Dishwashings
in India are reduced to a minimum!
Two more days of the fascinating KUMBHA; then northwest along the
Jumna banks to Agra. Once again I gazed on the Taj Mahal; in memory
Jitendra stood by my side, awed by the dream in marble. Then on to
the Brindaban ashram of Swami Keshabananda.
My object in seeking out Keshabananda was connected with this book.
I had never forgotten Sri Yukteswar's request that I write the life
of Lahiri Mahasaya. During my stay in India I was taking every
opportunity of contacting direct disciples and relatives of the
Yogavatar. Recording their conversations in voluminous notes, I
verified facts and dates, and collected photographs, old letters,
and documents. My Lahiri Mahasaya portfolio began to swell; I realized
with dismay that ahead of me lay arduous labors in authorship.
I prayed that I might be equal to my role as biographer of the
colossal guru. Several of his disciples feared that in a written
account their master might be belittled or misinterpreted.
"One can hardly do justice in cold words to the life of a divine
incarnation," Panchanon Bhattacharya had once remarked to me.
Other close disciples were similarly satisfied to keep the Yogavatar
hidden in their hearts as the deathless preceptor. Nevertheless,
mindful of Lahiri Mahasaya's prediction about his biography, I spared
no effort to secure and substantiate the facts of his outward life.
Swami Keshabananda greeted our party warmly at Brindaban in his
Katayani Peith Ashram, an imposing brick building with massive
black pillars, set in a beautiful garden.
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