2004: Spreading Yogananda’s Teachings in the Land of His Birth

Swami Kriyananda gives a satsang at the Ananda ashram in Gurgaon, New Delhi, India.

When news went out that Swamiji was moving to India, devotees in Europe and America sent generous donations. Many Ananda members, born in the West, have strong Indian samskars—subtle impressions left on one’s consciousness by experiences in past lives—and were eager to help build Ananda in the country they felt to be their spiritual homeland. For several years, Ananda India was supported almost entirely by donations from outside the country.

When Swamiji lived in India before—1958-1962—it had been easy for him to travel and lecture; thousands came to his talks. Now his health wouldn’t stand up to that kind of travel. His primary concern before coming to India was, how would he reach people? What he hadn’t considered until he arrived was television. There were several national channels now entirely devoted to spiritual programs—with millions of viewers.

With money from America, Swamiji was able to arrange for his own television show: daily for a month, then weekly for a year. It would have been beyond the budget in the United States, but euros and dollars went much farther in the rupee economy of India. The shows would be prerecorded, right in his living room. Without leaving home, Swamiji could talk to millions of people.

He decided to base the program on Conversations with Yogananda. A twenty-minute talk, plus music, would make a half-hour show. The advertising described Swamiji as “the only direct disciple of Paramhansa Yogananda actively teaching in India.” Despite a nagging cough, intestinal problems, and occasional heart trouble, he recorded more than sixty shows.

Swamiji’s first public lecture was set for January 10 at a six hundred seat hall in Delhi. A few days before, he did a live interview on national television. The lecture topic was God Is for Everyone. Indian editions of that book, plus Conversations with Yogananda and The Path, had all been published in the two months since he arrived in the country. Swamiji had also made posters of some of his photographs paired with words from the Secrets series. Color printing, too expensive in America, was easily affordable in India. Books and posters were a good start in developing sources of income.

For the lecture, the auditorium was completely filled, with people standing in the back and sitting in the aisles. With the Ananda singers, Swamiji sang Peace, chanted some Sanskrit verses, then spoke for an hour.

“India is now copying the West in its values,” he said, “but that won’t last long. India is the guru of the world. You have to reclaim your destiny.” He was interrupted by thunderous applause which went on for some time. “India is not a culture, it is a vibration, a spiritual understanding of life. India now exports material goods around the world. This understanding is India’s finest export and needs to be sent everywhere.”

The energy in the room was so powerful, Dharmadas said, “It felt like a bomb had gone off—not a destructive one, but an explosion of inspiration.” When Swamiji walked off the stage and started up the aisle, hundreds of people crowded around him to touch his feet, and get his blessing. Crowds also surged around the book tables. A television crew had filmed the event, planning to show only a brief excerpt. Instead, they broadcast the entire program.

Swamiji was profoundly moved. “I have so wanted to make Master’s name known in the land of his birth. Now that dream is being fulfilled.”

***

“The overall tone of this planet is kind of a murky half-light,” Swamiji said. “So whenever there is an outburst of light, the dark force has to rush in to restore the balance.”

Early in the morning—four days after the event in Delhi—eighty armed government agents, with drug-sniffing dogs, descended on Ananda Assisi. Several years earlier, a man had filed a lawsuit against the community—the usual charges of abuse by the cult. He was mentally unbalanced and had made a career of filing lawsuits. Ours was just one of many, including several against his own family. The case dragged on, but didn’t seem to pose much of a threat.

Now something had energized it. Was it support from our self-styled enemies in the United States? Many of the charges were the same. Was it persecution by the Catholic Church? We were not the only small religious group to be targeted.

Italy has freedom of religion, but only for those religions recognized as legitimate by the government—which in practice meant endorsed by the Catholic Church. Buddhism had recently gained legal status, but before that, the only religion the Catholic Church endorsed was the Catholic Church. Everything else, including Ananda, was an association, and therefore not protected by the laws governing religion.

When we faced the same ludicrous charges in the United States, it was a civil matter. Serious, for sure, but only a matter of money. In Italy, these were criminal charges. The same laws used to break up the Mafia were now being directed at Ananda.

The government agents had a list of nine accused. They spent an entire day, with their dogs, systematically searching their homes and offices, and also most of the public buildings, looking for drugs, pornography, evidence of prostitution, enslavement, or money-laundering. After searching one house for more than two hours, and finding nothing but vitamins and religious books, the agent said in exasperation, “All you people seem to do is pray and meditate.”

