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> 第五十章 My Parents and Early Life
第五十章 My Parents and Early Life
The characteristic features of Indian culture have long been a search for ultimate verities and the concomitant disciple-guru 1 relationship。My own path led me to a Christlike sage whose beautiful life was chiseled for the ages。He was one of the great masters who are Indias sole remaining wealth。Emerging in every generation，they have bulwarked their land against the fate of Babylon and Egypt。
I find my earliest memories covering the anachronistic features of a previous incarnation。Clear recollections came to me of a distant life，a yogi 2 amidst the Himalayan snows。These glimpses of the past，by some dimensionless link，also afforded me a glimpse of the future。
Many yogis are known to have retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the dramatic transition to and from“life”and“death。”If prophets down the millenniums spake with truth，man is essentially of incorporeal nature。The persistent core of human egoity is only temporarily allied with sense perception。
I was born in the last decade of the nineteenth century，and passed my frst eight years at Gorakhpur。This was my birthplace in the United Provinces of northeastern India。We were eight children：four boys and four girls。I，Mukunda Lal Ghosh，was the second son and the fourth child。
Father and Mother were Bengalis，of the kshatriya caste。Both were blessed with saintly nature。Their mutual love，tranquil and dignified，never expressed itself frivolously。A perfect parental harmony was the calm center for the revolving tumult of eight young lives。
Father，Bhagabati Charan Ghosh，was kind，grave，at times stern。Loving him dearly，we children yet observed a certain reverential distance。An outstanding mathematician and logician，he was guided principally by his intellect。But Mother was a queen of hearts，and taught us only through love。In Mothers presence we tasted our earliest bitter-sweet acquaintance with the scriptures。Tales from the mahabharata and ramayana
were resourcefully summoned to meet the exigencies of discipline。Instruction andchastisement went hand in hand。
Mother held an open hand toward the needy。Father was also kindly disposed，but his respect for law and order extended to the budget。One fortnight Mother spent，in feeding the poor，more than Fathers monthly income。“All I ask，please，is to keep your charities within a reasonable limit。”Even a gentle rebuke from her husband was grievous to Mother。She ordered a hackney carriage，not hinting to the children at any disagreement。
“Good-by；I am going away to my mothers home。”Ancient ultimatum！
We broke into astounded lamentations。Our maternal uncle arrived opportunely；he whispered to Father some sage counsel，garnered no doubt from the ages。After Father had made a few conciliatory remarks，Mother happily dismissed the cab。Thus ended the only trouble I ever noticed between my parents。But I recall a characteristic discussion。
Early in their married life，my parents became disciples of a great master，Lahiri Mahasaya of Benares。This contact strengthened Fathers naturally ascetical temperament。Mother made a remarkable admission to my eldest sister Roma：“Your father and myself live together as man and wife only once a year，for the purpose of having children。”
Father first met Lahiri Mahasaya through Abinash Babu，an employee in the Gorakhpur offce of the Bengal-Nagpur Railway。
“Did you ever hear of the extraordinary circumstances under which your father became a disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya？”
It was on a lazy summer afternoon，as Abinash and I sat together in the compound of my home，that he put this intriguing question。I shook my head with a smile of anticipation。
Years ago，before you were born，I asked my superior offcer-your father-to give me a weeks leave from my Gorakhpur duties in order to visit my guru in Benares。Your father ridiculed my plan。
‘Are you going to become a religious fanatic？’he inquired。‘Concentrate on your offce work if you want to forge ahead。’
Sadly walking home along a woodland path that day，I met your father in a palanquin。He dismissed his servants and conveyance，and fell into step beside me。Seeking to console me，he pointed out the advantages of striving for worldly success。But I heard him listlessly。My heart was repeating：‘Lahiri Mahasaya！I cannot live without seeing you！’
