Paramahansa Yogananda

Mukunda's story begins before he was born

Mukunda’s story really begins before he was born. The date is around 1892. The scene has Mukunda’s father, Bhagabati Ghosh, as a boss and it also has his employee, Abinash, who is pleading with him to allow him to take a few days off. Bhagabati is reluctant to allow any more leave as Abinash had just returned from another vacation. Abinash wanted leave to meet his guru and Bhagabati is not impressed, “I cannot allow you any more time off, especially if you choose to run after these phony so-called holy men!” Abinash did not relent and the argument continued as both of them walked. The roadway they were walking along was lined with large trees whose branches were intertwined to form a natural canopy over them. As they passed the line of stately trees they came upon a large field that had waves of rippling grass that had turned auburn in the setting sun. Both men paused to take in the majestic scene.

Suddenly without any warning the form of Abinash’s guru, Lahri Mahasaya, appeared in front of Mukunda’s father. “Bhagabati, you are too harsh on your employee!” He said. Before Mukunda’s stunned father could respond the form of the guru disappeared! This convinced Mukunda’s father. Not only did he grant the requested leave but asked Abinash to take him to his guru.

The Prophecy

Bhagabati decided to also take his wife along to meet this great yogi and sage, Lahri Mahasaya. The two of them along with Abinash proceeded to the city of Benaras where Lahri Mahasaya lived. It so happened that they were expecting their fourth child, Mukunda, when they went to meet Lahri Mahasaya. The great sage was extremely happy that Bhagabati bought his wife along. Looking directly into her eyes he said, “My daughter, through the grace of God your son will be a prophet. He will show mankind the way to God-realization. Through his life and teachings, many people will work off the delusions of this world and find salvation. Just as the engine of the train pulls the railcars behind it, in the same manner your son will draw souls from the ordinary into the divine spheres!”

Just as the great sage, Lahri Mahasaya, had predicted a boy was born. The date was January 5, 1893. He was given the name Mukunda Lal Ghosh.

His signs of Prophecy and being spiritually advanced

From the get go Mukunda showed extraordinary devotion to all things spiritual. While other kids of his age were pestering their parents for money to buy them stuff, Mukunda was pestering his mother to make him an idol of the Divine Mother that he could install in his private altar. While other kids were spending their time and energy in academic studies and fun and games, Mukunda on the other hand wanted to spend all his time in the company of holy men.

This is illustrated via a simple incident. When Mukunda’s father was transferred to Lahore in 1902 Mukunda was only 9 years old. When they arrived in their new large home everyone ran about inspecting the different rooms and balconies. However Mukunda had no such interest. His sole interest was to find a suitable location for his altar where he could worship and meditate. He soon determined that a balcony in an upper floor would suit his purpose. Soon he had installed his idol of the Divine Mother and was quietly praying there.

Two years later there was another transfer and the family was on the move again. Mukunda’s eldest brother was about to get married and most of the family moved to Calcutta where the marriage was to be held. Meanwhile Mukunda and his father proceeded to Bareilly where he was transferred. One night Mukunda woke up in panic and began to cry. The sound of his crying woke his father and he asked Mukunda why he was upset. Mukunda told him that mother was dying and that they should immediately proceed to Calcutta if they wanted to see her before she passed away. Mukunda’s mom was in good health and there was no indication that she was even ill. Mukunda’s father dismissed the notion and ordered him back to sleep. The next morning a telegram arrived indicating that mother was seriously ill. Both father and son rushed to Calcutta but mother had already passed before they arrived. Never again would Mukunda’s father distrust his son’s intuition.

In spite of the prophecy, and even though Mukunda repeatedly showed from an early age that he was a spiritually advanced being, Mukunda’s path into deeper spirituality was anything but straightforward. It shows us, ordinary souls, that even spiritually advanced beings have to face their share of difficulties as they make spiritual progress and that we should not be daunted by the inherent problems in our own situation.

The Mystic Amulet

Fourteen months after Mother’s passing, I learned that she had left me a momentous message. Ananta was present at her deathbed and had recorded her words. Although she had asked that the disclosure be made to me in one year, my brother delayed. He was soon to leave Bareilly for Calcutta, to marry the girl Mother had chosen for him.  One evening he summoned me to his side.

“Mukunda, I have been reluctant to give you strange tidings.” Ananta’s tone held a note of resignation. “My fear was to inflame your desire to leave home. But in any case you are bristling with divine ardor. When I captured you recently on your way to the Himalayas, I came to a definite resolve. I must not further postpone the fulfillment of my solemn promise.” My brother handed me a small box, and delivered Mother’s message.

“Let these words be my final blessing, my beloved son Mukunda!” Mother had said. “The hour is here when I must relate a number of phenomenal events following your birth. I first knew your destined path when you were but a babe in my arms. I carried you then to the home of my guru in Benares. Almost hidden behind a throng of disciples, I could barely see Lahiri Mahasaya as he sat in deep meditation.

“While I patted you, I was praying that the great guru take notice and bestow a blessing. As my silent devotional demand grew in intensity, he opened his eyes and beckoned me to approach. The others made a way for me; I bowed at the sacred feet. My master seated you on his lap, placing his hand on your forehead by way of spiritually baptizing you.

“‘Little mother, thy son will be a yogi. As a spiritual engine, he will carry many souls to God’s kingdom.’

“My heart leaped with joy to find my secret prayer granted by the omniscient guru. Shortly before your birth, he had told me you would follow his path.

“Later, my son, your vision of the Great Light was known to me and your sister Roma, as from the next room we observed you motionless on the bed. Your little face was illuminated; your voice rang with iron resolve as you spoke of going to the Himalayas in quest of the Divine.

“In these ways, dear son, I came to know that your road lies far from worldly ambitions. The most singular event in my life brought further confirmation-an event which now impels my deathbed message.

“It was an interview with a sage in the Punjab. While our family was living in Lahore, one morning the servant came precipitantly into my room.

“‘Mistress, a strange sadhu is here. He insists that he “see the mother of Mukunda.”‘

“These simple words struck a profound chord within me; I went at once to greet the visitor. Bowing at his feet, I sensed that before me was a true man of God.

