Dressed in Western clothes,
they look like Americans. The cold Himalayas protect the Kashmiris
from the sultry sun and preserve their light complexions. As one
travels to the southern and tropical latitudes of India, he finds
progressively that the people become darker and darker.
After spending happy weeks in Kashmir, I was forced to return to
Bengal for the fall term of Serampore College. Sri Yukteswar remained
in Srinagar, with Kanai and Auddy. Before I departed, Master hinted
that his body would be subject to suffering in Kashmir.
"Sir, you look a picture of health," I protested.
"There is a chance that I may even leave this earth."
"Guruji!" I fell at his feet with an imploring gesture. "Please
promise that you won't leave your body now. I am utterly unprepared
to carry on without you."
Sri Yukteswar was silent, but smiled at me so compassionately that
I felt reassured. Reluctantly I left him.
"Master dangerously ill." This telegram from Auddy reached me
shortly after my return to Serampore.
"Sir," I wired my guru frantically, "I asked for your promise not
to leave me. Please keep your body; otherwise, I also shall die."
"Be it as you wish." This was Sri Yukteswar's reply from Kashmir.
A letter from Auddy arrived in a few days, informing me that
Master had recovered. On his return to Serampore during the next
fortnight, I was grieved to find my guru's body reduced to half
its usual weight.
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