Happy months sped by. My readers have doubtless made the perspicacious
surmise that I was little seen in the college classrooms. The
Serampore hermitage held a lure too irresistible. Master accepted
my ubiquitous presence without comment. To my relief, he seldom
referred to the halls of learning. Though it was plain to all that
I was never cut out for a scholar, I managed to attain minimum
passing grades from time to time.

Daily life at the ashram flowed smoothly, infrequently varied. My
guru awoke before dawn. Lying down, or sometimes sitting on the bed,
he entered a state of SAMADHI. {FN12-4} It was simplicity itself
to discover when Master had awakened: abrupt halt of stupendous
snores. {FN12-5} A sigh or two; perhaps a bodily movement. Then a
soundless state of breathlessness: he was in deep yogic joy.

Breakfast did not follow; first came a long walk by the Ganges.
Those morning strolls with my guru-how real and vivid still! In
the easy resurrection of memory, I often find myself by his side:
the early sun is warming the river. His voice rings out, rich with
the authenticity of wisdom.

A bath; then the midday meal. Its preparation, according to Master's
daily directions, had been the careful task of young disciples. My
guru was a vegetarian. Before embracing monkhood, however, he had
eaten eggs and fish. His advice to students was to follow any simple
diet which proved suited to one's constitution.

Master ate little; often rice, colored with turmeric or juice of
beets or spinach and lightly sprinkled with buffalo GHEE or melted