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is greatly enhanced by the fact that it is one of the few books in English about the wise men of India which has been written, not by a journalist or foreigner, but by one of their own race and training—in short, a book a yogi.
As an eyewitness recountal of the extraordinary lives and powers of modern Hindu saints, the book has importance both timely and timeless.
My strong emotional life took silent form as words in many languages. Psychological ferment and my unresponsive body brought me to many obstinate crying-spells.
Among the inward confusion of tongues, my ear gradually accustomed itself to the circumambient Bengali syllables of my people. I recall the general family bewilderment at my distress.
He had chosen as his place of earthly abode the holy city of Puri, whither multitudes of pious Hindus, representative of every province of India, come daily on pilgrimage to the famed Temple of Jagannath, “Lord of the World.” It was at Puri that Sri Yukteswar closed his mortal eyes, in 1936, to the scenes of this transitory state of being and passed on, knowing that his incarnation had been carried to a triumphant completion. My thanks are due also to Miss Ruth Zahn for preparation of the index, to Mr. Richard Wright for permission to use extracts from his Indian travel diary, and to Dr. He was one of the great masters who are India’s sole remaining wealth.
I am glad, indeed, to be able to record this testimony to the high character and holiness of Sri Yukteswar. Emerging in every generation, they have bulwarked their land against the fate of Babylon and Egypt.
These glimpses of the past, by some dimensionless link, also afforded me a glimpse of the future.
The helpless humiliations of infancy are not banished from my mind.
These early triumphs, usually forgotten quickly, are yet a natural basis of self-confidence. Many yogis are known to have retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the dramatic transition to and from “life” and “death.” If man be solely a body, its loss indeed places the final period to identity.But Mother was a queen of hearts, and taught us only through love.After her death, Father displayed more of his inner tenderness.I was born in the last decade of the nineteenth century, and passed my first eight years at Gorakhpur.This was my birthplace in the United Provinces of northeastern India. I, Mukunda Lal Ghosh,3 was the second son and the fourth child.