"
The orange-robed ecclesiastic gave me an affectionate pat. Staging
a mock rebuke, he admonished a few near-by disciples. "Don't bother
Mukunda. He will learn our ways."
I politely concealed my doubt. The students left the room, not overly
bent with their chastisement. Dyananda had further words for me.
"Mukunda, I see your father is regularly sending you money. Please
return it to him; you require none here. A second injunction for
your discipline concerns food. Even when you feel hunger, don't
mention it."
Whether famishment gleamed in my eye, I knew not. That I was hungry,
I knew only too well. The invariable hour for the first hermitage
meal was twelve noon. I had been accustomed in my own home to a
large breakfast at nine o'clock.
The three-hour gap became daily more interminable. Gone were the
Calcutta years when I could rebuke the cook for a ten-minute delay.
Now I tried to control my appetite; one day I undertook a twenty-four
hour fast. With double zest I awaited the following midday.
"Dyanandaji's train is late; we are not going to eat until he
arrives." Jitendra brought me this devastating news. As gesture
of welcome to the swami, who had been absent for two weeks, many
delicacies were in readiness. An appetizing aroma filled the air.
Nothing else offering, what else could be swallowed except pride
over yesterday's achievement of a fast?
"Lord hasten the train!" The Heavenly Provider, I thought, was hardly
included in the interdiction with which Dyananda had silenced me.
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