Sri Yukteswar's Mahasamadhi 9th March 1936- The Lion of Bengal (10 May 1855 - 9 March 1936)
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Devotee
Mar 9, 2011, 8:01:13 PM3/9/11
to Paramahansa Yogananda
Today March 9, 2011, marks the seventy-fifth anniversary of the
mahasamadhi of Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri (also pronounced as
Sriyukteshvar Giri), his name was known as Priyanath Kara, the beloved
guru of Sri Sri Paramahansa Yogananda.
LAST DAYS WITH MY GURU
"In a few days our little group reached Calcutta. Eager to see Sri
Yukteswar, I was disappointed to hear that he had left Serampore and
was now in Puri, about three hundred miles to the south.
"Come to Puri ashram at once." This telegram was sent on March 8th by
a brother disciple to Atul Chandra Roy Chowdhry, one of Master's
chelas in Calcutta. News of the message reached my ears; anguished at
its implications, I dropped to my knees and implored God that my
guru's life be spared. As I was about to leave Father's home for the
train, a divine voice spoke within.
"Do not go to Puri tonight. Thy prayer cannot he granted."
"Lord," I said, grief-stricken, "Thou dost not wish to engage with me
in a 'tug of war' at Puri, where Thou wilt have to deny my incessant
prayers for Master's life. Must he, then, depart for higher duties at
Thy behest?"
In obedience to the inward command, I did not leave that night for
Puri. The following evening I set out for the train; on the way, at
seven o'clock, a black astral cloud suddenly covered the sky.11 Later,
while the train roared toward Puri, a vision of Sri Yukteswar appeared
before me. He was sitting, very grave of countenance, with a light on
each side.
"Is it all over?" I lifted my arms beseechingly.
He nodded, then slowly vanished.
As I stood on the Puri train platform the following morning, still
hoping against hope, an unknown man approached me.
"Have you heard that your Master is gone?" He left me without another
word; I never discovered who he was nor how he had known where to find
me.
Stunned, I swayed against the platform wall, realizing that in diverse
ways my guru was trying to convey to me the devastating news. Seething
with rebellion, my soul was like a volcano. By the time I reached the
Puri hermitage I was nearing collapse. The inner voice was tenderly
repeating: "Collect yourself. Be calm."
I entered the ashram room where Master's body, unimaginably lifelike,
was sitting in the lotus posturea picture of health and loveliness. A
short time before his passing, my guru had been slightly ill with
fever, but before the day of his ascension into the Infinite, his body
had become completely well. No matter how often I looked at his dear
form I could not realize that its life had departed. His skin was
smooth and soft; in his face was a beatific expression of
tranquillity. He had consciously relinquished his body at the hour of
mystic summoning.
"The Lion of Bengal is gone!" I cried in a daze.
I conducted the solemn rites on March 10th. Sri Yukteswar was buried12
with the ancient rituals of the swamis in the garden of his Puri
ashram. His disciples later arrived from far and near to honor their
guru at a vernal equinox memorial service. The Amrita Bazar Patrika,
leading newspaper of Calcutta, carried his picture and the following
report:
The death Bhandara ceremony for Srimat Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri
Maharaj, aged 81, took place at Puri on March 21. Many disciples came
down to Puri for the rites.
One of the greatest expounders of the Bhagavad Gita, Swami Maharaj was
a great disciple of Yogiraj Sri Shyama Charan Lahiri Mahasaya of
Benares. Swami Maharaj was the founder of several Yogoda Sat-Sanga
(Self-Realization Fellowship) centers in India, and was the great
inspiration behind the yoga movement which was carried to the West by
Swami Yogananda, his principal disciple. It was Sri Yukteswarji's
prophetic powers and deep realization that inspired Swami Yogananda to
cross the oceans and spread in America the message of the masters of
India.
