A transforming silence ensued. Just as the modern
“talkies” become inaudible motion pictures
when the sound apparatus goes out of order, so the
Divine Hand, by some strange miracle, stifled the
earthly bustle. The pedestrians as well as the
passing trolley cars, automobiles, bullock carts,
and iron-wheeled hackney carriages were all in noiseless
transit. As though possessing an omnipresent eye,
I beheld the scenes which were behind me, and to each
side, as easily as those in front. The whole
spectacle of activity in that small section of Calcutta
passed before me without a sound. Like a glow
of fire dimly seen beneath a thin coat of ashes, a
mellow luminescence permeated the panoramic view.
My own body seemed nothing more than one of the many
shadows, though it was motionless, while the others
flitted mutely to and fro. Several boys, friends
of mine, approached and passed on; though they had
looked directly at me, it was without recognition.
The unique pantomime brought me an inexpressible ecstasy.
I drank deep from some blissful fount. Suddenly
my chest received another soft blow from Master Mahasaya.
The pandemonium of the world burst upon my unwilling
ears. I staggered, as though harshly awakened
from a gossamer dream. The transcendental wine
removed beyond my reach.
“Little sir, I see you found the second bioscope
to your liking.” The saint was smiling;
I started to drop in gratitude on the ground before
him. “You can’t do that to me now;
you know God is in your temple also! I won’t
let Divine Mother touch my feet through your hands!”
If anyone observed the unpretentious master and myself
as we walked away from the crowded pavement, the onlooker
surely suspected us of intoxication. I felt that
the falling shades of evening were sympathetically
drunk with God. When darkness recovered from
its nightly swoon, I faced the new morning bereft of
my ecstatic mood. But ever enshrined in memory
is the seraphic son of Divine Mother-Master Mahasaya!
Trying with poor words to do justice to his benignity,
I wonder if Master Mahasaya, and others among the
deep-visioned saints whose paths crossed mine, knew
that years later, in a Western land, I would be writing
about their lives as divine devotees. Their foreknowledge
would not surprise me nor, I hope, my readers, who
have come thus far with me.
{FN9-1} These are respectful titles by which he was
customarily addressed. His name was Mahendra
Nath Gupta; he signed his literary works simply “M.”
{FN9-2} The Oxford English Dictionary gives, as rare,
this definition of bioscope: A view of life;
that which gives such a view.
Master Mahasaya’s choice of a word was, then,
peculiarly justified.
I MEET MY MASTER, SRI YUKTESWAR
“Faith in God can produce any miracle except
one-passing an examination without study.”
Distastefully I closed the book I had picked up in
an idle moment.
