Chapter One: BOMBAY A Brilliant Child
A brilliant child was born on the 13th of January 1913 to a devoted and cultured Kayasth Brahmin family of Dabhoi, a town in the Vadodara district of Gujarat State, India. His father, Jamnadas Majmudar, and his mother, Mangalaba, named the boy Saraswatichandra. The family called him by his pet name, Hariprasad1.
His parents were staunch Vaishnavites, members of a Hindu sect devoted to Lord Krishna, and this was a predominant influence in the formation of the child’s character. In his adolescence Saraswatichandra also developed respect and devotion for Lord Shiv as well as for Saraswati, the goddess of learning.
Jamnadas served the state and owned a little tillable land, but the large family of seven daughters and two sons was very poor. Jamnadas, like other devotees, was altruistic and generous. This further impoverished the family. Jamnadas died when Krishnalal, his eldest son, was fourteen and Saraswatichandra was only seven. Krishnalal had developed a predilection for devotional life and had been averse to worldly affairs since childhood. Thus the responsibility for the family fell to Mangalaba. Over time the family’s debt steadily increased until they faced the confiscation of their home. In later years Saraswatichandra retained a vivid recollection of the family’s possessions being put out into the street when the house was taken from them.
In these troubled times Saraswatichandra continued his studies through the seventh grade and secured top honors each year. Despite his excellent performance, the family’s poverty forced him to leave school in 1927 at the age of fourteen.
In order to improve the economic condition of the family he suppressed his aspirations for further studies and, instead, accepted a temporary post as a municipal tax clerk. This job was to last for only four or five months. Saraswatichandra then found another job as an accounts clerk in a Dabhoi firm, where he served honestly for three years (1928-1930) and won the favor of the owner, Mr. Kaduji Ganiji. During this period Saraswatichandra read and wrote literature in his spare time. Some of his articles and poems were published in contemporary periodicals. Simultaneously, he learned music. His elder brother Krishnalal, a good musician himself, gave him his primary training. The classical aspects of his knowledge of music came from Ustad Gulam Rasool Khan Sahib of the state-established music school in Dabhoi.2
At the age of eighteen years, Saraswatichandra resolved to save his family from financial crisis by working harder, and he proceeded to Bombay with that purpose in mind. However, destiny had a different fate in store for the youth. His earnings in Bombay were to be spiritual rather than fiscal, for it was in Bombay that he met Sadguru Swami Pranavanandji and received yoga initiation from him. In the years that followed Saraswatichandra became Swami Kripalvanandji and earned fame as a great yogi. Swami Kripalvanandji is my Gurudev.3 He is lovingly known as ‘Bapuji’ by the multitudes of his disciples and is therefore referred to as Bapuji (‘respected father’) hereafter.
Bapuji decided to go to Bombay late in 1930. Dabhoi was a small place in which to succeed and prosper, so he thought that moving to a big city would widen the scope and give him a greater range of options for employment. His fondness for literature and the desire to achieve name and fame by writing prose, poetry, and drama was the factor that settled his decision. At this time drama and stage opera were very popular, yet there were very few good companies performing in Gujarat.
Bapuji wrote to a friend who was married and settled in Bombay. He expressed his desire in a letter: “I am troubling you because I want to get a job in Bombay. Write to me if you think it likely that I can find some occupation there.”
His friend replied promptly, “Dear Hariprasad, come to Bombay at your convenience. You don’t have to go to anyone else. Please stay with us. Once you are here, together we’ll search for a job for you. In a big city like Bombay it will take only a few days, or a week or two at most, to find some work for you.”
Satisfied by his friend’s reply, Bapuji decided to leave after the Divali festival4 of October and November that was soon approaching. When he arrived in Bombay he stayed at the home of his friends, and the loving couple treated him like a member of their own family.
Though he avoided all unnecessary expenditures, the little amount of money that Bapuji had brought with him quickly dwindled because of the daily expense of city travel. The day came when he had no money.
His friend, who well knew Bapuji’s economic condition, often asked: “Hariprasad, do you have money? Don’t feel shy about asking. I am your brother!”
