"Sitting on my bed in the Bombay hotel at three o’clock in the afternoon of June 19, 1936—one week after the vision of Krishna—I was roused from my meditation by a beatific light. Before my open and astonished eyes, the whole room was transformed into a strange world, the sunlight transmuted into supernal splendor.
Waves of rapture engulfed me as I beheld the flesh and blood form of Sri Yukteswar! “My son!” Master spoke tenderly, on his face an angel-bewitching smile. For the first time in my life I did not kneel at his feet in greeting but instantly advanced to gather him hungrily in my arms. Moment of moments! The anguish of past months was toll I counted weightless against the torrential bliss now descending.
“Master mine, beloved of my heart, why did you leave me?” I was incoherent in an excess of joy. “Why did you let me go to the Kumbha Mela? How bitterly have I blamed myself for leaving you!” “I did not want to interfere with your happy anticipation of seeing the pilgrimage spot where first I met Babaji. I left you only for a little while; am I not with you again?”
“But is it you, Master, the same Lion of God? Are you wearing a body like the one I buried beneath the cruel Puri sands?” “Yes, my child, I am the same. This is a flesh and blood body. Though I see it as ethereal, to your sight it is physical. From the cosmic atoms I created an entirely new body, exactly like that cosmic-dream physical body which you laid beneath the dream-sands at Puri in your dream-world. I am in truth resurrected—not on earth but on an astral planet. Its inhabitants are better able than earthly humanity to meet my lofty standards. There you and your exalted loved ones shall someday come to be with me.” “Deathless guru, tell me more!”
...I was not the only one privileged to behold the Resurrected Guru. One of Sri Yukteswar’s chelas was an aged woman, affectionately known as Ma (Mother), whose home was close to the Puri hermitage. Master had often stopped to chat with her during his morning walk. On the evening of March 16, 1936, Ma arrived at the ashram and asked to see her guru. “Why, Master died a week ago!” Swami Sebananda, now in charge of the Puri hermitage, looked at her sadly. “That’s impossible!” She smiled a little. “Perhaps you are just trying to protect the guru from insistent visitors?” “No.” Sebananda recounted details of the burial. “Come,” he said, “I will take you to the front garden to Sri Yukteswarji’s grave.”
Ma shook her head. “There is no grave for him! This morning at ten o’clock he passed in his usual walk before my door! I talked to him for several minutes in the bright outdoors. “‘Come this evening to the ashram,’ he said.
“I am here! Blessings pour on this old gray head! The deathless guru wanted me to understand in what transcendent body he had visited me this morning!” The astounded Sebananda knelt before her. “Ma,” he said, “what a weight of grief you lift from my heart! He is risen!”