I recalled with amusement that Master had justifiably compared the man to a balky horse. Another seven days passed; the doctor, suddenly ill, meekly consented to wear the bangle. Two weeks later the physician in attendance told me that his patient’s case was hopeless. He supplied harrowing details of the ravages inflicted by diabetes. I shook my head. “My guru has said that, after a sickness lasting one month, Dr. Roy will be well.” The physician stared at me incredulously. But he sought me out a fortnight later, with an apologetic air. “Dr. Roy has made a complete recovery!” he exclaimed. “It is the most amazing case in my experience. Never before have I seen a dying man show such an inexplicable comeback. Your guru must indeed be a healing prophet!” After one interview with Dr. Roy, during which I repeated Sri Yukteswar’s advice about a meatless diet, I did not see the man again for six months. He stopped for a chat one evening as I sat on the piazza of my family home on Gurpar Road. “Tell your teacher that by eating meat frequently, I have wholly regained my strength. His unscientific ideas on diet have not influenced me.” It was true that Dr. Roy looked a picture of health. But the next day Santosh came running to me from his home on the next block. “This morning Father dropped dead!” This case was one of my strangest experiences with Master. He healed the rebellious veterinary surgeon in spite of his disbelief, and extended the man’s natural term on earth by six months, just because of my earnest supplication. Sri Yukteswar was boundless in his kindness when confronted by the urgent prayer of a devotee. It was my proudest privilege to bring college friends to meet my guru. Many of them would lay aside-at least in the ashram!-their fashionable academic cloak of religious skepticism. One of my friends, Sasi, spent a number of happy week ends in Serampore. Master became immensely fond of the boy, and lamented that his private life was wild and disorderly. “Sasi, unless you reform, one year hence you will be dangerously ill.” Sri Yukteswar gazed at my friend with affectionate exasperation. “Mukunda is the witness: don’t say later that I didn’t warn you.” Sasi laughed. “Master, I will leave it to you to interest a sweet charity of cosmos in my own sad case! My spirit is willing but my will is weak. You are my only savior on earth; I believe in nothing else.” “At least you should wear a two-carat blue sapphire. It will help you.” “I can’t afford one. Anyhow, dear guruji, if trouble comes, I fully believe you will protect me.” “In a year you will bring three sapphires,” Sri Yukteswar replied cryptically. “They will be of no use then.” Variations on this conversation took place regularly. “I can’t reform!” Sasi would say in comical despair. “And my trust in you, Master, is more precious to me than any stone!”