Autobiography of a YOGI by Paramhansa Yogananda pdf book download

Book: Autobiography of a YOGI

Author: Paramhansa Yogananda

Posting Date: September 26, 2012

Release Date: February, 2005

First Posted: May 5, 2003

Language: English.

(✍️ This article is collected from this book 📚 (All Credit To Go Real Hero The Author of this book 📖) 🙏 Please buy this book hardcopy from anyway.)

🔍In This Book________________________

This life story of Yogananda was instrumental in introducing meditation and yoga to the West. It includes Yogananda's and Sri Yukteswar's attempts to explain certain verses and events of the Bible such as the Garden of Eden story, and descriptions of Yogananda's encounters with Therese Neumann, Mohandas Gandhi, and Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore.

ount. He thought so little about it that he overlooked any mention to the family. Much later he was questioned by my youngest brother Bishnu, who noticed the large deposit on a bank statement.

"Why be elated by material profit?" Father replied. "The one who pursues a goal of evenmindedness is neither jubilant with gain nor depressed by loss. He knows that man arrives penniless in this world, and departs without a single rupee."

[Illustration: MY FATHER, Bhagabati Charan Ghosh, A Disciple of Lahiri Mahasaya--see father1.jpg]

Early in their married life, my parents became disciples of a great master, Lahiri Mahasaya of Benares. This contact strengthened Father's naturally ascetical temperament. Mother made a remarkable admission to my eldest sister Roma: "Your father and myself live together as man and wife only once a year, for the purpose of having children."

Father first met Lahiri Mahasaya through Abinash Babu, {FN1-8} an employee in the Gorakhpur office of the Bengal-Nagpur Rai

🧾Front Page Of This Book_______________

CHAPTER: 1

My Parents and Early Life..

The characteristic features of Indian culture have long been a search for ultimate

verities and the concomitant disciple-guru

1-2

relationship. My own path led me

to a Christlike sage whose beautiful life was chiseled for the ages. He was one of

the great masters who are India's sole remaining wealth. Emerging in every

generation, they have bulwarked their land against the fate of Babylon and

Egypt.

I find my earliest memories covering the anachronistic features of a previous

incarnation. Clear recollections came to me of a distant life, a yogi

1-3 amidst the

Himalayan snows. These glimpses of the past, by some dimensionless link, also

afforded me a glimpse of the future.

The helpless humiliations of infancy are not banished from my mind. I was

resentfully conscious of not being able to walk or express myself freely.

Prayerful surges arose within me as I realized my bodily impotence. My strong

emotional life took silent form as words in many languages. Among the inward

confusion of tongues, my ear gradually accustomed itself to the circumambient

Bengali syllables of my people. 

The beguiling scope of an infant's mind! adultly

considered limited to toys and toes.

Psychological ferment and my unresponsive body brought me to many obstinate

crying-spells. I recall the general family bewilderment at my distress. Happier

memories, too, crowd in on me: my mother's caresses, and my first attempts at

lisping phrase and toddling step. These early triumphs, usually forgotten quickly,

are yet a natural basis of self-confidence.

My far-reaching memories are not unique. Many yogis are known to have

retained their self-consciousness without interruption by the dramatic transition

to and from "life" and "death." If man be solely a body, its loss indeed places the

final period to identity. But if prophets down the millenniums spake with truth,

man is essentially of incorporeal nature. The persistent core of human egoity is

only temporarily allied with sense perception.

Although odd, clear memories of infancy are not extremely rare. During travels

in numerous lands, I have listened to early recollections from the lips of

veracious men and women.

I was born in the last decade of the nineteenth century, and passed my first eight

years at Gorakhpur. This was my birthplace in the United Provinces of

northeastern India. We were eight children: four boys and four girls. I, Mukunda

Lal Ghosh

1-4

, was the second son and the fourth child.

Father and Mother were Bengalis, of the kshatriya caste.

1-5 Both were blessed

with saintly nature. Their mutual love, tranquil and dignified, never expressed

itself frivolously. A perfect parental harmony was the calm center for the

revolving tumult of eight young lives.

Father, Bhagabati Charan Ghosh, was kind, grave, at times stern. Loving him

dearly, we children yet observed a certain reverential distance. An outstanding

mathematician and logician, he was guided principally by his intellect. But

Mother was a queen of hearts, and taught us only through love. After her death,

Father displayed more of his inner tenderness. I noticed then that his gaze often

metamorphosed into my mother's.

In Mother's presence we tasted our earliest bitter-sweet acquaintance with the

scriptures. Tales from the mahabharata and ramayana

1-6 were resourcefully

summoned to meet the exigencies of discipline. Instruction and chastisement

went hand in hand.

A daily gesture of respect to Father was given by Mother's dressing us carefully

in the afternoons to welcome him home from the office. His position was similar

to that of a vice-president, in the Bengal-Nagpur Railway, one of India's large

companies. His work involved traveling, and our family lived in several cities

during my childhood.

Mother held an open hand toward the needy. Father was also kindly disposed,

but his respect for law and order extended to the budget. One fortnight Mother

spent, in feeding the poor, more than Father's monthly income.

"All I ask, please, is to keep your charities within a reasonable limit." Even a

gentle rebuke from her husband was grievous to Mother. She ordered a hackney

carriage, not hinting to the children at any disagreement.

"Good-by; I am going away to my mother's home." Ancient ultimatum!

We broke into astounded lamentations. Our maternal uncle arrived opportunely;

he whispered to Father some sage counsel, garnered no doubt from the ages.

After Father had made a few conciliatory remarks, Mother happily dismissed the

cab. Thus ended the only trouble I ever noticed between my parents. But I recall

a characteristic discussion.

"Please give me ten rupees for a hapless woman who has just arrived at the

house." Mother's smile had its own persuasion.

"Why ten rupees? One is enough." Father added a justification: "When my father

and grandparents died suddenly, I had my first taste of poverty. My only

breakfast, before walking miles to my school, was a small banana. Later, at the

university, I was in such need that I applied to a wealthy judge for aid of one.

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