Sri Ramakrishna once said: ‘When the lotus blooms, bees come of their own accord to gather the honey. Likewise when the lotus of a man’s heart blossoms in the joy of God, spiritual aspirants will swarm to him.’ Many times we have watched Maharaj sitting among a crowd of devotees. One moment, he would be as happy and playful as a child; then suddenly his mind would become indrawn and the whole atmosphere would vibrate with the presence of God. At such times, those who had come to visit him would find that all their doubts and problems had been solved. They would rise and leave his presence, exalted and comforted, though not a single word had been spoken.

Sometimes he listened to them sympathetically and gave them constructive advice. Many successful professional men, such as doctors, lawyers, engineers, found it very easy to discuss the problems of their work with Maharaj. He would listen with keen interest and affection, and was often able to offer a new suggestion or another angle of approach to the problem.

The Order included many disciples of Holy Mother and Swamiji. But most of these had little opportunity of long association with their gurus as Swamiji had passed away in 1902, and Holy Mother did not live at the Math. She instructed her disciples to follow the disciplines prescribed by Maharaj. Maharaj also accepted disciples, but he was very selective. Often he would initiate them only after many years of probation. During the ceremony of initiation, he would be filled with an ecstasy of love, and the disciple would feel an extraordinary divine presence.

Holy Mother once complained that Maharaj did not accept enough disciples. It so happened that just then Maharaj was invited to see a play about the life of Ramanuja, which had been written by one of his own disciples. In this drama there is a scene which expresses Ramanuja’s great love for mankind. The incident is as follows:

Ramajuja’s guru initiates him with a sacred mantra, and warns him never to reveal it to anyone. ‘What will happen if I do?’ Ramanuja asks. And his guru replies, ‘Whoever hears this mantra will be liberated from the bondage of his ignorance, but you yourself will suffer damnation.’ Ramanuja goes at once into the temple, gathers a crowd around him, and utters the sacred mantra in the hearing of all. His guru pretends to be very angry, and rebukes him for his disobedience. Ramanuja answers: ‘If my damnation can liberate so many people, then my supreme desire is to be damned.’ The guru is delighted. ‘You are great indeed!’ he exclaims, ‘I give you my blessing.’

This drama and Holy Mother’s remark both made a deep impression upon Maharaj. As a result he initiated many more disciples thereafter.

Maharaj recognized his future disciples at first sight, and bound them to him at once with an indescribable love. Even as he met them, he knew which type of life each would take up. Two young college students came to visit him. To one of them he said jokingly: ‘Let me see your palm.’ As he looked at it, he remarked:’ You have a tendency toward worldly enjoyments. But, by God’s grace, you may be able to overcome it.’ Swami Premananda, who was present, asked Maharaj to look at the other boy’s hand also. He replied, smiling: ‘I don’t need to.’ Hearing this, the other boy (who was later known as Swami Yatiswarananda) felt sad. He thought: ‘My friend has some chance of becoming a monk, but I have none.’ A few days later, he came alone to visit Maharaj at the Belur Math. He met Maharaj’s personal attendant, who told him: ‘Maharaj said that you would become a monk.’ And indeed, he did become a monk a few years later, while the other boy married and remained a devotee.

Before Yatiswarananda became a monk, Maharaj told him: ‘Give your body and mind to worldly enjoyments and the world will destroy them both. Devote them to God and His service and you will enjoy bodily health, peace of mind, and spiritual joy.’

The following is Yatiswarananda’s own description of his initiation. ‘The day Maharaj was to initiate me, I felt a spiritual power tangibly emanating from him. He raised his hand in benediction above my head, giving me instantly a vivid consciousness of an immanent Presence. I realized that the whole universe was merged in that Presence. That day, also, I got a glimpse of the divine nature and power of the guru. I was literally transported into a new life, and the power that he transmitted to me that day is still working within me.’

There are some instances of persons receiving initiation from Maharaj in dream. This has happened even when the dreamer had never seen him in the flesh, but had merely heard about him and felt attracted by his name. One devout young woman had such a dream, and went to see Maharaj to confirm it. Although he was seated among his brother-disciples, she recognized Maharaj at first sight, and began to describe her experience. Just as she was about to repeat the mantra she had received in her dream, Maharaj stopped her. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, ‘I will tell you what it was.’ Thus she was convinced that her dream experience was genuine.

