"Why are you averse to organizational work?"
Master's question startled me a bit. It is true that my private
conviction at the time was that organizations were "hornets' nests."
"It is a thankless task, sir," I answered. "No matter what the leader
does or does not, he is criticized."
"Do you want the whole divine channa (milk curd)
for yourself alone?" My guru's retort was accompanied by a stern glance.
"Could you or anyone else achieve God-contact through yoga if a line of
generous-hearted masters had not been willing to convey their knowledge
to others?" He added, "God is the Honey, organizations are the hives;
both are necessary. Any form is useless, of course, without the
spirit, but why should you not start busy hives full of the spiritual
nectar?"
His counsel moved me deeply. Although I made no outward reply, an
adamant resolution arose in my breast: I would share with my fellows, so
far as lay in my power, the unshackling truths I had learned at my
guru's feet. "Lord," I prayed, "may Thy Love shine forever on the
sanctuary of my devotion, and may I be able to awaken that Love in other
hearts."
On a previous occasion, before I had joined the monastic order, Sri
Yukteswar had made a most unexpected remark.
"How you will miss the companionship of a wife in your old age!" he
had said. "Do you not agree that the family man, engaged in useful work
to maintain his wife and children, thus plays a rewarding role in God's
eyes?"
"Sir," I had protested in alarm, "you know that my desire in this
life is to espouse only the Cosmic Beloved."
Master had laughed so merrily that I understood his observation was
made merely as a test of my faith.
"Remember," he had said slowly, "that he who discards his worldly
duties can justify himself only by assuming some kind of responsibility
toward a much larger family."
The ideal of an all-sided education for youth had always been close
to my heart. I saw clearly the arid results of ordinary instruction,
aimed only at the development of body and intellect. Moral and spiritual
values, without whose appreciation no man can approach happiness, were
yet lacking in the formal curriculum. I determined to found a school
where young boys could develop to the full stature of manhood. My first
step in that direction was made with seven children at Dihika, a small
country site in Bengal.
A year later, in 1918, through the generosity of Sir
Manindra Chandra Nundy, the Maharaja of Kasimbazar, I was able to
transfer my fast-growing group to Ranchi. This town in Bihar, about two
hundred miles from Calcutta, is blessed with one of the most healthful
climates in India. The Kasimbazar Palace at Ranchi was transformed into
the headquarters for the new school, which I called Brahmacharya
Vidyalaya1
in accordance with the educational ideals of the rishis. Their forest
ashrams had been the ancient seats of learning, secular and divine, for
the youth of India.
At Ranchi I organized an educational program for both grammar and
high school grades. It included agricultural, industrial, commercial,
and academic subjects. The students were also taught yoga concentration
and meditation, and a unique system of physical development, "Yogoda,"
whose principles I had discovered in 1916.
Realizing that man's body is like an electric battery, I
reasoned that it could be recharged with energy through the direct
agency of the human will. As no action, slight or large, is possible
without willing, man can avail himself of his prime mover, will,
to renew his bodily tissues without burdensome apparatus or mechanical
exercises. I therefore taught the Ranchi students my simple "Yogoda"
techniques by which the life force, centred in man's medulla oblongata,
can be consciously and instantly recharged from the unlimited supply of
cosmic energy.
The boys responded wonderfully to this training,
developing extraordinary ability to shift the life energy from one part
of the body to another part, and to sit in perfect poise in difficult
body postures.2
They performed feats of strength and endurance which many powerful
adults could not equal. My youngest brother, Bishnu Charan Ghosh, joined
the Ranchi school; he later became a leading physical culturist in
Bengal. He and one of his students traveled to Europe and America,
giving exhibitions of strength and skill which amazed the university
savants, including those at Columbia University in New York.
At the end of the first year at Ranchi, applications for admission
reached two thousand. But the school, which at that time was solely
residential, could accommodate only about one hundred. Instruction for
day students was soon added.
In the Vidyalaya I had to play father-mother to
the little children, and to cope with many organizational difficulties.
I often remembered Christ's words: "Verily I say unto you, There is no
man that hath left house, or brethren or sisters, or father, or mother,
or wife, or children, or lands, for my sake, and the gospel's, but he
shall receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses and brethren, and
sisters, and mothers, and children, and lands, with persecutions; and in
the world to come eternal life."
3 Sri Yukteswar had interpreted these words: "The
devotee who forgoes the life-experiences of marriage and family, and
exchanges the problems of a small household and limited activities for
the larger responsibilities of service to society in general, is
undertaking a task which is often accompanied by persecution from a
misunderstanding world, but also by a divine inner contentment."
One day my father arrived in Ranchi to bestow a paternal blessing,
long withheld because I had hurt him by refusing his offer of a position
with the Bengal-Nagpur Railway.
"Son," he said, "I am now reconciled to your choice in life. It gives
me joy to see you amidst these happy, eager youngsters; you belong here
rather than with the lifeless figures of railroad timetables." He waved
toward a group of a dozen little ones who were tagging at my heels. "I
had only eight children," he observed with twinkling eyes, "but I can
feel for you!"