His interpretations of the Bhagavad Gita and other scriptures testify
to the depth of Sri Yukteswarji's command of the philosophy, both
Eastern and Western, and remain as an eye-opener for the unity between
Orient and Occident. As he believed in the unity of all religious
faiths, Sri Yukteswar Maharaj established Sadhu Sabha (Society of
Saints) with the cooperation of leaders of various sects and faiths,
for the inculcation of a scientific spirit in religion. At the time of
his demise he nominated Swami Yogananda his successor as the president
of Sadhu Sabha.
India is really poorer today by the passing of such a great man. May
all fortunate enough to have come near him inculcate in themselves the
true spirit of India's culture and sadhana which was personified in
him.
I returned to Calcutta. Not trusting myself as yet to go to the
Serampore hermitage with its sacred memories, I summoned Prafulla, Sri
Yukteswar's little disciple in Serampore, and made arrangements for
him to enter the Ranchi school.
"The morning you left for the Allahabad mela," Prafulla told me,
"Master dropped heavily on the davenport.
"'Yogananda is gone!' he cried. 'Yogananda is gone!' He added
cryptically, 'I shall have to tell him some other way.' He sat then
for hours in silence."
My days were filled with lectures, classes, interviews, and reunions
with old friends. Beneath a hollow smile and a life of ceaseless
activity, a stream of black brooding polluted the inner river of bliss
which for so many years had meandered under the sands of all my
perceptions.
"Where has that divine sage gone?" I cried silently from the depths of
a tormented spirit.
No answer came.
"It is best that Master has completed his union with the Cosmic
Beloved," my mind assured me. "He is eternally glowing in the dominion
of deathlessness."
"Never again may you see him in the old Serampore mansion," my heart
lamented. "No longer may you bring your friends to meet him, or
proudly say: 'Behold, there sits India's Jnanavatar!'"
Mr. Wright made arrangements for our party to sail from Bombay for the
West in early June. After a fortnight in May of farewell banquets and
speeches at Calcutta, Miss Bletch, Mr. Wright and myself left in the
Ford for Bombay. On our arrival, the ship authorities asked us to
cancel our passage, as no room could be found for the Ford, which we
would need again in Europe.
"Never mind," I said gloomily to Mr. Wright. "I want to return once
more to Puri." I silently added, "Let my tears once again water the
grave of my guru."
Excerpt derived from Autobiography of a Yogi
mahasamadhi of Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri (also pronounced as
Sriyukteshvar Giri), his name was known as Priyanath Kara, the beloved
guru of Sri Sri Paramahansa Yogananda.
LAST DAYS WITH MY GURU
"In a few days our little group reached Calcutta. Eager to see Sri
Yukteswar, I was disappointed to hear that he had left Serampore and
was now in Puri, about three hundred miles to the south.
"Come to Puri ashram at once." This telegram was sent on March 8th by
a brother disciple to Atul Chandra Roy Chowdhry, one of Master's
chelas in Calcutta. News of the message reached my ears; anguished at
its implications, I dropped to my knees and implored God that my
guru's life be spared. As I was about to leave Father's home for the
train, a divine voice spoke within.
"Do not go to Puri tonight. Thy prayer cannot he granted."
"Lord," I said, grief-stricken, "Thou dost not wish to engage with me
in a 'tug of war' at Puri, where Thou wilt have to deny my incessant
prayers for Master's life. Must he, then, depart for higher duties at
Thy behest?"
In obedience to the inward command, I did not leave that night for
Puri. The following evening I set out for the train; on the way, at
seven o'clock, a black astral cloud suddenly covered the sky.11 Later,
while the train roared toward Puri, a vision of Sri Yukteswar appeared
before me. He was sitting, very grave of countenance, with a light on
each side.
"Is it all over?" I lifted my arms beseechingly.
He nodded, then slowly vanished.
As I stood on the Puri train platform the following morning, still
hoping against hope, an unknown man approached me.
"Have you heard that your Master is gone?" He left me without another
word; I never discovered who he was nor how he had known where to find
me.
Stunned, I swayed against the platform wall, realizing that in diverse
ways my guru was trying to convey to me the devastating news. Seething
with rebellion, my soul was like a volcano. By the time I reached the
Puri hermitage I was nearing collapse. The inner voice was tenderly
repeating: "Collect yourself. Be calm."
