Two Penniless Boys In Brindaban
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Yogananda, Paramahansa
“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 11-1 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 11-2 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.
“I propose that I send you and your fellow disciple Jitendra this morning to the near-by city of Brindaban. You must not take a single rupee; you must not beg, either for food or money; you must not reveal your predicament to anyone; you must not go without your meals; and you must not be stranded in Brindaban. If you return to my bungalow here before twelve o’clock tonight, without having broken any rule of the test, I shall be the most astonished man in Agra!”
“I accept the challenge.” No hesitation was in my words or in my heart. Grateful memories flashed of the Instant Beneficence: my healing of deadly cholera through appeal to Lahiri Mahasaya’s picture; the playful gift of the two kites on the Lahore roof with Uma; the opportune amulet amidst my discouragement; the decisive message through the unknown Benares sadhu outside the compound of the pundit’s home; the vision of Divine Mother and Her majestic words of love; Her swift heed through Master Mahasaya to my trifling embarrassments; the last-minute guidance which materialized my high school diploma; and the ultimate boon, my living Master from the mist of lifelong dreams. Never could I admit my “philosophy” unequal to any tussle on the world’s harsh proving ground!
“Your willingness does you credit. I’ll escort you to the train at once.” Ananta turned to the openmouthed Jitendra. “You must go along as a witness and, very likely, a fellow victim!”
A half hour later Jitendra and I were in possession of one-way tickets for our impromptu trip. We submitted, in a secluded corner of the station, to a search of our persons. Ananta was quickly satisfied that we were carrying no hidden hoard; our simple dhotis 11-3 concealed nothing more than was necessary.
As faith invaded the serious realms of finance, my friend spoke protestingly. “Ananta, give me one or two rupees as a safeguard. Then I can telegraph you in case of misfortune.”
“Jitendra!” My ejaculation was sharply reproachful. “I will not proceed with the test if you take any money as final security.”
“There is something reassuring about the clink of coins.” Jitendra said no more as I regarded him sternly.
“Mukunda, I am not heartless.” A hint of humility had crept into Ananta’s voice. It may be that his conscience was smiting him; perhaps for sending two insolvent boys to a strange city; perhaps for his own religious skepticism. “If by any chance or grace you pass successfully through the Brindaban ordeal, I shall ask you to initiate me as your disciple.”
This promise had a certain irregularity, in keeping with the unconventional occasion. The eldest brother in an Indian family seldom bows before his juniors; he receives respect and obedience second only to a father. But no time remained for my comment; our train was at point of departure.
Jitendra maintained a lugubrious silence as our train covered the miles. Finally he bestirred himself; leaning over, he pinched me painfully at an awkward spot.
“I see no sign that God is going to supply our next meal!”
“Be quiet, doubting Thomas; the Lord is working with us.”
“Can you also arrange that He hurry? Already I am famished merely at the prospect before us. I left Benares to view the Taj’s mausoleum, not to enter my own!”
“Cheer up, Jitendra! Are we not to have our first glimpse of the sacred wonders of Brindaban? 11-4 I am in deep joy at thought of treading the ground hallowed by feet of Lord Krishna.”
(Left to right) Jitendra Mazumdar, my companion on the “penniless test” at Brindaban; Lalit-da, my cousin; Swami Kebelananda (“Shastri Mahasaya”), my saintly Sanskrit tutor; myself, as a high school youth
The door of our compartment opened; two men seated themselves. The next train stop would be the last.
“Young lads, do you have friends in Brindaban?” The stranger opposite me was taking a surprising interest.
“None of your business!” Rudely I averted my gaze.
“You are probably flying away from your families under the enchantment of the Stealer of Hearts. 11-5 I am of devotional temperament myself. I will make it my positive duty to see that you receive food, and shelter from this overpowering heat.”