Calcutta Yoga

For Chitralekha Shalom and Pavitra Shekhar;

without them I would not have started. Claudia Guggenbühl and

Arup Sen Gupta; without them I could not have started.

And for Mataji (Swamini Guru Priyananda), whose enduring spirit,

I hope, pervades this book.

CONTENTS

Preface

MAGICIAN OF BRITISH STAGE FAME

1. Rajah the Magician

2. Of British Stage Fame

3. Colombo, Ceylon, 20 September 1912

4. Rajah’s Return

5. The Great Eastern Hotel

6. The Reveal

7. Your Name is Buddha

MOTHER, A SCHOOL FOR BOYS

8. Kali Ma

9. 50 Amherst Street

10. Sadhana Mandir

11. Pitambar Lane

12. School For Boys

13. Dihika and Ranchi Hatha Yoga

14. Vivekananda and Yogananda

15. Scottish Church College

PHYSICAL CULTURE AND BAYAM

16. Family and Practice

17. Bishnu and Buddha’s Friendship

18. Jiu-jitsu and Feats of Strength

19. The Blue Pearl, 28 May 1931

20. Between Two Trams

21. The Gymnasium

22. National Bayam

23. Young Bengal

24. Obscurity of Hatha Yoga

25. Buddha Begins Hatha Yoga

26. Body Perfection Competition

THE PHYSICAL–SPIRITUAL SYNTHESIS

27. Yogoda and Hatha Yoga

28. Yogoda at Ranchi

29. Yogananda from America

30. Physical–Spiritual Synthesis

31. Yogoda and Muscle Control

32. Mysore Palace

33. Yogananda and Buddha

TRAVELS TO THE GOLDEN BEACH

34. Yogananda in India

35. Claudia, Arup and Durga Puja

36. Temple of the Sun and Sixty-Four Yoginis

37. Yogananda Returns to America

ROOTS OF CALCUTTA YOGA

38. Bengal Hatha Yoga

39. Classical Hatha Yoga Texts

40. The Yoga of Madhavadas

41. Swami Sivananda of Rishikesh

42. Muscle Control to Modern Yoga

43. Practising Buddha’s Yoga

44. Yoga for the West

EIGHTY-FOUR YOGA ASANAS WORLD TOUR

45. Berlin

46. London

47. Caxton Hall, 10 October 1938

48. New York

49. Birthday Reunion

50. Golden Lotus Temple of All Religions

51. 84 Asanas in Washington, DC

YOGA FAMILY

52. Columbia Teachers College

53. Key to the Kingdom

54. Grand Physical Display

55. Golden Line

56. Himalayas

57. Obligation

THROUGH FALL, FIRE AND FLIGHT

58. Swami’s Point

59. Halsibagan Fire

60. Calcutta’s Cloud of War

61. Hungry Bengal

62. Mandir Renewal

63. Yoga Family Renewal

64. Garpar Para

65. Forgotten Yogi, 18 June 1947

66. Kedarnath

STUDENTS OF SAMADHI

67. Ghosh’s College of Physical Education

68. Mr Universe

69. Devi Chaudhurani

70. Yogi Raj

71. Rev Bernard

72. Message of Unity

73. The Last Smile

74. Maidan View

75. Awake

PILGRIMAGE AND YOGI SCHOOL

76. Holy Kailas

77. Yoga Cure, 1 February 1953

78. Magic and Science of Yoga

79. India’s School of Yoga

80. American Kriya Hatha Yogis

CALCUTTA YOGA GOES EAST

81. Bishnu’s Japanese Troupe

82. Advanced Asanas in Japan

83. A Yoga Teacher for Tokyo

84. Demise

85. Calcutta’s Course

86. Yoga College of India Goes Abroad

87. Hawaiian Classes By Bikram

88. Buddha’s Last Show at Mahajati Sadan

89. Guruji, 2 February 1970

BIKRAM AND FAMILY SCHISM

90. The Reveal

91. Tokyo and Bikram Yoga

92. Hawaii and Nixon

93. WBYA and Competitive Yoga

94. Buddha’s Charge

95. Yoga in Bangkok

96. New Alipore

97. Brahma Kamal, 27 April 1983

Aftermath

Epilogue

Notes

Index

Acknowledgements

The Ghosh and Bose Yoga Family

Circa 1970s, Arun is wedded to Swapna; Karuna to Jibananda Ghosh; Bishwanath to Anjana; Ashoka to Chitralekha; Rooma to Shibnath De. Of their children, Muktamala (1976 to Bishwanath & Anjana) and Pavitra Shekhar (1976 to Ashok & Chitralekha) are among a dozen in the current generation; most also teach yoga or bodybuilding.

