A Bunch of Reminiscences

In the Cave of Gaganananda (Part I)

It was July 1927. I was then in Mandukyashrama, an ashrama run and managed by Sri Yogananda, a well-known Yogi and a celebrated disciple of Swami Krishnananda. Originally established for imparting higher spiritual instruction, the Ashrama had assumed, much against its objective, a traditional form and routine. I was longing for solitude. Whenever the worldly thoughts haunted me, my inner intellect inspired me to recite aloud and wholeheartedly the name of the Almighty Lord. I had decided to spend most of my time in meditation and chanting the name of the Lord. Whenever I sang devotional songs or recited the Gita in the moonlight, the inmates of the Ashrama were disturbed in their sleep. They cursed me and accused me the next day at lunch: "Have you decided not to allow us sleep?" Once Yoganandaji himself told me frankly, "Listen, this is a Yogashrama. Everyone here practices meditation. Your voice disturbs them. So, either do your japa quietly, or if you must do it aloud, you better go out."

I did not answer but decided that I would go out to sing my devotional songs. I also asked myself, "What right do you have to disturb their meditation or sleep? If you wish to do your sadhana, it should, in no circumstances, disturb others." From that day I made it a point to go to the bank of the holy Ganges by about seven in the evening. I was not taking food in the evening and hence my going out did not disturb the Ashrama’s schedule in any way. At times, I gazed at the silvery waves of the Ganges and sang devotional songs in ecstasy or chanted the name of the Lord Almighty. Sometimes I observed the twinkling moonlight, became lost in it, and meditated on light alone. During that process if any other thought came to my mind I, reprimanding myself, set myself to chant the name of the Lord emotionally for hours together. In that divine solitude I spent most of my nights on the bare sand of the Ganges. Many a time, chanting the name of the Lord, I fell asleep on the sand and wild animals, like jackals and wolves, licked my feet. As soon as I woke up they ran away and I restarted doing my japa with added zeal and emotion.

Sri Yogananda's Ashrama was visited by many wandering Sadhus. Once there came a Bengali Sadhu who took me aside affectionately and said, "My dear lad, your mental make-up is extremely fine. You must have a deeper study of the Shastras." I myself had no liking for the atmosphere of the Ashrama which was full of rajoguna and hence, honoring the godly advice of the Saint, I decided to go to Benaras for study of the Shastras. I told Yoganandaji of my plan, which he did not like, for he had the habit of disapproving ideas put to him. I was firm in my mind and finally Yoganandaji had to yield. I reached Benaras in a few days. He had been good enough to give me a letter of introduction to Babu Ramsharan Sahai, Director of Schools, a religious and well-read person. I went to him and showed him the letter. He received me with due courtesy and gave me a room in a nearby school in the Kabir Chaura locality.

The school was situated in a congested area. During the day the boys made so much noise as I could not bear. In a couple of days I was fed up and went out, after finishing my morning routine, prayers, etc., to see the noted saints and sannyasins. As a regular practice I took my lunch with Babu Ramsharan and after resting for a while went out again in search of a Sadhu competent enough to guide me in my spiritual development. But wherever I went, I saw mere show, pretense, pride, and malice. I was utterly disappointed and decided that by prolonged meditation and japa I would myself purify my mind. Once it is done the Lord Himself will appear before me and guide me in my search. The knowledge — be it in English or Sanskrit, be it the study of Shastras and Vedas — is no knowledge at all. There is no meaning in hankering after such a knowledge if it promotes the sense of pride and egoism, if it eliminates the sense of unity and humility and develops a sense of prejudice, diversity, and division in the name of religion and God.

One day I talked to the Director about this and told him that I intended to leave the place. "Are you put to any inconvenience here?" he asked me apologetically. "Not in the least," I replied in gratitude. "I had come here with a purpose but I find that it cannot be fulfilled. Moreover this is hardly the place for practicing austerities, for it is a crowded place."

By that time I had become fairly intimate with the Director. He had developed a sense of deep reverence for me. He was sorry to know that I was planning to leave him and, with a view to stopping me, promised to find out a lonely place suitable for my spiritual practices within the next three to four days. "Meanwhile," he suggested, "you should stay with me as you are much inconvenienced at the school." Within a week or so he took me to a palace which was owned by a ruler of a small state in Bengal. The palace was just on the bank of the Holy Ganges. The ruler stayed there for about three months in a year and for the rest of the period it was lying vacant. It was known as Gaughat Palace. The building was majestic, beautiful, and well-ventilated. I agreed to stay there. The Director sent me food once a day. The rest of the time I was spending in Pranayama, Dharana, and meditation.

Apparently some places seem to be good and congenial, but there are some inconveniences there too. The next morning I had hardly started my meditation when the braying sound of a nearby donkey pierced my ears. My mind was completely upset, and it was displaced from the state of meditation and projected itself through the eyes and the ears. It did not get the vision of the All-pervading, All-blissful Lord, but began to identify itself with the long-eared braying donkeys with their wide open mouths raised toward the sky.

