“You are young.” The sage surveyed me thoughtfully. “India too is young. The ancient RISHIS {FN5-3} laid down ineradicable patterns of spiritual living. Their hoary dictums suffice for this day and land. Not outmoded, not unsophisticated against the guiles of materialism, the disciplinary precepts mold India still. By millenniums-more than embarrassed scholars care to compute!-the skeptic Time has validated Vedic worth. Take it for your heritage.” As I was reverently bidding farewell to the eloquent SADHU, he revealed a clairvoyant perception: “After you leave here today, an unusual experience will come your way.” I quitted the temple precincts and wandered along aimlessly. Turning a corner, I ran into an old acquaintance-one of those long-winded fellows whose conversational powers ignore time and embrace eternity. “I will let you go in a very short while, if you will tell me all that has happened during the six years of our separation.” “What a paradox! I must leave you now.” But he held me by the hand, forcing out tidbits of information. He was like a ravenous wolf, I thought in amusement; the longer I spoke, the more hungrily he sniffed for news. Inwardly I petitioned the Goddess Kali to devise a graceful means of escape. My companion left me abruptly. I sighed with relief and doubled my pace, dreading any relapse into the garrulous fever. Hearing rapid footsteps behind me, I quickened my speed. I dared not look back. But with a bound, the youth rejoined me, jovially clasping my shoulder. “I forgot to tell you of Gandha Baba (Perfume Saint), who is gracing yonder house.” He pointed to a dwelling a few yards distant. “Do meet him; he is interesting. You may have an unusual experience. Good-by,” and he actually left me. The similarly worded prediction of the SADHU at Kalighat Temple flashed to my mind. Definitely intrigued, I entered the house and was ushered into a commodious parlor. A crowd of people were sitting, Orient-wise, here and there on a thick orange-colored carpet. An awed whisper reached my ear: “Behold Gandha Baba on the leopard skin. He can give the natural perfume of any flower to a scentless one, or revive a wilted blossom, or make a person’s skin exude delightful fragrance.” I looked directly at the saint; his quick gaze rested on mine. He was plump and bearded, with dark skin and large, gleaming eyes. “Son, I am glad to see you. Say what you want. Would you like some perfume?” “What for?” I thought his remark rather childish. “To experience the miraculous way of enjoying perfumes.” “Harnessing God to make odors?” “What of it? God makes perfume anyway.” “Yes, but He fashions frail bottles of petals for fresh use and discard. Can you materialize flowers?” “I materialize perfumes, little friend.” “Then scent factories will go out of business.” “I will permit them to keep their trade! My own purpose is to demonstrate the power of God.”