Calcutta, India

Circa 1970s, Arun is wedded to Swapna; Karuna to Jibananda Ghosh; Bishwanath to Anjana; Ashoka to Chitralekha; Rooma to Shibnath De. Of their children, Muktamala (1976 to Bishwanath & Anjana) and Pavitra Shekhar (1976 to Ashok & Chitralekha) are among a dozen in the current generation; most also teach yoga or bodybuilding.

North Calcutta

PREFACE

The name I knew.

What drew me in, what made me linger,

was a desire to know what was missing, forgotten.

It was a wintry day in November 2013. I travelled from my home and across the Potomac River to one of the Smithsonian buildings in Washington DC. On display in the gallery were materials tracking the historical roots of yoga as it morphed from its classical practice within India into a modern worldwide cultural phenomenon.

I closely examined the documents and photographs on display and purchased a commemorative book: Yoga: The Art of Transformation. In a chapter on the origins of yoga asana practice was a full-page photo of Buddha Bose. Beneath the photo was a caption:

Buddha Bose, a student of yoga master Bishnu Ghosh, shows his skills at a yoga exercise demonstration, London, ca. 1930s.

The photo of Buddha was phenomenal; he was performing a difficult abdominal muscle control posture.

After admiring the photo, my attention was drawn to the lack of attendant details. There was no mention of a photographer, location or even a date; only the decade the photo was taken featured. And nothing about Buddha Bose was included elsewhere in the book.

He forgot the world.

And the world forgot him.¹

Few have heard the name Buddha Lal Bose. Even fewer have heard his story. In March 2014, after locating a copy of the hard-to-find Volume 1 of Key to the Kingdom of Health through Yoga (1939) written by Buddha, I wondered about the whereabouts of Volume 2. I thought, ‘Well, someone must have already found out what happened; why it wasn’t published.’ A search revealed little information.

I found a 1938 newspaper article which described the performance of eighty-four asanas by Buddha Bose in London and Washington DC; a 1939 issue of Ken magazine out of New York included four photographs of Buddha, in postures that were not included in Volume 1. But that was about all. More than seventy-five years had passed since Volume 1 was published, which led me to conclude that the story of Buddha Bose’s life had not yet been told.

This book tells the story of what happened to him: the forgotten yogi of the twentieth century and his life inside the yoga family of Calcutta.

I knew I would write this book when I uncovered a lone copy of Buddha’s unpublished manuscript – an entire album titled ‘Yoga Asanas’. Buddha had brought the nearly finished manuscript from Calcutta to London in 1938 and left it there to be published. But his personal ordeal and the world affairs of the forties put things on hold. Indefinitely. What had happened to the manuscript and photos next was a mystery.

In London, the manuscript was placed in a family trunk and forgotten. Four decades later, two young sisters pulled it out and attempted to get into the ‘funny shapes’ made by ‘Uncle Buddha’. They soon tired and returned it to the trunk. Two more decades and another generation went by before the belongings of the London house were sold off.

Later in the research, I encountered another possibility. An American man, by the name of Edward Groth, was a yoga student of Buddha’s in the 1930s, while he worked at the American Consulate in Calcutta. Groth was an avid photographer, and may have taken the photographs of Buddha found within the manuscript, and brought it back with him to the states when he retired.

Whatever the case, the manuscript went missing, only to reemerge at an estate sale in San Francisco.

In 2003, an art collector of specialty prints from the 1930s won a bid for the manuscript, paying $11,000. He prized its pristine condition and only once showed it publicly, at the Association of International Photography Art Dealers Fair in March of 2011. I discovered this through a lone online review, praising the collection of photographs as one of ‘the best’ booths at the fair. The article contained this gem of a clue, written by Emma Allen:

And most mysterious and charming of all, a series of instructional yoga photos depicting the 20th century master ‘Buddha Bose’ in various improbable poses. Wall text enigmatically explained that the gleaming, well-oiled Bose made the series for his ‘Uncle Edward’.

‘Who is Uncle Edward?’ was the first question that popped into my mind. Then came the second, ‘Is this the missing Volume 2 from Buddha Bose?’

With this article I had something tangible. I needed to find the art collector. The author of the article provided clues, explaining that the San Francisco collector displayed ‘nostalgic silver gelatin photographs’ from the past and the gallery was ‘moving soon to New York’. The article was a few years old, though; and I couldn’t locate the collector in San Francisco or New York. When I finally tracked him down through a web-archived page, I contacted him via email.

