Autobiography of a Yogi | Page 3

previous incarnation. Clear recollections came to me of a distant life, a
yogi {FN1-3} amidst the Himalayan snows. These glimpses of the past,
by some dimensionless link, also afforded me a glimpse of the future.
The helpless humiliations of infancy are not banished from my mind. I
was resentfully conscious of not being able to walk or express myself
freely. Prayerful surges arose within me as I realized my bodily
impotence. My strong emotional life took silent form as words in many
languages. Among the inward confusion of tongues, my ear gradually
accustomed itself to the circumambient Bengali syllables of my people.
The beguiling scope of an infant's mind! adultly considered limited to
toys and toes.
Psychological ferment and my unresponsive body brought me to many
obstinate crying-spells. I recall the general family bewilderment at my
distress. Happier memories, too, crowd in on me: my mother's caresses,
and my first attempts at lisping phrase and toddling step. These early
triumphs, usually forgotten quickly, are yet a natural basis of
self-confidence.
My far-reaching memories are not unique. Many yogis are known to
have retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the
dramatic transition to and from "life" and "death." If man be solely a
body, its loss indeed places the final period to identity. But if prophets
down the millenniums spake with truth, man is essentially of
incorporeal nature. The persistent core of human egoity is only
temporarily allied with sense perception.
Although odd, clear memories of infancy are not extremely rare.
During travels in numerous lands, I have listened to early recollections
from the lips of veracious men and women.

I was born in the last decade of the nineteenth century, and passed my
first eight years at Gorakhpur. This was my birthplace in the United
Provinces of northeastern India. We were eight children: four boys and
four girls. I, Mukunda Lal Ghosh {FN1-4}, was the second son and the
fourth child.
Father and Mother were Bengalis, of the KSHATRIYA caste. {FN1-5}
Both were blessed with saintly nature. Their mutual love, tranquil and
dignified, never expressed itself frivolously. A perfect parental
harmony was the calm center for the revolving tumult of eight young
lives.
Father, Bhagabati Charan Ghosh, was kind, grave, at times stern.
Loving him dearly, we children yet observed a certain reverential
distance. An outstanding mathematician and logician, he was guided
principally by his intellect. But Mother was a queen of hearts, and
taught us only through love. After her death, Father displayed more of
his inner tenderness. I noticed then that his gaze often metamorphosed
into my mother's.
In Mother's presence we tasted our earliest bitter-sweet acquaintance
with the scriptures. Tales from the MAHABHARATA and
RAMAYANA {FN1-6} were resourcefully summoned to meet the
exigencies of discipline. Instruction and chastisement went hand in
hand.
A daily gesture of respect to Father was given by Mother's dressing us
carefully in the afternoons to welcome him home from the office. His
position was similar to that of a vice-president, in the Bengal-Nagpur
Railway, one of India's large companies. His work involved traveling,
and our family lived in several cities during my childhood.
Mother held an open hand toward the needy. Father was also kindly
disposed, but his respect for law and order extended to the budget. One
fortnight Mother spent, in feeding the poor, more than Father's monthly
income.
"All I ask, please, is to keep your charities within a reasonable limit."

Even a gentle rebuke from her husband was grievous to Mother. She
ordered a hackney carriage, not hinting to the children at any
disagreement.
"Good-by; I am going away to my mother's home." Ancient ultimatum!
We broke into astounded lamentations. Our maternal uncle arrived
opportunely; he whispered to Father some sage counsel, garnered no
doubt from the ages. After Father had made a few conciliatory remarks,
Mother happily dismissed the cab. Thus ended the only trouble I ever
noticed between my parents. But I recall a characteristic discussion.
"Please give me ten rupees for a hapless woman who has just arrived at
the house." Mother's smile had its own persuasion.
"Why ten rupees? One is enough." Father added a justification: "When
my father and grandparents died suddenly, I had my first taste of
poverty. My only breakfast, before walking miles to my school, was a
small banana. Later, at the university, I was in such need that I applied
to a wealthy judge for aid of one rupee per month. He declined,
remarking that even a rupee is important."
"How bitterly you recall the denial of that rupee!" Mother's heart had
an instant logic. "Do you want this woman also to remember painfully
your refusal of ten rupees which she needs urgently?"
"You win!" With the immemorial gesture of vanquished husbands, he
opened his wallet. "Here is a ten-rupee note. Give