Autobiography of a Yogi

The Original 1946 Edition plus Bonus Material

Paramhansa Yogananda

• Publisher: Crystal Clarity Publishers
• Year: 2005
• Print ISBN: 9781565892125
• eBook ISBN: 9781565896154
• Edition: 2
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Religious Biographies

Autobiography of a Yogi

Paramhansa Yogananda

• Millions of copies sold worldwide
• Named one of the best and most influential books of the 20th century
• One of the best-selling Eastern philosophy titles of all-time
• A verbatim reprinting of the original 1946 edition
• The ONLY one available free from textual changes

A True Spiritual Classic

Followers of many religious traditions have come to recognize this book as a masterpiece of spiritual literature. Yogananda was the first yoga master of India whose mission it was to live and teach in the West. His firsthand account of his life experiences includes childhood revelations, stories of his visits to saints and masters in India, and long-secret teachings of Self-realization that he made available to the Western reader.

Experience all its inherent power, just as the great master of yoga first presented it.

CHAPTER: 1
My Parents and Early Life

THE CHARACTERISTIC FEATURES of Indian culture have long been a search for ultimate verities and the concomitant disciple-guru^* relationship. My own path led me to a Christlike sage whose beautiful life was chiseled for the ages. He was one of the great masters who are India’s sole remaining wealth. Emerging in every generation, they have bulwarked their land against the fate of Babylon and Egypt.

I find my earliest memories covering the anachronistic features of a previous incarnation. Clear recollections came to me of a distant life, a yogi ^† amidst the Himalayan snows. These glimpses of the past, by some dimensionless link, also afforded me a glimpse of the future.

The helpless humiliations of infancy are not banished from my mind. I was resentfully conscious of not being able to walk or express myself freely. Prayerful surges arose within me as I realized my bodily impotence. My strong emotional life took silent form as words in many languages. Among the inward confusion of tongues, my ear gradually accustomed itself to the circumambient Bengali syllables of my people. The beguiling scope of an infant’s mind! adultly considered limited to toys and toes.

Psychological ferment and my unresponsive body brought me to many obstinate crying-spells. I recall the general family bewilderment at my distress. Happier memories, too, crowd in on me: my mother’s caresses, and my first attempts at lisping phrase and toddling step. These early triumphs, usually forgotten quickly, are yet a natural basis of self-confidence.

My far-reaching memories are not unique. Many yogis are known to have retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the dramatic transition to and from “life” and “death.” If man be solely a body, its loss indeed places the final period to identity. But if prophets down the millenniums spake with truth, man is essentially of incorporeal nature. The persistent core of human egoity is only temporarily allied with sense perception.

Although odd, clear memories of infancy are not extremely rare. During travels in numerous lands, I have listened to early recollections from the lips of veracious men and women.

I was born in the last decade of the nineteenth century, and passed my first eight years at Gorakhpur. This was my birthplace in the United Provinces of northeastern India. We were eight children: four boys and four girls. I, Mukunda Lal Ghosh,^* was the second son and the fourth child.

Father and Mother were Bengalis, of the Kshatriya caste. ^† Both were blessed with saintly nature. Their mutual love, tranquil and dignified, never expressed itself frivolously. A perfect parental harmony was the calm center for the revolving tumult of eight young lives.

Father, Bhagabati Charan Ghosh, was kind, grave, at times stern. Loving him dearly, we children yet observed a certain reverential distance. An outstanding mathematician and logician, he was guided principally by his intellect. But Mother was a queen of hearts, and taught us only through love. After her death, Father displayed more of his inner tenderness. I noticed then that his gaze often metamorphosed into my mother’s.

In Mother’s presence we tasted our earliest bitter-sweet acquaintance with the scriptures. Tales from the Mahabharata and Ramayana ^‡ were resourcefully summoned to meet the exigencies of discipline. Instruction and chastisement went hand in hand.

A daily gesture of respect to Father was given by Mother’s dressing us carefully in the afternoons to welcome him home from the office. His position was similar to that of a vice-president, in the Bengal-Nagpur Railway, one of India’s large companies. His work involved traveling, and our family lived in several cities during my childhood.

Mother held an open hand toward the needy. Father was also kindly disposed, but his respect for law and order extended to the budget. One fortnight Mother spent, in feeding the poor, more than Father’s monthly income.

“All I ask, please, is to keep your charities within a reasonable limit.” Even a gentle rebuke from her husband was grievous to Mother. She ordered a hackney carriage, not hinting to the children at any disagreement.

“Good-by; I am going away to my mother’s home.” Ancient ultimatum!

We broke into astounded lamentations. Our maternal uncle arrived opportunely; he whispered to Father some sage counsel, garnered no doubt from the ages. After Father had made a few conciliatory remarks, Mother happily dismissed the cab. Thus ended the only trouble I ever noticed between my parents. But I recall a characteristic discussion.

