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"Father, I want to invite Master and four friends to accompany me to the Himalayan foothills during my
summer vacation. May I have six train passes to Kashmir and enough money to cover our travel expenses?"

As I had expected, Father laughed heartily. "This is the third time you have given me the same
cock-and-bull story. Didn't you make a similar request last summer, and the year before that?
At the last moment, Sri Yukteswarji refuses to go."

"It is true, Father; I don't know why my guru will not give me his definite word about Kashmir.1 But if I tell him that I have already secured the passes from you, somehow I
think that this time he will consent to make the journey."

Father was unconvinced at the moment, but the following day, after some good-humored gibes, he handed me
six passes and a roll of ten-rupee bills.

"I hardly think your theoretical trip needs such practical props," he remarked, "but here they are."

That afternoon I exhibited my booty to Sri Yukteswar. Though he smiled at my enthusiasm, his words were
noncommittal: "I would like to go; we shall see." He made no comment when I asked his little hermitage
disciple, Kanai, to accompany us. I also invited three other friendsRajendra Nath Mitra, Jotin Auddy, and one
other boy. Our date of departure was set for the following Monday.

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On Saturday and Sunday I stayed in Calcutta, where marriage rites for a cousin were being celebrated at my
family home. I arrived in Serampore with my luggage early Monday morning. Rajendra met me at the hermitage
door.

"Master is out, walking. He has refused to go."

I was equally grieved and obdurate. "I will not give Father a third chance to ridicule my chimerical plans
for Kashmir. Come; the rest of us will go anyhow."

Rajendra agreed; I left the ashram to find a servant. Kanai, I knew, would not take the trip without
Master, and someone was needed to look after the luggage. I bethought myself of Behari, previously a servant
in my family home, who was now employed by a Serampore schoolmaster. As I walked along briskly, I met my guru
in front of the Christian church near Serampore Courthouse.

"Where are you going?" Sri Yukteswar's face was unsmiling.

"Sir, I hear that you and Kanai will not take the trip we have been planning. I am seeking Behari. You
will recall that last year he was so anxious to see Kashmir that he even offered to serve without pay."

"I remember. Nevertheless, I don't think Behari will be willing to go."

I was exasperated. "He is just eagerly waiting for this opportunity!"

My guru silently resumed his walk; I soon reached the schoolmaster's house. Behari, in the courtyard,
greeted me with a friendly warmth that abruptly vanished as soon as I mentioned Kashmir. With a murmured word
of apology, the servant left me and entered his employer's house. I waited half an hour, nervously assuring
myself that Behari's delay was being caused by preparations for his trip. Finally I knocked at the front
door.

"Behari left by the back stairs about thirty minutes ago," a man informed me. A slight smile hovered about
his lips.

I departed sadly, wondering whether my invitation had been too coercive or whether Master's unseen
influence were at work. Passing the Christian church, again I saw my guru walking slowly toward me. Without
waiting to hear my report, he exclaimed:

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"Sir, I don't care to go without you," I said mournfully.

My friends paid not the slightest attention to my remark. They summoned a hackney carriage and departed
with all the luggage. Kanai and I sat quietly at our guru's feet. After a half hour of complete silence,
Master rose and walked toward the second-floor dining patio.

"Kanai, please serve Mukunda's food. His train leaves soon."

Getting up from my blanket seat, I staggered suddenly with nausea and a ghastly churning sensation in my
stomach. The stabbing pain was so intense that I felt I had been abruptly hurled into some violent hell.
Groping blindly toward my guru, I collapsed before him, attacked by all symptoms of the dread Asiatic
cholera. Sri Yukteswar and Kanai carried me to the sitting room.

Racked with agony, I cried, "Master, I surrender my life to you;" for I believed it was indeed fast ebbing
from the shores of my body.

Sri Yukteswar put my head on his lap, stroking my forehead with angelic tenderness.

"You see now what would have happened if you were at the station with your friends," he said. "I had to
look after you in this strange way, because you chose to doubt my judgment about taking the trip at this
particular time."

I understood at last. Inasmuch as great masters seldom see fit to display their powers openly, a casual
observer of the day's events would have imagined that their sequence was quite natural. My guru's
intervention had been too subtle to be suspected. He had worked his will through Behari and my Uncle Sarada
and Rajendra and the others in such an inconspicuous manner that probably everyone but myself thought the
situations had been logically normal.

As Sri Yukteswar never failed to observe his social obligations, he instructed Kanai to go for a
specialist, and to notify my uncle.

"Master," I protested, "only you can heal me. I am too far gone for any doctor."

"Child, you are protected by the Divine Mercy. Don't worry about the doctor; he will not find you in this
state. You are already healed."

With my guru's words, the excruciating suffering left me. I sat up feebly. A doctor soon arrived and
examined me carefully.

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"You appear to have passed through the worst," he said. "I will take some specimens with me for laboratory
tests."

The following morning the physician arrived hurriedly. I was sitting up, in good spirits.

"Well, well, here you are, smiling and chatting as though you had had no close call with death." He patted
my hand gently. "I hardly expected to find you alive, after I had discovered from the specimens that your
disease was Asiatic cholera. You are fortunate, young man, to have a guru with divine healing powers! I am
convinced of it!"

I agreed wholeheartedly. As the doctor was preparing to leave, Rajendra and Auddy appeared at the door.
The resentment in their faces changed into sympathy as they glanced at the physician and then at my somewhat
wan countenance.

"We were angry when you didn't turn up as agreed at the Calcutta train. You have been sick?"

"Yes." I could not help laughing as my friends placed the luggage in the same corner it had occupied
yesterday. I quoted: "There was a ship that went to Spain; when it arrived, it came back again!"

Master entered the room. I permitted myself a convalescent's liberty, and captured his
hand lovingly.

"Guruji," I said, "from my twelfth year on, I have made many unsuccessful attempts to reach the Himalayas.
I am finally convinced that without your blessings the Goddess Parvati2
will not receive me!"