Autobiography of a Yogi. Paramahansa YoganandaЧитать онлайн книгу.
flashed of the Instant Beneficence: my healing of deadly cholera through appeal to Lahiri Mahasaya's picture; the playful gift of the two kites on the Lahore roof with Uma; the opportune amulet amidst my discouragement; the decisive message through the unknown Benares sadhu outside the compound of the pundit's home; the vision of Divine Mother and Her majestic words of love; Her swift heed through Master Mahasaya to my trifling embarrassments; the last-minute guidance which materialized my high school diploma; and the ultimate boon, my living Master from the mist of lifelong dreams. Never could I admit my "philosophy" unequal to any tussle on the world's harsh proving ground!
"Your willingness does you credit. I'll escort you to the train at once." Ananta turned to the openmouthed Jitendra. "You must go along as a witness and, very likely, a fellow victim!"
A half hour later Jitendra and I were in possession of one-way tickets for our impromptu trip. We submitted, in a secluded corner of the station, to a search of our persons. Ananta was quickly satisfied that we were carrying no hidden hoard; our simple dhotis 11–3 concealed nothing more than was necessary.
As faith invaded the serious realms of finance, my friend spoke protestingly. "Ananta, give me one or two rupees as a safeguard. Then I can telegraph you in case of misfortune."
"Jitendra!" My ejaculation was sharply reproachful. "I will not proceed with the test if you take any money as final security."
"There is something reassuring about the clink of coins." Jitendra said no more as I regarded him sternly.
"Mukunda, I am not heartless." A hint of humility had crept into Ananta's voice. It may be that his conscience was smiting him; perhaps for sending two insolvent boys to a strange city; perhaps for his own religious skepticism. "If by any chance or grace you pass successfully through the Brindaban ordeal, I shall ask you to initiate me as your disciple."
This promise had a certain irregularity, in keeping with the unconventional occasion. The eldest brother in an Indian family seldom bows before his juniors; he receives respect and obedience second only to a father. But no time remained for my comment; our train was at point of departure.
Jitendra maintained a lugubrious silence as our train covered the miles. Finally he bestirred himself; leaning over, he pinched me painfully at an awkward spot.
"I see no sign that God is going to supply our next meal!"
"Be quiet, doubting Thomas; the Lord is working with us."
"Can you also arrange that He hurry? Already I am famished merely at the prospect before us. I left Benares to view the Taj's mausoleum, not to enter my own!"
"Cheer up, Jitendra! Are we not to have our first glimpse of the sacred wonders of Brindaban? 11–4 I am in deep joy at thought of treading the ground hallowed by feet of Lord Krishna."
The door of our compartment opened; two men seated themselves. The next train stop would be the last.
"Young lads, do you have friends in Brindaban?" The stranger opposite me was taking a surprising interest.
"None of your business!" Rudely I averted my gaze.
"You are probably flying away from your families under the enchantment of the Stealer of Hearts. 11–5 I am of devotional temperament myself. I will make it my positive duty to see that you receive food, and shelter from this overpowering heat."
"No, sir, let us alone. You are very kind; but you are mistaken in judging us to be truants from home."
No further conversation ensued; the train came to a halt. As Jitendra and I descended to the platform, our chance companions linked arms with us and summoned a horse cab.
We alit before a stately hermitage, set amidst the evergreen trees of well-kept grounds. Our benefactors were evidently known here; a smiling lad led us without comment to a parlor. We were soon joined by an elderly woman of dignified bearing.
"Gauri Ma, the princes could not come." One of the men addressed the ashram hostess. "At the last moment their plans went awry; they send deep regrets. But we have brought two other guests. As soon as we met on the train, I felt drawn to them as devotees of Lord Krishna."
(Left to right) Jitendra Mazumdar, my companion on the "penniless test" at Brindaban; Lalit-da, my cousin; Swami Kebelananda ("Shastri Mahasaya"), my saintly Sanskrit tutor; myself, as a high school youth
Ananda Moyi Ma
the Bengali "Joy-Permeated Mother."
One of the caves occupied by Babaji in the Drongiri Mountains near Ranikhet in the Himalayas. A grandson of Lahiri Mahasaya, Ananda Mohan Lahiri (second from right, in white), and three other devotees are visiting the sacred spot.
"Good-by, young friends." Our two acquaintances walked to the door. "We shall meet again, if God be willing."
"You are welcome here." Gauri Ma smiled in motherly fashion on her two unexpected charges. "You could not have come on a better day. I was expecting two royal patrons of this hermitage. What a shame if my cooking had found none to appreciate it!"
These appetizing words had disastrous effect on Jitendra: he burst into tears. The "prospect" he had feared in Brindaban was turning out as royal entertainment; his sudden mental adjustment proved too much for him. Our hostess looked at him with curiosity, but without remark; perhaps she was familiar with adolescent quirks.
Lunch was announced; Gauri Ma led the way to a dining patio, spicy with savory odors. She vanished into an adjoining kitchen.
I had been premeditating this moment. Selecting the appropriate spot on Jitendra's anatomy, I administered a pinch as resounding as the one he had given me on the train.
"Doubting Thomas, the Lord works-in a hurry, too!"
The hostess reentered with a punkha. She steadily fanned us in the Oriental fashion as we squatted on ornate blanket-seats. Ashram disciples passed to and fro with some thirty courses. Rather than "meal," the description can only be "sumptuous repast." Since arriving on this planet, Jitendra and I had never before tasted such delicacies.
"Dishes fit for princes indeed, Honored Mother! What your royal patrons could have found more urgent than attending this banquet, I cannot imagine! You have given us a memory for a lifetime!"
Silenced as we were by Ananta's requirement, we could not explain to the gracious lady that our thanks held a double significance. Our sincerity at least was patent. We departed with her blessing and an attractive invitation to revisit the hermitage.
The heat outdoors was merciless. My friend and I made for the shelter of a lordly cadamba tree at the ashram gate. Sharp words followed; once again Jitendra was beset with misgivings.
"A fine mess you have got me into! Our luncheon was only accidental good fortune! How can we see the sights of this city, without a single pice between us? And how on earth are you going to take me back to Ananta's?"
"You forget God quickly, now that your stomach is filled." My words, not bitter, were accusatory. How short is human memory for divine favors! No man lives who has not seen certain of his prayers granted.
"I am not likely to forget my folly in venturing out with a madcap like you!"
"Be quiet, Jitendra! The same Lord who fed us will show us Brindaban, and return us to Agra."
A slight young man of pleasing