A young boy also received a mantra from Maharaj in a dream, but unfortunately forgot it when he awoke. Shortly afterward he went to Maharaj for initiation. During the ceremony, the dream-mantra returned to his mind, so that he was delighted and surprised, when a few moments later, Maharaj gave him that very same mantra.

Once Sri Ramakrishna appeared in a dream to two ladies belonging to an aristocratic family, and told them to visit Maharaj. They had never heard of Sri Ramakrishna, nor read anything about him. But they went to Maharaj and were initiated by him. After relating this incident, Maharaj remarked to me, ‘You see, we think we have to preach the Lord and His message, but Sri Ramakrishna does his own preaching.’

Girish Chandra Ghosh, the famous Bengali dramatist who became a disciple of Sri Ramakrishna, tells the following anecdote about Maharaj’s extraordinary power: ‘Compared to myself, Rakhal is the only lad , I know that Sri Ramakrishna regarded him as his spiritual son, but that is not the only reason why I feel such a deep reverence for him. Once, while I was seriously ill, I found that I had lost my faith in Sri Ramakrishna. My heart felt dry. Many of the brother-disciples came to see me, and I told them about the unhappy state of mind, but they only kept silent. Then, one day, Rakhal came. He asked me how I felt, and I described the dryness and lack of devotion from which I was suffering. Rakhal listened attentively, then he laughed aloud. ‘Why worry about it?’ he asked me. “The waves of the ocean rise high, then they go down again, and again they rise. The mind is like that. But please do not be troubled. You present mood is due to the fact that you are about to rise to a much higher level of spirituality. The wave of the mind is gathering strength.” When he left me, all the dryness in my heart had gone. My faith had returned and my mind rose to a higher level than even before.’

Maharaj initiated me while I was still a college student of eighteen, I wanted to join the Math at that time but Maharaj instructed me to finish my education first. While at the university, I became involved with the revolutionary movement to overthrow the English government. However I did not lose my interest in spiritual life. In 1914, during Christmas vacation, I stayed a few days at the Belur Math in order to study Vedanta philosophy- one of my courses at the university with Swami Shuddhananda, a disciple of Swami Vivekananda and a great and learned scholar of Hindu philosophy. He used to urge me to become a monk. But I would argue with him. I thought the monastic life bred laziness. I wanted to devote myself to political activities, believing that India must be freed from the domination of the British. An old man, who was also a guest at the Math, used to be present during these arguments. Swami Shuddhananda could never convince me. One morning, as usual, I went to prostrate before Maharaj. This old man was also in the room. Suddenly he asked Maharaj: ‘When is this boy going to become a monk?’ Maharaj looked at me and his eyes had an unforgettable sweetness as he answered quietly: ‘When God wills.’ That was the end of my political plans and ambitions. I remained at the Math.

My own case was not exceptional. Many politically minded young men who came into contact with Maharaj were inspired by the spiritual ideals of renunciation, service, and God-realization. They began to understand that the awakening of India would never come through political action, but only through an intensification of the nation’s spiritual life, and that this awakening would benefit not merely India but all mankind.

Maharaj had wonderful insight into the character and spiritual growth of individuals. A friend of mine, whom he knew, renounced the world and went to Hrishikesh to practise austerity. He would not accept the guidance of any guru. After a few months’ practice he wrote me, saying that he had attained Samadhi. At that time I was with Maharaj at Kankhal, and I told him the substance of my friend’s letter.

‘Why!’ exclaimed Maharaj. ‘I saw him about ten days ago. I looked into his eyes. He has not had Samadhi. No doubt, he ahs had some kind of mystic vision- the vision of light, perhaps- and he mistakes that for Samadhi. An aspirant is often led astray like that, when he has no guru to advise him. Samadhi! Is it an easy matter to attain samadhi? We saw Swamiji in Samadhi only a few times. Sri Ramakrishna alone we saw in Samadhi many times each day and night.’ Then he quoted a verse from the Mundaka Upanishad (2.2.8): ‘The knot of the heart is cut asunder; all doubts are dissolved, all the effects of karma are destroyed, when the Supreme is realized.’

‘Is it ever possible,’ I asked, ‘to attain Samadhi after a short time?’ He replied, ‘Yes, if a man has lived an absolutely continent life.’