I entered the ashram room where Master's body, unimaginably lifelike,
was sitting in the lotus posturea picture of health and loveliness. A
short time before his passing, my guru had been slightly ill with
fever, but before the day of his ascension into the Infinite, his body
had become completely well. No matter how often I looked at his dear
form I could not realize that its life had departed. His skin was
smooth and soft; in his face was a beatific expression of
tranquillity. He had consciously relinquished his body at the hour of
mystic summoning.
"The Lion of Bengal is gone!" I cried in a daze.
I conducted the solemn rites on March 10th. Sri Yukteswar was buried12
with the ancient rituals of the swamis in the garden of his Puri
ashram. His disciples later arrived from far and near to honor their
guru at a vernal equinox memorial service. The Amrita Bazar Patrika,
leading newspaper of Calcutta, carried his picture and the following
report:
The death Bhandara ceremony for Srimat Swami Sri Yukteswar Giri
Maharaj, aged 81, took place at Puri on March 21. Many disciples came
down to Puri for the rites.
One of the greatest expounders of the Bhagavad Gita, Swami Maharaj was
a great disciple of Yogiraj Sri Shyama Charan Lahiri Mahasaya of
Benares. Swami Maharaj was the founder of several Yogoda Sat-Sanga
(Self-Realization Fellowship) centers in India, and was the great
inspiration behind the yoga movement which was carried to the West by
Swami Yogananda, his principal disciple. It was Sri Yukteswarji's
prophetic powers and deep realization that inspired Swami Yogananda to
cross the oceans and spread in America the message of the masters of
India.
His interpretations of the Bhagavad Gita and other scriptures testify
to the depth of Sri Yukteswarji's command of the philosophy, both
Eastern and Western, and remain as an eye-opener for the unity between
Orient and Occident. As he believed in the unity of all religious
faiths, Sri Yukteswar Maharaj established Sadhu Sabha (Society of
Saints) with the cooperation of leaders of various sects and faiths,
for the inculcation of a scientific spirit in religion. At the time of
his demise he nominated Swami Yogananda his successor as the president
of Sadhu Sabha.
India is really poorer today by the passing of such a great man. May
all fortunate enough to have come near him inculcate in themselves the
true spirit of India's culture and sadhana which was personified in
him.
I returned to Calcutta. Not trusting myself as yet to go to the
Serampore hermitage with its sacred memories, I summoned Prafulla, Sri
Yukteswar's little disciple in Serampore, and made arrangements for
him to enter the Ranchi school.
"The morning you left for the Allahabad mela," Prafulla told me,
"Master dropped heavily on the davenport.
"'Yogananda is gone!' he cried. 'Yogananda is gone!' He added
cryptically, 'I shall have to tell him some other way.' He sat then
for hours in silence."
My days were filled with lectures, classes, interviews, and reunions
with old friends. Beneath a hollow smile and a life of ceaseless
activity, a stream of black brooding polluted the inner river of bliss
which for so many years had meandered under the sands of all my
perceptions.
"Where has that divine sage gone?" I cried silently from the depths of
a tormented spirit.
No answer came.
"It is best that Master has completed his union with the Cosmic
Beloved," my mind assured me. "He is eternally glowing in the dominion
of deathlessness."
"Never again may you see him in the old Serampore mansion," my heart
lamented. "No longer may you bring your friends to meet him, or
proudly say: 'Behold, there sits India's Jnanavatar!'"
Mr. Wright made arrangements for our party to sail from Bombay for the
West in early June. After a fortnight in May of farewell banquets and
speeches at Calcutta, Miss Bletch, Mr. Wright and myself left in the
Ford for Bombay. On our arrival, the ship authorities asked us to
cancel our passage, as no room could be found for the Ford, which we
would need again in Europe.
"Never mind," I said gloomily to Mr. Wright. "I want to return once
more to Puri." I silently added, "Let my tears once again water the
grave of my guru."
Excerpt derived from Autobiography of a Yogi
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