An inspiration seized me. “Tomorrow,” I said, “I am going to the Dakshineswar temple. Please come with me, and persuade your husband to accompany us. I feel that in the vibrations of that holy place, Divine Mother will touch his heart. But don’t disclose our object in wanting him to go.” Sister agreed hopefully. Very early the next morning I was pleased to find that Roma and her husband were in readiness for the trip. As our hackney carriage rattled along Upper Circular Road toward Dakshineswar, my brother-in-law, Satish Chandra Bose, amused himself by deriding spiritual gurus of the past, present, and future. I noticed that Roma was quietly weeping. “Sister, cheer up!” I whispered. “Don’t give your husband the satisfaction of believing that we take his mockery seriously.” “Mukunda, how can you admire worthless humbugs?” Satish was saying. “A SADHU’S very appearance is repulsive. He is either as thin as a skeleton, or as unholily fat as an elephant!” I shouted with laughter. My good-natured reaction was annoying to Satish; he retired into sullen silence. As our cab entered the Dakshineswar grounds, he grinned sarcastically. “This excursion, I suppose, is a scheme to reform me?” As I turned away without reply, he caught my arm. “Young Mr. Monk,” he said, “don’t forget to make proper arrangements with the temple authorities to provide for our noon meal.” “I am going to meditate now. Do not worry about your lunch,” I replied sharply. “Divine Mother will look after it.” “I don’t trust Divine Mother to do a single thing for me. But I do hold you responsible for my food.” Satish’s tones were threatening. I proceeded alone to the colonnaded hall which fronts the large temple of Kali, or Mother Nature. Selecting a shady spot near one of the pillars, I arranged my body in the lotus posture. Although it was only about seven o’clock, the morning sun would soon be oppressive. The world receded as I became devotionally entranced. My mind was concentrated on Goddess Kali, whose image at Dakshineswar had been the special object of adoration by the great master, Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa. In answer to his anguished demands, the stone image of this very temple had often taken a living form and conversed with him. “Silent Mother with stony heart,” I prayed, “Thou becamest filled with life at the request of Thy beloved devotee Ramakrishna; why dost Thou not also heed the wails of this yearning son of Thine?” My aspiring zeal increased boundlessly, accompanied by a divine peace. Yet, when five hours had passed, and the Goddess whom I was inwardly visualizing had made no response, I felt slightly disheartened. Sometimes it is a test by God to delay the fulfillment of prayers. But He eventually appears to the persistent devotee in whatever form he holds dear. A devout Christian sees Jesus; a Hindu beholds Krishna, or the Goddess Kali, or an expanding Light if his worship takes an impersonal turn.