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I had continued these exercises when I was at the Croc Bank, where Farida seeing me at it, had told me about the Eye Clinic at Aurobindo Ashram where I could get proper training.
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.
Too long has he hearkened to the dank pessimism of his "dust-thou-art" counselors, heedless of the unconquerable soul. I was not the only one privileged to behold the Resurrected Guru. Master had often stopped to chat with her during his morning walk. On the evening of March 16, 1936, Ma arrived at the ashram and asked to see her guru. "Why, Master died a week ago!"
The ashram residents loved and revered their guru; a slight clap of his hands sufficed to bring them eagerly to his side. When his mood was silent and withdrawn, no one ventured to speak; when his laugh rang jovially, children looked upon him as their own. Master seldom asked others to render him a personal service, nor would he accept help from a student unless the willingness were sincere.
Before you entered you had to leave your slippers outside and place a plastic tag, with a number, on them; another tag, with the same number, you carried in your pocket as you walked barefoot up the stairs of the ashram. The place reminded me of a retreat centre with people in meditative moods and soft Indian classical music playing continuously. The first exercise was the most terrible one.
"That is the yogic state I must strive to attain." A yogi must be able to pass into, and continue in, the superconsciousness, regardless of multitudinous distractions never absent from this earth. Whether in the buzz of insects or the pervasive glare of daylight, the testimony of the senses must be barred. The instructive mosquitoes served for another early lesson at the ashram.
The room was thronged to the window sills with about 400 people assembled to hear the talk on yoga. I spoke first in Hindi, then in English. Our little group returned to the ashram in time for a good-night glimpse of Gandhi, enfolded in peace and correspondence.
I also had another totally unrelated and unconnected programme that I wanted to accomplish, namely to improve my eyesight by taking a course on eye care and learning eye exercises at the Eye Clinic at the Aurobindo Ashram in Pondicherry. I came to know of the Eye Clinic through Farida, one of the resident staff at Croc Bank.
Night was still lingering when I rose at 5:00 A.M. Village life was already stirring; first a bullock cart by the ashram gates, then a peasant with his huge burden balanced precariously on his head. After breakfast our trio sought out Gandhi for farewell PRONAMS. The saint rises at four o'clock for his morning prayer. "Mahatmaji, good-by!" I knelt to touch his feet.
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.
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