1910. The middle of February.
It is late evening.
4, Shyampukur Lane,
The office of Karmayogin.
A flight of stairs. A bare room.
He is seated on the only cot.
Around Him are the faithfuls.
The air is purposeful yet relaxed.
There is laughter and mirth.
Suddenly a young staff member rushes in.

The messenger carries a heavy burden today:
The Empire is preparing to strike
With intrigue born of desperation
From two previous failures.

Under the guise of law,
Darkness will attack light.
Once again.
The ancient battle to be fought again.
And again.

The tip-off is from a high-placed police official:
"The Government intends to search
the Karmayogin office tomorrow
and arrest Him."

The air was sucked out from the room.
The danger had become real,
Present,
Immediate.
The foretaste was in the mouth.
Minds were numbed.
Speech became a babble.

He remained unmoved.
Utterly silent - without and within.
Awaiting the word.

".. He received a sudden command from above
to go to Chandernagore in French India.
He obeyed the command at once,
for it was now His rule to move only
as He was moved by the Divine guidance
and never resist and depart from it;
He did not stay to consult with anyone.."

The divine Adesha.
The adhesion was spontaneous.
And instantaneous.
No pause or stutter.
No reasoning.
No planning.
No preparations.
And no farewells.
The known,
The familiar,
Were cast off
In one swift act of unconditional surrender.

He rose from his seat,
And left the house.
Never to return.

The first stop was to be a ghat on the Hooghly river.
It was a walkable distance.
A walk through fire.
The ever-present CID surveillance teams,
An unblinking all-watching evil eye,
That beheld  "the most dangerous man" in the Empire,
At all times.
Detection was but inevitable.
And the consequence ...

Apprehensions turned into mortal fear.
The human spirits felt crushed,
Under the weight of reasoned hopelessness.
Against the enormous systemic machinery
Of the hostile imperial power,
It seemed a lost battle, that they waged.

Except that He walked amongst them.

He went first, with the navigator beside Him.
Two companions followed closely.
But at a certain distance.
The disconnected human train moved rapidly,
Following the navigator,
Through the maze of narrow lanes, by-lanes and alleys.
The strides became longer, more rapid with every turn.
The human hearts beat faster and faster.
The nerves were taut. The mouth was dry.
Every face appeared a mask of the faceless enemy.
Every footfall was a clap of thunder.
Every turn was a climax of suspense.
The journey appeared endless.
And then abruptly the river came into view.

They had reached the ghat.

It was beyond belief and comprehension!
The impotency of the dark powers?
The absence of the CID teams?
The impossible had happened!

No explanations were needed. None existed.
Except that He walked amongst them that day.

At the ghat, a common river-boat was hired.
The navigator turned back; his assignment was over.
The other two companions continued.

A lingering moment,
As if the land of Calcutta held on to His feet;
And then He stepped into the boat.
Calcutta receded in the background.

The immediate destination was known.
Everything else was an unknown.
It was the Divine adventure.
A willing perilous dance with chance.
A solitary boat plying on a river in the night.
An up-river journey,
Through the heart of the Dark empire.

The weight of Time was felt in every heart beat.

Suddenly a lurch and a grinding sound.
The darkness seemed to close in,
Like a suffocating blanket.
The boat was stuck in a sand bank.
The men got off and pushed.
They pushed and pushed until the boat was clear.
The boat was off again.
The wave of apprehension subsided.

For Him, there was only the rasa
Of adventure through time and space.
Of the silver rain of light from the waxing moon.
Of the playful waves sparkling underneath.
Of the breeze that ruffled the hair.
Of the rhythm of the boat.
Of the music of the oars in the water.
For Him, it was a midnight river cruise.
Time, space, fate, danger, river, boat, men, stars
All merging into an inner scene of delight.

An hour slowly passed. And then another.
More hours passed.
Finally the boat touched the banks of the shore.
Chandernagore.

The night was not yet over.
But the first light of dawn was not far away.
One leg of the journey was now complete.

