Autobiography of a Yogi | Page 6

missing.
With tears and shattered pride, Ganga Dhar Babu sought out his guru. It
was many hours before Lahiri Mahasaya broke his silence with a
pregnant comment:
"I am Spirit. Can your camera reflect the omnipresent Invisible?"
"I see it cannot! But, Holy Sir, I lovingly desire a picture of the bodily
temple where alone, to my narrow vision, that Spirit appears fully to
dwell."
"Come, then, tomorrow morning. I will pose for you."
Again the photographer focused his camera. This time the sacred figure,
not cloaked with mysterious imperceptibility, was sharp on the plate.
The master never posed for another picture; at least, I have seen none.
The photograph is reproduced in this book. Lahiri Mahasaya's fair
features, of a universal cast, hardly suggest to what race he belonged.

His intense joy of God-communion is slightly revealed in a somewhat
enigmatic smile. His eyes, half open to denote a nominal direction on
the outer world, are half closed also. Completely oblivious to the poor
lures of the earth, he was fully awake at all times to the spiritual
problems of seekers who approached for his bounty.
Shortly after my healing through the potency of the guru's picture, I had
an influential spiritual vision. Sitting on my bed one morning, I fell into
a deep reverie.
"What is behind the darkness of closed eyes?" This probing thought
came powerfully into my mind. An immense flash of light at once
manifested to my inward gaze. Divine shapes of saints, sitting in
meditation posture in mountain caves, formed like miniature cinema
pictures on the large screen of radiance within my forehead.
"Who are you?" I spoke aloud.
"We are the Himalayan yogis." The celestial response is difficult to
describe; my heart was thrilled.
"Ah, I long to go to the Himalayas and become like you!" The vision
vanished, but the silvery beams expanded in ever-widening circles to
infinity.
"What is this wondrous glow?"
"I am Iswara.{FN1-11} I am Light." The voice was as murmuring
clouds.
"I want to be one with Thee!"
Out of the slow dwindling of my divine ecstasy, I salvaged a permanent
legacy of inspiration to seek God. "He is eternal, ever-new Joy!" This
memory persisted long after the day of rapture.
Another early recollection is outstanding; and literally so, for I bear the
scar to this day. My elder sister Uma and I were seated in the early

morning under a NEEM tree in our Gorakhpur compound. She was
helping me with a Bengali primer, what time I could spare my gaze
from the near-by parrots eating ripe margosa fruit. Uma complained of
a boil on her leg, and fetched a jar of ointment. I smeared a bit of the
salve on my forearm.
"Why do you use medicine on a healthy arm?"
"Well, Sis, I feel I am going to have a boil tomorrow. I am testing your
ointment on the spot where the boil will appear."
"You little liar!"
"Sis, don't call me a liar until you see what happens in the morning."
Indignation filled me.
Uma was unimpressed, and thrice repeated her taunt. An adamant
resolution sounded in my voice as I made slow reply.
"By the power of will in me, I say that tomorrow I shall have a fairly
large boil in this exact place on my arm; and YOUR boil shall swell to
twice its present size!"
Morning found me with a stalwart boil on the indicated spot; the
dimensions of Uma's boil had doubled. With a shriek, my sister rushed
to Mother. "Mukunda has become a necromancer!" Gravely, Mother
instructed me never to use the power of words for doing harm. I have
always remembered her counsel, and followed it.
My boil was surgically treated. A noticeable scar, left by the doctor's
incision, is present today. On my right forearm is a constant reminder
of the power in man's sheer word.
Those simple and apparently harmless phrases to Uma, spoken with
deep concentration, had possessed sufficient hidden force to explode
like bombs and produce definite, though injurious, effects. I understood,
later, that the explosive vibratory power in speech could be wisely
directed to free one's life from difficulties, and thus operate without

scar or rebuke. {FN1-12}
Our family moved to Lahore in the Punjab. There I acquired a picture
of the Divine Mother in the form of the Goddess Kali. {FN1-13} It
sanctified a small informal shrine on the balcony of our home. An
unequivocal conviction came over me that fulfillment would crown any
of my prayers uttered in that sacred spot. Standing there with Uma one
day, I watched two kites flying over the roofs of the buildings on the
opposite side of the very narrow lane.
"Why are you so quiet?" Uma pushed me playfully.
"I am just thinking how wonderful it