With a large fruit orchard and twenty-five fertile acres at our
disposal, the students, teachers, and myself enjoyed many happy hours of
outdoor labor in these ideal surroundings. We had many pets, including a
young deer who was fairly idolized by the children. I too loved the fawn
so much that I allowed it to sleep in my room. At the light of dawn, the
little creature would toddle over to my bed for a morning caress.
One day I fed the pet earlier than usual, as I had to attend to some
business in the town of Ranchi. Although I cautioned the boys not to
feed the fawn until my return, one of them was disobedient, and gave the
baby deer a large quantity of milk. When I came back in the evening, sad
news greeted me: "The little fawn is nearly dead, through over feeding."
In tears, I placed the apparently lifeless pet on my lap. I prayed
piteously to God to spare its life. Hours later, the small creature
opened its eyes, stood up, and walked feebly. The whole school shouted
for joy.
But a deep lesson came to me that night, one I can never forget. I
stayed up with the fawn until two o'clock, when I fell asleep. The deer
appeared in a dream, and spoke to me:
"You are holding me back. Please let me go; let me go!"
"All right," I answered in the dream.
I awoke immediately, and cried out, "Boys, the deer is dying!" The
children rushed to my side.
I ran to the corner of the room where I had placed the pet. It made a
last effort to rise, stumbled toward me, then dropped at my feet, dead.
According to the mass karma which guides and regulates the destinies
of animals, the deer's life was over, and it was ready to progress to a
higher form. But by my deep attachment, which I later realized was
selfish, and by my fervent prayers, I had been able to hold it in the
limitations of the animal form from which the soul was struggling for
release. The soul of the deer made its plea in a dream because, without
my loving permission, it either would not or could not go. As soon as I
agreed, it departed.
All sorrow left me; I realized anew that God wants His children to
love everything as a part of Him, and not to feel delusively that death
ends all. The ignorant man sees only the unsurmountable wall of death,
hiding, seemingly forever, his cherished friends. But the man of
unattachment, he who loves others as expressions of the Lord,
understands that at death the dear ones have only returned for a
breathing-space of joy in Him.
The Ranchi school grew from small and simple beginnings
to an institution now well-known in India. Many departments of the
school are supported by voluntary contributions from those who rejoice
in perpetuating the educational ideals of the rishis. Under the general
name of Yogoda Sat-Sanga,4
flourishing branch schools have been established at Midnapore,
Lakshmanpur, and Puri.
The Ranchi headquarters maintains a Medical Department
where medicines and the services of doctors are supplied freely to the
poor of the locality. The number treated has averaged more than 18,000
persons a year. The Vidyalaya has made its mark, too, in Indian
competitive sports, and in the scholastic field, where many Ranchi
alumni have distinguished themselves in later university life.
The school, now in its twenty-eighth year and the center
of many activities,5
has been honored by visits of eminent men from the East and the West.
One of the earliest great figures to inspect the Vidyalaya in its
first year was Swami Pranabananda, the Benares "saint with two bodies."
As the great master viewed the picturesque outdoor classes, held under
the trees, and saw in the evening that young boys were sitting
motionless for hours in yoga meditation, he was profoundly moved.
"Joy comes to my heart," he said, "to see that Lahiri Mahasaya's
ideals for the proper training of youth are being carried on in this
institution. My guru's blessings be on it."
A young lad sitting by my side ventured to ask the great yogi a
question.
"Sir," he said, "shall I be a monk? Is my life only for God?"
Though Swami Pranabananda smiled gently, his eyes were piercing the
future.
"Child," he replied, "when you grow up, there is a beautiful bride
waiting for you." The boy did eventually marry, after having planned for
years to enter the Swami Order.
Sometime after Swami Pranabananda had visited Ranchi, I accompanied
my father to the Calcutta house where the yogi was temporarily staying.
Pranabananda's prediction, made to me so many years before, came rushing
to my mind: "I shall see you, with your father, later on."
As Father entered the swami's room, the great yogi rose from his seat
and embraced my parent with loving respect.
"Bhagabati," he said, "what are you doing about
yourself? Don't you see your son racing to the Infinite?" I blushed to
hear his praise before my father. The swami went on, "You recall how
often our blessed guru used to say: 'Banat, banat, ban jai.'6
So keep up Kriya Yoga ceaselessly, and reach the divine portals
quickly."
The body of Pranabananda, which had appeared so well and strong
during my amazing first visit to him in Benares, now showed definite
aging, though his posture was still admirably erect.
"Swamiji," I inquired, looking straight into his eyes, "please tell
me the truth: Aren't you feeling the advance of age? As the body is
weakening, are your perceptions of God suffering any diminution?"
He smiled angelically. "The Beloved is more than ever with me now."
His complete conviction overwhelmed my mind and soul. He went on, "I am
still enjoying the two pensionsone from Bhagabati here, and one from
above." Pointing his finger heavenward, the saint fell into an ecstasy,
his face lit with a divine glowan ample answer to my question.
Noticing that Pranabananda's room contained many plants and packages
of seed, I asked their purpose.
