THE CAULIFLOWER ROBBERY
“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.”
[Illustration: 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.—see puri.jpg]
I had just arrived in Puri {FN15-1} 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. {FN15-2} 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 {FN15-3} 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. {FN15-4} Designed by Sri Yukteswar,
it bore the symbol of the single {FN15-5} 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.
“You see how God feels for us,” Master replied after I had expressed
my gratitude. “The Lord responds to all and works for all. Just as
He sent rain at my plea, so He fulfills any sincere desire of the
devotee. Seldom do men realize how often God heeds their prayers.
He is not partial to a few, but listens to everyone who approaches
Him trustingly. His children should ever have implicit faith in
the loving-kindness of their Omnipresent Father.” {FN15-6}
Sri Yukteswar sponsored four yearly festivals, at the equinoxes
and solstices, when his students gathered from far and near. The
winter solstice celebration was held in Serampore; the first one
I attended left me with a permanent blessing.
The festivities started in the morning with a barefoot procession
along the streets. The voices of a hundred students rang out with
sweet religious songs; a few musicians played the flute and KHOL
KARTAL (drums and cymbals). Enthusiastic townspeople strewed the
path with flowers, glad to be summoned from prosaic tasks by our
resounding praise of the Lord’s blessed name. The long tour ended
in the courtyard of the hermitage. There we encircled our guru,
while students on upper balconies showered us with marigold blossoms.
Many guests went upstairs to receive a pudding of CHANNA and
oranges. I made my way to a group of brother disciples who were
serving today as cooks. Food for such large gatherings had to
be cooked outdoors in huge cauldrons. The improvised wood-burning
brick stoves were smoky and tear-provoking, but we laughed merrily
at our work. Religious festivals in India are never considered
troublesome; each one does his part, supplying money, rice,
vegetables, or his personal services.
Master was soon in our midst, supervising the details of the feast.
Busy every moment, he kept pace with the most energetic young
student.
A SANKIRTAN (group chanting), accompanied by the harmonium and
hand-played Indian drums, was in progress on the second floor. Sri
Yukteswar listened appreciatively; his musical sense was acutely
perfect.
“They are off key!” Master left the cooks and joined the artists.
The melody was heard again, this time correctly rendered.
In India, music as well as painting and the drama is considered a
divine art. Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva-the Eternal Trinity-were the
first musicians. The Divine Dancer Shiva is scripturally represented
as having worked out the infinite modes of rhythm in His cosmic
dance of universal creation, preservation, and dissolution, while
Brahma accentuated the time-beat with the clanging cymbals, and
Vishnu sounded the holy MRIDANGA or drum. Krishna, an incarnation
of Vishnu, is always shown in Hindu art with a flute, on which
he plays the enrapturing song that recalls to their true home the
human souls wandering in MAYA-delusion. Saraswati, goddess of wisdom,
is symbolized as performing on the VINA, mother of all stringed
instruments. The SAMA VEDA of India contains the world’s earliest
writings on musical science.
The foundation stone of Hindu music is the RAGAS or fixed melodic
scales. The six basic RAGAS branch out into 126 derivative RAGINIS
(wives) and PUTRAS (sons). Each RAGA has a minimum of five notes:
a leading note (VADI or king), a secondary note (SAMAVADI or prime
minister), helping notes (ANUVADI, attendants), and a dissonant
note (VIVADI, the enemy).
Each one of the six basic RAGAS has a natural correspondence with
a certain hour of the day, season of the year, and a presiding
deity who bestows a particular potency. Thus, (1) the HINDOLE RAGA
is heard only at dawn in the spring, to evoke the mood of universal
love; (2) DEEPAKA RAGA is played during the evening in summer, to
arouse compassion; (3) MEGHA RAGA is a melody for midday in the
rainy season, to summon courage; (4) BHAIRAVA RAGA is played in the
mornings of August, September, October, to achieve tranquillity;
(5) SRI RAGA is reserved for autumn twilights, to attain pure love;
(6) MALKOUNSA RAGA is heard at midnights in winter, for valor.
