“‘Bhagabati’s son is waiting for you in my apartment,’ he said. ‘Will you come with me?’ I gladly agreed. As we proceeded hand in hand, the swami in his wooden sandals was strangely able to outpace me, though I wore these stout walking shoes.
“‘How long will it take you to reach my place?’ Pranabanandaji suddenly halted to ask me this question.
“‘About half an hour.’
“‘I have something else to do at present.’ He gave me an enigmatical glance. ‘I must leave you behind. You can join me in my house, where Bhagabati’s son and I will be awaiting you.’
“Before I could remonstrate, he dashed swiftly past me and disappeared in the crowd. I walked here as fast as possible.”
This explanation only increased my bewilderment. I inquired how long he had known the swami.
“We met a few times last year, but not recently. I was very glad to see him again today at the bathing ghat .”
“I cannot believe my ears! Am I losing my mind? Did you meet him in a vision, or did you actually see him, touch his hand, and hear the sound of his feet?”
“I don’t know what you’re driving at!” He flushed angrily. “I am not lying to you. Can’t you understand that only through the swami could I have known you were waiting at this place for me?”
“Why, that man, Swami Pranabananda, has not left my sight a moment since I first came about an hour ago.” I blurted out the whole story.