Once I told Maharaj about a swami who had been stung by a scorpion and seemed to be miraculously cured by the power of a mantra. Maharaj laughed and said: ‘Come along!’ He took me to the garden, pointed to a plant, and told me: ‘Look, the juice of this plant cures a scorpion sting!’ Maharaj did not want his disciples to be credulous or superstitious. By his attitude he taught me to rely upon natural explanations rather than look for supernatural phenomena.

Maharaj, with his deep insight, know the strength and weakness of each of his disciples. He was always ready to help, but insisted that the discipline should also make some effort. Once, I asked him to free my mind from lust. ‘I could do that for you,’ he replied, ‘but then, my child, you would lose all the joy of struggle. Life would seem insipid.’

One morning Swami Gnaneshwarananda hurried out of his room, leaving behind an unmade bed and general confusion. He met Maharaj on the large, open field near his room. After paying his respects, he was startled to hear Maharaj say: ‘Take me to your room; I wish to see the place where you stay.’ Swami Gnaneshwarananda, feeling ashamed, replied: ‘Maharaj, can you not come a little later? I was not expecting you and the room is not fit to receive you.’ Maharaj said: ‘My boy, you must always be expecting me.’ Swami Gnaneshwarananda understood the deep meaning of the incident and the words of Maharaj – that one must always be prepared to receive God, the most honoured guest.

Sri Ramakrishna himself often rebuked his most intimate disciples, and Maharaj also used this method to train those who were near and dear to him. The chastening of a disciple never began, however, until after he had enjoyed several years of love and kind words. These experiences were painful at the time, but they were later treasured among the disciple’s sweetest memories. If often happened that even while the disciple was being reproached by Maharaj, he would feel a strange undercurrent of joy. The indifference of Maharaj was thee only thing we could not have borne; but Maharaj was never indifferent. The harsher his words, the more intensely we felt his interest in our welfare. The very fact that he could speak to us in this way proved that we were his children, his own. Sometimes, a disciple would be reproved for quite insignificant reasons, or on grounds that seemed to him utterly unjust. But, as time passed, he would realize that there had been certain tendencies and karmas stored in his subconscious mind, and that Maharaj had seen them and was working to annihilate them before they could appear and become harmful. Thus, at the cost of a little unpleasantness, the disciple would be spared years of painful struggle and self-discipline.

Once Maharaj was disciplining me continually. All day long he would scold me. One occasion I was supposed to have some stationery designed for him. I examined the proofs of the letterheads carefully before I presented several ornamental fonts to him from which to choose. When the stationery was printed, one of my brother-disciples took it to Maharaj, and then came back trembling: ‘Maharaj says the “S” is broken!’ I went to Maharaj. He scolded me vehemently. Then I opened the style-book and showed him that the space in the letter ‘S’ to which he was objecting was really a part of the design. Nevertheless, he continued to scold me. Although he did not mention the real reason for his scolding, he somehow gave me to understand that it had nothing to do with the letterheads- the apparent cause of his rebuke. He was wiping out karmas from my subconscious mind.

When Maharaj disciplined us, he gave us the power to bear it. We never reacted with resentment. We knew that whatever he did was for our own good.

There was only one occasion when I felt that I had perhaps lost Maharaj’s love. Because I could not endure the thought, that very night I decided to run away from the Math and hide myself forever. Thus resolved, I went next morning to prostrate before him, and silently take my leave of him. I was about to go, when he told me to sit down. For a while he continued to scold me, reminding me of all my faults. Then with a sudden change of manner and great earnestness, he asked: ‘Do you think you can run away from me? The mother holds the child on her lap and spanks him; and the child cries: ‘Mother, mother!’ Never before had I been so deeply aware of his love and protection. All thought of running away was forgotten. His words soothed my burning heart. Then he said: ‘Our love is so deep that we do not let you know how much we love you.’

