"I know you will keep Lahiri Mahasaya's yoga ideals of education ever
to the fore," I said. "I shall write you frequently; God willing,
someday I shall be back."
Tears stood in my eyes as I cast a last look at the little boys
and the sunny acres of Ranchi. A definite epoch in my life had now
closed, I knew; henceforth I would dwell in far lands. I entrained
for Calcutta a few hours after my vision. The following day I
received an invitation to serve as the delegate from India to an
International Congress of Religious Liberals in America. It was
to convene that year in Boston, under the auspices of the American
Unitarian Association.
My head in a whirl, I sought out Sri Yukteswar in Serampore.
"Guruji, I have just been invited to address a religious congress
in America. Shall I go?"
"All doors are open for you," Master replied simply. "It is now or
never."
"But, sir," I said in dismay, "what do I know about public speaking?
Seldom have I given a lecture, and never in English."
"English or no English, your words on yoga shall be heard in the
West."
I laughed. "Well, dear guruji, I hardly think the Americans will
learn Bengali! Please bless me with a push over the hurdles of the
English language." {FN37-3}
When I broke the news of my plans to Father, he was utterly taken
aback. To him America seemed incredibly remote; he feared he might
never see me again.
"How can you go?" he asked sternly.
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