2005: From Victory to Victory: Continued Service in India and Italy

Ananda in India: Daya leads a chant during a blessing ceremony for images of the masters of Self-Realization

Ananda India now had a resident staff of twenty-three people, living in two rented houses in Gurgaon. Ananda Sangha Publications had released ten of Swamiji’s books and two new music CDs: I’ve Passed My Life as a Stranger, Lord, a solo album by Swamiji; and Philosophy in Song, recorded by the five singers. In addition to the Material Success course, Ananda Sangha was also sending out lessons in meditation, as well as teaching classes, and, as people became ready, giving Kriya Initiation. Every day, Swamiji was on television.

His rented house was better for him than living in the ashram, but he really needed a home of his own, with the right floor plan and systems that didn’t break down. In the hot season, even one day without air conditioning was more than his body could handle. For the sake of the work, too, Swamiji needed to settle in a way that seemed permanent.

“Indians want to support us,” he said, “but they can’t help thinking that, until we get property of our own, we won’t really be established in this country. It is the same dilemma I faced at the start of Ananda in America. For success in building the project I visualized, people would be needed; to attract people, however, I must already be successful.”

An ideal house was found, overlooking a park, just a few blocks from where Swamiji was living. It had been built several years before, but no one yet had lived in it. With generous support from America, the house was purchased. At the end of January, Swamiji and his staff moved in. It is traditional in India to name the family home. Swamiji called his Guru Kripa—Guru’s Grace.

***

Swamiji’s health was not good enough for him to make the long trip to America. Even getting to Europe would be too much of a challenge. So everyone was encouraged to come to India for Master’s Mahasamadhi in March, a three-day event held in a hotel near Guru Kripa. Every day, Swamiji gave a major talk. The India staff and visiting teachers led meditations, kirtans, and classes. About two hundred people came, evenly divided between East and West. It was a long trip for a three-day event, so many came the week before. Some hadn’t seen Swamiji in over a year, so as soon as people arrived, he welcomed them at Guru Kripa.

As he showed people around the house, he said, “Now I feel completely at home in India.” Everything in Guru Kripa he chose himself, including a fake fireplace in an upstairs sitting room. When you turned on the “fireplace,” a fan blew across shiny colored paper which looked—sort of—like a blazing log. “Every house should have a humorous touch,” Swamiji said.

As usual before an important event, Swamiji’s body became a battleground. His lungs were congested, he seemed headed for pneumonia—until the moment the first guests arrived at Guru Kripa. Then all signs of weakness vanished. For the Mahasamadhi, he sang Master’s chants in English and Bengali, and gave three remarkable talks.

“You don’t lose yourself in God, you exalt yourself in Him. It is you without the anger, grief, selfishness, and pain. All that disappears. You were made to know God. You will be a great master—you can’t escape it! This is who you are!

“Looking into my Guru’s eyes was looking into Infinity. Complete stillness. There was no hint of judgment, just complete acceptance of everyone. He was a mirror reflecting back one’s own higher Self. Don’t think of Master as someone who passed away fifty years ago. He is alive right now, in this room, in you.”

Swamiji spoke of the great benefit of living in spiritual community. “Many of the people in this room live in such communities. I beg you to help start communities here in India.”

He invited everyone to join in the adventure of seeking and serving God. “We are living in an age when there is a fierce battle going on in the heavens—on the causal and astral planes—between the asuras and the devas—the devils and the angels. God needs instruments. He won’t force you, but if you offer yourself to God, He will use you to inspire others, and your life and theirs will be ennobled.”

A woman asked an important question. “How can you know if you have passed a spiritual test?”

Swamiji’s simple reply: “When you no longer fear it.”

***

As a break from working on the Material Success course, Swamiji added a few chapters to The Story of Crystal Hermitage. When it was first published twenty years earlier, it had been illustrated with line drawings. Now, renamed Space, Light, and Harmony, it was filled with color photographs of the house and garden. Swamiji showed some of the photos to an Indian guest. Seeing such a beautiful, uplifted environment, she asked, “Where is this place? Who lives there?”

“I live there. It is my home in America,” Swamiji said. “It is good for you to know what we have left behind to come to India.” Then he added, “None of it matters, though. To be here, to serve Master—this is our joy.”

A few young men were now living together in one house, the beginning of the monastery Swamiji hoped to build. “Renunciation has been understood too much in the negative: what you don’t have, what you don’t do. I’d like to create a new definition of sannyas: what you are, and above all, what you strive to become. Merely giving up things won’t take you to God; it is ego that must be renounced.”