“‘Mother,’ he said, ‘the great masters wish you to know that your stay on earth will not be long. Your next illness shall prove to be your last.’ There was a silence, during which I felt no alarm but only a vibration of great peace. Finally he addressed me again:

 “‘You are to be the custodian of a certain silver amulet. I will not give it to you today; to demonstrate the truth in my words, the talisman shall materialize in your hands tomorrow as you meditate. On your deathbed, you must instruct your eldest son Ananta to keep the amulet for one year and then to hand it over to your second son. Mukunda will understand the meaning of the talisman from the great ones. He should receive it about the time he is ready to renounce all worldly hopes and start his vital search for God. When he has retained the amulet for some years, and when it has served its purpose, it shall vanish. Even if kept in the most secret spot, it shall return whence it came.’

“I proffered alms to the saint, and bowed before him in great reverence. Not taking the offering, he departed with a blessing. The next evening, as I sat with folded hands in meditation, a silver amulet materialized between my palms, even as the sadhu had promised. It made itself known by a cold, smooth touch. I have jealously guarded it for more than two years, and now leave it in Ananta’s keeping. Do not grieve for me, as I shall have been ushered by my great guru into the arms of the Infinite. Farewell, my child; the Cosmic Mother will protect you.”

A blaze of illumination came over me with possession of the amulet; many dormant memories awakened. The talisman, round and anciently quaint, was covered with Sanskrit characters. I understood that it came from teachers of past lives, who were invisibly guiding my steps. A further significance there was, indeed; but one does not reveal fully the heart of an amulet.

How the talisman finally vanished amidst deeply unhappy circumstances of my life; and how its loss was a herald of my gain of a guru, cannot be told in this chapter.

But the small boy, thwarted in his attempts to reach the Himalayas, daily traveled far on the wings of his amulet.

Yogananda's decision to renounce the world

From a young age Mukunda felt a relentless pressure to make spiritual progress. From early days he showed clear signs of a deep spiritual intuition and his family was aware of the prophecy that he was destined to make a bigger impact on the world stage.

Mukunda’s family was well off and the traditional path to deep spirituality lay in initiation as a monk by giving it up all. Though Mukunda was eager to jump in with both feet and renounce the world, his family was extremely reluctant to allow him to do so. The life of an ascetic monk, in India, is extremely difficult and the family was not yet willing to cast Mukunda away into the deep end of the pool.

Completing his High School

Mukunda’s restlessness to make deeper spiritual progress drove him. He attempted to run away from home, when he was 11, but his adventure was short lived and he was tracked down and escorted back. Once again, when he was 13, he attempted to run away. Again he was tracked down and his eldest brother, Ananta, went to get him back.

After he returned, Mukunda and his father reached an agreement. Mukunda would no longer attempt to run away from home and would finish his high school. In return he would be allowed to become a monk when he graduated from high school. In addition his father got him a tutor, Shastri Mahasaya (also later known as Swami Kebalananda), who had a spiritual bent. Unknown to the rest of the family when tutor and student were supposed to be studying, they were instead spending long hours together in rapt meditation! Swami Kebalananda in his own right was a very advanced saint and when Mukunda’s father later learnt about his spiritual accomplishments he was embarrassed and asked the saint’s pardon as he felt he had not shown him respect that he deserved given his high spiritual status.

Finally the day arrived in 1909, when Mukunda was 16, he graduated from high school. He had kept his side of the bargain and there would be no stopping him now. His family reluctantly allowed him to become a renunciate and move to a hermitage in Benaras. Though Mukunda had longed for this, and he looked forward to spending long hours in meditation, the life in the hermitage was not what he expected. Instead of being allowed to meditate to his heart’s content, he was saddled with duties related to running the hermitage.

Meeting his Guru - Sri Yukteshwar

One morning, as he was meditating alone in his room, he heard a female voice, “The master comes today!”

Shortly thereafter he was called to accompany one of the priest to the market to make some purchases. Their errand took them to the front of a small lane at whose far end stood a noble looking sage. The saint had an erect stature and long and curly hair. His pointed beard framed his strong face. When Mukunda saw him he felt that he had seen him before. He felt an urge to stop and talk to him, but since he and his companion were hurrying to get back to the hermitage, he continued walking. After some time as he walked away from the saint, he realized that his legs were getting heavy and it was becoming impossible for him to continue! It now became apparent to him that the saint was magnetically drawing him towards himself. Mukunda dumped the parcels he was carrying into the hands of his astonished companion and ran towards the saint. As he rushed forward he realized that he had found his Guru! When Mukunda reached the saint he fell to his feet. His head swirled with joy and he felt as if time had come to a stand still with the past, present, and future all merged into one moment. Mukunda confessed that at this point he realized that he had been associated with this man for many lifetimes before.

His Guru's orders

The name of the saint was Sri Yukteswar. He took Mukunda by his hands and led him to a house nearby. “O my own, you have come to me! How many years I have waited for you!” He told Mukunda with tears in his eyes. As they settled down, Sri Yukteswar told Mukunda, “I will give you my ashrams and all I possess!” A remarkable thing to say to somebody whom you have met just moments before! But this is not what Mukunda was looking for. He replied, “I desire only God. No other wealth has any meaning for me!”

Soon after this pleasant exchange a dispute arose between the two. Sri Yukteswar asked Mukunda to leave the hermitage and return to his home in Calcutta and join college. Mukunda was reluctant to give up his hard won freedom so easily. He had longed to be free of all burdens and spend long hours in divine communion at the feet of his guru. Instead he was being asked to give up on this dream and rejoin his family and commence his studies once more!

In spite of his reluctance, Sri Yukteswar, told Mukunda that he had to obey his orders and prophesized that within 30 days he would return back to his home. Soon circumstances conspired so that Mukunda found himself back in his home and soon he had joined college as per his Guru’s wish. His Guru knew that Mukunda was destined to play a bigger role on the world stage and wanted to make sure that he was properly educated in western style so that he would be better equipped to convey his ideas to the western world.

Initiation of Kriya Yoga

His guru was not a gentle teacher. He relentlessly went after Mukunda, attacking his bad habits and making sure that his ego was in check. Modern day gurus can hardly employ such methods but Sri Yukteswar was not out to win a popularity contest. He had a task to do. He wanted to make sure that his disciple made spiritual progress and also be ready to face the rigors of his destined stay away from home in the West.

