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The AMRITA BAZAR PATRIKA, leading newspaper of Calcutta, carried his picture and the following report: The death BHANDARA ceremony for Srimat Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri Maharaj, aged 81, took place at Puri on March 21. Many disciples came down to Puri for the rites.
"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.
"Mother, please tell me about your early life. It holds a deep interest for all of India, and even for our brothers and sisters beyond the seas." Giri Bala put aside her habitual reserve, relaxing into a conversational mood. "So be it." Her voice was low and firm. "I was born in these forest regions. My childhood was unremarkable save that I was possessed by an insatiable appetite.
Because of this very artificiality, Giri in time degenerated into a vague sense of propriety called up to explain this and sanction that, as, for example, why a mother must, if need be, sacrifice all her other children in order to save the first-born; or why a daughter must sell her chastity to get funds to pay for the father's dissipation, and the like.
He often came to the Gurpar Road home to tutor my brother Bishnu." "'I know Giri Bala well, Sthiti Babu told me. 'She employs a certain yoga technique which enables her to live without eating. Astounded at the story, he invited her to his palace. She agreed to a test and lived for two months locked up in a small section of his home.
In these instances Giri is duty; for what else is duty than what Right Reason demands and commands us to do. Should not Right Reason be our categorical imperative?
In the manner of the American newspaper reporter, who had unknowingly taught me his procedure, I questioned Giri Bala on many matters which I thought would be of interest to the world. She gave me, bit by bit, the following information: "I have never had any children; many years ago I became a widow. I sleep very little, as sleep and waking are the same to me.
What a sensation we created-a group piloted by an American and pioneering in a snorting car right into their hamlet fastness, invading the ancient privacy and sanctity! "Halting by a narrow lane we found ourselves within a hundred feet of Giri Bala's ancestral home. We felt the thrill of fulfillment after the long road struggle crowned by a rough finish.
"How I have missed this fruit in the West! A Hindu's heaven without mangoes is inconceivable!" I picked up a rock and downed a proud beauty hidden on the highest limb. "Dick," I asked between bites of ambrosia, warm with the tropical sun, "are all the cameras in the car?" "Yes, sir; in the baggage compartment." "If Giri Bala proves to be a true saint, I want to write about her in the West.
Very rightly did they formulate this authority Giri since if love does not rush to deeds of virtue, recourse must be had to man's intellect and his reason must be quickened to convince him of the necessity of acting aright. The same is true of any other moral obligation. The instant Duty becomes onerous. Right Reason steps in to prevent our shirking it.
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