My paternal uncle, Sarada Ghosh, a government attorney,
welcomed me affectionately.
"I am leaving today with some friends for Kashmir," I told him.
"For years I have been looking forward to this Himalayan trip."
"I am happy for you, Mukunda. Is there anything I can do to make
your journey more comfortable?"
These kind words gave me a lift of encouragement. "Dear uncle," I
said, "could you possibly spare me your servant, Lal Dhari?"
My simple request had the effect of an earthquake. Uncle jumped so
violently that his chair overturned, the papers on the desk flew in
every direction, and his pipe, a long, coconut-stemmed hubble-bubble,
fell to the floor with a great clatter.
"You selfish young man," he shouted, quivering with wrath, "what a
preposterous idea! Who will look after me, if you take my servant
on one of your pleasure jaunts?"
I concealed my surprise, reflecting that my amiable uncle's sudden
change of front was only one more enigma in a day fully devoted
to incomprehensibility. My retreat from the courthouse office was
more alacritous than dignified.
I returned to the hermitage, where my friends were expectantly
gathered. Conviction was growing on me that some sufficient if
exceedingly recondite motive was behind Master's attitude. Remorse
seized me that I had been trying to thwart my guru's will.
"Mukunda, wouldn't you like to stay awhile longer with me?" Sri
Yukteswar inquired.
Pages:
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269