The truth of this statement was proved to me as I watched how Maharaj dealt with Hariharananda, another disciple who had been for many years his personal attendant. Hariharananda had begun to depend too much upon Maharaj; he needed to learn to stand on his own feet. So, with a show of displeasure, Maharaj sent him away to practise austerities in the solitude of a temple in south India. Some years later, Maharaj was in Madras and arranged for Hariharananda to visit him. I was alone with Maharaj the entire evening on which he was to arrive. Watching Maharaj, I saw that he was as restless as a loving mother who was expecting her son after a long absence. In due time, Hariharananda arrived, but, fearing that Maharaj was still angry with him, he felt shy and wanted to postpone their meeting until the morning. Knowing the real state of affairs, I insisted that he should see Maharaj at once. However, when Hariharananda came into the room. Maharaj no longer showed any sign of his loving anxiety. He merely greeted his disciple quietly and asked if he had been keeping well.

On another occasion, while I was being reproved in the presence of Ramlal Dada, the nephew of Sri Ramakrishna, another young disciple entered the room. Maharaj turned to him and said jokingly: ‘With those glasses on, you look like Keshab Sen.’ The disciple did not answer, for he saw that I was being scolded. Then Ramlal Dada turned to him and said: ‘Do you know why Maharaj is rebuking this boy in your presence? There is a saying that the mother scolds her daughter in order to teach the daughter- in-law.’

I remember the first time Maharaj ever reproved me. I had failed to do a certain errand for him, because I had not understood exactly what it was he wanted. For this neglect he scolded me throughout the afternoon. At supper time, Swami Turiyananda was seated with Maharaj and I was fanning them. The scolding continued. I remained silent. Swami Turiyananda turned to me and asked: ‘Do you know why Maharaj is so hard on you?’

‘No,’ I replied, ‘frankly, I don’t. I do not see how I am to blame.’

Then Swami Turiyananda said: ‘There are three classes of disciples. The third-class disciple merely does the guru’s bidding. The second-class disciple does not have to be told. He acts as soon as the thought arises in the guru’s mind. But the first-class disciple acts even before the guru has had time to think. Maharaj wants you all to become first-class disciples.’ To this Maharaj added simply: ‘You see, bother Hari, I am getting old; they do not obey me any more. Please knock a little sense into their heads.’

Another time, I did not write to Maharaj because my vanity was wounded. When he came to Madras from Bangalore and asked me why I had not written, I answered carelessly: ‘Oh, you got all news of me from Swami Shivananda.’

At a glance, he understood my mood, and asked sarcastically: ‘I suppose you have the key to the treasure house inside you, and don’t need me any more?’ My ill humour vanished immediately. ‘How can you say that?’ I exclaimed: ‘You know that you hold the key!’

Maharaj continued to scold me for my negligence in not writing to him. Then he told me how Sri Ramakrishna, by his mere touch, removed the spiritual obstacles that stood in his disciple’s path. To this I answered: ‘Yes, Sri Ramakrishna did all that for you. But when our turn comes you can only scold us.’

Maharaj shook his head, and said with great sweetness: ‘No, my boy. You have no need to worry.’ Then he repeated three times: ‘I see how Sri Ramakrishna is doing everything for you.’

Even though Maharaj once said: ‘Our love is so deep that we do not let you know how much we love you,’ there is still the fact that you can get honey from a honeycomb if you poke it. He could not hide his deep love and concern. This was made evident to me when once I asked permission to live in solitude and practise austerities.

At first he granted my request, but I did not realize then that he was not really serious. He had said: ‘All right, go to the river Narmada and practise austerities, and let me see what you can do!’

Within a few weeks I had made the necessary arrangements – and my blanket and clothing were packed and ready. When I came to bid Maharaj goodbye and receive his blessings, he asked with alarm: ‘Where are you going?’ I replied: ‘You have given me permission to go to the Narmada and practise austerities. I am ready to go.’

Like a father about to lose his only son, he anxiously requested that I call Swami Shivananda at once. The Swami came immediately. As if he himself could not convince me that I should stay, Maharaj explained the situation to Swami Shivananda. With some agitation, he said: ‘Look, brother, this boy wants to practise austerities! What do these boys know about such things? Why do they have to practise austerities? We have done all that for them.’

After this Maharaj began to speak of high spiritual matters. Other monks of the Order gathered. He continued to talk in this way for three hours, stopping only when he was told that a householder devotee wanted to see him. He remarked: ‘Now I can’t continue. My mind has come down to a lower level.’ Later, Swami Shivananda said to me: ‘Today I learned many things I had not known before – just because you poked the honeycomb of Maharaj.’
Sometimes the harsh behaviour of Maharaj toward a disciple amounted to apparent cruelty. Three of us were to be initiated into the monastic order at the same time. One was a boy who had been greatly praised because he had steadfastly practised spiritual disciplines. We had all noticed his growth. Just as the formal rites were about to begin, Maharaj suddenly turned to this boy and said: ‘Why are you here? I shall not initiate you. Go away.’