Police power in Italy far exceeded what Americans were used to. The agents confiscated every computer, and all the money they could find. Then they froze our bank accounts. Arjuna was in India and suddenly he couldn’t use his debit or credit cards; his wife, Shivani, was one of the accused.

The media knew about the raid as soon as it started; perhaps they’d even been tipped off in advance. All across the country, lurid allegations against Ananda appeared on the front pages of newspapers, and as the lead story on radio and television. Fortunately, in Italy the media has a greater sense of fair play—and after twelve years of litigation, we knew how to respond.

Italy runs on personal relationships. We had many influential friends and immediately activated that network. Within a few hours, the country was also hearing Ananda’s side of the story.

The lawsuit was a sham; we knew it could be straightened out, but it would take time. Meanwhile, it was hard to operate without money, computers, or functioning bank accounts. Fortunately, there were no guests; in January, the retreat is closed. We found out the phones were tapped, and having no idea what comments might be considered evidence, communication was complicated. It would take time to secure loans, and have the cash hand-delivered. In the meantime, it was hard even to buy food.

When the raid happened, Anand and Kirtani, the spiritual leaders of the community, were in India. With Dharmadas, Nirmala, and Lila, they were recording a CD of Swamiji’s songs, and also singing them live for the television shows being filmed in his living room. Immediately they started making plans to return to Assisi.

Swamiji, however, was not concerned. People there were rising to the challenge, he said, and handling things well. No need to rush back. It was going to be a long process, and they would be home soon enough. He advised them to “meet persecution with a calm and cheerful attitude.”

Persecution was finding Swamiji in India, too. Yogoda Satsanga Society had called the television station airing his shows, saying Swamiji was not a legitimate disciple, and the program should be canceled. The station manager was outraged that YSS would try to interfere with his programing. Undeterred, they tried the same ploy with one of our Indian publishers, and got the same response: How dare you meddle in my business!

“I sprinkle persecution on my breakfast cereal these days,” Swamiji said cheerfully.

***

For a few months in winter, Delhi is cold, damp, and foggy. Electricity, especially in Gurgaon, was intermittent, so most people had propane generators that automatically went on when the power went off. Fumes from the generators got trapped in the fog, making the already polluted air worse. We didn’t have our systems together yet, so often the house had no electricity which mean no heat.

Swamiji decided to take a break in Goa. The weather there was perfect, the hotel beautiful; but he became ill with bronchitis, which strained his heart, and his extremities began to swell. When he returned home, it got worse.

Swamiji lived alone on the top floor of the ashram. Dharmadas put in a buzzer that sounded in their room, one floor below. At 3:30 a.m. the buzzer sounded. Swamiji was having great difficulty breathing. They gave him heart medication and extra oxygen, but nothing helped, so they called the doctor, then an ambulance. It was three flights of narrow twisting stairs down to the street. They put Swamiji on a stretcher, and it needed everyone in the house to get him down the stairs and into the ambulance.

In the midst of it all, Swamiji said, “I lay there, utterly blissful.” The diagnosis was double pneumonia. “My lungs looked like London in the fog.”

He stayed in the hospital for a few days. The staff was very attentive, but someone from Ananda was always there with him, too. Lakshman wrote, “I stayed overnight with Swamiji in the hospital. He was so cheery and chatty, you’d never have guessed that he wasn’t feeling great. It was a superb object lesson in how, if you want to be happy, you simply determine to be happy, independent of circumstances.”

When Swamiji was still far from recovered, one of his doctors, instead of offering help, asked for help: “I believe in yoga principles, and I do practice a few pranayams,” the doctor said, “but I am beset by material worries. I have a son in college overseas. How can I fulfill my earthly responsibilities without sometimes cutting corners ethically?”

Later Swamiji said, “I could see in his eyes the evidence of his inner struggle.”

So many people in India, and in the West, face the same dilemma. Swamiji lay awake much of the night, thinking about it. The next day, he started dictating to his secretary the introduction to a series of lessons, Material Success Through Yoga Principles. He had planned to go to Italy for Master’s Mahasamadhi in March, but the doctor said he was far too weak to travel. “Just as well,” Swamiji said, “I can stay here and work on the lessons.”

***

On March 2, the police came again to Ananda Assisi—this time with guns drawn and faces covered by black masks. They had come to arrest the accused. Later we found out the arrest order had been issued months earlier, but Swamiji was one of the accused, and the police wanted to wait until he was there. Jyotish and Devi had come to take his place for the Mahasamadhi. Jyotish resembles Swamiji, and they were staying in his house. At 5:00 a.m. the police pounded on the door, demanding to be let in. Whoever was watching the house had been fooled.

