BABAJI’S INTEREST IN THE WEST
“Master, did you ever meet Babaji?”
It was a calm summer night in Serampore; the large
stars of the tropics gleamed over our heads as I sat
by Sri Yukteswar’s side on the second-story
balcony of the hermitage.
“Yes.” Master smiled at my direct
question; his eyes lit with reverence. “Three
times I have been blessed by the sight of the deathless
guru. Our first meeting was in Allahabad at a
Kumbha Mela.”
The religious fairs held in India since time immemorial
are known as Kumbha MELAS; they have kept spiritual
goals in constant sight of the multitude. Devout
Hindus gather by the millions every six years to meet
thousands of sadhus, yogis, swamis, and ascetics of
all kinds. Many are hermits who never leave their
secluded haunts except to attend the MELAS and bestow
their blessings on worldly men and women.
“I was not a swami at the time I met Babaji,”
Sri Yukteswar went on. “But I had already
received Kriya initiation from Lahiri Mahasaya.
He encouraged me to attend the Mela which was
convening in January, 1894 at Allahabad. It was
my first experience of a Kumbha; I felt slightly
dazed by the clamor and surge of the crowd. In
my searching gazes around I saw no illumined face
of a master. Passing a bridge on the bank of
the Ganges, I noticed an acquaintance standing near-by,
his begging bowl extended.
“‘Oh, this fair is nothing but a chaos
of noise and beggars,’ I thought in disillusionment.
’I wonder if Western scientists, patiently enlarging
the realms of knowledge for the practical good of
mankind, are not more pleasing to God than these idlers
who profess religion but concentrate on alms.’
“My smouldering reflections on social reform
were interrupted by the voice of a tall sannyasi who
halted before me.
“‘Sir,’ he said, ‘a saint
is calling you.’
“‘Who is he?’
“‘Come and see for yourself.’
“Hesitantly following this laconic advice, I
soon found myself near a tree whose branches were
sheltering a guru with an attractive group of disciples.
The master, a bright unusual figure, with sparkling
dark eyes, rose at my approach and embraced me.
“‘Welcome, Swamiji,’ he said affectionately.
“‘Sir,’ I replied emphatically,
‘I am not a swami.’
“’Those on whom I am divinely directed
to bestow the title of “swami” never cast
it off.’ The saint addressed me simply,
but deep conviction of truth rang in his words; I
was engulfed in an instant wave of spiritual blessing.
Smiling at my sudden elevation into the ancient monastic
order, {FN36-1} I bowed at the feet of the obviously
great and angelic being in human form who had thus
honored me.
“Babaji-for it was indeed he-motioned me to
a seat near him under the tree. He was strong
and young, and looked like Lahiri Mahasaya; yet the
resemblance did not strike me, even though I had often
heard of the extraordinary similarities in the appearance
of the two masters. Babaji possesses a power
by which he can prevent any specific thought from
arising in a person’s mind. Evidently the
great guru wished me to be perfectly natural in his
presence, not overawed by knowledge of his identity.
