Shortly after I had entered the Swami
Order, I paid a visit to my birthplace, Gorakhpur, as a guest of
my elder brother Ananta. A sudden illness confined him to his bed;
I nursed him lovingly.
The solemn inward pronouncement filled me with grief. I felt that
I could not bear to remain longer in Gorakhpur, only to see my
brother removed before my helpless gaze. Amidst uncomprehending
criticism from my relatives, I left India on the first available
boat. It cruised along Burma and the China Sea to Japan. I disembarked
at Kobe, where I spent only a few days. My heart was too heavy for
sightseeing.
On the return trip to India, the boat touched at Shanghai. There
Dr. Misra, the ship's physician, guided me to several curio shops,
where I selected various presents for Sri Yukteswar and my family
and friends. For Ananta I purchased a large carved bamboo piece.
No sooner had the Chinese salesman handed me the bamboo souvenir
than I dropped it on the floor, crying out, "I have bought this
for my dear dead brother!"
A clear realization had swept over me that his soul was just being
freed in the Infinite. The souvenir was sharply and symbolically
cracked by its fall; amidst sobs, I wrote on the bamboo surface:
"For my beloved Ananta, now gone."
My companion, the doctor, was observing these proceedings with a
sardonic smile.
"Save your tears," he remarked. "Why shed them until you are sure
he is dead?"
When our boat reached Calcutta, Dr.
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