to the pattern of life. My nature is seldom commandeered by a detail;
I was seeking from Sri Yukteswar a more inaccessible benefit than
an outward praise.

Kumar spoke venomously to me one day without reason; I was deeply
hurt.

"Your head is swelling to the bursting point!" I added a warning
whose truth I felt intuitively: "Unless you mend your ways, someday
you will be asked to leave this ashram."

Laughing sarcastically, Kumar repeated my remark to our guru, who
had just entered the room. Fully expecting to be scolded, I retired
meekly to a corner.

"Maybe Mukunda is right." Master's reply to the boy came with
unusual coldness. I escaped without castigation.

A year later, Kumar set out for a visit to his childhood home.
He ignored the quiet disapproval of Sri Yukteswar, who never
authoritatively controlled his disciples' movements. On the boy's
return to Serampore in a few months, a change was unpleasantly
apparent. Gone was the stately Kumar with serenely glowing face.
Only an undistinguished peasant stood before us, one who had lately
acquired a number of evil habits.

Master summoned me and brokenheartedly discussed the fact that the
boy was now unsuited to the monastic hermitage life.

"Mukunda, I will leave it to you to instruct Kumar to leave the