“Please give me ten rupees for a hapless woman who has just arrived at the house.” Mother’s smile had its own persuasion.

“Why ten rupees? One is enough.” Father added a justification: “When my father and grandparents died suddenly, I had my first taste of poverty. My only breakfast, before walking miles to my school, was a small banana. Later, at the university, I was in such need that I applied to a wealthy judge for aid of one rupee per month. He declined, remarking that even a rupee is important.”

“How bitterly you recall the denial of that rupee!” Mother’s heart had an instant logic. “Do you want this woman also to remember painfully your refusal of ten rupees which she needs urgently?”

“You win!” With the immemorial gesture of vanquished husbands, he opened his wallet. “Here is a ten-rupee note. Give it to her with my good will.”

Father tended to first say “No” to any new proposal. His attitude toward the strange woman who so readily enlisted Mother’s sympathy was an example of his customary caution. Aversion to instant acceptance—typical of the French mind in the West—is really only honoring the principle of “due reflection.” I always found Father reasonable and evenly balanced in his judgments. If I could bolster up my numerous requests with one or two good arguments, he invariably put the coveted goal within my reach, whether it were a vacation trip or a new motorcycle.

Father was a strict disciplinarian to his children in their early years, but his attitude toward himself was truly Spartan. He never visited the theater, for instance, but sought his recreation in various spiritual practices and in reading the Bhagavad Gita.^* Shunning all luxuries, he would cling to one old pair of shoes until they were useless. His sons bought automobiles after they came into popular use, but Father was always content with the trolley car for his daily ride to the office. The accumulation of money for the sake of power was alien to his nature. Once, after organizing the Calcutta Urban Bank, he refused to benefit himself by holding any of its shares. He had simply wished to perform a civic duty in his spare time.

Several years after Father had retired on a pension, an English accountant arrived to examine the books of the Bengal-Nagpur Railway Company. The amazed investigator discovered that Father had never applied for overdue bonuses.

“He did the work of three men!” the accountant told the company. “He has rupees 125,000 (about $41,250.) owing to him as back compensation.” The officials presented Father with a check for this amount. He thought so little about it that he overlooked any mention to the family. Much later he was questioned by my youngest brother Bishnu, who noticed the large deposit on a bank statement.

“Why be elated by material profit?” Father replied. “The one who pursues a goal of evenmindedness is neither jubilant with

MY FATHER
Bhagabati Charan Ghosh

A Disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya

gain nor depressed by loss. He knows that man arrives penniless in this world, and departs without a single rupee.”

Early in their married life, my parents became disciples of a great master, Lahiri Mahasaya of Benares. This contact strengthened Father’s naturally ascetical temperament. Mother made a remarkable admission to my eldest sister Roma: “Your father and myself live together as man and wife only once a year, for the purpose of having children.”

Father first met Lahiri Mahasaya through Abinash Babu,^* an employee in the Gorakhpur office of the Bengal-Nagpur Railway. Abinash instructed my young ears with engrossing tales of many Indian saints. He invariably concluded with a tribute to the superior glories of his own guru.

“Did you ever hear of the extraordinary circumstances under which your father became a disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya?”

It was on a lazy summer afternoon, as Abinash and I sat together in the compound of my home, that he put this intriguing question. I shook my head with a smile of anticipation.

“Years ago, before you were born, I asked my superior officer—your father—to give me a week’s leave from my Gorakhpur duties in order to visit my guru in Benares. Your father ridiculed my plan.

“‘Are you going to become a religious fanatic?’ he inquired. ‘Concentrate on your office work if you want to forge ahead.’

“Sadly walking home along a woodland path that day, I met your father in a palanquin. He dismissed his servants and conveyance, and fell into step beside me. Seeking to console me, he pointed out the advantages of striving for worldly success. But I heard him listlessly. My heart was repeating: ‘Lahiri Mahasaya! I cannot live without seeing you!’

“Our path took us to the edge of a tranquil field, where the rays of the late afternoon sun were still crowning the tall ripple of the wild grass. We paused in admiration. There in the field, only a few yards from us, the form of my great guru suddenly appeared! ^†

“‘Bhagabati, you are too hard on your employee!’ His voice was resonant in our astounded ears. He vanished as mysteriously as he had come. On my knees I was exclaiming, ‘Lahiri Mahasaya! Lahiri Mahasaya!’ Your father was motionless with stupefaction for a few moments.

“‘Abinash, not only do I give you leave, but I give myself leave to start for Benares tomorrow. I must know this great Lahiri Mahasaya, who is able to materialize himself at will in order to intercede for you! I will take my wife and ask this master to initiate us in his spiritual path. Will you guide us to him?’

“‘Of course.’ Joy filled me at the miraculous answer to my prayer, and the quick, favorable turn of events.

