“Y OU ARE STRONG enough now to travel. I will accompany you to Kashmir,” Sri Yukteswar informed me two days after my miraculous recovery from Asiatic cholera.

That evening our party of six entrained for the north. Our first leisurely stop was at Simla, a queenly city resting on the throne of Himalayan hills. We strolled over the steep streets, admiring the magnificent views.

“English strawberries for sale,” cried an old woman, squatting in a picturesque open market place.

Master was curious about the strange little red fruits. He bought a basketful and offered it to Kanai and myself, who were near-by. I tasted one berry but spat it hastily on the ground.

“Sir, what a sour fruit! I could never like strawberries!”

My guru laughed. “Oh, you will like them-in America. At a dinner there, your hostess will serve them with sugar and cream. After she has mashed the berries with a fork, you will taste them and say: ‘What delicious strawberries!’ Then you will remember this day in Simla.”

Sri Yukteswar’s forecast vanished from my mind, but reappeared there many years later, shortly after my arrival in America. I was a dinner guest at the home of Mrs. Alice T. Hasey (Sister Yogmata) in West Somerville, Massachusetts. When a dessert of strawberries was put on the table, my hostess picked up her fork and mashed my berries, adding cream and sugar. “The fruit is rather tart; I think you will like it fixed this way,” she remarked.

I took a mouthful. “What delicious strawberries!” I exclaimed. At once my guru’s prediction in Simla emerged from the fathomless cave of memory. It was staggering to realize that long ago Sri Yukteswar’s God-tuned mind had sensitively detected the program of karmic events wandering in the ether of futurity.

Our party soon left Simla and entrained for Rawalpindi. There we hired a large landau, drawn by two horses, in which we started a seven-day trip to Srinagar, capital city of Kashmir. The second day of our northbound journey brought into view the true Himalayan vastness. As the iron wheels of our carriage creaked along the hot, stony roads, we were enraptured with changing vistas of mountainous grandeur.

“Sir,” Auddy said to Master, “I am greatly enjoying these glorious scenes in your holy company.”

I felt a throb of pleasure at Auddy’s appreciation, for I was acting as host on this trip. Sri Yukteswar caught my thought; he turned to me and whispered:

“Don’t flatter yourself; Auddy is not nearly as entranced with the scenery as he is with the prospect of leaving us long enough to have a cigaret.”

I was shocked. “Sir,” I said in an undertone, “please do not break our harmony by these unpleasant words. I can hardly believe that Auddy is hankering for a smoke.” I looked apprehensively at my usually irrepressible guru.

“Very well; I won’t say anything to Auddy.” Master chuckled. “But you will soon see, when the landau halts, that Auddy is quick to seize his opportunity.”

The carriage arrived at a small caravanserai. As our horses were led to be watered, Auddy inquired, “Sir, do you mind if I ride awhile with the driver? I would like to get a little outside air.”

Sri Yukteswar gave permission, but remarked to me, “He wants fresh smoke and not fresh air.”

The landau resumed its noisy progress over the dusty roads. Master’s eyes were twinkling; he instructed me, “Crane up your neck through the carriage door and see what Auddy is doing with the air.”

I obeyed, and was astounded to observe Auddy in the act of exhaling rings of cigaret smoke. My glance toward Sri Yukteswar was apologetic.

“You are right, as always, sir. Auddy is enjoying a puff along with a panorama.” I surmised that my friend had received a gift from the cab driver; I knew Auddy had not carried any cigarets from Calcutta.

We continued on the labyrinthine way, adorned by views of rivers, valleys, precipitous crags, and multitudinous mountain tiers. Every night we stopped at rustic inns, and prepared our own food. Sri Yukteswar took special care of my diet, insisting that I have lime juice at all meals. I was still weak, but daily improving, though the rattling carriage was strictly designed for discomfort.

Joyous anticipations filled our hearts as we neared central Kashmir, paradise land of lotus lakes, floating gardens, gaily canopied houseboats, the many-bridged Jhelum River, and flower-strewn pastures, all ringed round by the Himalayan majesty. Our approach to Srinagar was through an avenue of tall, welcoming trees. We engaged rooms at a double-storied inn overlooking the noble hills. No running water was available; we drew our supply from a near-by well. The summer weather was ideal, with warm days and slightly cold nights.

We made a pilgrimage to the ancient Srinagar temple of Swami Shankara. As I gazed upon the mountain-peak hermitage, standing bold against the sky, I fell into an ecstatic trance. A vision appeared of a hilltop mansion in a distant land. The lofty Shankara ashram before me was transformed into the structure where, years later, I established the Self-Realization Fellowship headquarters in America. When I first visited Los Angeles, and saw the large building on the crest of Mount Washington, I recognized it at once from my long-past visions in Kashmir and elsewhere.

A few days at Srinagar; then on to Gulmarg (“mountain paths of flowers”), elevated by six thousand feet. There I had my first ride on a large horse. Rajendra mounted a small trotter, whose heart was fired with ambition for speed. We ventured onto the very steep Khilanmarg; the path led through a dense forest, abounding in tree-mushrooms, where the mist-shrouded trails were often precarious. But Rajendra’s little animal never permitted my oversized steed a moment’s rest, even at the most perilous turns. On, on, untiringly came Rajendra’s horse, oblivious to all but the joy of competition.

Our strenuous race was rewarded by a breath-taking view. For the first time