Reading section 30

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,’ {FN22-1} 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. {FN22-2} 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.

{FN22-1} Goddess.

{FN22-2} The Hindu wife believes it is a sign of spiritual advancement if she dies before her husband, as a proof of her loyal service to him, or “dying in harness.”

CHAPTER: 23

I RECEIVE MY UNIVERSITY DEGREE

“You ignore your textbook assignments in philosophy. No doubt you are depending on an unlaborious ‘intuition’ to get you through the examinations. But unless you apply yourself in a more scholarly manner, I shall see to it that you don’t pass this course.”

Professor D. C. Ghoshal of Serampore College was addressing me sternly. If I failed to pass his final written classroom test, I would be ineligible to take the conclusive examinations. These are formulated by the faculty of Calcutta University, which numbers Serampore College among its affiliated branches. A student in Indian universities who is unsuccessful in one subject in the A.B. finals must be examined anew in ALL his subjects the following year.

My instructors at Serampore College usually treated me with kindness, not untinged by an amused tolerance. “Mukunda is a bit over-drunk with religion.” Thus summing me up, they tactfully spared me the embarrassment of answering classroom questions; they trusted the final written tests to eliminate me from the list of A.B. candidates. The judgment passed by my fellow students was expressed in their nickname for me-“Mad Monk.”

I took an ingenious step to nullify Professor Ghoshal’s threat to me of failure in philosophy. When the results of the final tests were about to be publicly announced, I asked a classmate to accompany me to the professor’s study.

“Come along; I want a witness,” I told my companion. “I shall be very much disappointed if I have not succeeded in outwitting the instructor.”

Professor Ghoshal shook his head after I had inquired what rating he had given my paper.

“You are not among those who have passed,” he said in triumph. He hunted through a large pile on his desk. “Your paper isn’t here at all; you have failed, in any case, through non-appearance at the examination.”

I chuckled. “Sir, I was there. May I look through the stack myself?”

The professor, nonplused, gave his permission; I quickly found my paper, where I had carefully omitted any identification mark except my roll call number. Unwarned by the “red flag” of my name, the instructor had given a high rating to my answers even though they were unembellished by textbook quotations. {FN23-1}

Seeing through my trick, he now thundered, “Sheer brazen luck!” He added hopefully, “You are sure to fail in the A.B. finals.”

For the tests in my other subjects, I received some coaching, particularly from my dear friend and cousin, Prabhas Chandra Ghose, {FN23-2} son of my Uncle Sarada. I staggered painfully but successfully-with the lowest possible passing marks-through all my final tests.

Now, after four years of college, I was eligible to sit for the A.B. examinations. Nevertheless, I hardly expected to avail myself of the privilege. The Serampore College finals were child’s play compared to the stiff ones which would be set by Calcutta University for the A.B. degree. My almost daily visits to Sri Yukteswar had left me little time to enter the college halls. There it was my presence rather than my absence that brought forth ejaculations of amazement from my classmates!

My customary routine was to set out on my bicycle about nine-thirty in the morning. In one hand I would carry an offering for my guru-a few flowers from the garden of my PANTHI boardinghouse. Greeting me affably, Master would invite me to lunch. I invariably accepted with alacrity, glad to banish the thought of college for the day. After hours with Sri Yukteswar, listening to his incomparable flow of wisdom, or helping with ashram duties, I would reluctantly depart around midnight for the PANTHI. Occasionally I stayed all night with my guru, so happily engrossed in his conversation that I scarcely noticed when darkness changed into dawn.

One night about eleven o’clock, as I was putting on my shoes {FN23-3} in preparation for the ride to the boardinghouse, Master questioned me gravely.

“When do your A.B. examinations start?”

“Five days hence, sir.”

“I hope you are in readiness for them.”

Transfixed with alarm, I held one shoe in the air. “Sir,” I protested, “you know how my days have been passed with you rather than with the professors. How can I enact a farce by appearing for those difficult finals?”

Sri Yukteswar’s eyes were turned piercingly on mine. “You must appear.” His tone was coldly peremptory. “We should not give cause for your father and other relatives to criticize your preference for ashram life. Just promise me that you will be present for the examinations; answer them the best way you can.”

Uncontrollable tears were coursing down my face. I felt that Master’s command was unreasonable, and that his interest was, to say the least, belated.

“I will appear if you wish it,” I said amidst sobs. “But no time remains for proper preparation.” Under my breath I muttered, “I will fill up the sheets with your teachings in answer to the questions!”

When I entered the hermitage the following day at my usual hour, I presented my bouquet with a certain mournful solemnity. Sri Yukteswar laughed at my woebegone air.

“Mukunda, has the Lord ever failed you, at an examination or elsewhere?”

“No, sir,” I responded warmly. Grateful memories came in a revivifying flood.

“Not laziness but burning zeal for God has prevented you from seeking college honors,” my guru said kindly. After a silence, he quoted, “‘Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.’” {FN23-4}

For the thousandth time, I felt my burdens lifted in Master’s presence. When we had finished our early lunch, he suggested that I return to the PANTHI.

“Does your friend, Romesh Chandra Dutt, still live in your boardinghouse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get in touch with him; the Lord will inspire him to help you with the examinations.”

“Very well, sir; but Romesh is unusually busy. He is the honor man in our class, and carries a heavier course than the others.”

Master waved aside my objections. “Romesh will find time for you. Now go.”

I bicycled back to the PANTHI. The first person I met in the boardinghouse compound was the scholarly Romesh. As though his days were quite free, he obligingly agreed to my diffident request.