Chapter 20
Sri Yukteswar appears in two places at once near Serampore
This chapter recounts Yogananda's firsthand account of his guru materialising in a Serampore boarding house while simultaneously travelling from Calcutta.
I am often beset by atheistic doubts, yet a torturing surmise sometimes haunts me — may not untapped soul possibilities exist?
You and your intuition. I prefer to trust Master's written word.
The account I have just heard of our guru's powers makes me feel that any university in the world is only a kindergarten.
chapter nineteen of autobiography of a yogi my master in calcutta appears in serampore i am often beset by atheistic doubts yet a torturing surmise sometimes haunts me may not untapped soul possibilities exist these remarks of dijen babu my roommate at the banthi boarding-house were called forth by my invitation that he meet my guru sri yukta svarji will initiate you into kriya yoga i replied Evening, Dijen accompanied me to the hermitage. In Master's presence, my friend received such spiritual peace that he was soon a constant visitor.
The trivial preoccupations of daily life are not enough for man. Wisdom, too, is a native hunger. In Sri Yukteswar's words, Dijen found an incentive to those attempts, first painful, then effortlessly liberating, to locate a realer self within his bosom than the humiliating ego of a temporary birth seldom ample enough for the spirit as dijen and i were both pursuing the a b course at serampore college we both got into the habit of walking together to the ashram as soon as classes were over we would often see sri yukteswar standing on his second-floor balcony welcoming our approach with a smile one afternoon kanai a young hermitage resident met dijen and me at the door with disappointing news master is not here he was summoned to calcutta by an urgent note.
The following day I received a postcard from my guru. I shall leave Calcutta Wednesday morning, he had written. You and Dijan meet the nine o'clock train at Serampore station. About 8.30 on Wednesday morning, a telepathic message from Yukteswar flashed insistently to my mind. I am delayed. Don't meet the nine o'clock train. I conveyed the latest instructions to D.J. It was already dressed for departure. You and your intuition, my friend's voice was edged in scorn. I prefer to trust master's written word. I shrugged my shoulders and seated myself with quiet finality.
Muttering angrily, D.J. made for the door and closed it noisily behind him as the room was rather dark i Bewildered to the point of shock, I rose from my chair and knelt before him. With my customary gesture of respectful greeting at my guru's feet, I touched his shoes—these were a pair familiar to me—of orange-dyed canvas, sold with rope. His Oko Swami cloth brushed against me me i distinctly felt not only the texture of his robe but also in serampore by the ten o'clock train as i am now i shall be preceded by a fellow passenger a little boy carrying a silver jug my guru placed both hands on my head with a murmured blessing as he concluded with the words taba asi i heard a peculiar rumbling sound his body began to melt gradually within the piercing light first his feet and legs vanished then his torso and head like a scroll being rolled up faded.
Nothing remained before me but the barred window and a pale stream of sunlight. I remained in a half-stupor of confusion, questioning whether I had not been the victim of a hallucination. Crestfall and Dijon soon entered the room. Master was not on the nine o'clock train, nor even the nine-thirty. My friend made his announcement with a slightly apologetic air. Come, then. I know he will arrive at ten o'clock. I took Dijon's hand and rushed him forcibly along with me, heedless of his protests. In about ten minutes we entered the station where the train was already puffing to a halt.
The whole train is filled with the light of Master Zora. He is there! I exclaimed joyfully. You dream so? Dijon laughed mockingly. Let us wait here. I told my friend details of the way in which our guru would approach us. As I finished my description, Sri Yukteswar came into view, wearing the same clothes I had seen a short time earlier. He walked slowly in the wake of a small lad bearing a silver jug. For a moment a wave of cold fear passed through me at the unprecedented strangeness of my experience i felt the materialistic twentieth-century world slipping from me As Sri Yukteswar, a modern yogi, Christ, reached the spot where Dijan and I were speechlessly rooted, Master smiled at my friend and remarked, I sent you a message too, but you are unable to grasp it.
Dijan was silent, but glared at me suspiciously. After we had escorted our guru to his hermitage, my friend and I proceeded toward Serampore College. Dijan halted in the street, indignation streaming from his every pore. So, Master sent me a message, yet you concealed it. I demand an explanation. Can I help it if your mental mirror oscillates with such restlessness that you cannot register our guru's instructions? I retorted. The anger vanished from Dijan's face. I see what you mean, he said ruefully. But please explain how you could know about the child with the jug.
By the time I had finished the story of Master's phenomenal appearance at the boarding house that morning, my friend and I had reached Serampore College. The account I have just heard of our guru's powers, Dijen said, makes me feel that any university in the world is only a kindergarten.