Autobiography of a Yogi Part 21
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-a.s.surance 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 G.o.d. 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 antic.i.p.atory 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 pa.s.s into, and continue in, the superconsciousness, regardless of mult.i.tudinous 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 pa.s.sion 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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. what fervent prayers I could muster. The serpent, very close to my guru, was now motionless, seemingly magnetized by his caressing att.i.tude. 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 acc.u.mulated 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 G.o.d. I could show you that whatever your powerful mind believes very intensely would instantly come to pa.s.s.'
"Knowing that Lahiri Mahasaya never spoke idly, I addressed him with great awe and grat.i.tude: 'Master, if I think I am well and have regained my former weight, shall that happen?'