“We rode in the Ford across the very low Ganges on a creaking pontoon bridge, crawling snakelike through the crowds and over narrow, twisting lanes, passing the site on the river bank which Yoganandaji pointed out to me as the meeting place of Babaji and Sri Yukteswarji. Alighting from the car a short time later, we walked some distance through the thickening smoke of the sadhus’ fires and over the slippery sands to reach a cluster of tiny, very modest mud-and-straw huts. We halted in front of one of these insignificant temporary dwellings, with a pygmy doorless entrance, the shelter of Kara Patri, a young wandering sadhu noted for his exceptional intelligence. There he sat, cross-legged on a pile of straw, his only covering-and incidentally his only possession-being an ocher cloth draped over his shoulders. “Truly a divine face smiled at us after we had crawled on all fours into the hut and PRONAMED at the feet of this enlightened soul, while the kerosene lantern at the entrance flickered weird, dancing shadows on the thatched walls. His face, especially his eyes and perfect teeth, beamed and glistened. Although I was puzzled by the Hindi, his expressions were very revealing; he was full of enthusiasm, love, spiritual glory. No one could be mistaken as to his greatness. “Imagine the happy life of one unattached to the material world; free of the clothing problem; free of food craving, never begging, never touching cooked food except on alternate days, never carrying a begging bowl; free of all money entanglements, never handling money, never storing things away, always trusting in God; free of transportation worries, never riding in vehicles, but always walking on the banks of the sacred rivers; never remaining in one place longer than a week in order to avoid any growth of attachment. “Such a modest soul! unusually learned in the VEDAS, and possessing an M.A. degree and the title of SHASTRI (master of scriptures) from Benares University. A sublime feeling pervaded me as I sat at his feet; it all seemed to be an answer to my desire to see the real, the ancient India, for he is a true representative of this land of spiritual giants.” I questioned Kara Patri about his wandering life. “Don’t you have any extra clothes for winter?” “No, this is enough.” “Do you carry any books?” “No, I teach from memory those people who wish to hear me.” “What else do you do?” “I roam by the Ganges.” At these quiet words, I was overpowered by a yearning for the simplicity of his life. I remembered America, and all the responsibilities that lay on my shoulders. “No, Yogananda,” I thought, sadly for a moment, “in this life roaming by the Ganges is not for you.” After the sadhu had told me a few of his spiritual realizations, I shot an abrupt question. “Are you giving these descriptions from scriptural lore, or from inward experience?” “Half from book learning,” he answered with a straightforward smile, “and half from experience.”