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I was born in the last decade of the nineteenth century, and passed my first eight years at Gorakhpur.

This was my birthplace in the United Provinces of northeastern India. I, Mukunda Lal Ghosh,3 was the second son and the fourth child.

But Mother was a queen of hearts, and taught us only through love.

After her death, Father displayed more of his inner tenderness.

To its illustrious author, whom I have had the pleasure of knowing both in India and America, may every reader render due appreciation and gratitude.

Their mutual love, tranquil and dignified, never expressed itself frivolously.His hair was long and somewhat curly, and his face bearded. of Indian culture have long been a search for ultimate verities and the concomitant disciple-guru 1 relationship.His body was muscularly firm, but slender and well-formed, and his step energetic. Pratt for her long editorial labors over the manuscript of this book. My own path led me to a Christlike sage whose beautiful life was chiseled for the ages.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.

Loving him dearly, we children yet observed a certain reverential distance.