Our path took us to the edge of a tranquil feld，where the rays of the late afternoonsun were still crowning the tall ripple of the wild grass。We paused in admiration。There in the feld，only a few yards from us，the form of my great guru suddenly appeared！
‘Bhagabati，you are too hard on your employee！’His voice was resonant in our astounded ears。He vanished as mysteriously as he had come。On my knees I was exclaiming，‘Lahiri Mahasaya！Lahiri Mahasaya！’Your father was motionless with stupefaction for a few moments。
‘Abinash，not only do I give you leave，but I give myself leave to start for Benares tomorrow。I must know this great Lahiri Mahasaya，who is able to materialize himself at will in order to intercede for you！I will take my wife and ask this master to initiate us in his spiritual path。Will you guide us to him？’
‘Of course。’Joy flled me at the miraculous answer to my prayer，and the quick，favorable turn of events。
The next evening your parents and I entrained for Benares。We took a horse cart the following day，and then had to walk through narrow lanes to my gurus secluded home。Entering his little parlor，we bowed before the master，enlocked in his habitual lotus posture。He blinked his piercing eyes and leveled them on your father。
‘Bhagabati，you are too hard on your employee！’His words were the same as those he had used two days before in the Gorakhpur feld。He added，‘I am glad that you have allowed Abinash to visit me，and that you and your wife have accompanied him。’
“To their joy，he initiated your parents in the spiritual practice of Kriya Yoga。Your father and I，as brother disciples，have been close friends since the memorable day of the vision。Lahiri Mahasaya took a defnite interest in your own birth。Your life shall surely be linked with his own：the masters blessing never fails。”
Lahiri Mahasaya left this world shortly after I had entered it。His picture，in an ornate frame，always graced our family altar in the various cities to which Father was transferred by his offce。Many a morning and evening found Mother and me meditating before an improvised shrine，offering fowers dipped in fragrant sandalwood paste。With frankincense and myrrh as well as our united devotions，we honored the divinity which had found full expression in Lahiri Mahasaya。
I was blessed about the age of eight with a wonderful healing through the photograph of Lahiri Mahasaya。This experience gave intensifcation to my love。While at our family estate in Ichapur，Bengal，I was stricken with Asiatic cholera。My life was despaired of；the doctors could do nothing。At my bedside，Mother frantically motioned me to look at Lahiri Mahasayas picture on the wall above my head。
“Bow to him mentally！”She knew I was too feeble even to lift my hands in salutation。“If you really show your devotion and inwardly kneel before him，your life will be spared！”
Mother pressed her head repeatedly against the little picture。“O Omnipresent Master，I thank thee that thy light hath healed my son！”
I realized that she too had witnessed the luminous blaze through which I had instantly recovered from a usually fatal disease。
One of my most precious possessions is that same photograph。Given to Father by Lahiri Mahasaya himself，it carries a holy vibration。The picture had a miraculous origin。I heard the story from Fathers brother disciple，Kali Kumar Roy。
It appears that the master had an aversion to being photographed。Over his protest，a group picture was once taken of him and a cluster of devotees，including Kali Kumar Roy。It was an amazed photographer who discovered that the plate which had clear images of all the disciples，revealed nothing more than a blank space in the center where he had reasonably expected to fnd the outlines of Lahiri Mahasaya。The phenomenon was widely discussed。
A certain student and expert photographer，Ganga Dhar Babu，boasted that the fugitive fgure would not escape him。The next morning，as the guru sat in lotus posture on a wooden bench with a screen behind him，Ganga Dhar Babu arrived with his equipment。Taking every precaution for success，he greedily exposed twelve plates。On each one he soon found the imprint of the wooden bench and screen，but once again the masters form was missing。
With tears and shattered pride，Ganga Dhar Babu sought out his guru。It was many hours before Lahiri Mahasaya broke his silence with a pregnant comment：
“I am Spirit。Can your camera refect the omnipresent Invisible？”
Again the photographer focused his camera。This time the sacred fgure，not cloaked with mysterious imperceptibility，was sharp on the plate。The master never posed for another picture；at least，I have seen none。
