{FN10-7} “Divine teacher,” the customary
Sanskrit term for one’s spiritual preceptor.
I have rendered it in English as simply “Master.”
TWO PENNILESS BOYS IN BRINDABAN
“It would serve you right if Father disinherited
you, Mukunda! How foolishly you are throwing
away your life!” An elder-brother sermon was
assaulting my ears.
Jitendra and I, fresh from the train (a figure of
speech merely; we were covered with dust), had just
arrived at the home of Ananta, recently transferred
from Calcutta to the ancient city of Agra. Brother
was a supervising accountant for the Bengal-Nagpur
Railway.
“You well know, Ananta, I seek my inheritance
from the Heavenly Father.”
“Money first; God can come later! Who knows?
Life may be too long.”
“God first; money is His slave! Who can
tell? Life may be too short.”
My retort was summoned by the exigencies of the moment,
and held no presentiment. Yet the leaves of time
unfolded to early finality for Ananta; a few years
later {FN11-1} he entered the land where bank notes
avail neither first nor last.
“Wisdom from the hermitage, I suppose!
But I see you have left Benares.” Ananta’s
eyes gleamed with satisfaction; he yet hoped to secure
my pinions in the family nest.
“My sojourn in Benares was not in vain!
I found there everything my heart had been longing
for! You may be sure it was not your pundit or
his son!”
Ananta joined me in reminiscent laughter; he had had
to admit that the Benares “clairvoyant”
he selected was a shortsighted one.
“What are your plans, my wandering brother?”
“Jitendra persuaded me to Agra. We shall
view the beauties of the Taj Mahal {FN11-2} here,”
I explained. “Then we are going to my newly-found
guru, who has a hermitage in Serampore.”
Ananta hospitably arranged for our comfort. Several
times during the evening I noticed his eyes fixed
on me reflectively.
“I know that look!” I thought. “A
plot is brewing!”
The denouement took place during our early breakfast.
“So you feel quite independent of Father’s
wealth.” Ananta’s gaze was innocent
as he resumed the barbs of yesterday’s conversation.
“I am conscious of my dependence on God.”
“Words are cheap! Life has shielded you
thus far! What a plight if you were forced to
look to the Invisible Hand for your food and shelter!
You would soon be begging on the streets!”
“Never! I would not put faith in passers-by
rather than God! He can devise for His devotee
a thousand resources besides the begging-bowl!”
“More rhetoric! Suppose I suggest that
your vaunted philosophy be put to a test in this tangible
world?”
“I would agree! Do you confine God to a
speculative world?”
“We shall see; today you shall have opportunity
either to enlarge or to confirm my own views!”
Ananta paused for a dramatic moment; then spoke slowly
and seriously.