Mukunda bore the brunt of the assault willingly, humbly deferring to his Guru. He clearly understood the spiritual worthiness of his great teacher and was happy to be learning from such a spiritual stalwart. Soon he was initiated into Kriya Yoga. Although he had been initiated twice before, once by his father and again by his tutor Shastri Mahasaya (also later known as Swami Kebalananda), the initiation by his guru immediately put him in a special place. He states, “A great light broke upon my being, like the glory of countless suns blazing together. A flood of ineffable bliss overwhelmed my heart and inner core.”

Mukunda spent increasing number of hours isolated in his room or his attic where he meditated. His family grew accustomed to his eccentric behavior and left him alone. At times he would be meditating for as long as 24 to 48 hours at a stretch.

Once when Mukunda was at home in summer holidays, he decided to play a prank before his family members. He fell down unconscious, the family members were shocked. Soon he was laid down on the floor and attempts were made to revive him. Since he showed no sign of recovering somebody started to look for his pulse. No pulse was detected nor there was any sign of a heartbeat! Alarmed at this sudden development, family members rushed out in a panic and fetched a doctor who lived in the vicinity.

When the doctor arrived he asked that Mukunda be laid on a bed. He examined Mukunda carefully and after finding no sign of life he shook his head sadly and left.

Then suddenly without warning Mukunda sat upright. He was shaking with laughter. Even as he played a prank Mukunda had demonstrated that he had reached such a state in his yoga practice that he had full control over his breath and heartbeat.

His Cosmic Consciousness

After completing two years of his college studies, Mukunda fell ill, and had to skip a year to recover his health. When he recovered he felt no desire to continue with his studies. He went to his guru with a request to drop out. “I want to spend more time with you,” He told Sri Yukteswar.

“Very well then. Join the college in Serampore,” replied his guru.

Mukunda was happy. He shifted to Serampore. He could now spend increasing amount of time with his guru and make rapid spiritual progress. But he had still not attained the higher spiritual state that he so desired. He was restless to reach there and sometimes doubts assailed that maybe he should be learning from a guru who lived and practiced in the Himalayas in some cave rather than here in a busy town. He even took leave from his guru once and went into the Himalayas in search of a renowned yogi he had heard of. But the yogi sent him back with the words, “The Himalayas in India or Tibet have no monopoly on saints. What you cannot find within, you will not find by transporting your body to the Himalayas. If you have a room where you can meditate alone in silence then that is your cave. Look no further.”

When Mukunda returned he was now cured of his lifelong thirst to mediate in a cave in the Himalayas.

“I am here, Guruji.” My shamefacedness spoke more eloquently for me.

“Let us go to the kitchen and find something to eat.” Sri Yukteswar’s manner was as casual as though hours and not days had separated us.

“Master, I must have disappointed you by my abrupt departure from my duties here; I thought you might be angry with me.”

“No, of course not! Wrath springs only from thwarted desires. I do not expect anything from others, so their actions cannot be in opposition to wishes of mine. I would not use you for my own ends; I am happy only in your own true happiness.”

“Sir, one hears of divine love in a vague way, but today I am indeed having a concrete example of it from your angelic self! In the world, even a father does not easily forgive his son if he leaves his parent’s business without warning. But you show not the slightest vexation, though you must have been put to great inconvenience by the many unfinished tasks I left behind.”

We looked into each other’s eyes, where tears were shining. A blissful wave engulfed me; I was conscious that the Lord, in the form of my guru, was expanding the small ardors of my heart into the vast reaches of cosmic love.

A few mornings later I made my way to Master’s empty sitting room. I planned to meditate, but my laudable purpose was unshared by disobedient thoughts. They scattered like birds before the hunter.

“Mukunda!” Sri Yukteswar’s voice sounded from a distant balcony.

I felt rebellious as my thoughts. “Master always urges me to meditated,” I muttered to myself. “He should not disturb me when he knows why I came to his room.”

He summoned me again; I remained obstinately silent. The third time his tone held rebuke.

“Sir, I am meditating,” I shouted protestingly.

“I know how you are meditating,” my guru called out, “with your mind distributed like leaves in a storm! Come here to me.”

Thwarted and exposed, I made my way sadly to his side.

“Poor boy, mountains cannot give you what you want.”

Master spoke caressingly, comfortingly. His calm gaze was unfathomable. “Your heart’s desire shall be fulfilled.”

Sri Yukteswar seldom indulged in riddles; I was bewildered. He struck gently on my chest above the heart.

My body became immovably rooted; breath was drawn out of my lungs as if by some huge magnet. Soul and mind instantly lost their physical bondage and streamed out like a fluid piercing light from my every pore. The flesh was as though dead, yet in my intense awareness I knew that never before had I been fully alive. My sense of identity was no longer narrowly confined to a body but embraced the circumambient atoms. People on distant streets seemed to be moving gently over my own remote periphery. The roots of plants and trees appeared through a dim transparency of the soil; I discerned the inward flow of their sap.

The whole vicinity lay bare before me. My ordinary frontal vision was now changed to a vast spherical sight, simultaneously all-perceptive. Through the back of my head I saw men strolling far down Rai Ghat Lane, and noticed also a white cow that was leisurely approaching. When she reached the open ashram gate, I observed her as though with my two physical eyes. After she had passed behind the brick wall of the courtyard, I saw her clearly still.

All objects within my panoramic gaze trembled and vibrated like quick motion pictures. My body, Master’s, the pillared courtyard, the furniture and floor, the trees and sunshine, occasionally became violently agitated, until all melted into a luminescent sea; even as sugar crystals, thrown into a glass of water, dissolve after being shaken. The unifying light alternated with materializations of form, the metamorphoses revealing the law of cause and effect in creation.

An oceanic joy broke upon calm endless shores of my soul. The Spirit of God, I realized, is exhaustless Bliss; His body is countless tissues of light. A swelling glory within me began to envelop towns, continents, the earth, solar and stellar systems, tenuous nebulae, and floating universes. The entire cosmos, gently luminous, like a city seen afar at night, glimmered within the infinitude of my being. The dazzling light beyond the sharply etched global outlines faded slightly at the farthest edges; there I saw a mellow radiance, ever undiminished. It was indescribably subtle; the planetary pictures were formed of a grosser light.