He started writing a pamphlet for the monks, which grew into a small book called Sadhu, Beware! The title was a quote from Sri Ramakrishna, his warning to a monk who was dabbling in worldliness, thinking himself above temptation. In the end, the monk took a fall. “When I started writing this paper, I had no idea how important it would be,” Swamiji said. It was renunciation for the new age, a guidebook for overcoming the ego, not just for monastics, but for all devotees.

Then for fun, he wrote The Story Behind the Story, an informal catalogue of all his books, giving the reasons why each was written. Devi had just finished writing Faith is My Armor, the first biography of Swamiji.

All four books arrived from the printer on his birthday, May 19. At the party that night at Guru Kripa, he gave each of the seventy-five guests a book of their choice, which he autographed for them. At the large public celebration a few days later, he again gave each person a book. A year ago, Swamiji’s monthly satsangs at the ashram drew only a handful of people. Now, attendance was never less than a 150. In addition to the local classes, Dharmadas would soon set out on a four-city tour.

***

When Swamiji left Italy for India in November 2003, he planned to return to Europe in a few months. After that, his intention was to split his time between India and Italy, with regular visits to America. As it turned out, he didn’t leave India for a year and a half.

Conversations with Yogananda had been translated into Italian. Ananda Edizioni wanted to have a gala book launch in Milan the first week of July. Swamiji promised to come.

Dr. Prabhakar had been treating Swamiji since he arrived in Gurgaon. He was a fine man and a skilled doctor. Swamiji, however, was not an easy patient, because how he appeared, and the actual state of his body, were often worlds apart.

Once, when Swamiji was at the Village, he was having repeated episodes of dangerously fast and irregular heartbeat. Dr. Peter was called to examine him. “For most people, this condition produces extreme mental distress,” Peter said. “I can determine the severity of the episode by the attitude of the patient. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but with Swamiji I had to be more like a veterinarian, looking only at the evidence without input from the patient.

“I was listening with a stethoscope when Swamiji exclaimed delightedly, ‘Did you hear that rhythm, Peter?’ Before I could respond, he said, ‘Although I don’t think any composer, either classical or modern, could do anything with it.’ I was concerned he would have a stroke; he was composing music!”

Swamiji came to Dr. Prabhakar to get the medical okay for his trip to Europe. Before the examination, they talked together as friends. Swamiji was bright and energetic; it was a lively, interesting conversation. “Certainly you can go to Europe,” Dr. Prabhakar said, “even America if you want. But since you are here, let me give you an examination.”

After the examination, the doctor said, “Absolutely not!” Swamiji’s congestive heart failure would be greatly aggravated by air travel; he shouldn’t risk it. Swamiji, however, insisted. The Assisi community had been through so much; he owed it to them to come. Seeing how determined Swamiji was, Dr. Prabhakar agreed to try one week of a certain treatment. Fortunately, it worked. Swamiji was cleared for travel and left the next day. He never traveled now without his nurse, Miriam, and usually also with Lila and Lakshman.

 For some months, Swamiji had been telling Miriam, “Something else is wrong with my body.” He arrived in Italy so debilitated, two weeks passed before the community saw him. Finally Miriam figured out that his diabetes had progressed to the point where insulin was needed. Not happy news, but at least an explanation and a treatment.

Karen Gamow had moved to Assisi to be part of a traveling singing group Swamiji had organized, with the goal of getting his music known in Italy. She wrote about the first Sunday service he gave: “Suddenly the chanting stopped and the temple fell silent. Out the window we could see Swamiji coming very slowly down the walkway, leaning on Anand for support. When he reached the foyer, he dropped heavily into a chair, and sat for several moments to regain his strength before entering the temple. Step-by-step, as he walked toward the altar, greeting people along the way, he seemed to grow in strength and vigor. Taking his seat, he said, ‘I may not talk for very long,’ then proceeded to speak for two hours, without a pause, or any sign of fatigue or weakness.

“He spoke (all in Italian) words we had heard before: God is the only reality. The purpose of life is to realize Him. Attunement to the Guru is essential, for without it, the leap to the Infinite is too great. This time, though, his mood was so elevated, his joy so intense, the vibration behind the words was like nothing we’d felt before.

“He shared a remarkable story, told to him by a young Indian man who came to see him in Gurgaon. The man had been wandering deep in the woods, as he often did, when he heard a voice say, ‘Follow me.’ After a time, a person revealed himself, and it was Babaji, the deathless Himalayan master. ‘I have prolonged Swami Kriyananda’s life,’ Babaji said. ‘I am very pleased with the work he is doing. Especially the television shows.’