My brother-disciple and I were both shocked and felt that Maharaj had been cruel. But the boy himself later admitted that the praise he had received had made him vain. Maharaj, by his drastic action had killed the seed which might have grown into deadly spiritual pride. For ten days he suffered bitterly. Then he also was initiated into sannyasa.

Maharaj also taught by joking and making fun. Often his humorous remarks contained a deep inner meaning. To one disciple he used to write doggerel verses, and the truths they expressed were sometimes far from pleasant. While in Madras, he used t dictate these poems to me. One of them had a line in it: ‘I have given that which is holy unto a dog.’ He told me to mail this poem to the disciple. Its harshness pained me and I spoke of it to Ramlal Dada, saying that I was afraid the feelings of the disciple, would be deeply hurt. Ramlal Dada, saying that I was afraid the feelings of the disciple, would be deeply hurt. Ramlal Dada reported my remark to Maharaj. Meanwhile, I had gone to bed, but Maharaj sent for me. He told me to bring the poem and read it to him. I did so, and repeated my objection. Maharaj was silent for a moment. Then he said: ‘No, send it as it is. He is too thick-skinned to get my meaning any other way.’ And how right he was! These verses made a deep impression on the disciple and awakened his spiritual understanding.

The reproaches of Maharaj were always followed by tenderness and sweetness. About a week before Maharaj left Madras I was arranging flowers in his room. I did not notice that he had come in. Suddenly he whispered into my ear: ‘Lovest thou me?’ A thrill passed through my whole being, and for a moment I could neither speak nor move. When I was able to turn around, I saw that he was already leaving the room.

I still remember the last words Maharaj ever spoke to me. It was on the eve of his departure from Madras; I was preparing a sweet for him and he was walking up and down, close by. Suddenly he came over and whispered into my ear: ‘It makes me feel so bad, having to leave you. I shall miss you very much.’ Later, at the end of a letter, he repeated those same loving words: ‘I miss you very much.’

M. once told Vishwananda, a disciple of Maharaj: ‘Observe how Maharaj acts and you will have some idea of what Sri Ramakrishna was like. When his mind came down to the finite plane, his sense of humour was very keen.’ This was also true of Maharaj. One of his favourite jokes was to have some fruits and sweets placed beside a disciple who was meditating. When the disciple had finished his meditation he would find his favourite dishes laid out before him. Later Maharaj would ask: ‘Well, did you get the fruits of your austerities?’

Often he would make us all roar with laughter. I remember once, while we were laughing, he nudged me and said, pointing to Vishwananda: ‘Look! How he giggles like a girl!’ Maharaj would sometimes remark: ‘It is good to laugh every day. It relaxes the body and the mind.’

The following incidents will give a glimpse of Maharaj’s sense of fun, and also of the deep love he bore toward his brother-disciples. One is told by Swami Satprakashananda:

One afternoon Maharaj was seated on the large bench on the ground-floor veranda of the Math building facing the Ganga. The old Math building provided the only residential quarters of the Belur Math at that time. I was standing very close to Maharaj. Presently, a young man, who had come to the Math to spend a vacation in the company of holy men, approached Maharaj to take leave of him. His holiday was over, and he was about to return to his own home. Maharaj had noticed that, during his stay, the young man had been particularly devoted to Swami Premananda, who was the centre of attraction to many ardent visitors in those days. With his characteristic scene of humour, Maharaj took the opportunity to have a little fun at the expense of his brother-disciple, Swami Premananda.

‘Have you taken leave of Swami Premananda?’ he asked as the young man bowed down before him. ‘No, Maharaj, not yet,’ he replied; ‘I am going to take leave of him now.’

‘Well, when you bow down to him you should say the pranama-mantra. Perhaps you do not know this mantra, but I shall teach you!’ So saying, Maharaj began to recite a Bengali couplet which he improvised as he went along. Freely translated, it ran something like this: ‘My mind is reluctant to go back home; it is my heart’s desire to lie down forever to those blessed feet.’

