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Father and Mother were Bengalis, of the caste.4 Both were blessed with saintly nature.
Their mutual love, tranquil and dignified, never expressed itself frivolously.
I was resentfully conscious of not being able to walk or express myself freely.
Prayerful surges arose within me as I realized my bodily impotence.
Happier memories, too, crowd in on me: my mother’s caresses, and my first attempts at lisping phrase and toddling step.
These early triumphs, usually forgotten quickly, are yet a natural basis of self-confidence. Many yogis are known to have retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the dramatic transition to and from “life” and “death.” If man be solely a body, its loss indeed places the final period to identity.
The helpless humiliations of infancy are not banished from my mind.It has been my privilege to have met one of the sages whose life-history is herein narrated—Sri Yukteswar Giri.A likeness of the venerable saint appeared as part of the frontispiece of my near the seashore there, and was chiefly occupied in the spiritual training of a group of youthful disciples.Every person who knew him, whether of his own community or not, held him in the highest esteem.I vividly recall his tall, straight, ascetic figure, garbed in the saffron-colored garb of one who has renounced worldly quests, as he stood at the entrance of the hermitage to give me welcome.