The photograph is reproduced in this book。Lahiri Mahasayas fair features，of a universal cast，hardly suggest to what race he belonged。His eyes，half open to denote a nominal direction on the outer world，are half closed also。Completely oblivious to the poor lures of the earth，he was fully awake at all times to the spiritual problems of seekers who approached for his bounty。
Shortly after my healing through the potency of the gurus picture，I had an infuentialspiritual vision。
“What is behind the darkness of closed eyes？”An immense fash of light at once manifested to my inward gaze。Divine shapes of saints，sitting in meditation posture in mountain caves，formed like miniature cinema pictures on the large screen of radiance within my forehead。
“Who are you？”I spoke aloud。
“We are the Himalayan yogis。”The celestial response is difficult to describe；my heart was thrilled。
“Ah，I long to go to the Himalayas and become like you！”The vision vanished，but the silvery beams expanded in ever-widening circles to infnity。
“What is this wondrous glow？”
“I am Iswara。I am Light。”The voice was as murmuring clouds。Out of the slow dwindling of my divine ecstasy，I salvaged a permanent legacy of inspiration to seek God。
Another early recollection is outstanding；and literally so，for I bear the scar to this day。My elder sister Uma and I were seated in the early morning under a neem tree in our Gorakhpur compound。She was helping me with a Bengali primer，what time I could spare my gaze from the near-by parrots eating ripe margosa fruit。Uma complained of a boil on her leg，and fetched a jar of ointment。I smeared a bit of the salve on my forearm。
“Why do you use medicine on a healthy arm？”
“Well，Sis，I feel I am going to have a boil tomorrow。I am testing your ointment on the spot where the boil will appear。”
“You little liar！”
Uma was unimpressed，and thrice repeated her taunt。An adamant resolution sounded in my voice as I made slow reply。
“I say that tomorrow I shall have a fairly large boil in this exact place on my arm；and your boil shall swell to twice its present size！”
Morning found me with a stalwart boil on the indicated spot；the dimensions of Umas boil had doubled。With a shriek，my sister rushed to Mother。“Mukunda has become a necromancer！”
Gravely，Mother instructed me never to use the power of words for doing harm。
My boil was surgically treated。A noticeable scar，left by the doctor‘s incision，is present today。On my right forearm is a constant reminder of the power in man’s sheer word。
I understood，later，that the explosive vibratory power in speech could be wisely directed to free ones life from diffculties，and thus operate without scar or rebuke。Our family moved to Lahore in the Punjab。There I acquired a picture of the Divine Mother in the form of the Goddess Kali。
It sanctifed a small informal shrine on the balcony of our home。An unequivocal conviction came over me that fulfllment would crown any of my prayers uttered in that sacred spot。Standing there with Uma one day，I watched two kites fying over the roofs of the buildings on the opposite side of the very narrow lane。
“Why are you so quiet？”Uma pushed me playfully。
“I am just thinking how wonderful it is that Divine Mother gives me whatever I ask。”
“I suppose She would give you those two kites！”My sister laughed derisively。
“Why not？”I began silent prayers for their possession。
Matches are played in India with kites whose strings are covered with glue and ground glass。Each player attempts to sever the string of his opponent。A freed kite sails over the roofs；there is great fun in catching it。Inasmuch as Uma and I were on the balcony，it seemed impossible that any loosed kite could come into our hands；its string would naturally dangle over the roofs。
The players across the lane began their match。One string was cut；immediately the kite foated in my direction。It was stationary for a moment，through sudden abatement of breeze，which suffced to frmly entangle the string with a cactus plant on top of the opposite house。A perfect loop was formed for my seizure。I handed the prize to Uma。
“It was just an extraordinary accident。If the other kite comes to you，then I shall believe。”Sisters dark eyes conveyed more amazement than her words。
I continued my prayers with a crescendo intensity。A forcible tug by the other player resulted in the abrupt loss of his kite。It headed toward me，dancing in the wind。My helpful assistant，the cactus plant，again secured the kite string in the necessary loop by which I could grasp it。I presented my second trophy to Uma。
