Listen to one more unique story, beautiful and essential — I shall tell it at length concerning Mahant Muktanand. Though Muktanand had met Shri Maharaj, deep within his heart there still remained some hidden ache. He would give discourse and tell many stories, yet inwardly lacking full delight, some constraint remained in his body, no exuberance in his limbs. To cut through this doubt of his, to give him great joy, the Lord turned his inward attention and showed him Swami Ramanand within.
Muktanand, foremost among sadhus — what greatness can be told of him by mouth? He would recount the Lord's story at length, and hearing it, men and women found happiness. One day, after much telling of the story, the sadhus rejoiced hearing it; then he sat down upon his seat and fixed his gaze within.
There he saw Swami Ramanand, and joy welled up within him. Muktanand said, "Blessed, blessed — ocean of compassion, you have given me darshan." He praised him with a heart full of joy, seeing his beautiful, fine form — an exceedingly pleasing face, unique, a form of happiness, beautiful in form. Smiling with affection, looking upon him, fulfilling his own servant's longing, he spoke words of love: "Listen, Muktanandji — you have understood well, wise sadhu, having accepted the manifest Lord as real. Swami Sahajanand, the embodiment of bliss, is our very own unique object of devotion. It is well that you, wise one, have accepted this; otherwise you would have suffered greatly in many ways."
Hearing this word, Muktanandji became exceedingly joyful. From then on, whether walking, sitting, waking, or sleeping, he saw Swami Sahajanand; whenever he turned his attention within, he beheld the ocean-of-bliss form. Thereafter his mind would not stay fixed in conversation, absorbed instead in love for that form. Thus it continued for two or four days, and he witnessed this extraordinary wonder. Then, within his own words, many souls too began attaining samadhi. Such was the extraordinary way in which this was shown to Muktanand.
One day, suddenly, the discerning Mukta set off along a road. He came to a forest and a trackless waste where not a single person could be found. The day was short and the distance to travel great; a river lay swollen across his path, with no ford to cross, and if he stayed on the bank a tiger would tear him apart. The river's water, moreover, was known to be brackish; thirst came upon him and his throat went dry. Seeing the trouble of this predicament, Muktanand yet felt great joy: "Whatever pleases Govind will happen — what is it to me in this?" With this firm resolve fixed in his heart, Hari himself came in the form of a Brahmin.
He said, "Sadhu, what are you thinking? Come, I will carry you across the river." Then he went ahead of Muktanand and, carrying him, set him down on the far bank. He said, "Go on, I am coming behind," and, saying this, remained by the river. Muktanand walked on and looked back, but saw no trace of the Brahmin form. Then Muktanand understood in his mind that the great Lord had shown mercy: today he had come into terrible trouble, and Shri Hari had made it right. Having thus fulfilled the wonder, the Imperishable One made his own devotee exceedingly happy. Many other such wonders occurred as well — how many of Maharaj's can be told?
Let me tell one more unique story, of a great and blissful sadhu — Akhandanand, ever joyful, never overtaken by lust or anger. Exceedingly renounced and austere in body, his mind never wavered in pleasure or pain; whether fear, conflict, or calamity came, honor or dishonor never disturbed his mind. Ever happy in understanding, he wandered as Hari's will directed. One day he walked alone, with no sadhu companion.
He came into a wild, desolate forest where not a single person could be found. There four tigers surrounded him, and Akhandanand thought: "Today has come the time for this body's death; the tigers will devour me at once. Sooner or later this body must fall — there is no doubt in that. So it is very well that this body has come today for the tigers' sake. Now there should be no delay — let me run quickly to the tigers myself."
As Akhandanand set out, the Beloved One arrived at that very moment, knowing that the tigers would kill this devotee, and that he would suffer greatly before giving up his body. "That I cannot bear," he thought, "to watch my devotee suffer — this should never happen at any time; who then would call me compassionate? So I must certainly save him — save him from this danger today." Thinking thus, Hari resolved to protect Akhandanand.
Then Akhandanand walked on joyfully, remembering Sahajanand; when he came near the lion (tiger), the tiger, seeing him, looked straight at him. He came right up close to its face, with no fear in body or mind, and spoke to the tiger: "What are you looking at — go on and kill me." Then the tiger raised its paw against fearless Akhandanand — but seeing him unafraid, it did not bring the paw down upon him. At that moment the Lord himself intervened, and understanding dawned in the lion's heart; it rolled at his feet — how could such a sadhu be killed? Then, circling him four times, the tiger went back into the forest. Thus the Lord fulfilled the wonder and saved his own devotee.
Let me tell one more essential story, of how the Lord saved a devotee's life — how he saved the sadhu, hear now the account. There was the compassionate Kaivalyanand, who wandered from land to land; through difficult, treacherous fords and dense forests he journeyed to mountain caves. Wandering thus from land to land, he entered Gujarat; from there his mind turned toward Kutch, with five munis accompanying him.
They came to the bank of the Sabarmati, not knowing the river well; longing greatly for darshan, hoping to meet Maharaj. Thirsty and downcast within, they arrived at the Sabarmati; hastily they plunged into the water, with no sense or awareness at all. The steady munis came into the middle of the river when a sudden violent surge of water arrived — a roaring flood came rushing, and the current, tangled with bamboo debris, mixed into the water.
The munis sank in the midst of it, their books and bedding swept away; sinking, then rising, only their heads emerged above the water, while brackish water poured into their stomachs. They became certain of death — where would they go, caught in the midst of the flood? The sadhus said to one another, "Now is the time to worship Bhagwan; keep your minds fixed on nothing else — meditate on the Lord." As they spoke thus, some time passed, and then support arrived.
Hari brought a boat into the water and quickly seized the sadhus by the arm; he seated them in the boat with his own hand, saving the sadhus from drowning. He retrieved their books and bedding, letting nothing be lost; he brought them safely ashore and said, "Go now, munis, gently, gently." Thus he saved his own devotees, fulfilling the wonder, Shri Bhagwan himself. Thus he looks after so many that it cannot be told by mouth.
The eight siddhis and nine treasures stand with folded hands before him; worldly splendor, garments, and food — no devotee suffers want in anything. Always happy, without the slightest sorrow, Hari removes calamity always; he fulfills wonders beyond number — I shall tell this story with certainty.