Life is a riddle. Today it may seem to be pleasant and agreeable, but the very next moment it may be full of grief and agony and hence the desire to give it up. No one knows through how many casts and moulds it has to pass.

I had come in search of truth and was practicing Yoga, especially Hathayoga with the sweat of my brows, in this Ashrama, under the instructions of a Yogi. My body, a gift of Nature and my parents, was healthy. None of the Ashramites had a belly worth the name. Every one was lean and thin. I was the only one who was stout and a ferocious eater and so I had become a laughing stock to all. I too wanted to be lean and thin like others. The thought oppressed me at all times.

So I bade good-bye to my food and lived on the leaves of neem tree and grass alone, which were in abundance near the Ashrama well. The hunger made its presence felt but by remembering my objective, I made it convenient to forget it. I started practicing all the Asanas as other Ashramites did. Within a fortnight or so my progress was beyond my expectations. The stomach-less Yogis were surprised at my feat and had a high praise for my willpower.

Here I must mention that the Mandukya Ashrama was situated on the bank of the Holy Ganges in the District of Bulandshahar. The Ashrama was named after the ancient temple of Mandukya Rishi which was situated there. For the last few years Brahmachari Yogananda was the head of the Ashrama. He started his penance there and as a result of his own efforts he raised a big garden, a few huts for the sadhus, a well-built cave for meditation and bhajan, and a kitchen. He had also opened a Homeopathic dispensary for the village folk. The dispensary was run by his benevolent devotees and managed by the sannyasins of the Ramakrishna Mission. Since the dispensary did not have a doctor, Yoganandaji caught hold of me and said, "Look, you know English. You become a doctor and give medicine to the poor."

I tried my best to explain to him that I did not know how to diagnose the diseases nor did I know anything about the medicines and hence I would not be in a position to shoulder the responsibilities of a doctor. He laughed and said, "You are a Sadhu. It should not be difficult for you to become a doctor, and that too a Homeopath. Listen to me and take this Materia Medica and this box containing medicines. Whenever a patient comes to you, you go on inquiring about his disease and his family. He will be impressed by your ability. You give him some medicine. If it works, so much so good. If it doesn't, give him another. If the patient is lucky he will be cured. Your experience will automatically go on increasing."

I accepted the job, though unwillingly, after studying the subject for a while. Initially about 60 patients were visiting the dispensary and the working hours were from 7 a.m. to 9 a.m. But when I started distributing medicines and the patients found a smart doctor like me, their number went on increasing. That proved to be highly taxing for me. The people in the nearby villages frequently invited me and I could hardly find any time for my meditation and Bhajan. I would not have been sorry if the state of affairs had remained at that. But it went farther. Whenever I came in contact with a female patient, I became upset. I felt that I am slipping down from my mental state. So one day I threw the keys before Brahmachari Yogananda and said, "I am sorry I can’t do this work any longer. You manage your dispensary. The atmosphere here though calm and quiet is not congenial to my penance. So I will go to some other place." Yoganandaji was perplexed. Where could he find an obedient, strong, and sturdy fellow like me? He tried his best to persuade me but failed.

We sadhus were gathering for our meals in the Ashrama kitchen. That day, after finishing my meals, I was resting in my room with the single thought of finding a suitable place for my penance. Lost in my thought, I started dozing and in that very state of partial consciousness I saw a Divine Sannyasin of strong and sturdy build saying, "Yes, you are right. This place is not suitable for your penance. Go to Haridwar. At 20 miles from there is Swargashrama. And at a distance of one and a half miles from there, in the mountain, you will find a cave. The jungle is beautiful, calm, and quiet, suitable for penance."

The peculiarity about the Divine Sannyasin and his narration was that as he was speaking, I visualized the scene in full. As he described, I could actually see the beautiful cave, the forest, and so on. In that very state, I decided to go there. When I opened my eyes I could see the Sannyasin no more but I could still see the cave and the jungle surrounding it. I immediately went to Brahmachari Yogananda to inform him of my decision to go to Swargashrama and left for that place the very next day.

