Out of the slow dwindling of my divine ecstasy, I salvaged a permanent legacy of inspiration to seek God. “He is eternal, ever-new Joy!” This memory persisted long after the day of rapture. Another early recollection is outstanding; and literally so, for I bear the scar to this day. My elder sister Uma and I were seated in the early morning under a NEEM tree in our Gorakhpur compound. She was helping me with a Bengali primer, what time I could spare my gaze from the near-by parrots eating ripe margosa fruit. Uma complained of a boil on her leg, and fetched a jar of ointment. I smeared a bit of the salve on my forearm. “Why do you use medicine on a healthy arm?” “Well, Sis, I feel I am going to have a boil tomorrow. I am testing your ointment on the spot where the boil will appear.” “You little liar!” “Sis, don’t call me a liar until you see what happens in the morning.” Indignation filled me. Uma was unimpressed, and thrice repeated her taunt. An adamant resolution sounded in my voice as I made slow reply. “By the power of will in me, I say that tomorrow I shall have a fairly large boil in this exact place on my arm; and YOUR boil shall swell to twice its present size!” Morning found me with a stalwart boil on the indicated spot; the dimensions of Uma’s boil had doubled. With a shriek, my sister rushed to Mother. “Mukunda has become a necromancer!” Gravely, Mother instructed me never to use the power of words for doing harm. I have always remembered her counsel, and followed it. My boil was surgically treated. A noticeable scar, left by the doctor’s incision, is present today. On my right forearm is a constant reminder of the power in man’s sheer word. Those simple and apparently harmless phrases to Uma, spoken with deep concentration, had possessed sufficient hidden force to explode like bombs and produce definite, though injurious, effects. I understood, later, that the explosive vibratory power in speech could be wisely directed to free one’s life from difficulties, and thus operate without scar or rebuke. {FN1-12} Our family moved to Lahore in the Punjab. There I acquired a picture of the Divine Mother in the form of the Goddess Kali. {FN1-13} It sanctified a small informal shrine on the balcony of our home. An unequivocal conviction came over me that fulfillment would crown any of my prayers uttered in that sacred spot. Standing there with Uma one day, I watched two kites flying over the roofs of the buildings on the opposite side of the very narrow lane. “Why are you so quiet?” Uma pushed me playfully. “I am just thinking how wonderful it is that Divine Mother gives me whatever I ask.” “I suppose She would give you those two kites!” My sister laughed derisively. “Why not?” I began silent prayers for their possession.