“You appear to have passed through the worst,” he said. “I will take some specimens with me for laboratory tests.” The following morning the physician arrived hurriedly. I was sitting up, in good spirits. “Well, well, here you are, smiling and chatting as though you had had no close call with death.” He patted my hand gently. “I hardly expected to find you alive, after I had discovered from the specimens that your disease was Asiatic cholera. You are fortunate, young man, to have a guru with divine healing powers! I am convinced of it!” I agreed wholeheartedly. As the doctor was preparing to leave, Rajendra and Auddy appeared at the door. The resentment in their faces changed into sympathy as they glanced at the physician and then at my somewhat wan countenance. “We were angry when you didn’t turn up as agreed at the Calcutta train. You have been sick?” “Yes.” I could not help laughing as my friends placed the luggage in the same corner it had occupied yesterday. I quoted: “There was a ship that went to Spain; when it arrived, it came back again!” Master entered the room. I permitted myself a convalescent’s liberty, and captured his hand lovingly. “Guruji,” I said, “from my twelfth year on, I have made many unsuccessful attempts to reach the Himalayas. I am finally convinced that without your blessings the Goddess Parvati {FN20-2} will not receive me!” {FN20-1} Although Master failed to make any explanation, his reluctance to visit Kashmir during those two summers may have been a foreknowledge that the time was not ripe for his illness there (see chapter 22). {FN20-2} Literally, “of the mountains.” Parvati, mythologically represented as a daughter of Himavat or the sacred mountains, is a name given to the SHAKTI or “consort” of Shiva. CHAPTER: 21 WE VISIT KASHMIR “You are strong enough now to travel. I will accompany you to Kashmir,” Sri Yukteswar informed me two days after my miraculous recovery from Asiatic cholera. That evening our party of six entrained for the north. Our first leisurely stop was at Simla, a queenly city resting on the throne of Himalayan hills. We strolled over the steep streets, admiring the magnificent views. “English strawberries for sale,” cried an old woman, squatting in a picturesque open market place. Master was curious about the strange little red fruits. He bought a basketful and offered it to Kanai and myself, who were near-by. I tasted one berry but spat it hastily on the ground. “Sir, what a sour fruit! I could never like strawberries!” My guru laughed. “Oh, you will like them-in America. At a dinner there, your hostess will serve them with sugar and cream. After she has mashed the berries with a fork, you will taste them and say: ‘What delicious strawberries!’ Then you will remember this day in Simla.”