It was a preventive arrest, to keep the accused from destroying evidence or fleeing the country. The black masks were to hide the identity of the arresting officers to prevent reprisals. Think criminal charges written to bust the Mafia, and it makes sense. How long the accused would be imprisoned and under what conditions, no one knew. Anand, Kirtani, Shivani and six others were taken.

The jail was in the nearby town of Perugia. Saint Francis had also been imprisoned in that city, as a soldier captured while fighting for Assisi. Being in prison there helped turn him into a saint. We hoped it would have the same effect on our friends.

The day after the arrests, Swamiji fell in the bathroom. His shower was at floor level with a tile lip, four inches high. He landed flat on his back on that raised edge. Later, a woman said, “Swamiji slipped in the bathroom.” He corrected her strongly: “I didn’t slip; I fell.” I think he wanted us to know it wasn’t an ordinary accident.

When I expressed sympathy, he referred to events in Assisi. “I prayed to Divine Mother to be able to help. Then I fell. If I can take some of their karma, I would be happy to do so.” This wasn’t the first time Swamiji had told me that he was taking karma onto his body for the benefit of others. During his lifetime, though, he wouldn’t let me publish his remarks.

“You are making very good use of your body!” I said. He laughed, which was not a good idea, because of the pain. According to the x-ray, there were no broken bones, and—good news—no more pneumonia. The doctor didn’t tape his chest, just sent him home. The pain, though, was intense, and unrelenting.

***

The Mahasamadhi event, held at a hotel in the town of Assisi, went on as scheduled, with others filling in for the accused. Tension was high, but so was inspiration. On Saturday afternoon, March 6, the accused were released. The men had been separated from each other, then place in group cells, but individually, with strangers. The women had been housed together. The prison was cold, but otherwise conditions were not too bad.

Now they would be under house arrest, incommunicado except for one person to bring food. The news of their release came just as the choir finished singing Truth Can Never Die! and were starting Many Hands Make a Miracle. Once the cheering died down, the audience sang together: Many Hands—do indeed—Make a Miracle.

The accused were released into the care of their friends, and allowed to drive home without a police escort. Arjuna had Shivani, Anand, and Kirtani in his car. They were forbidden to talk to anyone, but that didn’t prevent Arjuna from driving slowly by the hotel with the windows down. Two hundred people lined both sides of the street singing, Gioia, Gioia, Gioia [Joy, Joy, Joy], throwing flowers and blowing kisses.

***

Swamiji’s top-floor apartment opened directly onto the roof terrace, where the India Mahasamadhi event would be held. He was in such pain, though, he wasn’t sure he could manage the few steps needed to get outside. At the last minute, leaning heavily on Dharmadas for support, he was able to walk to his seat in front of the altar.

Then, the body forgotten, he spoke for more than an hour. Behind him on the altar were the pictures of the Gurus. As the evening progressed, a full moon gradually rose over Swamiji’s left shoulder.

In The Path, Swamiji described the talk Master had given on the same date, fifty-two years earlier, just before he left his body. “The talk was so sweet,” Swamiji wrote, “so almost tender, that I think everyone present felt embraced in the gossamer net of his love. Warmly he spoke of India and America, and of their respective contributions to world peace and true, human progress. He talked of their future cooperation.”

Lakshman said later, “That description fit so well the talk Swami was giving, I actually got a little nervous! But it seems Swamiji still has work left to do.” The next day, Swamiji had repeated bouts of hiccoughs, which aggravated the back injury. “The pain,” he said, “was almost unendurable.” Then added, “I hope it helps the karma in Italy.”

Because of the pain, he said, “Meditations have been a zero quantity, but at least I’ve been able to do some good work.” On March 1, he had sent us the first lesson of the Material Success course; by March 8, he was on lesson four.

Swamiji was in no condition to travel. Still, he was concerned that his continued absence from Italy might mean others would suffer on his account. Whatever it cost him, he would not allow that to happen. If he returned, though, and was put under house arrest, he knew everyone would be so worried about him, it would distract them from more important issues.

“The only possible good in that would be if Master wants me to meditate in seclusion,” Swamiji said. “I don’t see that as the divine will. At this stage of my life, it is now or never for the work in India. The only reason I would return to Italy is if it would free others to serve Master as they should.”

On March 17, house arrest was lifted. Soon after, the threat against Swamiji was also dissolved; he could return to Italy without fear of imprisonment. The problem with the bank accounts and the computers was slowly being untangled. It was just a matter now of going through the long, legal process to prove that the charges were groundless from the start.