Again and again I saw the beams condense into constellations, then resolve into sheets of transparent flame. By rhythmic reversion, sextillion worlds passed into diaphanous luster, then fire became firmament.

 Soon he found his breath returned to his lungs and his communion with the Divine ended. When he opened his eyes he found Sri Yukteswar standing next to him. He immediately bowed before his guru to thank him for having given him this experience. Sri Yukteswar stood him up and told him, “You must not get over drunk with ecstasy. Much work needs to be done. Come, let us sweep the balcony floor and then we will walk by the Ganges.”

Again the master was teaching a subtle lesson. The soul may easily leap over the cosmos and dance in the glory of a divine communion but the body has to yet to perform its duties, however menial they may be.

How he was named Yogananda

Soon Mukunda graduated successfully from college and fulfilled his guru’s wishes. Though his family wished that he get married and take up a job, Mukunda resisted. To put an end to the pressure from his family he requested his guru that he initiate him as a monk. Though Sri Yukteswar never took such requests easily, in Mukunda, he found a worthy candidate and he acquiesced. Normally the guru names his disciple and gives him or her a monastic name.

However in this case Sri Yukteswar allowed Mukunda to choose his own name in a rare honor. “Yogananda” was Mukunda’s choice and after a simple ceremony Mukunda became a monk who from now on would go by the name: Swami Yogananda. He was 22 years old and already an advanced yogi. Somehow this penniless yogi in a remote corner of the world would take the world by storm in the days to come.

His Journey West

The big moment was here. This was the moment he had been preparing for all his life. A few months ago he had received an invitation to speak at the International Congress of Religious Liberals in Boston. His Guru had blessed his journey from India to US, and his father had agreed to finance it. The First World War had just ended and with this the shipping lane between India and the US was about to be reopened. In spite of the excitement of undertaking this journey to the US, Swami Yogananda, had some grave doubts. He had never lectured in English before and he was not sure how he would be received. He knew nobody in the US and he was just 27 years old.

His trip to America

Swami Yogananda decided to sit and meditate and hoped to get God’s blessings and assurances on the wisdom of undertaking this journey to the West. As hours passed in meditation, Swami Yogananda got no word from God. No indication that he was on the right track. As his desperation grew he began to meditate so deeply that he felt his head was about to split. Still there was no Divine Signal on the merit or demerit of undertaking this journey. Finally he heard a knock on his door. When he opened the door he was wonderstruck to see the great Yogi Babaji standing in front of him. “Our Heavenly Father has heard your prayer. He commands me to tell you: Follow the directions of your guru and go to America. Fear not; you will be protected.” Soon Swami Yogananda found himself on the City Of Sparta, the first passenger ship to go to America from India after the end of the First World War.

His First Speech

During the two-month voyage to America, fellow passengers soon learnt about Swami Yogananda and invited him to speak. However Swami Yogananda was so nervous about giving a lecture in English that in spite of several attempts he could not organize his thoughts or prepare a speech. Finally abandoning all efforts to be ready with a prepared speech he decided to speak extempore and showed up in front of his audience. Unfortunately he remained dumbstruck and no words came to his lips. For ten agonizing minutes he stood silent in front of his audience till finally some people in the audience began to laugh. Swami Yogananda began to pray to his Guru for help and he heard two words in his head in the voice of his Guru: “You Can!” This was enough to spur him on and he began speaking. He has no recollection of what he said that day but he spoke without stopping for 45 minutes and his speech was so inspiring that many in the audience invited him to speak at various locations in the US. Never again he would be nervous about speaking in front of an audience in English.

His means of livelihood in America

Many years earlier Swami Yogananda’s father, Bhagabati Gosh, had retired from government service. Subsequently an English auditor came to India to audit the books. What he discovered was that Bhagabati Gosh had not claimed his bonus, raise, and vacation that was due to him for the span of his entire service. In a move that was simply unprecedented and miraculous he awarded Bhagabati Gosh a sum of 125,000 Rupees in back pay. This was a huge some of money in those days and in terms of today’s dollars this was probably equivalent to half a million dollars! It was this money that financed Swami Yogananda’s journey and sustained him in the west. From 1920 to 1930 Bhagabati Gosh sent his son, Swami Yogananda, a sum of Rupees 400 every month. Probably equal to 2000 dollars in terms of today’s money.

Swami Yogananda had many wealthy disciples in the West and many were prepared to write large checks. But most such wealthy donors sought to exercise control over him in return of the money and Swami Yogananda was not prepared to compromise on this and refused such donations. This is why the money that his father sent him and the money he collected from small donors and speaking fees was instrumental in allowing him to remain independent and remain free from any undue influence.

In the 1930s the great depression hit the US economy and money became increasingly harder to come by. However Swami Yogananda acquired a truly sincere devotee, James Lynn, who was also very rich. He was willing to give his money unconditionally. Soon James Lynn took on most of the burden of financing Swami Yogananda’s activities during the great depression and there was no need for the money to be sent from India by Swami Yogananda’s family. James Lynn later become a completely self-realized master himself and took over running the organization that Swami Yogananda had created after his passing.

The Silver Cup

In late 1936 Swami Yogananda collected his disciples on Christmas day and began handing out gifts to them. When Mr. E. E. Dickenson opened his present he was struck with emotion. The only words he could utter were, “The silver cup!” Later he approached Swami Yogananda to explain his emotional reaction. “For forty-three years I have been waiting for this silver cup! It is a long story, one that I have kept hidden within me,” Mr. Dickenson told Swami Yogananda.

The beginning of the story happened when Mr. Dickenson was five year old and his older brother playfully pushed him into a small pool. Unable to swim he began to drown and it was then that he saw dazzling multicolored light fill all space. He saw a man appear in the light and gave him a reassuring smile. Just then he was able to surface and grab on to a branch of a tree that was lowered to help him. He was then pulled out and revived.

Twelve years later, at the age of seventeen he and his mom visited Chicago. The World Parliament of Religions was in session, and he and his mom were strolling down the main street. Suddenly he saw the same man he had seen in his vision while he was drowning. Before he could react the man entered the auditorium and disappeared in the crowd.