“The next evening your parents and I entrained for Benares. We took a horse cart the following day, and then had to walk through narrow lanes to my guru’s secluded home. Entering his little parlor, we bowed before the master, enlocked in his habitual lotus posture. He blinked his piercing eyes and leveled them on your father.

“‘Bhagabati, you are too hard on your employee!’ His words were the same as those he had used two days before in the Gorakhpur field. He added, ‘I am glad that you have allowed Abinash to visit me, and that you and your wife have accompanied him.’

“To their joy, he initiated your parents in the spiritual practice of Kriya Yoga.^* Your father and I, as brother disciples, have been close friends since the memorable day of the vision. Lahiri Mahasaya took a definite interest in your own birth. Your life shall surely be linked with his own: the master’s blessing never fails.”

Lahiri Mahasaya left this world shortly after I had entered it. His picture, in an ornate frame, always graced our family altar in the various cities to which Father was transferred by his office. Many a morning and evening found Mother and me meditating before an improvised shrine, offering flowers dipped in fragrant sandalwood paste. With frankincense and myrrh as well as our united devotions, we honored the divinity which had found full expression in Lahiri Mahasaya.

His picture had a surpassing influence over my life. As I grew, the thought of the master grew with me. In meditation I would often see his photographic image emerge from its small frame and, taking a living form, sit before me. When I attempted to touch the feet of his luminous body, it would change and again become the picture. As childhood slipped into boyhood, I found Lahiri Mahasaya transformed in my mind from a little image, cribbed in a frame, to a living, enlightening presence. I frequently prayed to him in moments of trial or confusion, finding within me his solacing direction. At first I grieved because he was no longer physically living. As I began to discover his secret omnipresence, I lamented no more. He had often written to those of his disciples who were overanxiou...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Introduction
• Publisher’s Note
• Foreword
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Preface
• Author’s Acknowledgments
• Contents
• List of Illustrations
• Chapter 1. My Parents and Early Life
• Chapter 2. Mother’s Death and the Amulet
• Chapter 3. The Saint with Two Bodies (Swami Pranabananda)
• Chapter 4. My Interrupted Flight Toward the Himalayas
• Chapter 5. A “Perfume Saint” Performs his Wonders
• Chapter 6. The Tiger Swami
• Chapter 7. The Levitating Saint (Nagendra Nath Bhaduri)
• Chapter 8. India’s Great Scientist and Inventor, Jagadis Chandra Bose
• Chapter 9. The Blissful Devotee and his Cosmic Romance (Master Mahasaya)
• Chapter 10. I Meet my Master, Sri Yukteswar
• Chapter 11. Two Penniless Boys in Brindaban
• Chapter 12. Years in my Master’s Hermitage
• Chapter 13. The Sleepless Saint (Ram Gopal Muzumdar)
• Chapter 14. An Experience in Cosmic Consciousness
• Chapter 15. The Cauliflower Robbery
• Chapter 16. Outwitting the Stars
• Chapter 17. Sasi and the Three Sapphires
• Chapter 18. A Mohammedan Wonder-Worker (Afzal Khan)
• Chapter 19. My Guru Appears Simultaneously in Calcutta and Serampore
• Chapter 20. We Do Not Visit Kashmir
• Chapter 21. We Visit Kashmir
• Chapter 22. The Heart of a Stone Image
• Chapter 23. My University Degree
• Chapter 24. I Become a Monk of the Swami Order
• Chapter 25. Brother Ananta and Sister Nalini
• Chapter 26. The Science of Kriya Yoga
• Chapter 27. Founding a Yoga School at Ranchi
• Chapter 28. Kashi, Reborn and Rediscovered
• Chapter 29. Rabindranath Tagore and I Compare Schools
• Chapter 30. The Law of Miracles
• Chapter 31. An Interview with the Sacred Mother (Kashi Moni Lahiri)
• Chapter 32. Rama is Raised from the Dead
• Chapter 33. Babaji, the Yogi-Christ of Modern India
• Chapter 34. Materializing a Palace in the Himalayas
• Chapter 35. The Christlike Life of Lahiri Mahasaya
• Chapter 36. Babaji’s Interest in the West
• Chapter 37. I Go to America
• Chapter 38. Luther Burbank—A Saint Amidst the Roses
• Chapter 39. Therese Neumann, the Catholic Stigmatist of Bavaria
• Chapter 40. I Return to India
• Chapter 41. An Idyl in South India
• Chapter 42. Last Days with my Guru
• Chapter 43. The Resurrection of Sri Yukteswar
• Chapter 44. With Mahatma Gandhi at Wardha
• Chapter 45. The Bengali “Joy-Permeated Mother” (Ananda Moyi Ma)
• Chapter 46. The Woman Yogi who Never Eats (Giri Bala)
• Chapter 47. I Return to the West
• Chapter 48. At Encinitas in California
• Appendix: Chapter 49. The Years 1940-1951
• Index
• Afterword
• Publisher’s Note
• Further Explorations