The Cauliflower Robbery
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Yogananda, Paramahansa
“Master, a gift for you! These six huge cauliflowers were planted with my hands; I have watched over their growth with the tender care of a mother nursing her child.” I presented the basket of vegetables with a ceremonial flourish.
“Thank you!” Sri Yukteswar’s smile was warm with appreciation. “Please keep them in your room; I shall need them tomorrow for a special dinner.”
MY GURU’S SEASIDE HERMITAGE AT PURI
A steady stream of visitors poured from the world into the hermitage tranquillity. A number of learned men came with the expectation of meeting an orthodox religionist. A supercilious smile or a glance of amused tolerance occasionally betrayed that the newcomers anticipated nothing more than a few pious platitudes. Yet their reluctant departure would bring an expressed conviction that Sri Yukteswar had shown precise insight into their specialized fields of knowledge.
My guru always had young resident disciples in his hermitage. He directed their minds and lives with that careful discipline in which the word “disciple” is etymologically rooted.
I had just arrived in Puri 15-1 to spend my college summer vacation with my guru at his seaside hermitage. Built by Master and his disciples, the cheerful little two-storied retreat fronts on the Bay of Bengal.
I awoke early the following morning, refreshed by the salty sea breezes and the charm of my surroundings. Sri Yukteswar’s melodious voice was calling; I took a look at my cherished cauliflowers and stowed them neatly under my bed.
“Come, let us go to the beach.” Master led the way; several young disciples and myself followed in a scattered group. Our guru surveyed us in mild criticism.
“When our Western brothers walk, they usually take pride in unison. Now, please march in two rows; keep rhythmic step with one another.” Sri Yukteswar watched as we obeyed; he began to sing: “Boys go to and fro, in a pretty little row.” I could not but admire the ease with which Master was able to match the brisk pace of his young students.
“Halt!” My guru’s eyes sought mine. “Did you remember to lock the back door of the hermitage?”
“I think so, sir.”
Sri Yukteswar was silent for a few minutes, a half-suppressed smile on his lips. “No, you forgot,” he said finally. “Divine contemplation must not be made an excuse for material carelessness. You have neglected your duty in safeguarding the ashram; you must be punished.”
I thought he was obscurely joking when he added: “Your six cauliflowers will soon be only five.”
We turned around at Master’s orders and marched back until we were close to the hermitage.
“Rest awhile. Mukunda, look across the compound on our left; observe the road beyond. A certain man will arrive there presently; he will be the means of your chastisement.”
I concealed my vexation at these incomprehensible remarks. A peasant soon appeared on the road; he was dancing grotesquely and flinging his arms about with meaningless gestures. Almost paralyzed with curiosity, I glued my eyes on the hilarious spectacle. As the man reached a point in the road where he would vanish from our view, Sri Yukteswar said, “Now, he will return.”
The peasant at once changed his direction and made for the rear of the ashram. Crossing a sandy tract, he entered the building by the back door. I had left it unlocked, even as my guru had said. The man emerged shortly, holding one of my prized cauliflowers. He now strode along respectably, invested with the dignity of possession.
The unfolding farce, in which my role appeared to be that of bewildered victim, was not so disconcerting that I failed in indignant pursuit. I was halfway to the road when Master recalled me. He was shaking from head to foot with laughter.
“That poor crazy man has been longing for a cauliflower,” he explained between outbursts of mirth. “I thought it would be a good idea if he got one of yours, so ill-guarded!”
I dashed to my room, where I found that the thief, evidently one with a vegetable fixation, had left untouched my gold rings, watch, and money, all lying openly on the blanket. He had crawled instead under the bed where, completely hidden from casual sight, one of my cauliflowers had aroused his singlehearted desire.
I asked Sri Yukteswar that evening to explain the incident which had, I thought, a few baffling features.
My guru shook his head slowly. “You will understand it someday. Science will soon discover a few of these hidden laws.”
When the wonders of radio burst some years later on an astounded world, I remembered Master’s prediction. Age-old concepts of time and space were annihilated; no peasant’s home so narrow that London or Calcutta could not enter! The dullest intelligence enlarged before indisputable proof of one aspect of man’s omnipresence.