He replied, ‘I am deep in the Colorado mountains … next week I will tell you more about the Buddha Bose thesis I own and its ninety asana photographs and detailed descriptions. It’s quite amazing.’

A couple of months later, in July of 2014, after many more emails back and forth, I ventured to Connecticut to view the manuscript. It was complete and had never been published. Signed by Buddha Bose on 15 July 1938, it contained dozens of intermediate and advanced asanas not included in Volume 1.

Michael Shapiro, the owner, asked why I wanted access to the manuscript.

I replied simply, ‘To share it with others.’

He responded, ‘I’ve been waiting fifteen years for someone to show up and say that to me.’

He agreed to allow it to be published but requested that I seek out Buddha’s living family and learn the history of the manuscript. Little did I realize that this was like being given a map and sent out on a global treasure hunt; the mystery quickly turned into an adventure!

Through Bose’s family members in London and Calcutta, I uncovered the story of Buddha’s father, a magician. In India, I went deep into the Himalayas to meet a ninety-two-year-old swamini known as Mataji, who was Buddha’s friend and disciple. And in Calcutta, I became friends with an exemplary former yoga assistant and the daughter-in-law of Buddha, who shared photos and memories and translated materials from Bengali.

The journey to research this story led to interviews with about fifty of his relatives and former students, travels throughout India and the Himalayas, the cities of Colombo, Yangon, Bangkok, Tokyo, London, Zürich, Washington DC and Los Angeles.

German and Japanese writings by the students of Bishnu Ghosh and Buddha Bose were found and translated into English. Trips to the Library of Congress in DC, the National Library in Calcutta, and the Cambridge and London libraries in England filled in further details.

Over and over again, I returned to Calcutta, drawn specifically to the Bengali neighbourhoods of north Calcutta, where streets with multiple names led to winding and intimate alleyways. In this city, whose heyday was a century ago, I searched for individuals who would share a story, a house where relatives still lived or a venue where important events once occurred.

I dug up and stumbled upon photographs, letters, books and magazines within the city’s libraries or in old homes. Most were written in English or Bengali, worm-eaten and crumbling from old age. When I uncovered something, it was like finding a treasure.

As I was drawn further into the history, filling in the gaps of Buddha’s life, I got to know Bishnu and Yogananda’s family too. It was their family – the Ghosh family – that Buddha had married into, and their house where Buddha Bose lived and raised his family.

I even moved into that very house, which is still standing in a north Calcutta neighbourhood, to study at Ghosh’s Yoga College. I learned the one-on-one therapeutic model of yoga, passed down for three generations, from Bishnu Ghosh’s marvellous granddaughter, Muktamala.

In time, the history of north Calcutta became clearer to me. I began to understand how the Bengali–English linguistic cultural interaction shaped the philosophical and religious minds of Buddha Bose, Bishnu Ghosh and Yogananda. I realized how Calcutta met a tragic fate through economic stagnation, war, famine and communal fighting. The steady march of modernism had shoved aside a culture steeped in spiritual practice in favour of overpopulated urban drudgery.

It was not just the city of Calcutta that changed in the forties. Buddha, Bishnu and Yogananda each encountered a personal tragedy in that fateful decade. The trio met life’s darkest moments and rose out of those depths to bring yoga to the world. I found out what happened to Buddha, why he disappeared and what happened next.

In the history of modern yoga, the name Yogananda is one of the most famous, and his brother, Bishnu Charan Ghosh, is one of the most influential. Through family, fame and their teachings, Buddha Bose’s life was intertwined with the two; yet he is rarely mentioned in history books. He was at the heart of Calcutta’s yoga family, helping bring yoga to the world in the twentieth century. He was poised to popularize hatha yoga on a global scale as a modern, spiritually inclined form of exercise. He was a disciple of the Ghosh brothers, Bishnu and Yogananda.

Bishnu Ghosh was among India’s vanguard in bringing classical hatha yoga out of the ashrams and hermitages, where it was taught only to sannyasis, and into India’s crowded twentieth-century cities with the goal of providing a ‘yoga cure’ for ailments and diseases. Bishnu laid the groundwork for the emergence of the gymnasium and bodybuilding practice that integrated strength building with yoga in the forties. He developed the technique of alternating effort and rest – asana and savasana – that informs Bikram yoga, and many ‘hot yoga’ styles that set Calcutta yoga apart from other Indian yoga traditions. As a bayamacharya (teacher of exercise), he was known for his circus, which mixed performances of feats of strength with physical culture.