“The whole story was amazing. We did have to readjust our thinking. Babaji lives high in the Himalayas, but that doesn’t mean he is ignorant of the modern world!

“To the immense regret of the audience, after a ‘mere’ two hours, Swamiji ended his talk. We could have listened to him all day. He left the way he had come in, walking slowly, leaning heavily on Anand’s arm. We weren’t sure if there would be any more to the service—Swamiji had left out all the usual parts. But between following Swamiji and staying in the temple, there was no contest! Almost all fell into step behind him, waiting respectfully outside until he drove away.”

***

The event in Milan, launching the Italian edition of Conversations with Yogananda, was a huge success. The hall was set up for five hundred people; seven hundred came in. Karen reported, “Swamiji received a great honor, the Award for Goodness, given in Italy each year by Tara Gandhi, to the public figure who best exemplifies the ideals of her famous relative. Eight, new age leaders then spoke, each for about five minutes, offering deep gratitude to Master, who had touched all of their lives through Autobiography of a Yogi. For most of them, that book was the start of their spiritual journey.

“Each speaker addressed his remarks, not only to the audience, but directly to Swamiji, who was sitting in the first row just a few feet in front of them. One speaker was so visibly moved by his presence, she couldn’t continue. The voices of other speakers cracked with emotion. The effect was an extraordinary feeling of respect and joy throughout the room. We felt honored to be in the presence of someone so great as Swamiji.

“We later learned that his chair was quite uncomfortable. He sat for an hour, without the slightest complaint, or sign of discomfort, but in ever-increasing pain, before it was his turn to speak. He didn’t waste a moment in preliminaries. Being a disciple, he said, is the only thing that gives meaning to his life. He was so strong, vital, and alive with power, a living demonstration of the blessing that comes from being a disciple.

“Master’s mission, like that of all avatars, is to help us become like him, he said. When Master was with his disciples, what he emphasized was attunement with his consciousness. He urged us not to be mere philosophers, but to love God. True understanding comes not from the intellect, but from the heart.

“‘I have had only two desires in this life,’ Swamiji declared, ‘To find God and to help others to find God. Everything I have done is for these two goals alone.’

“Among our Italian devotees, we have many professional musicians, so the music was spectacular. The program ended with the song Peace; Swamiji sang the solo. I believe many went home that night with the thought, ‘I have seen a saint.’”

Shivani wrote to Swamiji the day after, “Most of the audience and all of the speakers had been touched by Master’s Autobiography of a Yogi—in many cases, decades before, when their spiritual search began. Since then, they have wandered hither and yon, gaining whatever insights their karma and self-effort permitted. Last night, they were again touched by Master, in a way most never imagined possible. One very intellectual man spoke of your ‘child-like faith, and the immense joy and love shining through you.’ I think many an ego-oriented intellectual was converted to their higher Selves!

“Your music seemed truly heard and felt, on a level I have not seen before. It created an atmosphere of inner stillness and spiritual openness remarkable for such a large group. It made everyone more receptive to the message from the other speakers: ‘Swami Kriyananda is carrying the torch for his Guru, Paramhansa Yogananda.’ And to your words: ‘Live your ideals. Don’t be afraid.’”

Religious freedom in Italy was seriously threatened by a proposed law that would make talking to someone about your spiritual beliefs into the crime of brainwashing—unless you were a sanctioned religion, of which there were two: Buddhism and the Catholic Church.

 At a press conference before the event, Swamiji urged the reporters, “Crusade against this law, speak often and loudly against it. You must do everything you can to keep Europe from falling into this way of thinking.” Gandhi was the example of how to engage in politics. “Never with anger, never by attacking others, but by being living examples of what you are fighting for.”

The whole week before the event, Swamiji had been so debilitated he was virtually housebound. To arrive in time, he had to leave home on Friday morning at 6:00 a.m. to catch the train to Milan. From the moment he left Seva Kutir to late Sunday night—when, on arriving back in Assisi, he invited everyone to go out for pizza—his energy never flagged.

“Whenever I try to do anything important for Master, Satan always tests me. Afterward, I feel fine,” he said. He called the Milan event, a “historic day” that would “mark a major shift for Ananda’s work in Italy.” Impossible to quantify such a prediction, but many of those privileged to attend felt changed by the experience.

