If bricks and tiles

are burnt after the trademark

has been stamped on them,

they retain the mark forever.

Disciples:
(1) Mahendra or M. (3) Kali (5) Sarat (6) Mani Mallick (7) Gangadhar (8) Navagopal (11) Tarak (13) the elder Gopal (15) Vaikuntha
(17) Manmohan (18) Harish (19) Narayan (21) Shashi (22) Latu (23) Bhavanath (24) Baburam (25) Niranjan (26) Narendra
(27) Ramchandra Dutta (28) Balaram Bose (29) Rakhal (30) Nityagopal (31) Jogindra (32) Debendranath Mazumdar

Baburam Ghosh, who was to become Swami Premananda, came to Dakshineswar accompanied by his classmate Rakhal. The Master, as was often his custom, examined the boy’s physiognomy and was satisfied about his latent spirituality. At the age of eight, Baburam had thought of leading a life of renunciation in the company of a monk, in a hut shut away from public view by a thick wall of trees. The very sight of Panchavati awakened in his heart that boyhood dream. Baburam was tender in body and soul. The Master would say that he was pure to his very bones. One day, Hazra – who was one of the devotees – in his usual mischievous fashion advised Baburam and some of the other young boys to ask Sri Ramakrishna for some spiritual powers and not waste their life in mere gaiety and merriment. The Master, scenting mischief, called Baburam to his side and said, ‘What can you ask of me? Isn’t everything that I have already yours? Yes, everything I have earned in the shape of realizations is for all of you. So, get rid of the idea of begging, which alienates an individual by creating a distance. Rather, realize your kinship with me and gain the key to all the treasures.’

Nityaniranjan Ghosh, who was to become Swami Niranjanananda, had established clairvoyant powers before he came to Dakshineswar. Powers he soon discarded. He was especially devoted to Sarada Ma after Sri Ramakrishna’s death.

Niranjan was a heroic disciple. He came to the Master when he was eighteen, a mediocre achiever in a group of spiritualists – those who engaged in the realm of netherworld spirits. The Master told him during his first visit, ‘My boy, if you think always of ghosts you will become a ghost, and if you think of God you will become God. Now, which do you prefer?’ Niranjan severed all connections with the spiritualists. During his second visit, the Master embraced him and said warmly, ‘Niranjan, the days are flitting away. When will you realize God? This life will be in vain if you do not realize Him. When will you devote your mind wholly to God?’ Niranjan was surprised to see the Master’s great anxiety for his spiritual development. He felt disdain for worldly pleasures and was totally guileless like a child. Yet he had a violent temper. One day, as he was coming in a country boat to Dakshineswar, some of his fellow passengers began to speak ill of the Master. Finding his protests futile, Niranjan began to rock the boat and threatened to sink it in midstream. That silenced the offenders. When he reported the incident to the Master, he was rebuked for his inability to curb his anger.

Yogindranath Raychaudhury, on the other hand, was gentle to a fault. One day, under circumstances very similar to those that had evoked Niranjan’s anger, he curbed his temper and held his peace, instead of threatening Sri Ramakrishna’s abusers. The Master learned of his conduct too and scolded him soundly. Thus, to each, the fault of the other was recommended as a virtue. The guru attempted to develop, in the first instance, composure, and in the second, mettle. The secret of his training was to build up the distinctive character of a devotee, by tactful recognition of the requirements of each disciple.

Yogindranath came from an aristocratic Brahmin family of Dakshineswar. His father and relatives shared the popular mistrust of Sri Ramakrishna’s sanity. From a very tender age the boy developed religious tendencies. He spent two to three hours daily in meditation and his meeting with Sri Ramakrishna deepened his desire for the realization of God. He was horrified by the thought of marriage. But at the earnest request of his mother he had to give in and, thereafter, he believed that his spiritual future was doomed. So he kept himself away from the Master.

Sri Ramakrishna employed a ruse to bring Yogindranath to him. As soon as the disciple entered the room the Master rushed forward to meet the young man. He caught hold of the disciple’s hand and said, ‘What if you have got married? Haven’t I too been married all this while? What is there to be afraid of in that?’ Touching his own chest, he said, ‘If this is propitious, then even a hundred thousand marriages cannot injure you. If you desire to lead a householder’s life, then bring your wife here one day. But if you wish to lead a monastic life, then I shall eat up your attachment to the world.’ Yogin was dumbfounded. He received new strength and his spirit of renunciation was re-established.