The “plot” of the cauliflower comedy can be best understood by a radio analogy. Sri Yukteswar was a perfect human radio. Thoughts are no more than very gentle vibrations moving in the ether. Just as a sensitized radio picks up a desired musical number out of thousands of other programs from every direction, so my guru had been able to catch the thought of the half-witted man who hankered for a cauliflower, out of the countless thoughts of broadcasting human wills in the world. 15-2 By his powerful will, Master was also a human broadcasting station, and had successfully directed the peasant to reverse his steps and go to a certain room for a single cauliflower.
Intuition 15-3 is soul guidance, appearing naturally in man during those instants when his mind is calm. Nearly everyone has had the experience of an inexplicably correct “hunch,” or has transferred his thoughts effectively to another person.
The human mind, free from the static of restlessness, can perform through its antenna of intuition all the functions of complicated radio mechanisms-sending and receiving thoughts, and tuning out undesirable ones. As the power of a radio depends on the amount of electrical current it can utilize, so the human radio is energized according to the power of will possessed by each individual.
All thoughts vibrate eternally in the cosmos. By deep concentration, a master is able to detect the thoughts of any mind, living or dead. Thoughts are universally and not individually rooted; a truth cannot be created, but only perceived. The erroneous thoughts of man result from imperfections in his discernment. The goal of yoga science is to calm the mind, that without distortion it may mirror the divine vision in the universe.
Radio and television have brought the instantaneous sound and sight of remote persons to the firesides of millions: the first faint scientific intimations that man is an all-pervading spirit. Not a body confined to a point in space, but the vast soul, which the ego in most barbaric modes conspires in vain to cramp.
“Very strange, very wonderful, seemingly very improbable phenomena may yet appear which, when once established, will not astonish us more than we are now astonished at all that science has taught us during the last century,” Charles Robert Richet, Nobel Prizeman in physiology, has declared. “It is assumed that the phenomena which we now accept without surprise, do not excite our astonishment because they are understood. But this is not the case. If they do not surprise us it is not because they are understood, it is because they are familiar; for if that which is not understood ought to surprise us, we should be surprised at everything-the fall of a stone thrown into the air, the acorn which becomes an oak, mercury which expands when it is heated, iron attracted by a magnet, phosphorus which burns when it is rubbed. . . . The science of today is a light matter; the revolutions and evolutions which it will experience in a hundred thousand years will far exceed the most daring anticipations. The truths-those surprising, amazing, unforeseen truths-which our descendants will discover, are even now all around us, staring us in the eyes, so to speak, and yet we do not see them. But it is not enough to say that we do not see them; we do not wish to see them; for as soon as an unexpected and unfamiliar fact appears, we try to fit it into the framework of the commonplaces of acquired knowledge, and we are indignant that anyone should dare to experiment further.”
A humorous occurrence took place a few days after I had been so implausibly robbed of a cauliflower. A certain kerosene lamp could not be found. Having so lately witnessed my guru’s omniscient insight, I thought he would demonstrate that it was child’s play to locate the lamp.
Master perceived my expectation. With exaggerated gravity he questioned all ashram residents. A young disciple confessed that he had used the lamp to go to the well in the back yard.
Sri Yukteswar gave the solemn counsel: “Seek the lamp near the well.”
I rushed there; no lamp! Crestfallen, I returned to my guru. He was now laughing heartily, without compunction for my disillusionment.
“Too bad I couldn’t direct you to the vanished lamp; I am not a fortune teller!” With twinkling eyes, he added, “I am not even a satisfactory Sherlock Holmes!”
I realized that Master would never display his powers when challenged, or for a triviality.
Delightful weeks sped by. Sri Yukteswar was planning a religious procession. He asked me to lead the disciples over the town and beach of Puri. The festive day dawned as one of the hottest of the summer.
“Guruji, how can I take the barefooted students over the fiery sands?” I spoke despairingly.
“I will tell you a secret,” Master responded. “The Lord will send an umbrella of clouds; you all shall walk in comfort.”
I happily organized the procession; our group started from the ashram with a Sat-Sanga banner. 15-4 Designed by Sri Yukteswar, it bore the symbol of the single 15-5 eye, the telescopic gaze of intuition.
No sooner had we left the hermitage than the part of the sky which was overhead became filled with clouds as though by magic. To the accompaniment of astonished ejaculations from all sides, a very light shower fell, cooling the city streets and the burning seashore. The soothing drops descended during the two hours of the parade. The exact instant at which our group returned to the ashram, the clouds and rain passed away tracelessly.