“What else do you do?”
“I roam by the Ganges.”
At these quiet words, I was overpowered by a yearning for the simplicity of his life. I remembered America, and all the responsibilities that lay on my shoulders.
“No, Yogananda,” I thought, sadly for a moment, “in this life roaming by the Ganges is not for you.”
After the sadhu had told me a few of his spiritual realizations, I shot an abrupt question.
“Are you giving these descriptions from scriptural lore, or from inward experience?”
“Half from book learning,” he answered with a straightforward smile, “and half from experience.”
We sat happily awhile in meditative silence. After we had left his sacred presence, I said to Mr. Wright, “He is a king sitting on a throne of golden straw.”
We had our dinner that night on the mela grounds under the stars, eating from leaf plates pinned together with sticks. Dishwashings in India are reduced to a minimum!
Two more days of the fascinating kumbha; then northwest along the Jumna banks to Agra. Once again I gazed on the Taj Mahal; in memory Jitendra stood by my side, awed by the dream in marble. Then on to the Brindaban ashram of Swami Keshabananda.