“I sent you a message too, but you were unable
to grasp it.”
Dijen was silent, but glared at me suspiciously.
After we had escorted our guru to his hermitage, my
friend and I proceeded toward Serampore College.
Dijen halted in the street, indignation streaming
from his every pore.
“So! Master sent me a message! Yet
you concealed it! I demand an explanation!”
“Can I help it if your mental mirror oscillates
with such restlessness that you cannot register our
guru’s instructions?” I retorted.
The anger vanished from Dijen’s face. “I
see what you mean,” he said ruefully. “But
please explain how you could know about the child
with the jug.”
By the time I had finished the story of Master’s
phenomenal appearance at the boardinghouse that morning,
my friend and I had reached Serampore College.
“The account I have just heard of our guru’s
powers,” Dijen said, “makes me feel that
any university in the world is only a kindergarten.”
{FN19-1} The Bengali “Good-by”; literally,
it is a hopeful paradox:
“Then I come.”
{FN19-2} The characteristic sound of dematerialization
of bodily atoms.
“Father, I want to invite Master and four friends
to accompany me to the Himalayan foothills during
my summer vacation. May I have six train passes
to Kashmir and enough money to cover our travel expenses?”
As I had expected, Father laughed heartily. “This
is the third time you have given me the same cock-and-bull
story. Didn’t you make a similar request
last summer, and the year before that? At the
last moment, Sri Yukteswarji refuses to go.”
“It is true, Father; I don’t know why
my guru will not give me his definite word about Kashmir.
{FN20-1} But if I tell him that I have already secured
the passes from you, somehow I think that this time
he will consent to make the journey.”
Father was unconvinced at the moment, but the following
day, after some good-humored gibes, he handed me six
passes and a roll of ten-rupee bills.
“I hardly think your theoretical trip needs
such practical props,” he remarked, “but
here they are.”
That afternoon I exhibited my booty to Sri Yukteswar.
Though he smiled at my enthusiasm, his words were
noncommittal: “I would like to go; we shall
see.” He made no comment when I asked his
little hermitage disciple, Kanai, to accompany us.
I also invited three other friends—Rajendra
Nath Mitra, Jotin Auddy, and one other boy. Our
date of departure was set for the following Monday.
On Saturday and Sunday I stayed in Calcutta, where
marriage rites for a cousin were being celebrated
at my family home. I arrived in Serampore with
my luggage early Monday morning. Rajendra met
me at the hermitage door.
“Master is out, walking. He has refused
to go.”
