Sleep
was inconsiderable that night; I prayed deeply to be directed to
the secret yogi, Ram Gopal.
As the first streaks of dawn penetrated the fissures of my dark
room, I set out for Ranbajpur. Crossing rough paddy fields, I trudged
over sickled stumps of the prickly plant and mounds of dried clay.
An occasionally-met peasant would inform me, invariably, that my
destination was "only a KROSHA (two miles)." In six hours the sun
traveled victoriously from horizon to meridian, but I began to feel
that I would ever be distant from Ranbajpur by one KROSHA.
At midafternoon my world was still an endless paddy field. Heat
pouring from the avoidless sky was bringing me to near-collapse. As
a man approached at leisurely pace, I hardly dared utter my usual
question, lest it summon the monotonous: "Just a KROSHA."
The stranger halted beside me. Short and slight, he was physically
unimpressive save for an extraordinary pair of piercing dark eyes.
"I was planning to leave Ranbajpur, but your purpose was good, so
I awaited you." He shook his finger in my astounded face. "Aren't
you clever to think that, unannounced, you could pounce on me? That
professor Behari had no right to give you my address."
Considering that introduction of myself would be mere verbosity in
the presence of this master, I stood speechless, somewhat hurt at
my reception. His next remark was abruptly put.
"Tell me; where do you think God is?"
"Why, He is within me and everywhere.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197