Yogindranath, who was to become Swami Yogananda, had at first visited Sri Ramakrishna secretly, because his family disapproved of the madman of Dakshineswar. Till Sri Ramakrishna passed away, Yogananda, while loving Vivekananda dearly, was often at loggerheads with him over his liberal attitudes. He too, served Sarada Devi closely until his death.

The sixth was Purna Chandra Ghosh. Purna came surreptitiously to Dakshineswar when he was thirteen because his family, too, disapproved of Sri Ramakrishna. He could not take sannyas, however, as family circumstances forced him to marry – but he was close to the Ramakrishna Order and revered for his spiritual greatness. Sri Ramakrishna described Purna as an Ishwarkoti, a soul born with special spiritual qualities. The Master said that Purna was the last of the group of brilliant devotees who, as he once had seen in a trance, would come to him for spiritual illumination. Purna told the Master during their second meeting, ‘You are God Himself, incarnated in flesh and blood.’ Such words coming from a mere youngster showed his rich spirituality and also proved what strong stuff the boy was made up of.

Others, Sri Ramakrishna termed nityasiddhas, the everperfect. Destined to be monastic disciples of Sri Ramakrishna, they all came to Dakshineswar.

Saratchandra Chakrabarty was only eighteen when he arrived at Sri Ramakrishna’s doorstep. He gave up his medical studies to look after Sri Ramakrishna when he became fatally ill and never returned to that world. He later became the monk Swami Saradananda, took charge of Vivekananda’s Bengali magazine, Udbodhan or Awakening, and wrote Sri Ramakrishna’s biography.

Sashi and Sarat were two cousins who came from a pious Brahmin family of Calcutta. At a very early age they joined the Brahmo Samaj and came under the influence of Keshab Sen. The Master told them at their first meeting:

If bricks and tiles are burnt after the trademark has been stamped on them, they retain the mark forever. Similarly, man should be stamped with God before entering the world. Then he will not become attached to worldliness.

Fully aware of the future course of their lives he asked them not to marry. The Master asked Sashi whether he believed in God who had a form or one without form. Sashi replied that he was not even sure about the existence of God, so he could not comment one way or the other. This frank answer pleased the Master very much.

Sarat’s soul longed for the all-embracing realization of God. When the Master enquired whether there was any particular form of God he wished to see, the boy replied that he would like to see God in all the living beings of the world. ‘But,’ the Master demurred, ‘that is the last word in realization. One cannot have it at the very outset.’ Sarat replied calmly, ‘I won’t be satisfied with anything short of that. I shall trudge on along the path till I attain that blessed state.’ Sri Ramakrishna was very pleased.

Sashibhusan Chakravarty, Sarat’s cousin, would become Swami Ramakrishnananda, a great devotee. He had a brilliant intellect and was especially fond of astronomy and mathematics. He founded the first branch of the Ramakrishna Mission in Madras.

Taraknath Ghosal’s father had been legal adviser to Rani Rasmani, so Tarak was not unaware of Sri Ramakrishna as a child. Tarak had felt from his boyhood the noble desire to realize God. Keshab and the Brahmo Samaj attracted him but proved inadequate. In 1882 he first met the Master at Ramachandra’s house and was astonished to hear him talk about samadhi, a subject that always fascinated his mind. That evening he actually saw a manifestation of that super-conscious state in the Master. Tarak, whose marriage did not come in the way of his devotion, became a frequent visitor at Dakshineswar and received the Master’s grace in abundance. The young boy often felt ecstatic fervours in meditation. He also wept profusely while meditating. To him, Sri Ramakrishna said, ‘God favours those who can weep for Him. Tears shed for God wash away the sins of former births.’

Like many young Brahmos, he began to understand the value of Sri Ramakrishna’s teachings later in life. He became Swami Shivananda, and after Sri Ramakrishna’s death spent years as a wandering monk, before becoming the second President of the Ramakrishna Order after the death of Swami Brahmananda.

Harinath Chatterjee, who was to become Swami Turiyananda, was drawn to the meditative, ascetic life as a child. He first saw Sri Ramakrishna in samadhi at the home of Surendranath Mitra when he was fourteen and came to Dakshineswar four years later. He reluctantly joined Naren, Swami Vivekananda, on his second tour of the US and found himself initiating and running the Shanti Ashram in San Antonio Valley in California, for two years. Harinath had led the austere life of a brahmachari even from his early boyhood – waking before sunrise, reciting the Gita from memory before leaving his bed in the morning, bathing in the Ganga every day and cooking his own meals. He found in the Master the embodiment of the Vedanta scriptures. Aspiring to be a follower of the ascetic Sankar, he cherished a great hatred for women. One day he said that he could not allow even little girls to come near him. The Master scolded him and said, ‘You are talking like a fool. Why should you hate women? They are the manifestations of the Divine Mother. Regard them as your own mother and you will never feel their evil influence. The more you hate them, the more you will fall into their snares.’