One of His companions alighted.
And hastened to the chosen person.
With a request for a secret residence,
For Him.
The refusal was unexpected.
The insidious influence of darkness
Extended everywhere.
And the human faith flickered.
He remained unmoved.
Armed with boundless patience.
He waited in the boat for dawn to arrive.

A few hours passed.
A fortunate soul
who had seen Him earlier,
And heard His speech, 
Eager to serve,
To play out a part in the Lila,
Arrived and accepted,
With a thrill and gratitude,
The crowning fulfilment of lifetimes,
Of being His host.

Led by the host,
A short boat-ride,
And then on foot,
The last leg of the journey,
A climb up a row of stairs, through a spinney,
To the host’s dwelling.
At last, the place of secret residence.
The journey was complete.
For now.

The two companions, assured by Him,
Started on their return journey in the hired boat.
Their hearts heavy with the parting,
Yet light with inner fulfillment.

Seated on an easy-chair in the drawing room,
He asked instead for a secret hideaway.
For the tentacles of darkness spread everywhere.
Secret agents and spies of the empire,
Would be out hunting,
With vulture-eyes and bat-ears,
For the precious One.

The first hideaway was a store room for furniture,
In that very house.
A thick layer of dust covered everything in it.
Bats, spiders and other insects were co-habitants.
A small portion on the floor was cleaned.
He took his seat.
A proper meal would compromise secrecy.
A portion of the host's meal was shared.
The Play was not just a play.

The hideaways had to be changed. Often.
A thatched hut.
A garden house.
A dilapidated shed near a Jagannath temple.
Less-frequented locations at the outskirts.
Moving under the cover of darkness.
Only a handful of men knew of such matters.
The Play was not just a play.

He remained unperturbed, almost oblivious.
A complete awareness of practical realities
Was apparent though.
The strategic communication,
Via notes in pencil on scraps of paper,
Continued through trusted messengers,
As did the coordination of men and worldly affairs.
All that was necessary was done.
Intuitively.

Yet was it a period of sadhana.
Intense and uninterrupted.
A rich stream of spiritual experiences,
Continued unabated.
At all hours. Even in the company of other men.
The external vision could merely discern
A meditative state of silence,
Or the Yogi's fixed stare,
Or feel in the presence, a center of radiating peace,
Or see in the face, a reflection of divine bliss.

Sometimes He spoke. 
Revealing what He saw with open eyes.
A stream of letters from akasa lipi.
For Him to decipher.
The forms of gods from realms beyond, with messages.
For Him to discover.
Sometimes He shared more
In a rich discourse on varied topics.

A month and some weeks passed.
Human minds were restless.
Planning for a change of location.
When suddenly He heard the familiar voice within.
An Adesha: 'Go to Pondicherry'.

He conveyed the command to the host.
His cousin in Calcutta came to know via a letter.
A tense orchestration now began,
Of men, resources, events and circumstances.
A complex interplay of forces,
A grim tussle between light and darkness.

The operation required utmost secrecy.
The cousin was under constant surveillance by the CID.
A network of trustworthy associates emerged.
Each did their part. None had the complete view.
The cousin was the hub of operations;
An instrument of planning and strategy.

The preference of sea voyage
Over a long overland journey by train,
To make interception difficult,
Once the ship had set sail.
The selection of a French ship S.S. Dupleix,
To thwart British action aboard the ship,
Through lack of jurisdiction over a foreign boat.
The booking of tickets from Calcutta to Colombo,
To confuse the enemy about the destination.
The avoidance of real names during travel.
And the usage of assumed identities,
Based on real persons randomly chosen,
From a list of subscribers of Sanjibini newspaper.
To delay discovery. As long as possible.

Every choice, every move was inspired.

The logistics too were planned to the minutest detail.
The cousin prepared two trunks.
And entrusted to a helper for safe keeping.
The same helper was asked to purchase two tickets.
S.S. Dupleix. Calcutta to Colombo. 1st April. Second class.
A private cabin with two berths was booked.

