From Autobiography of a Yogi

The religious fairs held in India from time immemorial are known as Kumbha Melas; they have kept spiritual goals in constant sight of the multitude. Devout Hindus gather by millions every twelve years to meet thousands of sadhus, yogis, swamis, and ascetics of all kinds. Many are hermits who never leave their secluded haunts except to attend the melas and there bestow blessings on worldly men and women. “I was not a swami at the time I met Babaji,” Sri Yukteswar went on. “But I had already received Kriya initiation from Lahiri Mahasaya. He encouraged me to attend the mela that was convening in January, 1894, in Allahabad. It was my first experience of a kumbha; I felt slightly dazed by the clamor and surge of the crowd. I gazed around searchingly, but saw no illumined face of a master. Passing a bridge on the bank of the Ganges, I noticed an acquaintance standing nearby, his begging bowl extended.

“‘Oh, this fair is nothing but a chaos of noise and beggars,’ I thought in disillusionment. ‘I wonder if Western scientists, patiently enlarging the realms of knowledge for the practical good of mankind, are not more pleasing to God than these idlers who profess religion but concentrate on alms.’ “My smoldering reflections on social reform were interrupted by the voice of a tall sannyasi who halted before me. “‘Sir,’ he said, ‘A saint is calling you.’ “‘Who is he?’ “‘Come and see for yourself.’ “Hesitantly following this laconic advice, I soon found myself near a tree whose branches were sheltering a guru with an attractive group of disciples. The master, a bright unusual figure, with sparkling dark eyes, rose at my approach and embraced me. “‘Welcome, Swamiji,’ he said affectionately. “‘Sir,’ I replied emphatically, ‘I am not a swami.’ “‘Those on whom I am divinely directed to bestow the title of swami never cast it off.’ The saint addressed me simply, but deep conviction of truth rang in his words; I was instantly engulfed in a wave of spiritual blessing. Smiling at my sudden elevation into the ancient monastic order, I bowed at the feet of the obviously great and angelic being in human form who had thus honored me. “Babaji — for it was indeed he — motioned me to a seat near him under the tree. He was strong and young, and looked like Lahiri Mahasaya; yet the resemblance did not strike me, even though I had often heard of the extraordinary similarities in the appearance of the two masters. Babaji possesses a power by which he can prevent any specific thought from arising in a person’s mind. Evidently the great guru wished me to be perfectly natural in his presence, not overawed by knowledge of his identity. “‘What do you think of the Kumbha Mela?’ “‘I was greatly disappointed, sir,’ I said, but added hastily, ‘up until the time I met you. Somehow saints and this commotion don’t seem to belong together.’ “‘Child,’ the master said, though apparently I was nearly twice his own age, ‘for the faults of the many, judge not the whole. Everything on earth is of mixed character, like a mingling of sand and sugar. Be like the wise ant that seizes only the sugar, and leaves the sand untouched. Though many sadhus here still wander in delusion, yet the mela is blessed by a few men of God-realization.’ “In view of my own meeting with this exalted master, I quickly agreed with him.