Mournfully I tore open its envelope and made unmistakably sure. It
had vanished, in accordance with the SADHU'S prediction, into the
ether whence he had summoned it.
My relationship with Dyananda's followers grew steadily worse. The
household was alienated, hurt by my determined aloofness. My strict
adherence to meditation on the very Ideal for which I had left
home and all worldly ambitions called forth shallow criticism on
all sides.
Torn by spiritual anguish, I entered the attic one dawn, resolved
to pray until answer was vouchsafed.
"Merciful Mother of the Universe, teach me Thyself through visions,
or through a guru sent by Thee!"
The passing hours found my sobbing pleas without response. Suddenly
I felt lifted as though bodily to a sphere uncircumscribed.
"Thy Master cometh today!" A divine womanly voice came from everywhere
and nowhere.
This supernal experience was pierced by a shout from a definite
locale. A young priest nicknamed Habu was calling me from the
downstairs kitchen.
"Mukunda, enough of meditation! You are needed for an errand."
Another day I might have replied impatiently; now I wiped
my tear-swollen face and meekly obeyed the summons. Together Habu
and I set out for a distant market place in the Bengali section of
Benares. The ungentle Indian sun was not yet at zenith as we made
our purchases in the bazaars. We pushed our way through the colorful
medley of housewives, guides, priests, simply-clad widows, dignified
Brahmins, and the ubiquitous holy bulls.
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