I tried to reason with myself that a lone donkey might have come there by chance. It might go away soon and the calm would prevail. But I was mistaken. The donkeys started braying one after the other in regular sequence. The euphonic songs of the donkeys went on for hours. I was disgusted. I got up from my seat and went up the terrace which faced the river bank, peeped down, and Lo! there were dozens of donkeys! I could see that it was a Dhobighat, that is, the place where washermen wash the clothes. The donkeys brayed from early in the morning to late in the evening. Frequently there were quarrels among the washermen and exchange of abusive language at the pitch of their voices. They dipped the clothes in the water and beat them against the stones. The noise produced was in no way musical. On top of it was the rhythmic braying of the donkeys.

I was utterly disappointed. From fire I had landed myself into the frying pan. I picked up my scanty belongings and was about to leave when the Director's servant brought in the food. I kept my things, took food, and sent a note to the Director through him. The gist of the contents of the note was as follows: "I am very sorry to inform you that the place you have so painstakingly found for me is not suitable for my Sadhana. So I am constrained to leave this place tomorrow. I do not know where I will go. I will go wherever I am directed by Him." In the evening by about 5 p.m. the Director came to me and he seemed to be perplexed. My note had disturbed him. "What is wrong here?" he enquired. I quietly took him to the terrace and showed him the blissful scene down below. He understood my difficulty. Next day he came to me along with two teachers and promised to find out a quieter place shortly, but insisted that till that was done, I should not leave the place.

On his request I spent the night there. Next day early in the morning at about 6:00 a.m., the Director came along with the two teachers in a tonga, and took me round a few Ashrams and temples. But I liked none. So he took me to a nearby jungle. "Once upon a time this was the fort of the Raja of Bairar," he explained. There was no building, and the ruins seemed to have become a part of the jungle. There were still a few old temples along the banks of the rivers Ganga and Varna. The area seemed to be a small island between the two rivers. I walked with the Director, engrossed in the thoughts that I would not be able to get a suitable place and would have to go back to Swargashrama in Rishikesh, when I suddenly saw a wall of the fort about 10 to 12 feet wide. There was an opening in it which resembled a window. My friends tried to stop me from going in, warning me that it was a jungle full of scorpions, snakes, and other deadly animals. Their words fell on unheeding ears. I saw a few steps going down. Squeezing my body I jumped down the window and climbed down four or five steps. I saw a room about 5 by 6 feet. It was immensely dirty, but the terrifying solitude of the place filled me with joy. I was satisfied to find a place of my choice and started building castles in the air about the realization of my goal.

I was inside the room musing blissfully on my future plans when I heard my friends outside. At the pitch of their voices, they were shouting, "Come out quickly. What are you doing there?"

I came out smiling and told them, "My desire is fulfilled, I will live here and from now." They tried their best to dissuade me from doing so. They argued that the room was very dirty and that it might be infested with snakes, scorpions, flies, and so on. But finding me determined to stay there, they picked up a few twigs, made them into a broom, and started cleaning the room. It took us about an hour to make it livable. I requested the Director to send me my belongings. He argued that I should go with him at least that day and could come back the next day if I liked. But I refused to move an inch. I told him, "You see, I take my food once a day only. So I won't have anything tonight and would like to stay on here in right earnest."

"And what about your daily meals?" the Director enquired with concern. "Shall I send them here?"

"Please don't bother. If you do that people will notice your servant visiting this place and mistake me to be a Mahatma and throng here unnecessarily," I pleaded.

"Then what would you like me to do?" he asked with added anxiety.

"I would come to you myself in the noon. I shall take my food and return," I presented a solution.

"So you would walk all the distance daily merely for the food?" he enquired.

"How much is the distance?" I asked.

"About 4 to 5 miles," he answered.

I smiled and said, "Walking a distance of 8 to 10 miles is not much for me." Much against their will, the Director and his friends had to return, and later they sent me my food, clothes, and so on. I started living there from that day onwards. Later, an old gentleman told me that in the good olden days Swami Gaganananda was staying there and hence it was known as the cave of Swami Gaganananda. My joy had no bounds when I knew that the place where I was living was once sanctified by the penance of a great sage.

The river Varna flowed in the rear. In front of the cave was a small piece of plain land with a small platform in the center. It was about 40 square feet in size. It seemed that Swami Gaganananda was holding Satsang on that open ground. Whenever the sky was clear I spent my nights on the platform. My cave had no doors: boars, jackals, wolves, and other wild animals made it convenient to enter the cave whenever they liked. There was only one passage for entry and exit, and many a time it so happened that when I entered the cave, I found boars inside rushing out desperately. There were a few herds of wild boars in that region. On a number of occasions I was encircled by four to five boars at a time, but by the Grace of God they did not attack me even once. Nor was I afraid. On the contrary, I had heard that the two-legged animals were more dangerous there than those wild boars.

(to be continued)

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