But the small boy, thwarted in his attempts to reach
the Himalayas, daily traveled far on the wings of
his amulet.
{FN2-1} Sanskrit root meaning of swami is “he
who is one with his Self (SWA).” Applied
to a member of the Indian order of monks, the title
has the formal respect of “the reverend.”
{FN2-2} The Indian custom, whereby parents choose
the life-partner for their child, has resisted the
blunt assaults of time. The percentage is high
of happy Indian marriages.
{FN2-3} An anchorite; one who pursues a SADHANA or
path of spiritual discipline.
{FN2-4} When I discovered by these words that Mother
had possessed secret knowledge of a short life, I
understood for the first time why she had been insistent
on hastening the plans for Ananta’s marriage.
Though she died before the wedding, her natural maternal
wish had been to witness the rites.
{FN2-5} A customary gesture of respect to sadhus.
THE SAINT WITH TWO BODIES
“Father, if I promise to return home without
coercion, may I take a sight-seeing trip to Benares?”
My keen love of travel was seldom hindered by Father.
He permitted me, even as a mere boy, to visit many
cities and pilgrimage spots. Usually one or more
of my friends accompanied me; we would travel comfortably
on first-class passes provided by Father. His
position as a railroad official was fully satisfactory
to the nomads in the family.
Father promised to give my request due consideration.
The next day he summoned me and held out a round-trip
pass from Bareilly to Benares, a number of rupee notes,
and two letters.
“I have a business matter to propose to a Benares
friend, Kedar Nath Babu. Unfortunately I have
lost his address. But I believe you will be able
to get this letter to him through our common friend,
Swami Pranabananda. The swami, my brother disciple,
has attained an exalted spiritual stature. You
will benefit by his company; this second note will
serve as your introduction.”
Father’s eyes twinkled as he added, “Mind,
no more flights from home!”
I set forth with the zest of my twelve years (though
time has never dimmed my delight in new scenes and
strange faces). Reaching Benares, I proceeded
immediately to the swami’s residence. The
front door was open; I made my way to a long, hall-like
room on the second floor. A rather stout man,
wearing only a loincloth, was seated in lotus posture
on a slightly raised platform. His head and unwrinkled
face were clean-shaven; a beatific smile played about
his lips. To dispel my thought that I had intruded,
he greeted me as an old friend.
“Baba Anand (bliss to my dear one).”
His welcome was given heartily in a childlike voice.
I knelt and touched his feet.
“Are you Swami Pranabananda?”
He nodded. “Are you Bhagabati’s son?”
His words were out before I had had time to get Father’s
letter from my pocket. In astonishment, I handed
him the note of introduction, which now seemed superfluous.