Yogananda (born Mukunda Lal Ghosh) had immense cultural influence in America and the West for three decades. An exponent of kriya yoga, he also taught Yogoda, a physical practice that mixes bayam (exercise movements) with asanas and meditation. He advocated a peaceful vegetarian lifestyle and presented a philosophy of self-realization through meditation. His book Autobiography of a Yogi became one of the top-selling spiritual books of all time. His impact on the Western world’s modern spiritual lifestyle and culture is difficult to overstate.

Both of the brothers were Buddha Bose’s teachers, one in physical exercise and the other in spirituality. Together, the trio toured south India in 1935. Then Buddha and Bishnu went to Europe and America in 1938–39 on a world tour, where Buddha performed ‘India’s physical culture system’ of eighty-four yoga asanas. The two stayed in California for a while, teaching Yogananda’s disciples the asanas of hatha yoga.

Upon returning to Calcutta, Buddha published his 1939 book, Key to the Kingdom of Health through Yoga (Volume I). The book reached his Calcutta students and made its way to foreign students in London, New York and Los Angeles. By all indications, Buddha appeared to be on the verge of becoming one of the world’s first transnational modern yoga asana teachers. He then disappeared, and no further mention of him was made outside of India.

Much of who Buddha, Bishnu and Yogananda became was derived from their parents. Their yoga family began four generations ago, with magicians on the British stage, kriyaban meditating householders and gymnasiums in Calcutta. Familial traits such as stage performance, an energy-based worldview and the maintenance of a daily physical practice were passed down over generations. These formed the foundation of later endeavours by Buddha, Bishnu and Yogananda, who developed modern yoga in Calcutta and then brought its message and practices to the world through tours. All of this set the stage for the next generation – their children, students and disciples – as Calcutta’s yoga reached Europe, Japan, Thailand and America.

The story begins with Rajah, the father of Buddha, the magician of British stage fame.

PART ONE

MAGICIAN OF BRITISH

STAGE FAME

1

RAJAH THE MAGICIAN

It starts with only a name – Rajah – and a story from his descendants that he had gone to England as a magician around the turn of the twentieth century.¹ Like his son Buddha, documenting Rajah’s story uncovers a lost figure of history, except the story of Rajah is even further obscured by time. Slowly though, moving from family anecdotes to English and Bengali writings, from old Calcutta magic magazines to London newspapers from the turn of the century, a portrayal of Rajah the Magician emerges.²

Rajah Bose was born in 1885 and given the name Ripendra Nath.³ His father was Raj Shekhar Bose. Magic entered the boy’s life while the family lived in Pakokku, Burma, a port city near the capital Mandalay and along the Irrawaddy River. Ripendra became friends with Po Htike, the grandson of a magician at Pakokku, and through this Burmese family Ripendra was ‘initiated into the art of deception’. The ancient practice of magic ‘took deep root’. In 1895, when Ripendra was ten, the family moved to Calcutta, India. He ‘rigged out a small show’ as entertainment for friends at school and visitors to the family home.⁴

In 1903, the great showman and escape artist, Harry Houdini, performed magical escapes and feats to great acclaim in London. His fame quickly spread throughout the world, including the colonial outpost in Calcutta. English periodicals raved about the stage shows, especially the ‘magical performances in London’. The ‘acts became more and more sophisticated, and the props increasingly complex’⁵. It was the height of the stage magician era. At the age of twenty-two, Ripendra, enthralled by the milieu of magic and the fame of magicians in London, left India and travelled to England. His father, Raj Shekhar Bose, who had accumulated wealth in Burma, paid for the passage. On 8 September 1907, Ripendra arrived in England by boat.⁶ He began classes at the University of Leeds, in subjects such as leatherwork and organic chemistry.⁷ He also started giving performances before the other students. With ‘encouragements from the Professors and fellow students’, he decided to act on his ‘desire to go on the stage’.⁸ During his second year at Leeds, his schoolwork began to suffer with ‘at least two fails recorded’.⁹ Since ‘his shows were much in request’, he abandoned school and vocational classwork in favour of his passion: a career as a stage magician.