Hari admitted later that these words completely changed his attitude towards women.

The Master knew Hari’s passion for Vedanta. But he did not wish any of his disciples to become dry ascetics or mere bookworms. Therefore, he asked Hari to practise Vedanta in life by giving up the unreal and following the real. ‘But it is not so easy,’ Sri Ramakrishna said, ‘to realize the illusoriness of the world. Study alone does not help one very much. The grace of God is required. Mere personal effort is futile. A man is a tiny creature after all, with very limited powers. But he can achieve the impossible if he prays to God for His grace.’

Then the Master sang a song in praise of grace. Hari was moved to tears. Later in life, Hari achieved a wonderful synthesis of the ideals of the personal God and impersonal truth.

Durgacharan Nag was a homeopathic physician from East Bengal, who was so influenced by Sri Ramakrishna’s teachings that he became known throughout Bengal as a saint in his own right, for the humility and devotion with which he regarded the humblest of his fellow men. Durgacharan, also known as Nag Mahashay, was the ideal householder among the lay disciples of Sri Ramakrishna. He was an embodiment of the Master’s ideal of life, unstained by worldliness. In spite of his intense desire to become a sannyasi, Sri Ramakrishna asked him to live in the world in the spirit of a monk, and the disciple truly carried out his injunction. He was born of a poor family and even during his boyhood often sacrificed everything to lessen the sufferings of the needy and downtrodden. He married at an early age and after his wife’s death married a second time to obey his father’s command. But he once said to his wife, ‘Love on the physical level never lasts. He is indeed blessed who can give his love to God with his whole heart. Even a little attachment to the body endures for several births. So, do not be attached to this cage of bone and flesh. Take shelter at the feet of the Mother and think of Her alone. Thus your life here and hereafter will be ennobled.’

The Master compared him to a ‘blazing light’. He received every word of Sri Ramakrishna in dead earnest. One day he heard the Master saying that it was difficult for doctors, lawyers and brokers to make much progress in spirituality. Of doctors he said, ‘If the mind clings to the tiny drops of medicine, how can it conceive the infinite?’ That was the end of Durgacharan’s medical practice and he knew that he would not lack simple food and clothing. Ramakrishna asked him to serve holy men. On being asked where he would find real holy men, the Master said that the sadhus themselves would seek his company. No sannyasi could have lived a more austere life than Durgacharan.

Two more young men, Saradaprasanna and Tulasi, completed the small band of the Master’s disciples. They embraced the life of the wandering monk later in life. With the exception of the older Gopal, all of them were in their teens or slightly over that age. Most of them pursued their studies in either school or college and came from middle-class Bengali families. Though their parents and relatives envisaged bright worldly careers for them, they came to Sri Ramakrishna with pure bodies, vigorous minds and uncontaminated souls. All were born with unusual spiritual attributes. Sri Ramakrishna accepted them, even at first sight, as his children, relatives, friends and companions. His magic touch unfolded their latent spirituality. Later, each according to his measure reflected the life of the Master, becoming a torchbearer of his message across land and sea

Subodh visited the Master in 1885. At the very first meeting, Sri Ramakrishna said, ‘You will succeed. Mother says so. Those whom she sends here will certainly attain spirituality.’ During the second meeting the Master wrote something on Subodh’s tongue, stroked his body from the navel to the throat and said, ‘Awake, Mother! Awake.’ He asked the boy to meditate. At once Subodh’s latent spirituality was awakened. He felt a current rushing along the spinal column to the brain. Utter joy and bliss filled his soul.

Gangadhar, Harinath’s friend, also led a celibate life, that of a strict brahmachari, eating vegetarian food cooked with his own hands and devoting himself to the study of the scriptures. He met the Master in 1884 and soon became a member of his inner circle. The Master praised his ascetic habit and attributed it to the spiritual disciplines of his past life. Gangadhar became a close companion of Narendra.

Hariprasanna, a college student, visited the Master in the company of his friends Sashi and Sarat. Sri Ramakrishna showed him great favour by initiating him to spiritual life. As long as he lived, Hariprasanna remembered and observed his Master’s advice, ‘Even if a woman is pure as gold and rolls on the ground for love of God, it is dangerous for a monk just to look at her.’

