My family was predicting my return,
though I had been unresponsive to many pleas by letter. "Let the
young bird fly in the metaphysical skies," Ananta had remarked.
"His wings will tire in the heavy atmosphere. We shall yet see him
swoop toward home, fold his pinions, and humbly rest in our family
nest." This discouraging simile fresh in my mind, I was determined
to do no "swooping" in the direction of Calcutta.
"Sir, I am not returning home. But I will follow you anywhere.
Please give me your address, and your name."
"Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri. My chief hermitage is in Serampore, on
Rai Ghat Lane. I am visiting my mother here for only a few days."
I wondered at God's intricate play with His devotees. Serampore is
but twelve miles from Calcutta, yet in those regions I had never
caught a glimpse of my guru. We had had to travel for our meeting
to the ancient city of Kasi (Benares), hallowed by memories of
Lahiri Mahasaya. Here too the feet of Buddha, Shankaracharya and
other Yogi--Christs had blessed the soil.
"You will come to me in four weeks." For the first time, Sri
Yukteswar's voice was stern. "Now I have told my eternal affection,
and have shown my happiness at finding you-that is why you disregard
my request. The next time we meet, you will have to reawaken my
interest: I won't accept you as a disciple easily. There must be
complete surrender by obedience to my strict training."
I remained obstinately silent.
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