In 1909, England was a difficult and competitive place to make it on the professional stage, especially for an unknown artist of Indian origin. Rajah became ‘the first Indian accredited by the Variety Artists’ to appear in the British music halls and variety theatres as a conjurer and animal mimic ‘on the same terms and rank as any European professor of the art’.¹⁰ A journalist would later write that ‘when performing, Rajah drew his audience into the illusions, weaving a story that left audience members feeling that they were part of a magic event and not just spectators at a magic show’.¹¹ Years later, Rajah recalled that he would become so focused on each moment that even the simplest trick could come alive. His ability to create an intense presence within a shared moment with an audience was the real magic and the key to his success.

In London, Rajah was one of the ‘yogic magicians of the mystical East’ who appealed to the ‘esoteric audience’s thirst for stories’. A ‘sea-change in attitudes towards the Indian magician on the British and International stage’ had taken place, with a fascination towards the Oriental and ‘new Indian modes of performance’ that ‘were later taken up by Western performers’.¹² The performances ‘emphasized magical powers and were full of fortune-seekers, sorcerers, and miracle workers’.¹³

In 1910, Rajah’s stage act was featured in ‘The Blue Pearl’, a stage fantasy of seven extravagantly produced scenes created by Harry Sears, a young American vaudeville magician at the height of his career. ‘The Blue Pearl’ was subtitled ‘The Quest of World’s Desire’, and contained ‘a story of Indian life told in the pantomime’ through ‘the theft by a Rajah of a great blue pearl from the image of the god Shiva’.¹⁴

Rajah joined a horse, camel, scantily clad female assistants holding snakes and an additional forty-five others in the wide-ranging show. He also performed an iconic rope trick brought to the West from India.¹⁵ The trick, like Jack and the Beanstalk, held universal appeal; it portrayed the ability to escape the earth’s hold to an abode in the sky.¹⁶

Rajah had mixed feelings about this opportunity. He appreciated the exposure, but did not like the stereotype of performing an Indian trick, portrayed as the Hindu or Oriental magician.¹⁷ With a move that would change everything, Rajah decided to set out on his own with a different stage partner.

2

OF BRITISH STAGE FAME

Rajah’s new stagehand was the ‘bewitching damsel Emily Johnson’. The lore about her from the Bose family was plentiful. Descendants in Calcutta claimed ‘Amy’, as the niece of the Archbishop of Canterbury. London descendants claimed ‘Emma’, with her aristocratic background, as the daughter of a respected Yorkshire mill owner with considerable wealth. She used ‘Emily’ to sign documents, went by ‘Emmie’ at times and carried three different last names over the course of her life. She went so far as to use her magic skills on her travel documents, making a decade conveniently disappear from her age. There was a mysterious air about the woman and a bit of non-conformist impracticality. (Not once did she provide an answer to the question of occupation on immigration documents). Curiously, she had no middle name.¹

Rajah and Emily met while at Leeds, and it was there that they first partnered on the stage. Afterward, she was the only true partner in his magic shows, and when she was absent from Rajah’s shows, he would perform alone or with an entourage. While at Leeds, ‘it didn’t take long for Rajah to attract the attention of Emily. The glamour of the stage, the dark complexion and the wily charms of the orient proved too bewitching. Emily became smitten, and was happy to be sawn in half twice nightly.’²

She might have come from a conservative, respected and well-off London family, but her sense of adventure was radical for its time. In the first decade of the 1900s, Emily fit a prototype of the emergent suffragette movement that campaigned for equal rights for women: highly educated, young, aristocratic or professional; working to become equal politically. Emily had ‘really upset the apple cart when she fraternized and eventually fell in love with a gentleman from Calcutta’. After his time on the stage with the American magician Sears, Rajah and Emily began their solo act.³

In February and March of 1911, Rajah was on the bill at the London Coliseum. In April, he was at the Alhambra, and in September, their show was presented at the Hippodrome. The Hippodrome, which opened in 1900, is known today as the Hippodrome Casino, but the historic great hall of old is still intact. The venue hosted Houdini in 1904, when he performed the Mirror handcuff escape challenge. Then, in 1911, it hosted Rajah and Emily. The show of the duo ‘tops the bill at the Hippodrome’, declared one review. The ‘Hindoo illusionist’ and his ‘lady assistant’ had officially arrived.⁴

Performing at these London venues was a big deal for Rajah and Emily. Rajah had reached for the fame of Houdini, his idol, and now performed on that same stage with Emily. Their performance brought with it the ‘Egyptian Dancing’ theme which had been prevalent in Rajah’s show with Sears. Rajah performed ‘the whole gamut of the conjurer’s tricks, old and new, with the exception that he did them better’ said one reviewer. He went on:

He imitates with striking realism the noise of things animate and inanimate, babies and gramophones, for instance, and gives a striking vocal impression of a battle royal between a couple of infuriated tigers.