The ancient rishis discovered these laws of sound alliance between
nature and man. Because nature is an objectification of AUM,
the Primal Sound or Vibratory Word, man can obtain control over
all natural manifestations through the use of certain MANTRAS or
chants. {FN15-7} Historical documents tell of the remarkable powers
possessed by Miyan Tan Sen, sixteenth century court musician for
Akbar the Great. Commanded by the Emperor to sing a night RAGA
while the sun was overhead, Tan Sen intoned a MANTRA which instantly
caused the whole palace precincts to become enveloped in darkness.
Indian music divides the octave into 22 SRUTIS or demi-semitones.
These microtonal intervals permit fine shades of musical expression
unattainable by the Western chromatic scale of 12 semitones. Each
one of the seven basic notes of the octave is associated in Hindu
mythology with a color, and the natural cry of a bird or beast-DO
with green, and the peacock; RE with red, and the skylark; MI with
golden, and the goat; FA with yellowish white, and the heron; SOL
with black, and the nightingale; LA with yellow, and the horse; SI
with a combination of all colors, and the elephant.
Three scales-major, harmonic minor, melodic minor-are the only
ones which Occidental music employs, but Indian music outlines 72
THATAS or scales. The musician has a creative scope for endless
improvisation around the fixed traditional melody or RAGA; he
concentrates on the sentiment or definitive mood of the structural
theme and then embroiders it to the limits of his own originality.
The Hindu musician does not read set notes; he clothes anew at each
playing the bare skeleton of the RAGA, often confining himself to
a single melodic sequence, stressing by repetition all its subtle
microtonal and rhythmic variations. Bach, among Western composers,
had an understanding of the charm and power of repetitious sound
slightly differentiated in a hundred complex ways.
Ancient Sanskrit literature describes 120 TALAS or time-measures.
The traditional founder of Hindu music, Bharata, is said to have
isolated 32 kinds of TALA in the song of a lark. The origin of TALA
or rhythm is rooted in human movements-the double time of walking,
and the triple time of respiration in sleep, when inhalation is
twice the length of exhalation. India has always recognized the
human voice as the most perfect instrument of sound. Hindu music
therefore largely confines itself to the voice range of three
octaves. For the same reason, melody (relation of successive notes)
is stressed, rather than harmony (relation of simultaneous notes).
The deeper aim of the early rishi-musicians was to blend the singer
with the Cosmic Song which can be heard through awakening of man’s
occult spinal centers. Indian music is a subjective, spiritual,
and individualistic art, aiming not at symphonic brilliance but at
personal harmony with the Oversoul. The Sanskrit word for musician
is BHAGAVATHAR, “he who sings the praises of God.” The SANKIRTANS
or musical gatherings are an effective form of yoga or spiritual
discipline, necessitating deep concentration, intense absorption
in the seed thought and sound. Because man himself is an expression
of the Creative Word, sound has the most potent and immediate effect
on him, offering a way to remembrance of his divine origin.
The SANKIRTAN issuing from Sri Yukteswar’s second-story sitting
room on the day of the festival was inspiring to the cooks amidst
the steaming pots. My brother disciples and I joyously sang the
refrains, beating time with our hands.
By sunset we had served our hundreds of visitors with KHICHURI (rice
and lentils), vegetable curry, and rice pudding. We laid cotton
blankets over the courtyard; soon the assemblage was squatting
under the starry vault, quietly attentive to the wisdom pouring from
Sri Yukteswar’s lips. His public speeches emphasized the value of
KRIYA YOGA, and a life of self-respect, calmness, determination,
simple diet, and regular exercise.
A group of very young disciples then chanted a few sacred hymns; the
meeting concluded with SANKIRTAN. From ten o’clock until midnight,
the ashram residents washed pots and pans, and cleared the courtyard.
My guru called me to his side.
“I am pleased over your cheerful labors today and during the past
week of preparations. I want you with me; you may sleep in my bed
tonight.”
This was a privilege I had never thought would fall to my lot. We
sat awhile in a state of intense divine tranquillity. Hardly ten
minutes after we had gotten into bed, Master rose and began to
dress.
“What is the matter, sir?” I felt a tinge of unreality in the
unexpected joy of sleeping beside my guru.
“I think that a few students who missed their proper train connections
will be here soon. Let us have some food ready.”
“Guruji, no one would come at one o’clock in the morning!”
“Stay in bed; you have been working very hard. But I am going to
cook.”