“Indeed，Divine Mother listens to you！This is all too uncanny for me！”Sister bolted away like a frightened fawn。
I find my earliest memories covering the anachronistic features of a previous incarnation。Clear recollections came to me of a distant life，a yogi 2 amidst the Himalayan snows。These glimpses of the past，by some dimensionless link，also afforded me a glimpse of the future。
Many yogis are known to have retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the dramatic transition to and from“life”and“death。”If prophets down the millenniums spake with truth，man is essentially of incorporeal nature。The persistent core of human egoity is only temporarily allied with sense perception。
I was born in the last decade of the nineteenth century，and passed my frst eight years at Gorakhpur。This was my birthplace in the United Provinces of northeastern India。We were eight children：four boys and four girls。I，Mukunda Lal Ghosh，was the second son and the fourth child。
Father and Mother were Bengalis，of the kshatriya caste。Both were blessed with saintly nature。Their mutual love，tranquil and dignified，never expressed itself frivolously。A perfect parental harmony was the calm center for the revolving tumult of eight young lives。
Father，Bhagabati Charan Ghosh，was kind，grave，at times stern。Loving him dearly，we children yet observed a certain reverential distance。An outstanding mathematician and logician，he was guided principally by his intellect。But Mother was a queen of hearts，and taught us only through love。In Mothers presence we tasted our earliest bitter-sweet acquaintance with the scriptures。Tales from the mahabharata and ramayana
were resourcefully summoned to meet the exigencies of discipline。Instruction andchastisement went hand in hand。
Mother held an open hand toward the needy。Father was also kindly disposed，but his respect for law and order extended to the budget。One fortnight Mother spent，in feeding the poor，more than Fathers monthly income。“All I ask，please，is to keep your charities within a reasonable limit。”Even a gentle rebuke from her husband was grievous to Mother。She ordered a hackney carriage，not hinting to the children at any disagreement。
“Good-by；I am going away to my mothers home。”Ancient ultimatum！
We broke into astounded lamentations。Our maternal uncle arrived opportunely；he whispered to Father some sage counsel，garnered no doubt from the ages。After Father had made a few conciliatory remarks，Mother happily dismissed the cab。Thus ended the only trouble I ever noticed between my parents。But I recall a characteristic discussion。
Early in their married life，my parents became disciples of a great master，Lahiri Mahasaya of Benares。This contact strengthened Fathers naturally ascetical temperament。Mother made a remarkable admission to my eldest sister Roma：“Your father and myself live together as man and wife only once a year，for the purpose of having children。”
Father first met Lahiri Mahasaya through Abinash Babu，an employee in the Gorakhpur offce of the Bengal-Nagpur Railway。
“Did you ever hear of the extraordinary circumstances under which your father became a disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya？”
It was on a lazy summer afternoon，as Abinash and I sat together in the compound of my home，that he put this intriguing question。I shook my head with a smile of anticipation。
Years ago，before you were born，I asked my superior offcer-your father-to give me a weeks leave from my Gorakhpur duties in order to visit my guru in Benares。Your father ridiculed my plan。
‘Are you going to become a religious fanatic？’he inquired。‘Concentrate on your offce work if you want to forge ahead。’
Sadly walking home along a woodland path that day，I met your father in a palanquin。He dismissed his servants and conveyance，and fell into step beside me。Seeking to console me，he pointed out the advantages of striving for worldly success。But I heard him listlessly。My heart was repeating：‘Lahiri Mahasaya！I cannot live without seeing you！’
Our path took us to the edge of a tranquil feld，where the rays of the late afternoonsun were still crowning the tall ripple of the wild grass。We paused in admiration。There in the feld，only a few yards from us，the form of my great guru suddenly appeared！
