A "Perfume Saint" Performs his Wonders

the autobiography of a yogi read by tim ro autobiography of a yogi by paramahansa yogananda a perfumed saint displays his wonders to every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven i did not have this wisdom of solomon to comfort me i gazed searchingly about me on any excursion from home for the face of my destined guru my path did not cross his own until after the completion of my high school studies two years elapsed between my flight with amar toward the himalayaya and the famous bengali scientist jagadish chandra bus why encounter with the perfume saint had two preambles one harmonious and the other humorous everything else is complex do not seek absolute values in the relative world of nature these philosophical finalities gently entered my ear as i stood silently nature as symbolized by kali has puzzled wiser heads than mine few there be who solve her mystery good and evil is the challenging riddle which life places sphinx-like before every intelligence attempting no solution most men pay forfeit with their lives penalty now even as in the days of thebes here and there a towering lonely figure never cries defeat from the mire of duality he picks the cleaveless truth of unity you speak with conviction sir and honest introspection, the exquisitely painful approach to wisdom.

Self-scrutiny, relentless observance of one's thoughts, is a stark and shattering experience. It pulverizes the stoutest ego, but true self-analysis mathematically operates to produce seers. The way of self-expression, individual acknowledgements, results in egotists, sure of the right to their private interpretations of god and the universe truth humbly retires no doubt before such arrogant originality i was enjoying the discussion The human mind, bared to a centuryd slime, is teeming with repulsive life of countless world delusions. Struggles of the battlefields pale into insignificance here. When man first contends with inward enemies, no mortal foes these, to be overcome by harrowing array of might, omnipresent, unresting, pursuing man even in sleep, subtly equipped with a miasmicmic weapon these soldiers of ignorant lusts seek to slay us all thoughtless is the man who buries his ideals surrendering to the common fate can he seem other than impotent wooden ignominious sympathy for the bewildered masses the sage was silent for a moment then answered obliquely to love both the invisible god repository of all virtues and visible man apparently possessed of none is often baffling a unity in all human minds, the stalwart kinship of self-motive.

In one sense at least the brotherhood of man stands revealed, and aghast humility follows this levelling discovery. It ripens into compassion for one's fellows, blind to the healing potencies of the soul awaiting exploration. The saints of every age, sir, have felt like yourself the sorrows of the world only the shallow man loses responsiveness to the woes of others lives as he sinks into narrow suffering of his own the sadhu's austere face was noticeably softened the one who practises a scalpel self-dissection will know an expansion of universal pity release is given him from the deafening demands of his ego the love of god flowers on such soil the creature finally turns to his creator if for the sage and i were presentfully india too is young the ancient rishis laid down ineradicable patterns of spiritual living their hoary dictums suffice for this day and land not outmoded not unsophisticated against the guise of materialism the disciplinary precepts mould india still by millenniums more than embarrassed scholars care to compute the sceptic time has validated vedic worth he revealed a clairvoyant perception after you leave here to-day an unusual experience will come your way i quitted the temple precincts and wandered along aimlessly turning a corner i must leave you now but he held me by the hand forcing out tidbits of information he was like a ravenous wolf i thought an left me abruptly i sighed with relief and doubled my pace dreading any relapse into the garrulous fever hearing rapid footsteps behind me i quickened my speed clasping my shoulder i forgot to tell you ganda baba perfume saint who is gracing yonder house he pointed to a dwelling a few yards distant do meet him he is interesting you may have an unusual experience flashed to my mind.

Definitely intrigued, I entered the house and was ushered into a commodious parlour. A crowd of people were sitting, orient-wise, here and there on a thick, orange-coloured carpet. An awed whisper reached my ear. Behold Gandababa on the leopard skin. He can give the natural perfume of any flower to a scentless one, or revive a wilted blossom, or make a person's skin exude delightful fragrance i looked directly at the saint his quick gaze rested on mine he was plump and bearded with dark skin and large gleaming eyes I thought his remark rather childish.