***

Swami Kriyananda in India. Click photo to enlarge.

Living on the top floor was proving impossible for Swamiji. The stairs were like Mount Everest for him. And already the house was too small; so many wanted to move in. An ideal house for Swamiji was found a few blocks away, where he could have private rooms on the ground floor. A few young men had come wanting to be monks. At first, Swamiji thought to turn the new house into a monastery where he and they would live. But his health was too precarious; he needed a staff to care for him.

So Dharmadas and Nirmala; his cook, Lila; secretary, Lakshman; and nurse, Miriam Rodgers, moved in with Swamiji as his permanent staff. The house had a spacious basement, which became a dormitory for the monks. When his health permitted, Swamiji held satsangs just for them.

He continued to work on the Material Success course. Ananda India was being supported from outside, but that wouldn’t last forever. They needed their own sources of income; this course could help. He was also writing articles that appeared weekly in two different national newspapers. And he had more television shows to record. In early April, he started on those.

All the while the pain in his back continued unabated. Finally a CT scan showed what the x-ray didn’t: a serious break in one rib. Taping up his chest helped some, until he developed a rash under the bandage. At least now he knew the reason for the pain. Unfortunately, at his age, healing was slow.

In the middle of April, I went to India for a visit. When Swamiji wasn’t working on the lessons, or finishing the last of the television shows, we went with him on outings to the mall, occasionally to restaurants, and often to the doctors. The doctors’ offices were in the small hospital where Swamiji stayed when his health required it. It was simple, informal, with up-to-date technology, but on a human scale. When the doctor decided he wanted a CT scan, we all walked over to that department, Swamiji lay down on the table, the doctor stood behind the technician and watched on the screen as it happened. Then we trooped back to his office to talk about it.

Because of his television show, whenever Swamiji went out, many people recognized him. They would pronam, touch his feet, then often spend a few minutes expressing their appreciation and gratitude to him for coming to India.

Swamiji had asked me to bring two, high quality, Bose speakers from the United States. He was very pleased with the recording Dharmadas, Nirmala, Anand, Kirtani, and Lila had made of his songs, and often listened to it. When Dharmadas got the speakers working, he put on that CD. Swamiji was lying on his bed in the next room. When the music started, he wasn’t wearing his hearing aids. “I can always tell when a recording is high fidelity,” he said, “even when I can’t actually hear the notes. It makes me realize that music is more than just sound.”

I told him about a deaf woman I had read about, who played percussion with a symphony orchestra. She performed barefoot, feet wide apart, firmly planted on the floor. One way she got the music was the vibrations coming through her feet.

Swamiji came out of the bedroom and sat in his recliner, listening to the music. Occasionally, the muscles around the broken rib would spasm and his blissful smile would be briefly interrupted by a look of intense pain. Miriam set up an infrared pad, and gave him some medication.

“The recording is perfect,” he said. “The rhythms are just right. The guitar is right. You’ve picked up all the nuances of each song.”

“We had to grow as people first,” Dharmadas said, “in order to be able to sing the music the way it is meant to be sung.”

Whether it was the medicine, the heating pad, the music, or our prayers, the spasms gradually stopped. “I think I have a few more years left,” Swamiji said. “There is so much that I can do here in India. Both my parents and all my grandparents lived till their mid-eighties.”

“Hip, hip, hip, hooray!” was our undignified, but heartfelt response.

A few days later, Swamiji was again in crisis. The muscle spasms had returned, and his body was retaining fluid to the point where his limbs were swollen. This was a sign of congestive heart failure, which sounds dire, and is—if left unchecked. This wasn’t the first time it had happened. The only solution was to go to the hospital, where he could rest and get appropriate treatment.

Swamiji’s mood was blissful, and when Miriam told him it was time to go to the hospital, the ensuing conversation was humorous. I quote from a letter I wrote at the time:

“It was only 9:00 p.m. and Swamiji said there was no point in going to the hospital at such a convenient hour. The tradition was to wait at least until 2:00 a.m. so everyone could be inconvenienced. He objected also to the unpleasant taxi ride. Nirmala said: ‘We can call an ambulance,’ which is a van with a bed inside and costs $15. When he had pneumonia, he went in an ambulance.

“Swamiji countered by saying that he would go in an ambulance only if the driver agreed to turn on the siren, which he hadn’t done the last time. ‘When I dislocated my hip in Hawaii and went to the hospital in an ambulance, they turned on the siren. It made me feel important,” Swamiji said, like a petulant child.