Every interaction on stage with Emily was dramatic:

He is hooded and cloaked and duly placed in a cage, every side of which is visible to the audience. Curtains are drawn upon him for the space of a second or two, and, lo! He is seen making his way from the back of the auditorium while in his place in the cage stands his lady assistant.⁵

Rajah and Emily displayed the special demonstrable powers of magic with an air of modernity, leaving their audiences in awe of their flair on the stage. They were socially accepted as performers and members of society. They embraced the contemporary role of the modern stage magician, the British conjurer.

Rajah the stage magician dressed formally, in light-coloured suits and slacks instead of sorcerer-like robes – a significant step away from India’s street magician yogi with his portrayal of siddhis (powers), or the medieval robed Magi who performed sorcery on the stage. Emily wore black on stage, topped with a wide-brimmed black hat.

Rajah had reached the British stage and paved the way for British-Indian magicians, but his fame faded quickly. Today, when one searches for Indian magicians of the past, one will not find Rajah Bose. Instead, P. C. Sorcar tops the list. Sorcar, also from Calcutta, is recognized as the ‘father of Indian Magic’ in the modern era.⁶ Regardless, decades before the worldwide acclaim for Sorcar, Rajah was on the British stage and hailed as Calcutta’s top magician.⁷ He was, for a short time, India’s Great Master of Magic, but was soon erased from history.

Left: Rajah Bose (Source: Magic magazine); Right: PC Sorcar Indian Magic

Hippodrome (London) (Source: Wikimedia commons)

3

COLOMBO, CEYLON, 20 SEPTEMBER 1912

Rajah and Emily performed alongside the era’s top acts at all the top venues, but the Spring of 1911 was climactic due to another pressing matter:

It came as no surprise when her mother and father of such high standing disowned her as she continued her relationship with Rajah, and inevitably fell in love. Sadly, her very slight figure was to bloom, as she had fallen pregnant.¹

When Emily became pregnant, there was no record of Rajah and Emily having a registration for marriage, nor did they share the same address.² That April, the London census recorded Ripendra Bose, aged 26, living at 7 Manchester Street, Southampton; with many foreign room-mates who were also fledgling performers. Four months later, when Emily gave birth to Haydee on 14 August 1911, the couple provided the address of 19 Danville Road.

Neither Rajah nor Emily were prepared for a child, nor did they understand how this would mark the end of their career on the British stage. The interracial mix in their show challenged cultural norms of the time, and their unwed relationship had scandalous implications. Rajah may have been removed from the magician’s guild to which he belonged and faced discrimination. With the birth of a child, Emily’s father of ‘high standing’ made life difficult for both of them.

The following year Emily became pregnant with their second child, and the couple decided to leave Britain for Calcutta, bringing their magic duo to the Bengal region of India. They travelled by an ocean vessel named the SS Derflinger. On this particular voyage in 1912, before they had reached Ceylon and the Indian Ocean, Emily gave birth to her second child. The couple had left London while she was in her last trimester of pregnancy and, since the voyage to Calcutta by boat was quite long, Buddha Bose was born at sea with the given name Francis Joseph Chandra Bose. It was a Christian name given by his mother, paired with Chandra, a Bose family middle name selected by his father.

Even though his official birth certificate listed 20 September, the birth date Buddha would provide throughout his life was 10 August. He would later say he was ‘born on the deck’ of the boat.³ It is possible he was born on the earlier date and then registered later at the Colombo port, or perhaps the date just got mixed up later on.

Over the final ten days of the voyage, they crossed the Indian Ocean and the Bay of Bengal before entering the mouth of the Ganges River and arriving at the Port of Calcutta.

SS Derflinger (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

4

RAJAH’S RETURN

Then, the steamer rounded the great muddy bend called Garden Reach, and there it was – newer than New York, richer than Rome, more populous than either – revealing itself with a sweeping panorama that took your breath away.¹

– Calcutta, circa 1850

It was early October and Durga Puja – the biggest Hindu festival in Bengal – was about to begin. In those days, it was common for stage feats and all sorts of demonstrations to be held in the neighbourhood pandals, which were set up throughout the city during the week-long celebration. A magic show would be certain to gain maximum exposure.