"I have left Benares permanently," he said, "and am now on my way to
the Himalayas. There I shall open an ashram for my disciples. These
seeds will produce spinach and a few other vegetables. My dear ones will
live simply, spending their time in blissful God-union. Nothing else is
necessary."
Father asked his brother disciple when he would return to Calcutta.
"Never again," the saint replied. "This year is the one in which
Lahiri Mahasaya told me I would leave my beloved Benares forever and go
to the Himalayas, there to throw off my mortal frame."
My eyes filled with tears at his words, but the swami smiled
tranquilly. He reminded me of a little heavenly child, sitting securely
on the lap of the Divine Mother. The burden of the years has no ill
effect on a great yogi's full possession of supreme spiritual powers. He
is able to renew his body at will; yet sometimes he does not care to
retard the aging process, but allows his karma to work itself out on the
physical plane, using his old body as a time-saving device to exclude
the necessity of working out karma in a new incarnation.
Months later I met an old friend, Sanandan, who was one of
Pranabananda's close disciples.
"My adorable guru is gone," he told me, amidst sobs. "He established
a hermitage near Rishikesh, and gave us loving training. When we were
pretty well settled, and making rapid spiritual progress in his company,
he proposed one day to feed a huge crowd from Rishikesh. I inquired why
he wanted such a large number.
"'This is my last festival ceremony,' he said. I did not understand
the full implications of his words.
"Pranabanandaji helped with the cooking of great amounts of food. We
fed about 2000 guests. After the feast, he sat on a high platform and
gave an inspired sermon on the Infinite. At the end, before the gaze of
thousands, he turned to me, as I sat beside him on the dais, and spoke
with unusual force.
"'Sanandan, be prepared; I am going to kick the frame.7
'
"After a stunned silence, I cried loudly, 'Master, don't do it!
Please, please, don't do it!' The crowd was tongue-tied, watching us
curiously. My guru smiled at me, but his solemn gaze was already fixed
on Eternity.
"'Be not selfish,' he said, 'nor grieve for me. I have
been long cheerfully serving you all; now rejoice and wish me Godspeed.
I go to meet my Cosmic Beloved.' In a whisper, Pranabanandaji added, 'I
shall be reborn shortly. After enjoying a short period of the Infinite
Bliss, I shall return to earth and join Babaji.8
You shall soon know when and where my soul has been encased in a new
body.'
"He cried again, 'Sanandan, here I kick the frame by the
second Kriya Yoga.'9
"He looked at the sea of faces before us, and gave a blessing.
Directing his gaze inwardly to the spiritual eye, he became immobile.
While the bewildered crowd thought he was meditating in an ecstatic
state, he had already left the tabernacle of flesh and plunged his soul
into the cosmic vastness. The disciples touched his body, seated in the
lotus posture, but it was no longer the warm flesh. Only a stiffened
frame remained; the tenant had fled to the immortal shore."
I inquired where Pranabananda was to be reborn.
"That's a sacred trust I cannot divulge to anyone," Sanandan replied.
"Perhaps you may find out some other way."
Years later I discovered from Swami Keshabananda
10 that Pranabananda, a few years after his birth in a new
body, had gone to Badrinarayan in the Himalayas, and there joined the
group of saints around the great Babaji.
1 Vidyalaya, school. Brahmacharya here refers to one of
the four stages in the Vedic plan for man's life, as comprising that of
(1) the celibate student (brahmachari); (2) the householder with worldly
responsibilities (grihastha); (3) the hermit (vanaprastha); (4) the
forest dweller or wanderer, free from all earthly concerns (sannyasi).
This ideal scheme of life, while not widely observed in modern India,
still has many devout followers. The four stages are carried out
religiously under the lifelong direction of a guru.
Back to
text
2 A number of American students also have mastered
various asanas or postures, including Bernard Cole, an instructor in Los
Angeles of the Self-Realization Fellowship teachings.
Back to
text
3 Mark 10:29-30.
Back to
text
4 Yogoda: yoga, union, harmony, equilibrium; da, that
which imparts. Sat-Sanga: sat, truth; sanga, fellowship. In the West, to
avoid the use of a Sanskrit name, the Yogoda Sat-Sanga movement has been
called the Self-Realization Fellowship.
Back to
text
5 The activities at Ranchi are described more fully in
chapter 40. The Lakshmanpur school is in the capable charge of Mr. G. C.
Dey, B.A. The medical department is ably supervised by Dr. S. N. Pal and
Sasi Bhusan Mullick.
Back to
text
6 One of Lahiri Mahasaya's favorite remarks, given as
encouragement for his students' perseverance. A free translation is:
"Striving, striving, one day behold! the Divine Goal!"
Back to
text
7 I.e., give up the body.
Back
to text
8 Lahiri Mahasaya's guru, who is still living. (See
chapter 33.)
Back
to text
9 The second Kriya, as taught by Lahiri Mahasaya,
enables the devotee that has mastered it to leave and return to the body
consciously at any time. Advanced yogis use the second Kriya technique
during the last exit of death, a moment they invariably know beforehand.
Back
to text
10 My meeting with Keshabananda is described in chapter
42.
Back to
text
