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Yogananda, Paramahansa, 1893-1952

"Autobiography of a Yogi"

Our first
leisurely stop was at Simla, a queenly city resting on the throne
of Himalayan hills. We strolled over the steep streets, admiring
the magnificent views.
"English strawberries for sale," cried an old woman, squatting in
a picturesque open market place.
Master was curious about the strange little red fruits. He bought
a basketful and offered it to Kanai and myself, who were near-by.
I tasted one berry but spat it hastily on the ground.
"Sir, what a sour fruit! I could never like strawberries!"
My guru laughed. "Oh, you will like them-in America. At a dinner
there, your hostess will serve them with sugar and cream. After she
has mashed the berries with a fork, you will taste them and say:
'What delicious strawberries!' Then you will remember this day in
Simla."
Sri Yukteswar's forecast vanished from my mind, but reappeared
there many years later, shortly after my arrival in America. I was
a dinner guest at the home of Mrs. Alice T. Hasey (Sister Yogmata)
in West Somerville, Massachusetts. When a dessert of strawberries
was put on the table, my hostess picked up her fork and mashed my
berries, adding cream and sugar. "The fruit is rather tart; I think
you will like it fixed this way," she remarked.
I took a mouthful. "What delicious strawberries!" I exclaimed.
At once my guru's prediction in Simla emerged from the fathomless
cave of memory. It was staggering to realize that long ago Sri
Yukteswar's God-tuned mind had sensitively detected the program of
karmic events wandering in the ether of futurity.


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