Rajah returned to India having performed on the British stage alongside other greats like Houdini, and that gave him a claim to fame. One piece of family lore was that Rajah began his career on the stage in London as an assistant to Houdini, but Houdini had left London prior to Rajah’s arrival. One Calcutta reviewer wrote, ‘Rajah Bose was unquestionably the king of all the magicians who appeared in the first two decades of the twentieth century.’ Rajah was even able to enthrall those in his audience who frowned at his ‘nativeness’ and to ‘make them bow down to his skill’.² This was perhaps the highest compliment Rajah could receive: to stand as an equal with the British.

His mystique was complicated by the fact that Rajah had brought a British woman as his assistant back with him, and they had come with children. This framed Rajah in a radical and non-conformist light that only a magician could pull off.

Before leaving Calcutta for England in 1907, Rajah had been in an arranged marriage with a Bengali girl. The couple had no children, but his Bengali wife was living in a north Calcutta house where he too was expected to live. Upon his return to Calcutta in 1912, his plan was to carry on living two lives, with neither family knowing about the other, even while both were in Calcutta.

When Rajah, Emily and the children arrived at Calcutta’s Kidderpore dock in 1912, they debarked and rode a carriage into Central Calcutta, along Strand Road, to reach Waterloo Street, home of the renowned Great Eastern Hotel. Rajah promptly put up Emily, Haydee (the oldest, a girl) and Buddha at the hotel. They would stay there alone, without him.

5

THE GREAT EASTERN HOTEL

‘In those days,’ wrote the magician John Booth,

‘the Great Eastern was a very famous address.’¹

The Great Eastern Hotel was a colonial architecture, located in the heart of the British part of the city. It is Asia’s oldest luxury hotel and was referred to in its heyday as ‘the Jewel of the East’. This was at a time when Calcutta was a stronghold of British colonialism, and the Chowringhee Road mansions gave it the name ‘city of palaces’.²

Occasionally, while researching in Calcutta, I book a room at the Great Eastern. Until about 2010, the hotel was in disrepair, but it has since undergone renovation. Still, much of the original layout and structure remains intact from the time when Emily and her children lived there. Its circular iron staircase, the Great Hall and the lily pond garden are left as reminders.

Each morning, an English breakfast is served next to the hotel’s lily pond and garden. I land a seat next to the water and gaze at the lilies. After breakfast, I catch a yellow taxi or an Uber car. Or I take the metro – the underground city transit that runs north to south.

I go north and exit at Girish Park, a few blocks from the heart of where the yoga proponents lived – where I’ve entered the family homes of Vivekananda, Yogananda, Mahendranath and the others who brought yoga to the modern world. While central Calcutta is populated with large, iconic buildings, the northern part of the city is differentiated by its urban intimacy and liveliness.

As I step into north Calcutta, it feels like I’ve time-travelled to a distant place. Walking through its streets, the buildings and people hint at events that took place decades prior. The alleyways proceed somewhat diagonally, offering shortcuts off the crowded street. Some say, ‘Bengalis live in the past’, and since the past is what I’ve come to find, I feel at ease.³ Knowledge of the past places me in a different sense of time.

Towards nightfall, I invariably set off from Garpar Road or Sukia Street and walk by the Bose family home on Vidyasagar Street. From there I’ll walk south along Amherst Street or the alleyways nearby and reach College Square, where north Calcutta begins. If it’s been a long hot day (the norm), I’ll quench my thirst at Paramount, a small sherbet joint next to the Mahabodhi Society, with drinks named ‘Daab Sherbet’ and ‘Cocoa Malai’. Opened a century ago, it was once a meeting place for nationalist revolutionaries. Its marble-top tables complement the cool drinks made of fruits, curd, coconut water and essence. Revived, I continue the walk to the Great Eastern Hotel.

Along this route, from north Calcutta to central Calcutta, to the Great Eastern Hotel, Rajah travelled every morning during the fall of 1912. I am retracing his path.

6

THE REVEAL

It was autumn, 1912. The monsoon and humid temperatures of summer had passed, making it easier for Emily to adjust to the climate of Calcutta. The central part of the city was probably also comforting to her because of its London esque/ish feel. But more significant for Rajah was that this location set his English wife and their children apart from his life with the Bengali family.

After dropping off Emily and the children at the Great Eastern, Rajah ventured into north Calcutta. It was just a four-kilometre ride to the home where his father and his Bengali wife were staying, but it was a world apart.

Each morning, Rajah hired a hackney carriage to take him back from his home in north Calcutta to the Great Eastern Hotel. There, he would spend the day with his family at the hotel, sometimes outside on the grounds near the lily pool. In the evenings he would return to his home.