Mr. Dickenson pulled his mother along and they went to the auditorium only to find the man to be seated on the Podium. Later they learnt that this man was the great Swami Vivekananda and he was the featured speaker on that day. After his speech Mr. Dickenson rushed to meet him. He was greeted kindly, as though they were old friends. But being a young child and overcome by emotions Mr. Dickenson was unable to express himself. He was ready to accept Swami Vivekananda as his guru and follow him. But Swami Vivekananda read his thoughts and told him, “No my son, I am not your guru. Your guru will come later and he will give you a silver cup.” They soon parted company and Mr. Dickenson never saw Swami Vivekananda again.

In 1925 Mr. Dickenson had another vision that the following day he would meet his guru. The next day he attended a lecture and was enraptured by the speaker, Swami Yogananda. Since then he accepted him as his guru. But secretly he waited for the confirmation in the form of a silver cup that Swami Vivekananda had prophesized. For eleven years he had waited and finally that Christmas the prophecy was fulfilled. The two greatest yoga masters ever to have visited the West were linked together by Mr. Dickenson and the story of this remarkable silver cup.

Swami Vivekananda was perhaps the first realized master from India to visit the US. On the other hand Swami Yogananda was the first realized master from India who lived in the US for an extended period in the US and who passed away in the US.

His return to India

As Swami Yogananda sat in meditation at the Mr. Washington headquarters he heard his guru’s voice in his inner ear, “Return to India. I have waited patiently for fifteen years. Soon I shall swim out of the body and on to the Shining Abode. Yogananda come!”

Treating his master’s wish as his command, Swami Yogananda made immediate arrangements for his departure to India and soon set sail to India via Europe. Soon he arrived in India with a small group and then went to Calcutta by train.

The time then arrived for an epic meeting of Swami Yogananda and his guru the great Swami Sri Yukteswar. With tears in his eyes Swami Yogananda bowed before his guru and touched his feet. Soon the two men embraced. Both had tears in their eyes and were speechless with emotion for many minutes.

His Last meeting with His Guru

It was very clear that Sri Yukteswar was making arrangements for his final departure. He transferred all his property and ashrams to Swami Yogananda. One day he called Swami Yogananda into his presence and in a simple ceremony bestowed the title of “Paramahamsa” on him.

From now on Swami Yogananda would be known as Paramahamsa Yogananda. This title is bestowed only to those who have reached the highest state of permanent bliss and communion with the Divine.

More important for Paramahamsa Yogananda was the short conversation that happened shortly before the ceremony.

What is the question?” Asked Swami Sri Yukteswar.

Guruji, I came to you as a high-school youth, now I am a grown man, even with a gray hair or two. Though you have showered me with silent affection from the first hour to this, do you realize that once only, on the day of first meeting, have you ever said, “I love you”?” Yogananda told his Guru, anxious to hear from his Guru’s mouth a direct affirmation of his love for him.

Swami Yukteswar was a stern disciplinarian, not easily given to emotional talk. He lowered his gaze and said, “Yogananda, must I bring out into the cold realms of speech the warm sentiments best guarded by the wordless heart?

He then continued, “During my married life I often yearned for a son, to train in the yogic path. But when you came in my life, I was content; in you I have found my son.” Two clear teardrops stood in Sri Yukteswar’s eyes. He then said the words Yogananda was aching to hear, “Yogananda, I love you, always.

This touching exchange shows that the power of love does not leave even advanced sages untouched.

The Final Departure

In spite of all clear signs that Sri Yukteswar was providing, Paramahamsa Yogananda could not bring himself to accept that these were the final few days on earth for his guru. He proceeded on to a fruitless journey to Allahabad to witness the kumbha mela a gathering of millions on the bank of Ganges. On his return he learnt that his guru was making final preparations to depart from his body, and that he should proceed immediately to Puri where his guru was. Even then he hesitated as he knew in his heart that if he would be beside his guru, that out of his infinite devotion and love for his guru, he would hinder rather than help him in his final task. He delayed his journey to his guru by a day, and that night as he sat in the train speeding towards Puri, he realized that his guru had just passed away by voluntarily giving up his life using a special Yogic technique.

On reaching his guru’s ashram he proceeded to the room where his master’s body was placed in a sitting lotus posture. He could not believe that the form of guru in front of him did not contain any life. His skin was still smooth and soft; and his face had an expression of quiet tranquility. “The Lion of Bengal is gone!” he remarked.

He then knew that his task here in India was done. There was now nothing further remaining to be done in India except taking care of a few administrative and legal tasks. In a few months he would return back to the US never again to set foot on the land of his birth.

His Last Years in America

When Paramahamsa Yogananda reached US after completing a successful trip to India and Europe, a banquet was organized to celebrate his return. This was 1937 and the venue was in Los Angeles, California. The speaker was James Lynn, Paramahamsa Yogananda’s foremost western disciple and a self-made multi-millionaire.

Paramahamsa Yogananda had so far maintained a hectic schedule of nationwide and worldwide touring and lecturing. He now slowly began to withdraw from this and began to devote time to writing so that his message would carry to future generations. In 1946 the Autobiography Of A Yogi was published and immediately became a bestseller. It has since sold 4 Million copies and even today sales are quite strong. It has been published in 27 languages. The book is now widely considered as a modern spiritual classic.

His Awe-inspiring states of Samadhi

In June of 1948 Paramahamsa Yogananda passed through a series of most awe-inspiring states of Samadhi that his disciples ever witnessed. Each of his disciples was summoned telepathically and he then sat in the chair. “I am not sure what is happening to me!” He said. He became very withdrawn as he usually became when he went into a state of Samadhi and said, “Divine Mother is calling me from within. I am not sure if She is going to take me from this body.” He then entered into a deep communion with the Divine Mother of the Universe. As she appeared before his inward vision, he pored out his heart into Her. He asked Her many questions and even laid out his grievances. She comforted him tenderly and answered his questions. His devotees could hear the conversation as it occurred in two voices. One was his voice and the other voice was that of the Divine Mother. His devotees were simply awestruck, as they had never witnessed anything of such magnitude. The vision started in the late evening and went on for the entire night. Many feared that his exit from the body was eminent. Later he confided that he had hoped that the beloved mother would take him. “It was all so perfect!” he said wistfully.

