{FN12-19} “Man in his waking state puts forth
innumerable efforts for experiencing sensual pleasures;
when the entire group of sensory organs is fatigued,
he forgets even the pleasure on hand and goes to sleep
in order to enjoy rest in the soul, his own nature,”
Shankara, the great Vedantist, has written. “Ultra-sensual
bliss is thus extremely easy of attainment and is
far superior to sense delights which always end in
disgust.”
{FN12-20} mark 2:27.
{FN12-21} The UPANISHADS or Vedanta (literally,
“end of the Vedas"), occur in certain parts
of the Vedas as essential summaries. The
UPANISHADS furnish the doctrinal basis of the Hindu
religion. They received the following tribute
from Schopenhauer: “How entirely does the
upanishad breathe throughout the holy spirit of
the Vedas! How is everyone who has become
familiar with that incomparable book stirred by that
spirit to the very depths of his soul! From every
sentence deep, original, and sublime thoughts arise,
and the whole is pervaded by a high and holy and earnest
spirit. . . . The access to the Vedas by
means of the UPANISHADS is in my eyes the greatest
privilege this century may claim before all previous
centuries.”
{FN12-22} Commentaries. Shankara peerlessly expounded
the UPANISHADS.
{FN12-23} proverbs 16:32.
THE SLEEPLESS SAINT
“Please permit me to go to the Himalayas.
I hope in unbroken solitude to achieve continuous
divine communion.”
I actually once addressed these ungrateful words to
my Master. Seized by one of the unpredictable
delusions which occasionally assail the devotee, I
felt a growing impatience with hermitage duties and
college studies. A feebly extenuating circumstance
is that my proposal was made when I had been only
six months with Sri Yukteswar. Not yet had I
fully surveyed his towering stature.
“Many hillmen live in the Himalayas, yet possess
no God-perception.” My guru’s answer
came slowly and simply. “Wisdom is better
sought from a man of realization than from an inert
mountain.”
Ignoring Master’s plain hint that he, and not
a hill, was my teacher, I repeated my plea. Sri
Yukteswar vouchsafed no reply. I took his silence
for consent, a precarious interpretation readily accepted
at one’s convenience.
In my Calcutta home that evening, I busied myself
with travel preparations. Tying a few articles
inside a blanket, I remembered a similar bundle, surreptitiously
dropped from my attic window a few years earlier.
I wondered if this were to be another ill-starred
flight toward the Himalayas. The first time my
spiritual elation had been high; tonight conscience
smote heavily at thought of leaving my guru.
The following morning I sought out Behari Pundit,
my Sanskrit professor at Scottish Church College.