Then Maharaj instructed him how to act while saying the mantra. He told him to first stand before Swami Premananda with hands folded in great veneration, and repeat the couplet until he came to the line ‘to lie down forever at those blessed feet,’ when he was t direct his still folded hands toward the Swami’s feet, and then dive down.

The young man turned to go, and as he left, Maharaj told me to go and watch. I followed the youth and saw him standing before Swami Premananda with folded hands as Maharaj had instructed him. But he was silent. However, as he bowed down, the Swami noticed that he was mumbling something, and asked: ‘What is this? What are you saying? Speak out, my boy!’ But the young man remained silent. And then I laughed. Hearing me laugh, Swami Premananda turned to me and said: ‘Ah! You know what he is saying, surely! Please tell me!’ And then I told him the whole story of the pranama-mantra, and when I had finished there was a roar of laughter.

Another incident tells of an affectionate trick Maharaj played on his brother-disciple, Swami Akhandananda. The Swami had been staying with Maharaj for a considerable time, when he decided he would like to return to his own ashrama. Maharaj begged him to stay a little while longer, but the Swami persisted.

Seeing his evident determination to go, Maharaj engaged a palanquin to take the Swami to the railway station, which was several miles away. The train was due in the early morning, which meant that the Swami had to leave late at night.

Before the bearers set out with Swami Akhandananda, Maharaj whispered something to them. It was dark when they left, so the Swami settled down behind the curtains of the palanquin. Once in a while the bearers would stop, and the Swami would anxiously inquire what they were stopping for. Every time, they assured him that they were stopping merely to rest and have a smoke, but that there was no need for anxiety; and he would arrive at his destination in time.

After several hours of arduous travel the bearers finally stopped for the last time, and asked Swami Akhandananda to alight. Just as he was about to get out of the palanquin he saw Maharaj standing before him, greeting him as though he had just arrived after a long absence. When the Swami realized that he had been carried around the compound all night he roared with laughter. Maharaj embraced him and they both laughed like two children.

The relationship between guru and disciple, according to the Hindu scriptures, is a very sacred one. Maharaj used to say that an enlightened soul must help his disciple until he also becomes enlightened. This tie cannot be broken by the death of the body. After the teacher has passed away, he still continues to watch over his disciples in spirit. He will not accept his own liberation until all are liberated.

Once Akhilananda, who was then a very young boy, was told by Swami Vijnanananda to say to Maharaj when he met him: ‘There is something within me that needs awakening. Please give me your help.’ Akhilananda repeated these words to Maharaj, who replied: ‘Why didn’t you ask Vijnanananda to do this awakening for you?’ Akhilananda answered that he had, but that Swami Vijnanananda has said ‘I have very little spiritual power within me, but Maharaj lives in the powerhouse. He can easily do what you ask.’ Maharaj looked very serious and said: ‘Yes, the awakening will come. Don’t be impatient. For this awakening one needs initiation.’

‘Then please initiate me.’

‘That will be done,’ Maharaj promised.

To quote Akhilananda’s own words: ‘Maharaj made us feel that spiritual awakening and God-realization are not difficult to achieve. He made us understand that if only we will struggle a little, tremendous help will be given to us, and that we shall easily reach the goal.’

Maharaj was the embodiment of the protective power of the guru. At one time, he was walking with another disciple and myself. He was slightly ahead of us. Suddenly we heard a shout: ‘Out of the way! There’s a mad bull!’ The next moment we saw a bull rushing toward us. There was not time to run. My brother-disciple and I tried to get in front of Maharaj to protect him, but he raised his arms and pushed us back. Although he was now an elderly man, he was still extraordinarily strong. As the bull approached with lowered head, there was a moment’s pause; Maharaj stood still, confronting it. But, when the bull reached Maharaj, it suddenly stopped, shook its head from side to side, and walked away quietly.

Swami Akhilananda relates a similar incident which took place at Bhubaneswar. Maharaj had gone for an evening walk in the woods with Ahkilananda and another devotee. By the time they returned homeward, it was dark. All at once they saw a leopard coming toward them. Maharaj stood still. The leopard also stopped about a hundred feet away and looked at them for a few moments. Then it turned and ran off. Neither of the devotees felt frightened. There could never be any fear in the presence of Maharaj.