At Sri Yukteswar’s resolute tone, I jumped up and followed him to
the small daily-used kitchen adjacent to the second-floor inner
balcony. Rice and DHAL were soon boiling.
My guru smiled affectionately. “Tonight you have conquered fatigue
and fear of hard work; you shall never be bothered by them in the
future.”
As he uttered these words of lifelong blessing, footsteps sounded
in the courtyard. I ran downstairs and admitted a group of students.
“Dear brother, how reluctant we are to disturb Master at this hour!”
One man addressed me apologetically. “We made a mistake about train
schedules, but felt we could not return home without a glimpse of
our guru.”
“He has been expecting you and is even now preparing your food.”
Sri Yukteswar’s welcoming voice rang out; I led the astonished
visitors to the kitchen. Master turned to me with twinkling eyes.
“Now that you have finished comparing notes, no doubt you are
satisfied that our guests really did miss their train!”
I followed him to his bedroom a half hour later, realizing fully
that I was about to sleep beside a godlike guru.
{FN15-1} Puri, about 310 miles south of Calcutta, is a famous
pilgrimage city for devotees of Krishna; his worship is celebrated
there with two immense annual festivals, SNANAYATRA and RATHAYATRA.
{FN15-2} The 1939 discovery of a radio microscope revealed
a new world of hitherto unknown rays. “Man himself as well as all
kinds of supposedly inert matter constantly emits the rays that
this instrument ‘sees,’” reported the ASSOCIATED PRESS. “Those
who believe in telepathy, second sight, and clairvoyance, have in
this announcement the first scientific proof of the existence of
invisible rays which really travel from one person to another. The
radio device actually is a radio frequency spectroscope. It does
the same thing for cool, nonglowing matter that the spectroscope
does when it discloses the kinds of atoms that make the stars. . .
. The existence of such rays coming from man and all living things
has been suspected by scientists for many years. Today is the first
experimental proof of their existence. The discovery shows that
every atom and every molecule in nature is a continuous radio
broadcasting station. . . . Thus even after death the substance
that was a man continues to send out its delicate rays. The wave
lengths of these rays range from shorter than anything now used
in broadcasting to the longest kind of radio waves. The jumble of
these rays is almost inconceivable. There are millions of them. A
single very large molecule may give off 1,000,000 different wave
lengths at the same time. The longer wave lengths of this sort
travel with the ease and speed of radio waves. . . . There is one
amazing difference between the new radio rays and familiar rays
like light. This is the prolonged time, amounting to thousands of
years, which these radio waves will keep on emitting from undisturbed
matter.”
{FN15-3} One hesitates to use “intuition”; Hitler has almost ruined
the word along with more ambitious devastations. The Latin root
meaning of INTUITION is “inner protection.” The Sanskrit word AGAMA
means intuitional knowledge born of direct soul-perception; hence
certain ancient treatises by the rishis were called AGAMAS.
{FN15-4} SAT is literally “being,” hence “essence; reality.” SANGA
is “association.” Sri Yukteswar called his hermitage organization
SAT-SANGA, “fellowship with truth.”
{FN15-5} “If therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall
be full of light.”-MATTHEW 6:22. During deep meditation, the single
or spiritual eye becomes visible within the central part of the
forehead. This omniscient eye is variously referred to in scriptures
as the third eye, the star of the East, the inner eye, the dove
descending from heaven, the eye of Shiva, the eye of intuition,
etc.
{FN15-6} “He that planted the ear, shall he not hear? he that formed
the eye, shall he not see? . . . he that teacheth man knowledge,
shall he not know?”-PSALM 94:9-10.
{FN15-7} Folklore of all peoples contains references to incantations
with power over nature. The American Indians are well-known to
have developed sound rituals for rain and wind. Tan Sen, the great
Hindu musician, was able to quench fire by the power of his song.
Charles Kellogg, the California naturalist, gave a demonstration
of the effect of tonal vibration on fire in 1926 before a group
of New York firemen. “Passing a bow, like an enlarged violin bow,
swiftly across an aluminum tuning fork, he produced a screech like
intense radio static. Instantly the yellow gas flame, two feet
high, leaping inside a hollow glass tube, subsided to a height of
six inches and became a sputtering blue flare. Another attempt with
the bow, and another screech of vibration, extinguished it.”