Kaliprasad visited the Master towards the end of 1883. He used to meditate deeply and spend his time in the study of the scriptures. Kali was particularly interested in yoga. Feeling the need of a guru in spiritual life, he came to the Master and was promptly accepted as a disciple. The young boy possessed a rational mind and often felt sceptical about the concept of a personal God. The Master said to him, ‘Your doubts will soon disappear. Others, too, have passed through such a state of mind. Look at Naren, he now weeps whenever Radha’s and Krishna’s names are uttered in his presence.’ Kali began to see visions of gods and goddesses. Very soon these disappeared and he experienced vastness, infinity, and the other attributes of the impersonal Brahman whenever he was in deep meditation.

Women Disciples

With his women devotees, Sri Ramakrishna established a very sweet relationship. He himself embodied the tender traits of a woman. He dwelt on the highest plane of truth where there was not even the slightest trace of sex, and his innate purity evoked only the noblest emotion in men and women alike. His women devotees often said, ‘We seldom looked on Sri Ramakrishna as a member of the male sex. We regarded him as one of us. We never felt any constraints before him. He was our best confidant.’ They loved him as their child, friend and teacher. In spiritual discipline he advised them to renounce lust and greed and especially warned them not to fall into men’s snares.

Sri Sarada Devi (18521920), also called Holy Mother, was the spiritual consort of Sri Ramakrishna. Because of her long and close association with the Master, her reminiscences are especially valuable. After his passing away she continued the spiritual ministry which Sri Ramakrishna had started.

Unsurpassed among the women devotees of the Master, in the richness of her devotion and spiritual experiences was Aghoremani Devi, an orthodox Brahmin woman. Widowed at an early age, she dedicated herself completely to spiritual pursuits. Gopala, the Baby Krishna, was her deity, whom she worshipped following the vatsalya attitude of the Vaishnava religion. She regarded Him as her own child. Through Him she satisfied her unassuaged maternal love – cooking for Him, feeding Him, bathing Him, and putting Him to bed. This sweet intimacy with Gopala won her the sobriquet of Gopal Ma or Gopala’s mother. For forty years she had lived on the banks of the Ganga in a small, bare room, her only companions being a threadbare copy of the Ramayana and a bag containing her rosary. At the age of sixty, in 1884, she visited Sri Ramakrishna at Dakshineswar. During the second visit, as soon as the Master saw her, he said, ‘Oh, you have come! Give me something to eat.’ With great hesitation, she gave him some ordinary sweets that she had purchased for him on the way. The Master ate them with relish and asked her to bring him simple curries or sweets prepared with her own hands. Gopal Ma thought him to be a strange kind of monk, for instead of talking of God he always asked for food. She did not want to visit him again, but an irresistible attraction brought her back to the temple garden. She carried with her some simple curries that she had cooked herself.

One early morning at three o’clock, about a year later, Gopal Ma was about to finish her daily devotions, when she was startled to find Sri Ramakrishna sitting on her left, with his right hand clenched like the hand of the image of Gopala. She was amazed and caught hold of the hand, whereupon the figure vanished and in its place the real Gopala appeared. She cried aloud with joy. Gopala begged her for butter. She pleaded her poverty and gave Him some dry coconut candies. Gopala sat on her lap, snatched away her rosary, jumped on her shoulders and moved all about the room. As soon as day broke, she hastened to Dakshineswar like an insane woman. Of course, Gopala accompanied her, resting His head on her shoulder. She clearly saw His tiny, ruddy feet hanging over her breast. She entered Sri Ramakrishna’s room. The Master had fallen into samadhi. Like a child he sat on her lap and she began to feed him butter, cream and other delicacies. After some time he regained consciousness and returned to his bed. But the mind of Gopala’s mother was still roaming in another plane. After all, who saw Gopala frequently entering the Master’s body and coming out of it? When she returned to her hut, still in a dazed condition, Gopala accompanied her.

She spent about two months in uninterrupted communion with God – the Baby Gopala never leaving her for a moment. Then, the intensity of her vision lessened. If it hadn’t, her body would have perished. The Master spoke highly of her exalted spiritual condition and said that such a vision of God was a rare experience for ordinary mortals.