‘Bhagabati，you are too hard on your employee！’His voice was resonant in our astounded ears。He vanished as mysteriously as he had come。On my knees I was exclaiming，‘Lahiri Mahasaya！Lahiri Mahasaya！’Your father was motionless with stupefaction for a few moments。
‘Abinash，not only do I give you leave，but I give myself leave to start for Benares tomorrow。I must know this great Lahiri Mahasaya，who is able to materialize himself at will in order to intercede for you！I will take my wife and ask this master to initiate us in his spiritual path。Will you guide us to him？’
‘Of course。’Joy flled me at the miraculous answer to my prayer，and the quick，favorable turn of events。
The next evening your parents and I entrained for Benares。We took a horse cart the following day，and then had to walk through narrow lanes to my gurus secluded home。Entering his little parlor，we bowed before the master，enlocked in his habitual lotus posture。He blinked his piercing eyes and leveled them on your father。
‘Bhagabati，you are too hard on your employee！’His words were the same as those he had used two days before in the Gorakhpur feld。He added，‘I am glad that you have allowed Abinash to visit me，and that you and your wife have accompanied him。’
“To their joy，he initiated your parents in the spiritual practice of Kriya Yoga。Your father and I，as brother disciples，have been close friends since the memorable day of the vision。Lahiri Mahasaya took a defnite interest in your own birth。Your life shall surely be linked with his own：the masters blessing never fails。”
Lahiri Mahasaya left this world shortly after I had entered it。His picture，in an ornate frame，always graced our family altar in the various cities to which Father was transferred by his offce。Many a morning and evening found Mother and me meditating before an improvised shrine，offering fowers dipped in fragrant sandalwood paste。With frankincense and myrrh as well as our united devotions，we honored the divinity which had found full expression in Lahiri Mahasaya。
I was blessed about the age of eight with a wonderful healing through the photograph of Lahiri Mahasaya。This experience gave intensifcation to my love。While at our family estate in Ichapur，Bengal，I was stricken with Asiatic cholera。My life was despaired of；the doctors could do nothing。At my bedside，Mother frantically motioned me to look at Lahiri Mahasayas picture on the wall above my head。
“Bow to him mentally！”She knew I was too feeble even to lift my hands in salutation。“If you really show your devotion and inwardly kneel before him，your life will be spared！”
Mother pressed her head repeatedly against the little picture。“O Omnipresent Master，I thank thee that thy light hath healed my son！”
I realized that she too had witnessed the luminous blaze through which I had instantly recovered from a usually fatal disease。
One of my most precious possessions is that same photograph。Given to Father by Lahiri Mahasaya himself，it carries a holy vibration。The picture had a miraculous origin。I heard the story from Fathers brother disciple，Kali Kumar Roy。
It appears that the master had an aversion to being photographed。Over his protest，a group picture was once taken of him and a cluster of devotees，including Kali Kumar Roy。It was an amazed photographer who discovered that the plate which had clear images of all the disciples，revealed nothing more than a blank space in the center where he had reasonably expected to fnd the outlines of Lahiri Mahasaya。The phenomenon was widely discussed。
A certain student and expert photographer，Ganga Dhar Babu，boasted that the fugitive fgure would not escape him。The next morning，as the guru sat in lotus posture on a wooden bench with a screen behind him，Ganga Dhar Babu arrived with his equipment。Taking every precaution for success，he greedily exposed twelve plates。On each one he soon found the imprint of the wooden bench and screen，but once again the masters form was missing。
With tears and shattered pride，Ganga Dhar Babu sought out his guru。It was many hours before Lahiri Mahasaya broke his silence with a pregnant comment：
“I am Spirit。Can your camera refect the omnipresent Invisible？”
Again the photographer focused his camera。This time the sacred fgure，not cloaked with mysterious imperceptibility，was sharp on the plate。The master never posed for another picture；at least，I have seen none。
