A boyish
enthusiasm over such remarkable feats was strong within me.
The next day dawned wintry cold, but Chandi and I sallied forth
gaily. After much vain hunting in Bhowanipur, outside Calcutta, we
arrived at the right house. The door held two iron rings, which I
sounded piercingly. Notwithstanding the clamor, a servant approached
with leisurely gait. His ironical smile implied that visitors,
despite their noise, were powerless to disturb the calmness of a
saint's home.
Feeling the silent rebuke, my companion and I were thankful to be
invited into the parlor. Our long wait there caused uncomfortable
misgivings. India's unwritten law for the truth seeker is patience;
a master may purposely make a test of one's eagerness to meet him.
This psychological ruse is freely employed in the West by doctors
and dentists!
Finally summoned by the servant, Chandi and I entered a sleeping
apartment. The famous Sohong {FN6-1} Swami was seated on his bed.
The sight of his tremendous body affected us strangely. With bulging
eyes, we stood speechless. We had never before seen such a chest or
such football-like biceps. On an immense neck, the swami's fierce
yet calm face was adorned with flowing locks, beard and moustache.
A hint of dovelike and tigerlike qualities shone in his dark eyes.
He was unclothed, save for a tiger skin about his muscular waist.
Finding our voices, my friend and I greeted the monk, expressing
our admiration for his prowess in the extraordinary feline arena.
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