“Let your wish be my wish.” Lifelong shadow lifted from my heart; the vague search, hither and yon, was over. I had found eternal shelter in a true guru. “Come; I will show you the hermitage.” Master rose from his tiger mat. I glanced about me; my gaze fell with astonishment on a wall picture, garlanded with a spray of jasmine. “Lahiri Mahasaya!” “Yes, my divine guru.” Sri Yukteswar’s tone was reverently vibrant. “Greater he was, as man and yogi, than any other teacher whose life came within the range of my investigations.” Silently I bowed before the familiar picture. Soul-homage sped to the peerless master who, blessing my infancy, had guided my steps to this hour. Led by my guru, I strolled over the house and its grounds. Large, ancient and well-built, the hermitage was surrounded by a massive-pillared courtyard. Outer walls were moss-covered; pigeons fluttered over the flat gray roof, unceremoniously sharing the ashram quarters. A rear garden was pleasant with jackfruit, mango, and plantain trees. Balustraded balconies of upper rooms in the two-storied building faced the courtyard from three sides. A spacious ground-floor hall, with high ceiling supported by colonnades, was used, Master said, chiefly during the annual festivities of DURGAPUJA. {FN12-1} A narrow stairway led to Sri Yukteswar’s sitting room, whose small balcony overlooked the street. The ashram was plainly furnished; everything was simple, clean, and utilitarian. Several Western styled chairs, benches, and tables were in evidence. Master invited me to stay overnight. A supper of vegetable curry was served by two young disciples who were receiving hermitage training. “Guruji, please tell me something of your life.” I was squatting on a straw mat near his tiger skin. The friendly stars were very close, it seemed, beyond the balcony. “My family name was Priya Nath Karar. I was born {FN12-2} here in Serampore, where Father was a wealthy businessman. He left me this ancestral mansion, now my hermitage. My formal schooling was little; I found it slow and shallow. In early manhood, I undertook the responsibilities of a householder, and have one daughter, now married. My middle life was blessed with the guidance of Lahiri Mahasaya. After my wife died, I joined the Swami Order and received the new name of Sri Yukteswar Giri. {FN12-3} Such are my simple annals.” Master smiled at my eager face. Like all biographical sketches, his words had given the outward facts without revealing the inner man. “Guruji, I would like to hear some stories of your childhood.” “I will tell you a few-each one with a moral!” Sri Yukteswar’s eyes twinkled with his warning. “My mother once tried to frighten me with an appalling story of a ghost in a dark chamber. I went there immediately, and expressed my disappointment at having missed the ghost. Mother never told me another horror-tale. Moral: Look fear in the face and it will cease to trouble you.