***

When he returned to India at the end of July, Swamiji resumed work on the Material Success course. He finished the last lesson on September 12, the anniversary of his discipleship, which was also when Dharmadas began his first teaching tour outside of the Delhi area. Because of the television shows, Master and Swamiji were well known throughout India. The advertising for the tour featured their photos, and one of Dharmadas. Hundreds of people came to his classes. Swamiji was jubilant. It meant that not only Swamiji himself, but someone representing him and Master, would also be well received in India.

During one of his satsangs at the ashram, Swamiji said, “When a child places his hand on a hot stove, he feels the pain and quickly pulls back. His mother may have told him repeatedly not to touch it, but now, from his own experience, he knows why.

In the same way, we, children of Divine Mother, reach out to the things of this world, hoping to find in them happiness and fulfillment. Only when, repeatedly, we feel pain and disappointment instead, do we turn away from delusion and toward God. Some bring into this incarnation the memory of past suffering, and quickly conclude, ‘Enough! I want only God.’ Others wander in delusion for a very, very long time.”

An Indian man, a healer and spiritual teacher in his own right, learned about Swamiji through the television shows. When he came to America, he was eager to see Ananda, and stayed for a few days at The Expanding Light. “I have never been to a more inspiring place,” he said. One of the other guests asked him, “Do people in India know about Paramhansa Yogananda?”

“Because he left India at such a young age,” the man said, “Yogananda was known mostly in intellectual circles as an ambassador to the West. He was not known or revered by those who practice yoga. But in the last two years, there has been a dramatic change. Now in spiritual circles Paramhansa Yogananda is very well known, and well respected—all because of Swami Kriyananda.”

***

Once Swamiji finished the Material Success course, his mind turned again to Master’s commentary on the Bhagavad Gita. He didn’t see how SRF’s version could ever fulfill Master’s prophecy that “Millions will find God through this book. Not thousands—millions. I know. I have seen it.”

Swamiji didn’t have the original manuscript, nor did he have the legal right to use many of the articles. Perhaps Babaji had extended his life, but for how long? The Gita commentary could take ten years to write. Swamiji was already in his eightieth year. Did he have ten years left? He decided to write a short book giving the essence of the Gita, rather than going stanza by stanza as Master had done. Maybe reading his short book would inspire people to read SRF’s long version.

For two weeks, Swamiji struggled, without success, to get into the book. He only had one more week before Jyotish and Devi arrived for a visit. He knew their coming, “would disrupt my line of thinking and cause me to lose whatever clarity I had for the project.” It proved just the incentive he needed. At the end of that week of writing, Swamiji realized this was not the short book he planned—it was the full commentary. He was engaged in the last, great, unfinished task of his life as a disciple.

Instead of ten years, it took Swamiji eight weeks to write the commentary on the Bhagavad Gita. Then, three weeks more to edit the six hundred-page book. Jyotish and Devi were just the beginning of a constant stream of visitors. Thirty people from Europe and America came to see Swamiji during the exact time that he was working on the Gita commentary.

He was a gracious host—leisurely meals, long conversations, coffee at the mall, visits to The Wishing Tree. When some expressed concern that we were keeping him from his work, he said, “On the contrary, it is helping me! I find the whole project so awe-inspiring that I’ve felt almost overwhelmed by it. Your presence helps me to approach it simply, one day at a time.” Swamiji often worked late at night, or rose before dawn, writing ten or more pages every day, which he would place on the table in the living room for us to read.

“Getting your feedback has helped also,” he said, “not so much to clarify ideas, which I already have clearly in mind, but to keep my feet on the ground, mentally, while I wrestle with concepts so subtle that I must find ways to make them relevant to everyone.”

Fifty-five years earlier, Swamiji had sat side-by-side with Master at his desert retreat, carefully going over, sentence by sentence, the commentary Master had written. “He must have known this would happen,” Swamiji said, “that I would have to edit a manuscript I didn’t have. That is why he worked so carefully with me at that time. I don’t remember every word, but I do remember every idea, stanza by stanza. As I write, I feel Master working—not only through me, but with me.”

Superconscious recollection was the skylight to which Master referred in Swamiji’s dream from years before. “I am filled with such bliss as I write, it is hard to think of anything else! I feel the deep delight my Guru takes in this work.” He called the book, The Essence of the Bhagavad Gita, Explained by Paramhansa Yogananda, as Remembered by His Disciple, Swami Kriyananda.

Swamiji had always been fearless in the face of death. Several times already, he had nearly died, and afterward spoke only of the joy and freedom he felt in complete surrender to God. Now his surrender became even more profound. Everything his Guru had asked of him was done.

One evening, when he was alone with one of his closest friends in India, he said quietly, “Master’s consciousness is everywhere, and mine is almost as vast.”

 

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.