To experience the miraculous way of enjoying perfumes. Harnessing God to make odours? What of it? God makes perfume anyway. Yes, but he fashions frail bottles of petals for fresh use and discard. Can you materialise flowers? I materialise perfumes, little friend. The scent factories will go out of business. I will permit them to keep their trade. My own purpose is to demonstrate the power of God so is it necessary to prove god isn't he performing miracles in everything everywhere yes but we too should manifest some of his infinite creative variety how long did it take to master your art twelve years for manufacturing scents by astral means it seems my honoured saint you have been wasting a dozen years for fragrances which you can obtain for a few feet away from gandababa no one else was near enough to contact my the centre of my palm.

I smilingly took a large white scentless flower from a nearby vase. Can this odourless blossom be permeated with jasmine? Be it so. A jasmine fragrance instantly shot from the petals. I thanked the wonder-worker and seated myself by one of his students. He informed me that Gandhababa, whose proper name was Vishudhananda, had learned many astonishing yoga secrets from a master in tibet the tibetan yogi i was assured had attained the age of over calcutta intelligentsia are among his followers i inwardly resolved not to add myself to their number a guru too literally marvellous was not to my liking with polite thanks to ganda baba i departed sauntering home i reflected on the three varied encounters the day had brought forth my sister ooma met me as i entered our gurupar road door you're getting quite stylish using perfumes without a word i motioned her to smell my hand fragrance it is unusually strong.

Thinking it was strongly unusual, I silently placed the astrally scented blossom under her nostrils. Oh, I love jasmine! She seized the flower. A ludicrous bafflement passed over her face as she repeatedly sniffed the odour of jasmine from a type of flower she well knew to be scentless. Her reactions disarmed my suspicion that Gandhababa had induced an autosuggestive state whereby I alone could detect the frequencies. Later I heard from a friend, Alakananda, that the perfumed saint had a power which I wish were possessed by starving millions of Asia, and today of Europe as well.

I was present with a hundred other guests at Gandhababa's home in Burdwan, Alakananda told me. It was was a gala occasion because the yogi was reputed to have the power of extracting objects out of thin air i laughingly requested him to materialise some out-of-season tangerines immediately the luchis which were present on all the banana leaf plates became puffed up each of the bread envelopes proved to contain a peeled tangerine i bit into my own with some trepidation but found it delicious years later i understood by inner realisation how gandababa accomplished his materialisations The different sensory stimuli to which man reacts, tactual, visual, gustatory, auditory and olfactory, are produced by vibratory variations in electrons and protons.

The vibrations, in turn, are regulated by lifetrons, subtle life forces or finer-than-atomic energies, intelligently charged with the five distinctive sensory idea substances. Gandhababa, tuning himself with the cosmic force by certain yogic practices, was able to guide the Lifetrons to rearrange their vibratory structure and objectivize the desired result. His perfume, fruit and other miracles were actual materializations of mundane vibrations and not inner sensations hypnotically produced. Performances of miracles such as shown by the perfume saint are spectacular but spiritually useless. Having little purpose beyond entertainment, they are digressions from a serious search for God.

Hypnotism has been used by physicians in minor operations as a sort of psychical chloroform for persons who might be endangered by an anaesthetic. But a hypnotic state is harmful to those often subjected to it. A negative psychological effect ensues which in time deranges the brain cells. Hypnotism is trespassed into the territory of another's consciousness. Its temporary phenomena have nothing in common with the miracles performed by men of divine realization. Awaken God god true saints effect changes in this dream world by means of a frog is also at home in the water abu sa'id pointed out in gentle scorn the crow and the vulture easily fly in the air the devil is simultaneously present in the east and in the west men, who buys and sells, yet is never for a single instant forgetful of God.

On another occasion the great Persian teacher gave his views on the religious life thus, To lay aside what you have in your head, selfish desires and ambitions, to freely bestow what you have in your hand, and never to flinch from the blows of adversity. Neither the impartial sage at Kaligat temple, nor the Tibetan-trained yogi, had satisfied my yearning for a guru. My heart needed no tutor for its recognitions, and cried its own bravos the more resoundingly because I'm often summoned from silence. When I finally met my master, he taught me by sublimity of example alone the measure of a true man.