The photograph is reproduced in this book。Lahiri Mahasayas fair features，of a universal cast，hardly suggest to what race he belonged。His eyes，half open to denote a nominal direction on the outer world，are half closed also。Completely oblivious to the poor lures of the earth，he was fully awake at all times to the spiritual problems of seekers who approached for his bounty。
Shortly after my healing through the potency of the gurus picture，I had an infuentialspiritual vision。
“What is behind the darkness of closed eyes？”An immense fash of light at once manifested to my inward gaze。Divine shapes of saints，sitting in meditation posture in mountain caves，formed like miniature cinema pictures on the large screen of radiance within my forehead。
“Who are you？”I spoke aloud。
“We are the Himalayan yogis。”The celestial response is difficult to describe；my heart was thrilled。
“Ah，I long to go to the Himalayas and become like you！”The vision vanished，but the silvery beams expanded in ever-widening circles to infnity。
“What is this wondrous glow？”
“I am Iswara。I am Light。”The voice was as murmuring clouds。Out of the slow dwindling of my divine ecstasy，I salvaged a permanent legacy of inspiration to seek God。
Another early recollection is outstanding；and literally so，for I bear the scar to this day。My elder sister Uma and I were seated in the early morning under a neem tree in our Gorakhpur compound。She was helping me with a Bengali primer，what time I could spare my gaze from the near-by parrots eating ripe margosa fruit。Uma complained of a boil on her leg，and fetched a jar of ointment。I smeared a bit of the salve on my forearm。
“Why do you use medicine on a healthy arm？”
“Well，Sis，I feel I am going to have a boil tomorrow。I am testing your ointment on the spot where the boil will appear。”
“You little liar！”
Uma was unimpressed，and thrice repeated her taunt。An adamant resolution sounded in my voice as I made slow reply。
“I say that tomorrow I shall have a fairly large boil in this exact place on my arm；and your boil shall swell to twice its present size！”
Morning found me with a stalwart boil on the indicated spot；the dimensions of Umas boil had doubled。With a shriek，my sister rushed to Mother。“Mukunda has become a necromancer！”
Gravely，Mother instructed me never to use the power of words for doing harm。
My boil was surgically treated。A noticeable scar，left by the doctor‘s incision，is present today。On my right forearm is a constant reminder of the power in man’s sheer word。
I understood，later，that the explosive vibratory power in speech could be wisely directed to free ones life from diffculties，and thus operate without scar or rebuke。Our family moved to Lahore in the Punjab。There I acquired a picture of the Divine Mother in the form of the Goddess Kali。
It sanctifed a small informal shrine on the balcony of our home。An unequivocal conviction came over me that fulfllment would crown any of my prayers uttered in that sacred spot。Standing there with Uma one day，I watched two kites fying over the roofs of the buildings on the opposite side of the very narrow lane。
“Why are you so quiet？”Uma pushed me playfully。
“I am just thinking how wonderful it is that Divine Mother gives me whatever I ask。”
“I suppose She would give you those two kites！”My sister laughed derisively。
“Why not？”I began silent prayers for their possession。
Matches are played in India with kites whose strings are covered with glue and ground glass。Each player attempts to sever the string of his opponent。A freed kite sails over the roofs；there is great fun in catching it。Inasmuch as Uma and I were on the balcony，it seemed impossible that any loosed kite could come into our hands；its string would naturally dangle over the roofs。
The players across the lane began their match。One string was cut；immediately the kite foated in my direction。It was stationary for a moment，through sudden abatement of breeze，which suffced to frmly entangle the string with a cactus plant on top of the opposite house。A perfect loop was formed for my seizure。I handed the prize to Uma。
“It was just an extraordinary accident。If the other kite comes to you，then I shall believe。”Sisters dark eyes conveyed more amazement than her words。
I continued my prayers with a crescendo intensity。A forcible tug by the other player resulted in the abrupt loss of his kite。It headed toward me，dancing in the wind。My helpful assistant，the cactus plant，again secured the kite string in the necessary loop by which I could grasp it。I presented my second trophy to Uma。
“Indeed，Divine Mother listens to you！This is all too uncanny for me！”Sister bolted away like a frightened fawn。
