Autobiography of a Yogi
by Paramhansa Yogananda
Original First Edition, Copyright 1946,
by Paramhansa Yogananda
First Online Edition
Chapter 22
The Heart of a Stone Image
"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 lightwhite, 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,'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.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 Satishhe who changed at Dakshineswar from an ordinary worldly man
to a silent saint.
1 Goddess.
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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."
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