I never kept any money with me nor had I the intention to possess any. I had only one langot and two dhoties with myself. Besides, I had a copy of the Gita and a few Upanishads and a worn-out blanket. I decided to set out on foot and, much against the wish of Brahmachari Yogananda, I left Mandukyashrama.

I covered a distance of 25 to 30 miles a day. Once I stayed in a village temple. The villagers took me for a Sadhu and gave me food. The next day when I left they gave me the railway fare without my asking for it. It was just enough for my journey up to Meerut. I detrained at the Meerut Railway station and inquired about the places where the travelers stayed. I was told about a number of places but I decided to go to Surajkund where, I learnt, Sadhus also stayed.

I went straight to Surajkund. It was terribly hot and by the time I reached it I had perspired heavily. The place seemed to be good. There was a large pond with pucca steps reaching the water on all the four sides. There were also a few huts where Sadhus lived. The small fires in front of the huts had died out. I placed my clothes in the shade of a tree and went down the steps to wash my hands and feet. After the wash I took the bundle of my clothes for my pillow and stretched myself doing japa. My eyes closed and I had a short nap. When I woke up I found that the rays of the sun had become mild and the sky already blushed while parting with the day. I got up and started reading the Gita. The huts which were empty a short while ago came to life again and thin clouds of smoke could be seen arising from the dhunies in front. Sadhus of various make-ups were gathering round the fires with their day’s earnings and were smoking. I too could not escape their haunting eyes.

In the evenings a group of old persons came there to meet the Sadhus. One such person was sitting along with the Sadhus in a hut towards the East and was enjoying his smoke. One of the Sadhus pointing his finger towards me told him, "Look, there seems to be a Sadhu there. Why not call him here?" The old man came to me, bowed politely, and requested me to join them in the Satsang. I acceded to his request, went to the assembly of the Sadhus, bowed, and kept on standing.

The Sadhus belonged to the Naga-cult. Every one of them had a chinita (fork), a bowl, and a chilam (clay pipe). The Sadhus saluted me and offered me a place in their circle. The head of the group inquired about my whereabouts and I gave him relevant answers. Changing hands, the chilam now came to me. From what I had seen, I felt that I had no right to touch it. Yet, I took it in my left hand and passed it on quietly to the Sadhu on my right. Every time the chilam was filled with fresh intoxicants and was passed around.

By now the intoxicating effect of the chilam was clearly visible on their faces and especially in their eyes. When for the third time the Sadhu on my left tried to pass on the chilam to me, I, with folded hands said, "Sir, I am not fit for this." This Sadhu raised his eyebrows and said, "Have a puff and see." Saying so he held the chilam near my mouth. I pleaded, "Sir, I am not accustomed to it. I have never worshipped it. I beg to be excused." Three or four Sadhus and the old man said together, "This is not tobacco. Taste it once. Have a puff. This is Sulfa." "Let it be anything. I don't deserve it and beg to be excused," I asserted. The Sadhu sitting on my left, known as Nagaji, shouted, "You don't smoke. You don't smoke Sulfa (exhibiting contempt by waving of hand). What sort of a Sadhu are you?" "Yes, I have not become a Sadhu as yet but I am trying to be one," I replied.

By that time he had the chilam in his hand. He took a deep puff and looking at me said, "Can you ever dream of becoming a Sadhu without securing the grace of this Goddess?" "I will try my best," I submitted, "but the success or failure is in His hands." Then arose a question as to who should be called a Sadhu. A few Sadhus started talking in the middle. Finally, the old man put the same question to me. I said, "Shad Dhunati iti Sadhuh. One who has washed the six-fold dirt of Kama, Krodha, Mada, Matsara, Dambh,a and Ahankara is a real Sadhu."

Those days I was not fully conversant with the Hindi language and whenever I spoke, a few English words were used. When Nagaji heard my Sanskrit and English words, he got wild. With contempt on his face, he roared, "This rascal is blurting out too much. With this fork I shall finish up his English."