“‘Okay,’ Nirmala said. ‘We’ll call an ambulance, and ask the driver to use the siren. If he is unwilling, Dharmadas and I will make the sound of a siren all the way to the hospital.’

“‘Very tempting,’ Swamiji said. But he remained unconvinced.

“More seriously, then, he said, ‘What can they do in the hospital that we can’t do here? Miriam is a nurse.’ She agreed, then reminded Swamiji, ‘To reduce the swelling, you need to elevate your legs and rest. The hospital is the only place where you will do that. If you stay home, you will work.’ That is why they had put him in the hospital several times before.

“‘Ah, yes,’ Swamiji said, ‘there is that.’ He tried one more approach. The hospital bed is hard—We have a foam pad. There are mosquitoes—We have an electric mosquito chaser.

“‘Well,’ he finally conceded, ‘in a hospital it is easier to call a priest to administer the last rites.’ We said he could have as many priests as he wanted. They could come in sequence—Hindu, Catholic, Protestant, Jain. He could be the corpse of all religions. All of us, including Swamiji, found this last remark hilarious!

“At this point, Miriam called Dr. Peter in America, who agreed that Swamiji should go to the hospital now, or else he would have to go at the inconvenient hour of 2:00 a.m. Nirmala called a taxi, and I watched everyone go into the now well-practiced ‘Swamiji is going to the hospital’ routine. They gathered the foam pad, the mosquito chaser, milk for tea, CD player for music. Swamiji accepted the inevitable. His legs were so swollen—“like a two-legged elephant”—he could barely walk. Obviously, something had to be done.

“So we all piled into a taxi. Dharmadas and Nirmala made the sound of a siren. When we arrived at the hospital, the staff and Swamiji greeted each other like old friends. Miriam told them which tests were needed, according to Dr. Peter, and we all hung around Swamiji while the technicians did the work.

“When they took him to his room, Swamiji expressed surprise. ‘I am usually in room 221,’ he told the nurse, as if to the concierge of a favorite hotel. This night they wanted him across from the nurse’s station, so they could monitor his condition.

“Swamiji’s veins are difficult to access, and for half an hour, a nurse poked him without result. In a conversational tone, he said, ‘You remind me of Torquemada,’ referring to the Spanish monk who tortured people. It was a joke. She didn’t get it, but we did. They brought in an extra bed so Dharmadas could stay the night.

“At 11:00 p.m., when we left, Swamiji was sitting up in bed, clad in an orange t-shirt. His body was frail. He looked very tired, but his eyes glowed with the spirit of God. ‘So the tapasya continues,’ he said quietly. We had still been in a jovial mood, but his remark brought the room to silence—a silence resonant with the spirit of surrender to God and service to Guru.”

***

Now that the arrest ban was lifted, Swamiji made plans to go to Italy for his birthday and stay until the end of the hot season in India. Then he took another fall. He didn’t go down hard, but it was enough to wrench his back, just when the rib was finally healing. Travel was out of the question.

“It must be difficult to be in a body that doesn’t respond to your will,” I said.

No, it is not,” Swamiji said emphatically. He strictly adhered to Master’s dictum, “What comes of itself, let it come,” and wanted to see the same attitude from all of us. Then he added, sweetly, “I have had a good run.” He wasn’t speaking of health, he was talking about serving Master. In India, that meant one physical crisis after another. “Tapasya is good karma,” he said, “a way to gain spiritual power for great success.”

Early in the morning of May 19, Swamiji’s seventy-eighth birthday, he rang the bell that called Dharmadas and Nirmala. He felt weak, dizzy, and nauseous. His whole body was trembling. The weather had been consistently over a hundred degrees, and Miriam quickly diagnosed severe dehydration. Because of the congestive heart failure, it was hard for his body to deal with fluids. It was a thin line between too much and too little.

Soon it was off to the hospital again, in an ambulance this time, with Miriam and Nirmala to keep him company and a driver who used the siren whenever he wanted to run a red light. Despite the fact that he was gravely ill, Swamiji was in high spirits. “I doubt if there has ever been so much laughter inside that ambulance,” Nirmala said. At the hospital, the festive mood continued. He made jokes, took phone calls, read emails. At one point he even sang a Negro spiritual he had been thinking about.

That night there was going to be a birthday party for him at the ashram. The question was, “Would the doctor let him attend?” The television shows had brought many new people to Ananda. Because of his health, Swamiji had been mostly in seclusion. Many were coming to the party to meet him for the first time. He didn’t want to disappoint them. Finally it was agreed that Swamiji could attend the party for a short while, if he went in a wheelchair and allowed himself to be carried up the stairs.