One day, the fun-loving Master confronted the critical Narendranath with this simple-minded woman. No two individuals could have presented a more striking contrast. The Master knew of Narendra’s lofty contempt for all visions, but he asked the old lady to narrate her experiences. With great hesitation she recited her story. Now and then she interrupted her maternal chatter to ask Narendra, ‘My son, I am a poor ignorant woman. I don’t understand anything. You are so learned. Now, tell me if these visions of Gopala are true.’ As Narendra listened to the story he was profoundly moved. He said, ‘Yes, mother, they are quite true.’ This clearly depicted that behind his cynicism, Narendra too, possessed a heart full of love and tenderness.

Gopal Ma was with Sri Ramakrishna till the end of his days. She would assist Saradamani in her household duties. His other women disciples included Gauri Ma who fulfilled Sri Ramakrishna’s vision of the upliftment of Indian women and Yogin Ma who lived in Baghbazaar in Calcutta. Sri Ramakrishna called her a jnani. She too was with Sri Ramakrishna during his last days in Kasipur.

Then there was Sri Ramakrishna’s niece, Lakshmi Devi (18641926), the daughter of Rameshwar. Soon after her marriage she became a widow and went to live at Dakshineswar to assist Saradamani in the care of the Master. In the later part of her life, she drew many disciples around her and inspired them with stories and teachings of the Master.

An account of Sri Ramakrishna’s disciples would not be complete without mention of two other important devotees, Mahendra Nath Gupta and Girish Chandra Ghosh. The former, who was the headmaster of Vidyasagar’s High School in Calcutta, came down to posterity as M, under which humble name he wrote, in meticulous and faithful detail, of the last years of the Master’s life. This was published eventually as The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna. M came to Dakshineswar in 1882, grievously harmed by his family but with all the mental constructs of the Brahmo Samaj.

Ramakrishna asked him, ‘So, you are married. Is your wife possessed of attributes leading to God?’ Mahendra Nath replied, ‘She is good, but she is ignorant.’ Ramakrishna said sharply, ‘And you are wise?’ Mahendra Nath felt ashamed and the Master continued, ‘What aspect of God appeals to you. With form or without?’ Mahendra Nath replied seriously, ‘Sir, I like to think of God as formless. It is meaningless to worship a clay image. One should explain to those who worship images that they are not God.’ The Master reacted to this and said, ‘Bah! It is the fashion with you Calcutta people to lecture and teach others. Who are you to teach others? The Lord of the Universe will look to that. You had better try to attain knowledge and devotion yourself.’

‘One of the names of God,’ said Girish Chandra Ghosh, ‘is Saviour of the Fallen. I and no one else can bear witness that Sri Ramakrishna deserved that name. Some of those who have been with the Master may be fickle-minded, they may have a few weaknesses, their feet may have slipped a few times, but in comparison with my Himalayan faults, they are saints.’

Girish was a born rebel. He was a sceptic, a bohemian and a drunkard. He was also the greatest Bengali dramatist of his time, the father of the modern Bengali stage. Like other young men of his age, he had imbibed all the vices of the West, plunged into a life of dissipation and become convinced that religion was total fraud. Materialistic philosophy, he justified, enabled one to get some fun out of life. But a series of reversals shocked him and he became eager to solve the riddle of life. He had heard people say that to lead a spiritual life one needed the help of a guru. It was imperative that the guru be regarded as God Himself. But Girish was too well-acquainted with human nature to see perfection in any human being.

His first meeting with Sri Ramakrishna did not impress him at all. He returned home feeling as if he had seen a freak at a circus; for the Master, in a semi-conscious mood, had enquired whether it was evening, though the lamps were burning in the room. But their paths continued to cross and Girish could not avoid further encounters. The Master attended a performance in Girish’s Star Theatre. On this occasion too, Girish found nothing impressive about him. One day, however, Girish happened to see the Master dancing and singing with his devotees. He wanted to join them, but restrained himself for fear of ridicule. Another day, as Sri Ramakrishna was about to give him spiritual instruction, Girish said, ‘I don’t want to listen to instructions. I have myself written many instructions. They are of no use to me. Please help me in a more tangible way, if you can.’ This pleased the Master and he asked Girish to cultivate faith.

As time passed, Girish began to learn that the guru is the one who silently unfolds the disciple’s inner life. He became a steadfast devotee of the Master. But he frequently insulted the Master, drank in his presence and took great liberties, which often astounded the other devotees. The Master knew that at heart Girish was tender, faithful and sincere. He would not allow Girish to give up theatre. When a devotee asked him to tell Girish to give up drinking, he sternly replied, ‘That is none of your business. He who has taken charge of him will look after him. Girish is a devotee of the heroic type. I tell you, drinking will not affect him.’ The Master knew that mere words could not induce a man to break deep-rooted habits, but that the silent influence of love worked miracles. Therefore, he never asked him to give up alcohol, with the result that Girish himself eventually broke the habit. Sri Ramakrishna strengthened Girish’s resolution by allowing him to feel that he was absolutely free to do anything he wanted and did not create any bonds for him.