Another associate was sent to Pondicherry in advance,
With a letter of introduction from Him,
To arrange for a suitable residence,
With local help.

The host at Chandernagore
Planned as precaution,
To change boats,
Before the rendezvous with the boat from Calcutta.

Unknown to the human actors,
The Future held the unexpected.
Some plans were going to fail.

31st March 1910, Chandernagore.
At dawn, the down-river journey began.
The first step went according to plan.
He was transferred to another boat,
Where two new companions took over.
The journey continued.

They reached the rendezvous point.
But the boat from Calcutta was not there.
They waited. Until they could wait no more.
And then travelled further to Chandpal ghat,
Hoping to meet the boat from Calcutta;
But it was not there either.

The plans were unraveling fast.
There was confusion.
Indecision,
Apprehension.
Only one option remained:
To find His cousin.

But that would need a dash into the city,
Into the very center of the imperial state,
Through an invisible mesh
Of CID, of Police, Of "red-turbans",
Of Spies, informers and loyalists.
Into a sticky dark web.

"The most dangerous man" in the empire,
With an arrest warrant awaiting His return,
Newspapers filled with speculations of His whereabouts,
He would ride in a horse carriage in broad daylight,
Through the streets of Calcutta.
The divine adventure, recklessly supreme.

A closed carriage was hired.
He stepped into it.
The journey began.
The companions were as if sitting on nails.
He was unperturbed as always.

The carriage wound its way,
And reached the spot.
He stayed inside.
Whilst the companions went to His cousin.
Sensing the grave danger,
The cousin bade them return to Chandpal ghat,
And wait there.
The carriage turned back for the ghat.

Meanwhile the men from Calcutta,
After missing the rendezvous,
Had returned to the cousin earlier,
And had been sent to the ship,
To collect the steel trunks.
As soon as they returned,
The cousin asked them to proceed to the ghat.
And meet up with the carriage.
Perhaps the threads could be rejoined.

But there was more bad news.
The mandatory medical examination
For passengers was over.
He and His companion had missed it.

Or so it appeared to reason.
None knew of Police scrutiny during Medical examination
And that detection of a public figure like Him
Would have been almost certain.

But The unseen Hand had averted the danger.
And opened the door to the safer path:
Passengers could get the medical certificate
From the medical officer
By way of private examination
At the doctors residence,
And then board the ship as late as ten thirty pm.
Another unsought blessing.
The Porter they had hired,
Was familiar with the doctor's residence.

The two assistants started off one final time.
They reached the ghat.
And found Him.
And the two companions in the closed carriage.
The Porter too was found.
A wave of relief surged through them.
Through a maze of events and hostility of time,
Things were miraculously falling into place.

Now it was a race against time.
The Porter urged them not to delay.
But He had to be briefed
Of their assumed identities,
Of the ostensible reason for the trip:
That He was a malaria patient, out on a health cruise.

The next stop was the doctor's residence.
It was nine thirty.
After a wait of thirty minutes,
The two passengers were called in,
Into the doctor's chamber.
Another fifteen minutes passed;
They emerged with the certificates.

The clock was ticking.

They hurried back to the ship.
The Porter went up the gang-plank with the luggage.
He and the rest followed.
In the reserved cabin,
His co-passenger started making the beds;
Invoking the humdrum to bear
The magnitude of the Moment.

It was time. To say goodbye. To their deity.
One man bowed with folded hands.
Another put his forehead on His feet.
Although they left with a heaviness of emotions,
There was a lightness in the spirits deep within.

The next morning. First of April.
S.S. Dupleix sailed out of Calcutta harbour.
He was on board.
Light had prevailed. As it always did.

The land of Bengal had thrilled
At the sacred tread of His feet,
One last time.
The curtain had fallen
On the political side of action.
A quiet end to a magnificent chapter.

But another land's ancient wait
Was coming to an end.
On fourth of April, the ship drew into Pondicherry harbour,
And dropped anchor.
He set foot in Pondicherry.
The prophecy was fulfilled.
The 'Uttara Yogi' had arrived.