The living room of the ashram was beautifully decorated with flowers, candles, and fabric. The official proceedings were kept to a minimum, but for a long time afterward, Swamiji sat in his chair, talking to people individually as they came to greet him and touch his feet.

One man did a full prostration in front of Swamiji. They had met forty years earlier. “All this time,” he said, “I have kept you close in my heart.” Another man said, “You initiated my father into Kriya Yoga. On his altar in a glass bottle, he still has a perfectly preserved rose from that ceremony.”

***

In both houses, there were so many air conditioners, computers, and other appliances running day and night, that often the electrical system couldn’t handle the load. The weather was so hot, parts melted and fires started in the wires and the boxes. Once Lila was taking a shower, when suddenly she saw that the water was mixed with sparks! It wasn’t only inconvenient; it was dangerous. Periodically, the whole system would collapse, and everyone had to move in with friends or stay in a hotel until it was fixed.

Guru Purnima, the full moon in July, is one of the most sacred days in the Indian calendar. An event was planned at the ashram, but the electric system blew out, so the location was changed to Swamiji’s living room. He was busy writing, and didn’t plan to attend. He came out, though, just to greet people and explain that his worship was to keep working on the lessons.

The tradition on Guru Purnima is to visit your Guru and touch his feet. The Indian devotees asked if Swamiji would allow them to touch his feet as a gesture of devotion to Master. Humbly, with great sweetness, he agreed. Whenever a disciple touched Master’s feet, the Guru would place his hand at his spiritual eye, fingers pointing upward, directing their devotion to God. Now Swamiji made the same gesture, offering to Master the reverence given to him.

One of the articles he wrote for the newspaper was called The Legacy of the Guru. “Holy vibrations, whether through books, or places made sacred by the Guru’s presence, can inspire, but they cannot guide. Living power must come through living people. It is like passing a baton in a relay race.

“A mistake often made is to assume that established structures, because stable and outwardly imposing, have more power to uplift than ‘mere’ fallible human beings. Yet human beings are alive. If they have been infused with the Guru’s power, only they can transmit his actual power to others. In this way, high spiritual vibrations can be passed down through generations of disciples, and create a spiritual legacy that may last for centuries.”

Swamiji had already appointed Jyotish as his spiritual successor. “When I leave this world,” Swamiji said, “someone has to be looked up to as Master’s representative. And it must be someone humble, sincere, and inspiring without the need for any laudatory words from me. Such a person is Jyotish.”

The position naturally included many organizational responsibilities—most of which Jyotish had already assumed. Far more important, though, was his role as a living example of Master’s ideals.

“Master himself set us the highest possible example,” Swamiji said, “yet see how that example has already been distorted. Certain disciples, even among those who lived with him, present Master now as excessively disciplinarian, sectarian, or merely ‘cute.’

“Worst of all, his words, and his example, have been distorted, or taken out of all reasonable context, to make it seem as if Daya Mata, and Daya Mata alone—as the president of SRF—is the only standard bearer for everything Master did or taught. What makes Ananda so convincing is that in all our communities, there are so many wonderful living examples of Master’s teachings.

“But if we were to leave it only on that level—that many people can serve as examples—gradually, over time, clarity would be lost; the example would become diffused. What is needed is always to have, in the position of overall Spiritual Director, one person who personifies Master’s ideals. The example would not be limited to that one person; but from that person the example will spread out.”

***

The next big public event for Swamiji was July 18, at Siri Fort in Delhi, in a hall holding two thousand people. It would also be the launch of the original Autobiography of a Yogi, just released by the newly formed Ananda Sangha Publications in India.

The venue was a long taxi ride from home, so Swamiji moved the day before to a nearby hotel. He sent an email to community leaders in America and Europe. “With this important event coming up tomorrow, it seems Ananda’s traditions won’t be broken: I’m not at all well. I’d be more concerned if there hadn’t been so many times when I really didn’t think I’d have the strength to give a talk, and then—sometimes just when I’ve stood up to lecture—all the strength I needed was given to me, in abundance. No one in the audience had any idea how much in doubt my ability to speak had been until that moment.

“This time, it is worse than any time I can remember, though that may just be nature’s way of keeping me going. I went downstairs to a shop in the lobby. Coming back, I walked a few feet, then couldn’t go any further. I sat for a while, then proceeded another short distance, then had to rest again. Finally, with help, I made it up to my room, where I collapsed on the bed.

