"And my trust in you,
Master, is more precious to me than any stone!"
A year later I was visiting my guru at the Calcutta home of his
disciple, Naren Babu. About ten o'clock in the morning, as Sri
Yukteswar and I were sitting quietly in the second-floor parlor,
I heard the front door open. Master straightened stiffly.
"It is that Sasi," he remarked gravely. "The year is now up; both
his lungs are gone. He has ignored my counsel; tell him I don't
want to see him."
Half stunned by Sri Yukteswar's sternness, I raced down the stairway.
Sasi was ascending.
"O Mukunda! I do hope Master is here; I had a hunch he might be."
"Yes, but he doesn't wish to be disturbed."
Sasi burst into tears and brushed past me. He threw himself at Sri
Yukteswar's feet, placing there three beautiful sapphires.
"Omniscient guru, the doctors say I have galloping tuberculosis!
They give me no longer than three more months! I humbly implore
your aid; I know you can heal me!"
"Isn't it a bit late now to be worrying over your life? Depart
with your jewels; their time of usefulness is past." Master then
sat sphinxlike in an unrelenting silence, punctuated by the boy's
sobs for mercy.
An intuitive conviction came to me that Sri Yukteswar was merely
testing the depth of Sasi's faith in the divine healing power. I was
not surprised a tense hour later when Master turned a sympathetic
gaze on my prostrate friend.
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