I was not used to disrespect or insult. I also got wild and roared, "Is this what you call your Sadhuhood? Don’t you feel ashamed to be a parasite on others? I will bring down your intoxication in no time. What do you think of yourself? Whom are you going to hit with your fork?" In my temper, I used a few English words again. Some of the Sadhus who were also gamblers were frightened, taking me for a C.I.D. man. The old man started shivering and when I got up he fell on my feet muttering, "Sir, this is not new in a Satsang." I went and sat at my place. The old man followed me and requested me repeatedly to dine with him. I accepted the invitation though indifferently.

I went to his place. His house was in a rich locality of the town. He was a pensioner and his son was a Professor. The old man went to the Sadhus exclusively to satisfy his urge for intoxication. He had no other business with them. The Professor and his wife knew nothing about it. The Professor was a decent fellow and a true devotee. I had a little talk with him. He was very happy in my company and requested me to stay on for a week more but I could not accede to his request.

The next day I, along with the Professor and his father, went to Suryakund for a bath. No sooner had I finished my bath and had come out than Nagaji along with a few Sadhus came. He tried desperately to fall on my feet but I stopped him from doing so. He looked pale. He was having loose motions with blood. He had taken it to be the result of my anger. I tried to pacify him by saying that I had no such power to make him sick. It was perhaps the grace of his chilam. I assured him, "I have a feeling that if you give up the chilam you will be all right automatically. Tell me, does it befit us Sadhus, who have left our homes, parents etc., to be addicts to such intoxicants and thereby waste the national money?" At that time be was not intoxicated. The loose motions had made his condition very critical. "Sir, what can I do," he said apologetically, "I am addicted to it. I shall try to give it up."

We finished our bath and prayers and went to the Professor’s house. After the lunch was over, the Professor, his wife, and their two children were sitting with me. The old man abruptly begged, "Sir, could I be of some service?" I got the required opportunity. I smiled and said, "I do want your service and that is, whatever little money you spend on Sulfa every month, you should please pass it on to me by giving up the habit." My words placed the old man in an awkward position. The Professor and his wife seemed to be happy. At last he swore in my presence, "I will do my best to give up this dirty habit."

He came to see me off at the railway station, purchased my ticket up to Rishikesh and gave me five rupees. The next day I reached Haridwar and from there I crossed the Ganges by boat and reached Swargashrama. Swargashrama seemed to be worth its name. There flowed the Holy Ganges. Round the corner there were two temples, and the distant Himalayan mountains were decked with beautiful green forests. There were a few huts in which Sadhus lived. On the top of the Ghat was a vast plain littered with concrete buildings to house the employees. There was also a kitchen where food was prepared for distribution to the Sadhus. The head of the Ashrama was Swami Atmaprakashji, who was the disciple of H. H. Baba Kalikamaliwale.

When I reached there, it was time for distribution of food to the Sadhus. A large number of Sadhus stood in a row. Like travelers purchasing their tickets at the ticket window of a booking office, they were coming to the kitchen window one by one to obtain the requisite quota of food.

Some of the Sadhus, by virtue of their long stay there, had become friendly with the distributors. Hence, they were getting more than others. To my eyes the scene looked to be more nauseous than pleasing. I said to myself, "One gives up his home and parents. He renounces his nearest and dearest, and yet for the sake of his belly, he has to tolerate such a humiliation! One has to stand for hours in the queue and has to bear the dirty remarks of those who distributed food for the sake of this wretched belly."

I was lost in my thoughts. Meanwhile, a new episode, concerning the horrible state of affairs regarding food distribution, took place. The person who was distributing roties gave a Sadhu eight roties instead of four. The next Sadhu also asked for eight but the distributor scolded him and said that he had instructions to give only four per head. The Sadhu got wild and in harsh words, which had become sharper due to his penance, said, "Was he your father whom you gave eight just now?" There was an exchange of hot words and within a short while the place turned into an arena. The Sadhu hit the distributor with his fork and he started bleeding. Later, they had a compromise and the Sadhus went away.