“I seriously think this climate will kill me, sooner or later. My only concern is that I be able to finish my work. These lessons are a part of what I hope to get finished, and the building of our headquarters, and a retreat facility, and a community, and a school, and two monasteries for men and women. That’s quite a list, especially in view of my present condition.

“Tomorrow evening, though, when the program begins, I’ll probably be bursting with energy.” And he was. The hall was filled to capacity and beyond; many were turned away.

“India is the great power left in this soil by the ancient rishis,” Swamiji said. “Try to feel beyond the modern influences, to the spiritual power that is here.

Sanaatan Dharma is the greatest religion in the world. I don’t mean Hinduism, but Sanaatan Dharma—Eternal Truth—the religion of the ancient rishis. The pujas, chants, and ceremonies—all these are superficial. Don’t think the gods and goddesses are going to do it for you. Go within to find out who you are. You are one with the Great One who is the Universe.

“I love to speak in India, because your hearts are open. Americans, too, have a great deal of heart, but you also have to give them reasons. In that respect, England is even worse than America! When I lectured in London, I spent the first half trying to persuade the audience that I wasn’t a fraud, and the second half, that I wasn’t a fool! At the end, after enormous effort, I had succeeded in bringing them back to zero!

“Take what is good from the West—and there is much the West has to give to India—but don’t imitate the West. Be true to your own principles. Live for dharma, for truth, for God—then you will know victory. Everyone in the world is seeking the same thing: happiness. But you will never know happiness outside of your own Self. The less you think of ‘I and mine,’ and the more you think of ‘Thee and Thine,’ the happier you will be.

“We are all part of God, and as old as God Himself. Why be caught by this little moment? When you finish this life, you won’t even remember what it was; it will no longer hold meaning for you. Those who are dear to you will remain dear, not because they are your family now, but because you are united in the Eternal Reality. Learn to love in a divine way, to love everyone as a child of God. Live in Eternity and you will live in Joy.”

A few days later, someone commented to Swamiji that his health seemed much better. “Not better,” he said, “I am well!” Before an important event, Swamiji explained, Satan “takes an interest” in him. But during the event, and afterward, God’s energy comes to dispel the darkness. He wrote to a few friends, “My body is getting stronger and healthier. Is Satan giving up? One doubts it, but it is nice that for now he is not trying so hard.”

***

Through the pain of the broken rib, intermittent stays at the hospital, hours spent recording television shows, and temperatures consistently over a hundred degrees, Swamiji still managed to complete thirteen lessons—the first half of the Material Success course. He was eager to launch it. Students would receive two lessons a month, so he thought he could finish before they caught up.

The promotional material began with a quote from Master, “Money making is the next greatest art after the art of realizing God. All the good and philanthropic works of the world, all noble successes, have to be accomplished through money. But the great paradox and riddle of life lies in judiciously acquiring money.”

The first Kriya Yogis, initiated by Lahiri Mahasaya, practiced Kriya in the privacy of their homes. “Theirs was a hidden role,”  Swamiji said, “intended to build the magnetism of this great gift of God’s to the world. Master’s mission was to complete the message of Kriya Yoga by showing Kriya Yoga in action. It is not enough that a few people take the Kriya teachings within themselves, only. The full effect of these revolutionary teachings must be directed outward also.”

Swamiji tells the story of the doctor he met in the hospital who felt caught between his commitment to dharma and his need to make a living. “What makes his dilemma so poignant in India,” Swamiji said, “is that Hindus realize they are going against their own lofty traditions. Those Indians who are sensitive cannot but suffer for it. Yet the problem of earning a living in this age of disrupted values faces people everywhere on earth: How to win out in the face of rampant dishonesty and untruthfulness on all sides?”

As he worked on the lessons, Swamiji said he was amazed by the inspiration and practical wisdom given to him by God and Guru. “I really doubt whether there has ever been anything like it before. Yet it is all in Master’s teachings, like a field of diamonds buried deep underneath the ground, and needing only to be mined and brought up to the light of day.”

Swamiji said he had two purposes for writing these lessons: to help people succeed materially without sacrificing spiritual principles, and to build Ananda’s work in India. “The ground is fertile. People are hungry for Master’s fresh, modern approach to the ancient teachings. I am an old man now, but my spirit is young and willing, and I have many young, willing helpers. I believe the work in India has the potential to become much larger than anything we’ve built in the West.”

