"Come; I will show you the hermitage." Master rose from his tiger
mat. I glanced about me; my gaze fell with astonishment on a wall
picture, garlanded with a spray of jasmine.
"Lahiri Mahasaya!"
"Yes, my divine guru." Sri Yukteswar's tone was reverently vibrant.
"Greater he was, as man and yogi, than any other teacher whose life
came within the range of my investigations."
Silently I bowed before the familiar picture. Soul-homage sped to
the peerless master who, blessing my infancy, had guided my steps
to this hour.
Led by my guru, I strolled over the house and its grounds.
Large, ancient and well-built, the hermitage was surrounded by a
massive-pillared courtyard. Outer walls were moss-covered; pigeons
fluttered over the flat gray roof, unceremoniously sharing the
ashram quarters. A rear garden was pleasant with jackfruit, mango,
and plantain trees. Balustraded balconies of upper rooms in the
two-storied building faced the courtyard from three sides. A spacious
ground-floor hall, with high ceiling supported by colonnades, was
used, Master said, chiefly during the annual festivities of DURGAPUJA.
{FN12-1} A narrow stairway led to Sri Yukteswar's sitting room,
whose small balcony overlooked the street. The ashram was plainly
furnished; everything was simple, clean, and utilitarian. Several
Western styled chairs, benches, and tables were in evidence.
Master invited me to stay overnight.
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