Feeling it unfair to be an added burden on a friend who was already helping so much, Bapuji would reply, “Yes, I have money.” Unconvinced by this response, his friend would often secretly check Bapuji’s coat pockets and, when he found them nearly empty, he would place there a five- or a ten-rupee note. The next day, Bapuji would realize what they had done and would feel even further indebted to these very kind friends. Bapuji’s job-seeking efforts bore no fruit, and nearly two months passed.
Bapuji’s birthday was approaching. It was only natural for a youth turning nineteen to fancy the idea of celebrating his birthday. After all, this was Bombay, the city of enchantment! Even the utmost modesty and frugality should permit the desire to have a cup of tea in a restaurant. Bapuji felt that even this joy would elude him, since he knew that his pocket had been emptied on the previous day.
On his birthday Bapuji and his friend had their usual light meal in the morning and then parted for their respective duties. On the way, Bapuji realized that his pocket was not empty. His friend had generously placed two ten-rupee notes there. This method of wishing him a happy birthday appealed much to Bapuji! The deep feelings of affection he already had for his friend increased greatly.
Now he was filled with delight, and celebrated the day with snacks and a cup of tea! In the evening he brought home some sweets to his kind friends. Knowing well that Bapuji liked vedmi (sweet, stuffed chapatis), his friend’s wife included it in that night’s birthday dinner menu. Such love and affection, so generously showered on him, filled Bapuji with feelings of joy.
But that night Bapuji couldn’t sleep. He was haunted by thoughts of his two months of futile wanderings in Bombay. He felt ashamed of being a burden on such kind friends. His mind spun with these thoughts and they caused him tremendous pain. He began to hate his unsuccessful life. He felt that it was meaningless and he saw no purpose in living any longer. The only way to be rid of such a pitiful life, he thought, was to embrace death by committing suicide. With the growing resolve to act accordingly, he passed a restless night.
The next day Bapuji set out as usual and roamed aimlessly in Bombay. He felt that his life was useless. He wanted to commit suicide. What despair for a young man who was destined to become a great saint!
In the evening he went to his favorite temple. It was a temple of the Divine Mother, near the Pigeon House at Bhuleshwar. The evening arti5 was in progress as Bapuji took his place in the temple. Tears came to his eyes. Through his tears and the shining light of the arti lamp, the form of the Divine Mother appeared to him. He looked at her, thinking that it was the last darshan6 of this life. Then the scene of his vision changed to the Sandhurst Bridge near Chowpaty Beach. An electric train was speeding down the tracks. He saw his body tumbling from the bridge. The wheels of the train were crushing away his futile life. When the vision passed, streams of tears gushed from Bapuji’s eyes, and his voice choked as he prayed to the Divine Mother, “Oh Mother, I don’t want to live such a futile and loveless life. Let me kill myself!”
The arti prayers were over, but Bapuji was grieving so much that he did not move. Though other devotees had left the temple, he still stood there, weeping. Great sobs convulsed his body. At that moment a Mahatma7 paused before the great Mother for a blessing and stood silently for a few moments. Then the saint moved straight towards the weeping Bapuji and gently took his hand. Bapuji turned to his sympathizer and fell crying into his arms. The unknown saint caressed Bapuji’s head as if he were his own dear son. He then spoke to Bapuji in a sweet and consoling voice, “My son, don’t cry. Come along; follow me.”
The saint’s words had a magical effect. Bapuji stopped weeping and followed him without a word or even the slightest hesitation. They walked out of the temple and down the road. Near a closed shop they found a seat and sat there side by side. Then the saint spoke again, ever so tenderly, “My son, you have been thinking of committing suicide! Don’t think of it. Suicide is a forbidden act.”
How could a stranger read his thoughts? Frightened, Bapuji became pale and looked at the saint. As an immediate reaction he denied the fact and said, “No! No. You’re completely wrong. I’ve never thought of committing suicide.” His voice broke as he spoke these words. Bapuji’s...