Swamiji hoped to draw people not only to study the lessons, but also to teach them, to develop seminars that could be offered everywhere. It was the same idea he had thirty years earlier for the course on Superconscious Living. Swamiji was always looking for ways people could support themselves by serving Master and sharing with others what was most meaningful to them.

From the time he became a disciple, even after he was expelled from SRF and was penniless and alone, Swamiji never gave his energy to any cause except serving Master. He built Ananda by sharing the teachings through music, books, and lectures. His is one of the greatest rags to riches stories of our times—except it is a story of rags to rags, since Swamiji never kept anything of what he earned for himself.

When asked the difference between his course and another well-known one on material success, Swamiji responded, “I am the disciple of a great master.” When you share with others, Master said, “Don’t just give them information and ideas, give them your vibrations.” Swamiji wrote the course in such a way as to “stimulate the reader with success vibrations.” A living disciple is a living channel for the power of his Guru.

***

Seeing the thousands of people who came to the shopping malls in Gurgaon, Swamiji suggested we open a small shop in one of them. It would put us in contact with just the kind of people we were trying to reach: educated, English speaking, open to new ways of living and thinking. In one day at the mall, we could talk to more people than we could in a month if we waited for them to find our ashram. We could sell our own books and products and other compatible goods. In Assisi, we had a similar business called Inner Life, which was a huge source of income for that community.

In September, Swamiji cut the ribbon for a small shop on the second floor of the Metropolitan Mall. It was called Kalyana Kalpataru—The Wishing Tree.

Among the many interesting insights Master offered was how different foods support different mental attitudes. For example: cherries are for cheerfulness, bananas inspire humility, almonds enhance self-control. Many years before, Swamiji had helped Lila Devi, one of Ananda’s members, develop a line of healing essences based on these insights. Swamiji now renamed them Yogananda Flower Essences and made them a prominent feature of The Wishing Tree.

A newspaper report of the ribbon-cutting ceremony said, “The Wishing Tree is different from other stores, as their motive is not primarily to make money, but to provide inspiring products that help their customers actualize joy in their lives and establish new and positive habits.”

Swamiji said, “I feel the masters are extremely pleased with all that we are doing: the lessons, the television programs, and now The Wishing Tree.”

Swamiji’s television show, A Way to Awakening, was doing very well, but it would be far more effective if it could air every day, rather than just once a week. So arrangements were made with two stations to show it daily: one in the morning, one in the evening, both at prime times. This meant Swamiji would have to record 235 more programs, all based on Conversations with Yogananda. The series could run then for several years before the repetition was noticeable.

Given the huge population of India, and how many of them watch television, Swamiji said, “I’ll reach more people through these programs than the sum of all the people I’ve ever spoken to and written for in my whole life!” Already he was becoming known throughout the country. “The personal name and fame mean nothing to me, but I am thrilled to be able to make Master’s message known.”

 Swamiji committed to spend all of November recording—ten programs a day, five days a week, for a month and a day. The living room was again converted into a studio, with lights, cameras, and a professional crew. People were invited to come and watch, but had to promise to remain silent, which meant not laughing at his jokes. Easy to promise, not always easy to do! Swamiji would pause just a few minutes between each show, to find the next saying in the book, and perhaps take a sip of tea, before diving in again. It was a daunting schedule.

“There were quite a few days when I didn’t think I could carry on.” Sometimes he was so exhausted, he literally couldn’t lift a spoon to eat his breakfast. “But I felt if I let up, I wouldn’t be able to come back and finish the job. Everything has its astral moment when the energy is flowing. If you don’t act then, you miss the wave, and there is no certainty that the wave will ever return again.”

On the last day of filming, Swamiji put the book aside to do ten finale programs—whatever he felt was left unsaid. Invitations had gone out for a celebration to follow the final recording, so there were more spectators than usual. As the day progressed, there was an expanding feeling of exultation in the room. When the last word was spoken, and the cameras were still and the lights turned off, Swamiji received a long, heartfelt, standing ovation.

He started to speak, “I feel Master is very pleased…..” then his voice trailed off. The feeling was too great to put into words. Later, he said in an email, “This is an emotional moment for me. I have just finished recording the last of 365 television programs. I feel I have done a major work for Master, and I am conscious of his happiness in my heart.

“There were quite a few days when I didn’t think I could carry on. This last day was especially difficult for me—maybe the relief of being at the end. But people couldn’t see what it cost me; it looked easy.

“I felt like weeping at the end, for sheer gratitude at having finished this job for Master. I didn’t weep, but I felt deeply moved. Jai Guru!”

 

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