He was never the same again. It was as if he had entered a new deeper level and became increasingly withdrawn and stopped giving his regular speeches. His last few years were spent in intense effort in writing. He hardly slept at all and even his eating became sparse and erratic. He wrote voluminous commentaries on the Bhagavad Gita and the teachings of Jesus Christ in the four gospels. He also went through his earlier works and revised them. The Self Realization Fellowship Lessons that are even now available as a mail order course were also revised.

Planning his final exit

In early 1952 he began giving subtle hints that he was planning his final exit. Most of his devotees did not understand the significance of his words at that time. Only later they could understand what he had been trying to communicate. The newly appointed ambassador of a newly independent India arrived in the US and paid a visit to Paramahamsa Yogananda. A banquet was organized to welcome the ambassador on 7th March 1952 in the Biltimore Hotel in Los Angeles. After several dignitaries spoke, Paramahamsa Yogananda rose to give a brief speech. Very few in the audience realized that this were the final moments of Paramahamsa Yogananda on earth. In his final speech he referred to the importance of the work done by Mahatma Gandhi, in the aftermath of the just concluded World War II:

“I remember my meeting with Mahatma Gandhi. The great prophet brought a practical method for peace to the warring modern world. Gandhi, who for the first time applied Christ’s principles to politics and who won freedom for India, gave an example that should be followed by all nations to solve their troubles.”

His dream of inter-mixing India and US Cultures

It was Paramahamsa Yogananda’s dream to create a new culture that would take the best from the inter-mixing of the cultural streams of India and US.

In the later part of his speech he said, One morning I was passing by an empty field next to a store. That evening, as I passed the same way again, I saw a house standing the field. I inquired of a man if the house had been there in the morning. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘they just put it up.’ When I think of such energy, I like to be an American. But when I hear of so many American millionaires who die prematurely after making a business success, then I like to a Hindu- to sit on the bank of the Ganges and concentrate on the factory of Mind from which spiritual skyscrapers can come, and to think of the great masters of India who are her perennial glory. Somewhere between the two great civilizations of efficient America and spiritual India lies the answer for model world civilization.

Paramahamsa Yogananda was proud that he was born as an Indian, and was proud to be welcoming the ambassador of free India. He concluded his speech with his poem “My India”. The last two lines of his poem were:

“Where Ganges, woods, Himalayan caves, and men dream God- I am hallowed; my body touched that sod.”

He then rolled his eyes upwards, entered into a final Samadhi, slid to the ground with a beatific smile on his face, and passed away right in front of a stunned audience of more than 100 dignitaries.

A life that was dedicated to demonstrate and spread the idea of self-realization. The idea that one could achieve divine union through self-effort not dependent on theological belief or the arbitrary will of a Cosmic Dictator.

Yogananda and the Young Deer

When Paramhansa Yogananda was in his late 20’s he established a residential school in a palace donated by the Maharaja of Kasimbazar. The palace came with 25 acres of land that had fruit orchards and wildlife. This school held its classes outdoors weather permitting. Besides normal school curriculum it also taught students a form of physical yoga-postures that Yogananda devised himself and called “yogoda”.

A young deer soon became the favorite pet of the students. Even Yogananda loved the fawn and allowed it to sleep in his room. One day he learnt that the fawn was terribly ill. Upset about this he kept the fawn in his lap and went into deep meditation. After hours of deep meditation the fawn seem to revive and began walking around feebly. A cry of joy went up with the student community and everybody thought that the fawn had turned the corner

That night the fawn came to Yogananda in his dream and said, “You are holding me back! Please let me go!” In his dream Yogananda answered, “All right.”

Yogananda woke up with a start and realized his mistake. He knew that he had to allow the fawn to move on. He immediately woke up the boys in the dorm and announced that the fawn was dying. They all gathered around it. The fawn struggled up and tottered towards Yogananda, collapsed, and died at his feet.

 This incident cast a deep impression on Yogananda. He realized that his love for the fawn was holding it back and preventing the natural evolution of its soul. From now on he no longer viewed death as a calamity. Instead he saw death as part of normal cycle through which a soul evolves. He now saw that ignorance of our true nature causes us to be deluded with the idea that death ends it all.

This story has useful lessons for us too. In our delusion and love there are times when we too try and hold back our loved ones and prevent them from moving on. It is the purpose of yoga to free us from such delusions and know our true nature. This direct experience of our deeper Self then gives us the wisdom to view birth and death as part of a natural cycle of an evolving soul.

The Vision of Kali

Even though Kali is normally depicted in painting and statue with a specific form, features, and personality, She can take on any form. In Yogananda’s vision she was “beautiful.”

Mukunda worshiped God especially in the form of Mother of the Universe. Because his friends knew this was the focus for his devotion, they would happily bring him news of any new Kali temple they found in the vicinity. One day they came to him bearing tidings of a new temple.

Mukunda smiled. “You all go, if you like. This evening I prefer to stay home.”

“Stay home! But why?”

Mukunda only smiled. His friends went to the temple, prostrated themselves before the image it held of the Divine Mother, and chanted a few devotional songs. Their hearts were uplifted, but the upliftment lasted only for that evening.

At home, Mukunda went up to his attic room. Temples, too, have value, primarily as aids to bringing people’s devotion to a focus. But Mukunda’s devotion had long since achieved that focus at the point of superconscious ecstasy in the forehead—that is to say, in the frontal lobe of the brain behind that point.

Mother with lotus feet!” he prayed. “Mother with hair spreading out over all creation! O Mother, come to me! Mother, your smile twinkles in a million stars. O Divine Mother, tear asunder this veil of darkness which hides You from me!”

Long he called to Her. Years earlier, when he had lost his earthly mother, his aching love for her had been redirected to the Divine Mother of the Universe. (Wise Child! Instead of grieving over our earthly losses, we should direct our love to God, where every pain becomes a blessing.) And now at last that Mother of all mothers had appeared to him!

“Kali!” he whispered. “Mother Kali, You have come! Oh, how beautiful You are! Mother, may my life be a song of constant love for Thee!”

The Divine Mother smiled. “Your prayer is granted, My child. Though you shall have to travel far, and bring many souls to My all-sheltering arms, in your heart of hearts you will always be at rest in My formless presence. And as often as you call to Me, whenever you desire it, so often shall I appear before you in this form.”