Maharaj prescribed various disciplines and diverse forms of worship to suit the different temperaments of his disciples. He knew our needs far better than we did. When I first joined the Order I was inclined toward the path of devotion, but Maharaj decided to send me to a Math in the Himalayas where the ideal of non-dualism is practised and no ritual is allowed. Before I left, he made me read aloud to him a book on extreme non-dualism. Two years later, he sent me to the Math in Madras where ritual is regarded as very important. By this time I had lost all my devotional inclination and no longer believed in ritualistic worship. Some time later, Maharaj came to visit this Math. One day, a devotee brought a large basket of nagalinga flowers to be offered in the worship. Knowing that they were the favourite flowers of Maharaj, I arranged them in his room. Maharaj came in, saw what I was doing, and asked: ‘Have you saved some of those flowers for the worship of the Master?’

‘No, Maharaj,’ I replied. For I had thought to myself: ‘After all, the Master in the shrine room is only a picture, but the guru is thee living God.’ Maharaj, as usual, read my thoughts, and asked: ‘Do you think it is merely a picture that is worshipped in the shrine?’

‘Yes,’ I replied, somewhat nervously.
‘Have you ever performed puja?’
‘No, Maharaj.’
‘Why not?’
‘I am not yet a swami, and I am not a Brahmin by caste. So I am not allowed to do puja in the shrine.’

Maharaj became quite excited. ‘What is all this?’ he exclaimed. ‘Call Sharvananda.’

Swami Sharvananda was a disciple of Maharaj and the head of the Madras Math. When he appeared, Maharaj asked him: ‘How is it that a Brahmachari of this Order is not allowed to do the worship, just because he is not a Brahmin?’

Sharvananda answered: ‘Swami Ramakrishnananda was the first head of this Math. He was very particular that the worship should be performed only by a swami or a Brahmin brahmachari.’

‘It should not be that way,’ Maharaj replied. ‘Anyone who has been initiated and who has entered the Order is purified be allowed to do the worship.’ Then, turning to me, he said: ‘You will do the worship.’

‘But Maharaj,’ I replied, ‘I do not believe in ritualistic worhip. I do not see the living presence in the picture.’

‘I am asking you to do the worship now,’ Maharaj said quietly, ‘Will you?’

I obediently followed his instructions and, within a few days, became convinced of the great efficacy of external worship.

Almost his last advice to me was: ‘Be ritualistic.’ And he added: ‘Look at Ambikananda; see how wonderfully he is progressing through the practice of ritualism.’

This does not mean, however, that Maharaj asked everybody to practice ritualism. In fact, there are many of his disciples who have never learned the rites of formal worship. Hinduism teaches the value of ritual, but does not say that it is essential to every one’s spiritual progress.

I must mention two quotations which Maharaj never tired of repeating to his disciples. The first was: ‘Tell the truth, but never a harsh truth.’ The second was from the teachings of Sri Chaitanya:[i]
Be humbler than a blade of grass,
Be patient and forbearing like the tree,
Take no honour to yourself,
Give honour to all,
Chant unceasingly the Name of God.

[/i][i][/i] I will conclude this chapter by giving an example of the way in which the guru power of Maharaj was manifested. Swami Vivekananda once remarked: ‘A real guru knows the past, present, and future of all his disciples.’ Maharaj had this knowledge about each one of us, as is shown by the following incident which a monastic disciple describes:

‘I was sitting cross-legged in front of Maharaj with his feet resting on my knees. This was the position in which I often used to massage his feet. Then something happened to me which I cannot explain, though I feel certain that Maharaj contrived it. I found myself in a condition in which I was talking and talking, forgetting my usual restraint; it seemed to me that I spoke freely and even eloquently for a long time, but I do not remember what I said. Maharaj listened and said nothing.

‘Suddenly I returned to normal consciousness and became aware of Maharaj leaning toward me and asking with an amused smile: ‘What did you say?’ I then realized that I had addressed him as tumi (the familiar form of ‘you’ which is used to address equals and friends in Bengali). I hastened to correct myself, repeating the sentence – I have forgotten what it was- but using apni (the respectful form of ‘you’). At this he seemed to lose all interest in the conversation and sat upright again.

‘I can only assume that Maharaj wanted to corroborate his own intuitive knowledge of my past lives, and that he therefore put me into this unusual state of consciousness in which I was able to tell him what he wanted to know.’