So! Once more you indispose
yourself.'

"'Gurudeva, I realize now that day by day you have been ridiculing
me.' My patience was exhausted. 'I don't understand why you disbelieve
my truthful reports.'

"'Really, it has been your thoughts that have made you feel
alternately weak and strong.' My master looked at me affectionately.
'You have seen how your health has exactly followed your expectations.
Thought is a force, even as electricity or gravitation. The human
mind is a spark of the almighty consciousness of God. I could show
you that whatever your powerful mind believes very intensely would
instantly come to pass.'

"Knowing that Lahiri Mahasaya never spoke idly, I addressed him
with great awe and gratitude: 'Master, if I think I am well and
have regained my former weight, shall that happen?'

"'It is so, even at this moment.' My guru spoke gravely, his gaze
concentrated on my eyes.

"Lo! I felt an increase not alone of strength but of weight. Lahiri
Mahasaya retreated into silence. After a few hours at his feet, I
returned to my mother's home, where I stayed during my visits to
Benares.

"'My son! What is the matter? Are you swelling with dropsy?' Mother
could hardly believe her eyes. My body was now of the same robust
dimensions it had possessed before my illness.

"I weighed myself and found that in one day I had gained fifty
pounds; they remained with me permanently. Friends and acquaintances
who had seen my thin figure were aghast with wonderment. A number
of them changed their mode of life and became disciples of Lahiri
Mahasaya as a result of this miracle.

"My guru, awake in God, knew this world to be nothing but an objectivized
dream of the Creator. Because he was completely aware of his unity
with the Divine Dreamer, Lahiri Mahasaya could materialize or
dematerialize or make any change he wished in the cosmic vision.
{FN12-10}

"All creation is governed by law," Sri Yukteswar concluded. "The ones
which manifest in the outer universe, discoverable by scientists,
are called natural laws. But there are subtler laws ruling the
realms of consciousness which can be known only through the inner
science of yoga. The hidden spiritual planes also have their
natural and lawful principles of operation. It is not the physical
scientist but the fully self-realized master who comprehends the
true nature of matter. Thus Christ was able to restore the servant's
ear after it had been severed by one of the disciples." {FN12-11}

Sri Yukteswar was a peerless interpreter of the scriptures. Many of
my happiest memories are centered in his discourses. But his jeweled
thoughts were not cast into ashes of heedlessness or stupidity. One
restless movement of my body, or my slight lapse into absent-mindedness,
sufficed to put an abrupt period to Master's exposition.

"You are not here." Master interrupted himself one afternoon with
this disclosure. As usual, he was keeping track of my attention
with a devastating immediacy.

"Guruji!" My tone was a protest. "I have not stirred; my eyelids
have not moved; I can repeat each word you have uttered!"

"Nevertheless you were not fully with me. Your objection forces me
to remark that in your mental background you were creating three
institutions. One was a sylvan retreat on a plain, another on a
hilltop, a third by the ocean."

Those vaguely formulated thoughts had indeed been present almost
subconsciously. I glanced at him apologetically.

"What can I do with such a master, who penetrates my random musings?"

[Illustration: Main building at the Mount Washington Estates in
Los Angeles, established in 1925 as American headquarters for the
Self-Realization Fellowship.--see mtwash.jpg]

[Illustration: Self-Realization Church of All Religions, Hollywood,
California.--see hollywood.jpg]

"You have given me that right. The subtle truths I am expounding
cannot be grasped without your complete concentration. Unless
necessary I do not invade the seclusion of others' minds. Man has
the natural privilege of roaming secretly among his thoughts. The
unbidden Lord does not enter there; neither do I venture intrusion."

"You are ever welcome, Master!"

"Your architectural dreams will materialize later. Now is the time
for study!"

Thus incidentally my guru revealed in his simple way the coming of
three great events in my life. Since early youth I had had enigmatic
glimpses of three buildings, each in a different setting. In the
exact sequence Sri Yukteswar had indicated, these visions took
ultimate form. First came my founding of a boys' yoga school on a
Ranchi plain, then my American headquarters on a Los Angeles hilltop,
finally a hermitage in southern California by the vast Pacific.

Master never arrogantly asserted: "I prophesy that such and such
an event shall occur!" He would rather hint: "Don't you think it
may happen?" But his simple speech hid vatic power. There was no
recanting; never did his slightly veiled words prove false.

Sri Yukteswar was reserved and matter-of-fact in demeanor. There
was naught of the vague or daft visionary about him. His feet
were firm on the earth, his head in the haven of heaven. Practical
people aroused his admiration. "Saintliness is not dumbness! Divine
perceptions are not incapacitating!" he would say. "The active
expression of virtue gives rise to the keenest intelligence."

In Master's life I fully discovered the cleavage between spiritual
realism and the obscure mysticism that spuriously passes as
a counterpart. My guru was reluctant to discuss the superphysical
realms. His only "marvelous" aura was one of perfect simplicity.
In conversation he avoided startling references; in action he was
freely expressive. Others talked of miracles but could manifest
nothing; Sri Yukteswar seldom mentioned the subtle laws but secretly
operated them at will.

"A man of realization does not perform any miracle until he
receives an inward sanction," Master explained. "God does not wish
the secrets of His creation revealed promiscuously. {FN12-12} Also,
every individual in the world has inalienable right to his free
will. A saint will not encroach upon that independence."

The silence habitual to Sri Yukteswar was caused by his deep
perceptions of the Infinite. No time remained for the interminable
"revelations" that occupy the days of teachers without self-realization.
"In shallow men the fish of little thoughts cause much commotion.
In oceanic minds the whales of inspiration make hardly a ruffle."
This observation from the Hindu scriptures is not without discerning
humor.

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