Mukunda (Yogananda) called Kali, when seen in vision, “beautiful.” But certainly the images presented of Her are anything but that. She is depicted with four arms, a garland of skulls, her hair unkempt and straggling out in all directions, her tongue lolling out of Her mouth, standing (as if in triumph, as the Westerner would perceive her) on the prostrate form of Her husband, Shiva. All this, however, is deeply symbolic. The English thought of Her as the goddess of death, the form worshiped by Thuggees (a band of criminal assassins). Yogananda explained this symbolism to us:

'Kali represents Mother Nature. Her four arms symbolize Creation, Preservation, and Destruction, the fourth depicting the gift of salvation to those who go beyond Nature to the heart of Infinity. The garland of skulls signifies Her divine omnipresence in all human minds. Why skulls? Because all human life is temporary. Her hair streaming outward signifies God’s energy reaching out through all Creation. In Her dance, the rhythmic steps signify the vibratory nature of Creation. Her husband Shiva is depicted as lying prostrate, because God the Father, the Eternal Spirit, is beyond Creation, beyond all vibration, alive in the vibrationless void of Brahman (Spirit).

Kali’s dance ceases when Her light footsteps touch the breast of the Infinite. The reason She is shown with Her tongue out is that She suddenly realizes She has gone too far! Finitude cannot penetrate into the heart of Infinity.'

In India, one bites his tongue, sticking it out a little beyond the teeth, when he is conscious of having made a mistake. Even in Western countries, this is a common, instinctive gesture.

Needless to say, many Indians, too, fail to understand this deep symbolism, and assume that Kali’s tongue is lolling out in blood lust; that her streaming hair suggests almost a harridan raging about to find whom she may devour next. The garland of skulls suggests to them, again, blood lust. And the four arms seem to serve no purpose at all. Her position, standing on Shiva’s breast, is taken for a posture of victory.

Indian images of God are often deliberately not beautiful, in order that the devotee may not be deluded into thinking that any image can ever define the Infinite. The images of Kali are certainly not beautiful. Yet She has been worshipped by many great saints and masters, including Yogananda and Sri Ramakrishna.

The Transformation of his Brother in Law

“As a loyal Hindu wife, I do not wish to complain of my husband. But I yearn to see him turn from his materialistic views. He delights in ridiculing the pictures of saints in my meditation room. Dear brother, I have deep faith that you can help him. Will you?”

My eldest sister Roma gazed beseechingly at me. I was paying a short visit at her Calcutta home on Girish Vidyaratna Lane. Her plea touched me, for she had exercised a profound spiritual influence over my early life, and had lovingly tried to fill the void left in the family circle by Mother’s death.

“Beloved sister, of course I will do anything I can.” I smiled, eager to lift the gloom plainly visible on her face, in contrast to her usual calm and cheerful expression.

Roma and I sat awhile in silent prayer for guidance. A year earlier, my sister had asked me to initiate her into Kriya Yoga, in which she was making notable progress.

An inspiration seized me. “Tomorrow,” I said, “I am going to the Dakshineswar temple. Please come with me, and persuade your husband to accompany us. I feel that in the vibrations of that holy place, Divine Mother will touch his heart. But don’t disclose our object in wanting him to go.”

Sister agreed hopefully. Very early the next morning I was pleased to find that Roma and her husband were in readiness for the trip. As our hackney carriage rattled along Upper Circular Road toward Dakshineswar, my brother-in-law, Satish Chandra Bose, amused himself by deriding spiritual gurus of the past, present, and future. I noticed that Roma was quietly weeping.

“Sister, cheer up!” I whispered. “Don’t give your husband the satisfaction of believing that we take his mockery seriously.”

“Mukunda, how can you admire worthless humbugs?” Satish was saying. “A sadhu’s very appearance is repulsive. He is either as thin as a skeleton, or as unholily fat as an elephant!”

I shouted with laughter. My good-natured reaction was annoying to Satish; he retired into sullen silence. As our cab entered the Dakshineswar grounds, he grinned sarcastically.

“This excursion, I suppose, is a scheme to reform me?”

As I turned away without reply, he caught my arm. “Young Mr. Monk,” he said, “don’t forget to make proper arrangements with the temple authorities to provide for our noon meal.”

“I am going to meditate now. Do not worry about your lunch,” I replied sharply. “Divine Mother will look after it.”

“I don’t trust Divine Mother to do a single thing for me. But I do hold you responsible for my food.” Satish’s tones were threatening.

I proceeded alone to the colonnaded hall which fronts the large temple of Kali, or Mother Nature. Selecting a shady spot near one of the pillars, I arranged my body in the lotus posture. Although it was only about seven o’clock, the morning sun would soon be oppressive.

The world receded as I became devotionally entranced. My mind was concentrated on Goddess Kali, whose image at Dakshineswar had been the special object of adoration by the great master, Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa. In answer to his anguished demands, the stone image of this very temple had often taken a living form and conversed with him.

“Silent Mother with stony heart,” I prayed, “Thou becamest filled with life at the request of Thy beloved devotee Ramakrishna; why dost Thou not also heed the wails of this yearning son of Thine?”

My aspiring zeal increased boundlessly, accompanied by a divine peace. Yet, when five hours had passed, and the Goddess whom I was inwardly visualizing had made no response, I felt slightly disheartened. Sometimes it is a test by God to delay the fulfillment of prayers. But He eventually appears to the persistent devotee in whatever form he holds dear. A devout Christian sees Jesus; a Hindu beholds Krishna, or the Goddess Kali, or an expanding Light if his worship takes an impersonal turn.

Reluctantly I opened my eyes, and saw that the temple doors were being locked by a priest, in conformance with a noon-hour custom. I rose from my secluded seat under the open, roofed hall, and stepped into the courtyard. Its stone floor was scorching under the midday sun; my bare feet were painfully burned.

“Divine Mother,” I silently remonstrated, “Thou didst not come to me in vision, and now Thou art hidden in the temple behind closed doors. I wanted to offer a special prayer to Thee today on behalf of my brother-in-law.”

My inward petition was instantly acknowledged. First, a delightful cold wave descended over my back and under my feet, banishing all discomfort. Then, to my amazement, the temple became greatly magnified. Its large door slowly opened, revealing the stone figure of Goddess Kali. Gradually it changed into a living form, smilingly nodding in greeting, thrilling me with joy indescribable. As if by a mystic syringe, the breath was withdrawn from my lungs; my body became very still, though not inert.

