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"By the power of will in me, I say that tomorrow I shall have a fairly large boil in this exact place on my arm; and YOUR boil shall swell to twice its present size!" Morning found me with a stalwart boil on the indicated spot; the dimensions of Uma's boil had doubled. With a shriek, my sister rushed to Mother. "Mukunda has become a necromancer!"
"I will not accept ministrations from any other woman." Fourteen months after Mother's passing, I learned that she had left me a momentous message. Ananta was present at her deathbed and had recorded her words. Although she had asked that the disclosure be made to me in one year, my brother delayed. "Mukunda, I have been reluctant to give you strange tidings."
A young priest nicknamed Habu was calling me from the downstairs kitchen. "Mukunda, enough of meditation! You are needed for an errand." Another day I might have replied impatiently; now I wiped my tear-swollen face and meekly obeyed the summons. Together Habu and I set out for a distant market place in the Bengali section of Benares.
But for a specific purpose I want you to get one of silver and lead." Sri Yukteswar added careful directions. "Guruji, what 'specific purpose' do you mean?" "The stars are about to take an unfriendly interest in you, Mukunda. Fear not; you shall be protected. In about a month your liver will cause you much trouble.
"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.
The most singular event in my life brought further confirmation-an event which now impels my deathbed message. "It was an interview with a sage in the Punjab. While our family was living in Lahore, one morning the servant came precipitantly into my room. He insists that he "see the mother of Mukunda." "These simple words struck a profound chord within me; I went at once to greet the visitor.
"Before her mind became confused by illness," my brother-in-law told me, "she often said: 'If brother Mukunda were here, I would not be faring thus." He added despairingly, "The other doctors and myself see no hope. Blood dysentery has set in, after her long bout with typhoid." I began to move heaven and earth with my prayers.
"I will give you the privilege of choosing it yourself," he said, smiling. "Yogananda," I replied, after a moment's thought. "Be it so. Forsaking your family name of Mukunda Lal Ghosh, henceforth you shall be called Yogananda of the Giri branch of the Swami Order." As I knelt before Sri Yukteswar, and for the first time heard him pronounce my new name, my heart overflowed with gratitude.
"Your head is swelling to the bursting point!" I added a warning whose truth I felt intuitively: "Unless you mend your ways, someday you will be asked to leave this ashram." Laughing sarcastically, Kumar repeated my remark to our guru, who had just entered the room. Fully expecting to be scolded, I retired meekly to a corner. "Maybe Mukunda is right."
Sri Yukteswar said no parting word, but sank into silence, his unwinking eyes half-open, their vision fled to another world. I returned at once to Sasi's home in Calcutta. With astonishment I found my friend sitting up, drinking milk. "O Mukunda! What a miracle! Four hours ago I felt Master's presence in the room; my terrible symptoms immediately disappeared.
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