Atheism was the fashion of the day. Belief in the existence of God was considered a sign of weakness. After reading a few pages of science people jumped to the conclusion that religion was pure imagination and myth; priests had concocted it to frighten people into morality and abstention. Wisdom lay in accomplishing one’s ends by any means. An unworthy act became ignoble only when it was discovered. It was daylight that made sin, to fulfil one’s purpose secretly was proof of talent and to satisfy one’s desire through cleverness was a mark of intelligence.

In a world ruled by providence, such intelligence does not last. When evil deeds bear fruit, hard lessons are learned – the hard way. Even by talented, intelligent actors and playwrights such as Girish Chandra Ghosh.

One day, when Ramakrishna was sitting with Niranjan and Ramlal, Girish entered in a drunken state, staggered, went up to the Master and said, ‘You are the Saviour of the Fallen.’ He sat at his feet while the devotees around were aghast, and again told the Master, ‘Why don’t you ask me about my past? You ask everybody about their past.’ The Master looked at him neutrally, and said, ‘I don’t need to ask. You are made of glass.’ Girish boastfully admitted that he had drunk so much in his life that if the bottles were to be placed one upon another, they would reach as high as Mount Everest. The Master said, ‘And you want to drink more?’ Girish nodded his head emphatically and said, ‘Yes, I want to drink more.’ Ramakrishna said, ‘You want to drink now?’ … and turning to Ramlal he gestured to bring the bottle and give it to Girish. Ramlal handed it over to Girish with disgust.

Niranjan was neither able to control his anger nor bear Girish’s audacity to dare to drink in front of the Master. The enraged Niranjan said, ‘Have you no shame, drinking at the feet of such a holy man?’ Girish went out feeling ashamed, he broke the bottle and came back saying, ‘I did not come here to drink. I did not.’ The Master said, ‘Then why did you come?’ Girish pleaded, ‘You are the Saviour of the Fallen. Tell me what to do.’ And the Master said, ‘Look at me.’ Girish looked at him, barely able to focus, as he was drunk. Then he sobered down and said, ‘You have spoiled the effect of a whole bottle! … Tell me what to do.’ And the Master told him, ‘Take the name of God, morning and evening.’ Girish gave it a serious thought and said, ‘I am not sure I can do it. I don’t know in what condition or where I may be at those hours. I don’t want to promise anything I can’t do.’ The Master made a further concession and said, ‘Then, remember God before you sit down for a meal and before going to bed.’ ‘That also I can’t promise you. I have my theatre to run and I am often engrossed in lawsuits. I can’t even do that,’ said Girish. ‘Then give me your power of attorney,’ said the Master and Girish very gladly accepted the offer.

Girish Ghosh had not realized that giving a power of attorney as an act of love would be a hundred times more binding than succumbing to a set of rules. He went about his business without anxiety, sure that Sri Ramakrishna had taken over responsibility for his spiritual life. But he was not to know on what paths his mentor would lead him, which he would necessarily have to follow.

Over time he realized that established spiritual practices such as japa have an end, but there is no end to the work of one who has given a power of attorney, for he must watch every step and every breath, for they now, at all times, depended on, and were available to, the Supreme. The unlikely Ghosh was to become one of Sri Ramakrishna’s more famous followers, loyal, faithful, devoted, even after the Master attained mahasamadhi.

And so they came over the next six years, disciples and devotees, until their numbers all but eclipsed the physical presence of the Master. They came from all levels of society, at all ages, from all professions, at different stages of evolution, with their individual stories and dreams. In each, Sri Ramakrishna discerned that spark of yearning for the Divine, sometimes hidden, sometimes evident, that would mark them off from the ordinary man, to form what would become the Ramakrishna Order after the passing away of the Master.

And all the while, Sri Ramakrishna shared himself generously, speaking endlessly of the realizations on the nature of the universe, given to him in sadhana and samadhi, dancing in ecstasy, giving freely of himself to even more devotees. The Master said to all of them:

Strike a balance between free will and predestination, self-effort and surrender. Just as when a cow is tied to a post with a long tether, she can stand one cubit from the post or she can choose to go as far as the tether allows. Such is the free will of man.