An ecstatic enlargement of consciousness followed. I could see clearly for several miles over the Ganges River to my left, and beyond the temple into the entire Dakshineswar precincts. The walls of all buildings glimmered transparently; through them I observed people walking to and fro over distant acres.

Though I was breathless and my body in a strangely quiet state, yet I was able to move my hands and feet freely. For several minutes I experimented in closing and opening my eyes; in either state I saw distinctly the whole Dakshineswar panorama.

Spiritual sight, x-raylike, penetrates into all matter; the divine eye is center everywhere, circumference nowhere. I realized anew, standing there in the sunny courtyard, that when man ceases to be a prodigal child of God, engrossed in a physical world indeed dream, baseless as a bubble, he reinherits his eternal realms. If “escapism” be a need of man, cramped in his narrow personality, can any escape compare with the majesty of omnipresence?

 In my sacred experience at Dakshineswar, the only extraordinarily-enlarged objects were the temple and the form of the Goddess. Everything else appeared in its normal dimensions, although each was enclosed in a halo of mellow light—white, blue, and pastel rainbow hues. My body seemed to be of ethereal substance, ready to levitate. Fully conscious of my material surroundings, I was looking about me and taking a few steps without disturbing the continuity of the blissful vision.

Behind the temple walls I suddenly glimpsed my brother-in-law as he sat under the thorny branches of a sacred bel tree. I could effortlessly discern the course of his thoughts. Somewhat uplifted under the holy influence of Dakshineswar, his mind yet held unkind reflections about me. I turned directly to the gracious form of the Goddess.

“Divine Mother,” I prayed, “wilt Thou not spiritually change my sister’s husband?”

The beautiful figure, hitherto silent, spoke at last: “Thy wish is granted!”

I looked happily at Satish. As though instinctively aware that some spiritual power was at work, he rose resentfully from his seat on the ground. I saw him running behind the temple; he approached me, shaking his fist.

The all-embracing vision disappeared. No longer could I see the glorious Goddess; the towering temple was reduced to its ordinary size, minus its transparency. Again my body sweltered under the fierce rays of the sun. I jumped to the shelter of the pillared hall, where Satish pursued me angrily. I looked at my watch. It was one o’clock; the divine vision had lasted an hour.

“You little fool,” my brother-in-law blurted out, “you have been sitting there cross-legged and cross-eyed for six hours. I have gone back and forth watching you. Where is my food? Now the temple is closed; you failed to notify the authorities; we are left without lunch!”

The exaltation I had felt at the Goddess’ presence was still vibrant within my heart. I was emboldened to exclaim, “Divine Mother will feed us!”

Satish was beside himself with rage. “Once and for all,” he shouted, “I would like to see your Divine Mother giving us food here without prior arrangements!”

His words were hardly uttered when a temple priest crossed the courtyard and joined us.

“Son,” he addressed me, “I have been observing your face serenely glowing during hours of meditation. I saw the arrival of your party this morning, and felt a desire to put aside ample food for your lunch. It is against the temple rules to feed those who do not make a request beforehand, but I have made an exception for you.”

I thanked him, and gazed straight into Satish’s eyes. He flushed with emotion, lowering his gaze in silent repentance. When we were served a lavish meal, including out-of-season mangoes, I noticed that my brother-in-law’s appetite was meager. He was bewildered, diving deep into the ocean of thought. On the return journey to Calcutta, Satish, with softened expression, occasionally glanced at me pleadingly. But he did not speak a single word after the moment the priest had appeared to invite us to lunch, as though in direct answer to Satish’s challenge.

The following afternoon I visited my sister at her home. She greeted me affectionately.

“Dear brother,” she cried, “what a miracle! Last evening my husband wept openly before me.

“‘Beloved devi,’ he said, ‘I am happy beyond expression that this reforming scheme of your brother’s has wrought a transformation. I am going to undo every wrong I have done you. From tonight we will use our large bedroom only as a place of worship; your small meditation room shall be changed into our sleeping quarters. I am sincerely sorry that I have ridiculed your brother. For the shameful way I have been acting, I will punish myself by not talking to Mukunda until I have progressed in the spiritual path. Deeply I will seek the Divine Mother from now on; someday I must surely find Her!’”

Years later, I visited my brother-in-law in Delhi. I was overjoyed to perceive that he had developed highly in self-realization, and had been blessed by the vision of Divine Mother. During my stay with him, I noticed that Satish secretly spent the greater part of every night in divine meditation, though he was suffering from a serious ailment, and was engaged during the day at his office.

The thought came to me that my brother-in-law’s life span would not be a long one. Roma must have read my mind.

“Dear brother,” she said, “I am well, and my husband is sick. Nevertheless, I want you to know that, as a devoted Hindu wife, I am going to be the first one to die. It won’t be long now before I pass on.”

Taken aback at her ominous words, I yet realized their sting of truth. I was in America when my sister died, about a year after her prediction. My youngest brother Bishnu later gave me the details.

“Roma and Satish were in Calcutta at the time of her death,” Bishnu told me. “That morning she dressed herself in her bridal finery.

“‘Why this special costume?’ Satish inquired.

“‘This is my last day of service to you on earth,’ Roma replied. A short time later she had a heart attack. As her son was rushing out for aid, she said:

“‘Son, do not leave me. It is no use; I shall be gone before a doctor could arrive.’ Ten minutes later, holding the feet of her husband in reverence, Roma consciously left her body, happily and without suffering.

“Satish became very reclusive after his wife’s death,” Bishnu continued. “One day he and I were looking at a large smiling photograph of Roma.

“‘Why do you smile?’ Satish suddenly exclaimed, as though his wife were present. ‘You think you were clever in arranging to go before me. I shall prove that you cannot long remain away from me; soon I shall join you.’

“Although at this time Satish had fully recovered from his sickness, and was enjoying excellent health, he died without apparent cause shortly after his strange remark before the photograph.”

Thus prophetically passed my dearly beloved eldest sister Roma, and her husband Satish—he who changed at Dakshineswar from an ordinary worldly man to a silent saint.