The home in north Calcutta was a large, four-storey duplex with a central corridor. It was also the home of Rajah’s father, Raj Shekhar. Before long, Rajah’s ‘daily excursions aroused suspicion’, and Raj ‘made it a point to follow his son’.¹

Raj Shekhar watched Rajah ‘go into a hotel room’ at the Great Eastern and spied, watching as his son brought a woman and two children outside, by the hotel’s lily pond. He did not say anything to his son at the time. But later, after Rajah was gone, Raj went to the hotel room and knocked on the door.

When Emily answered the door, he said, ‘Please do not get annoyed, but may I ask, who is the person who came into your room?’

Looking quizzically at the old man, Emily answered, ‘He is my husband.’

Upon hearing this, all Raj Shekhar could muster was, ‘I am sorry,’ as he backed away and left for his home.²

Whatever Rajah’s long-term plan could have been, his father intervened to resolve the deceptive situation. Rajah would no longer be able to lead one British life and one Bengali life.

Raj Shekhar scolded his son, ‘That is my daughter-in-law, those are my grandchildren, and you have kept them in a hotel room? Go and bring her home right now.’ Even as adults, Bengalis are still the children of their parents, so Rajah agreed to his father’s wishes. He brought Emily and the two children, Buddha and Haydee, into the world of the Bengali family.

Since he left them alone each evening, Emily must have wondered where Rajah’s home was located and what the living conditions were like. But she had not known of his second wife, the one he had married before going to Britain, until this day. Buddha would later say, ‘I cannot say anything wrong about my mother. She was from a different culture and the Indian culture is different from hers. My father had to accept both the ladies as his wives.’³

Emily and the children left the Great Eastern and the two families resided together in north Calcutta. Somehow it worked, or seemed to, as Rajah returned to the stage with Emily and a sense of normalcy ensued.

Just a few months after their return to Calcutta, ‘for an unbroken period of 30 days in December of 1912’, Rajah and Emily began to perform daily shows at the Kohinoor Theater in North Calcutta. Their show was ‘as big and extensive as that of any European Illusionists’.⁴ Then, from Calcutta they took the train to Dacca (present-day Dhaka), which was part of Bengal at the time. An old promotional clipping described their advance:

As the people of Dacca awoke in the morning, their confused and drowsy eyes were amazed to see the most sensational posters displayed throughout the town, proclaiming that the ‘Greatest Magician of the Orient, Rajah, and the Queen of Witch, Miss Emily, are Coming Shortly with their Party’. The thought in the minds of hundreds of men and women that morning was, Rajah? Who is he? Before that day, none of them had heard the name, but all of them were soon happy to learn that Rajah was actually Indian (Bengalese), the Magician Rajah Bose.⁵

The climax of the performance in Dacca was an illusionist act. It was similar to ‘The Artist’s Dream’, a stage illusion, in which a woman steps out of a picture painted by the magician. The theme was first created by David Devant and performed at the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly, London, during the 1890s. Rajah and Emily called it ‘Return of She’:

After a brief introduction, Rajah took on the persona of a French artist whose fiancé had died a premature death, dressing himself on stage with loose garments and a wig, moustache, and beard. The curtains then opened, revealing an artist’s studio. Rajah, as the artist, stands before an unfinished piece of sculpture on which he has been working. It is clearly a representation of his lost fiancé. After working on it briefly, he gives in to the desire to see his lost love as he remembers her, and he goes to a cabinet on the stage and retrieves a beautiful dress, which he places on the unfinished statue. He then places a veil over the face of the sculpture, and, as he sits down and contemplates the likeness of his lost love, he falls asleep. Suddenly, though, he awakens and finds that the statue had turned into a living being – the fiancée that he had lost long before.⁶

To perform this as David Devant did with ‘The Artist’s Dream’, Rajah would have Emily concealed behind the curtain hangings. From there, she would emerge to replace the sculpture and become the long lost fiancée, alive again. Rajah added a twist:

But at this point a monstrous masked demon appears from the wings and hypnotizes the artist, who is then ordered to enter the cabinet from which he had removed the dress. The demon then approaches the woman and drags her to the front of the stage. He then rips the mask from his face, revealing that the demon is the artist himself!⁷

The ending represented the subterfuge of replacement – how the two mixed identities included duplicitous actions. From there, the act could be viewed entirely as a subconscious reflection of their shared reality.

It was in Calcutta on 16 May 1914, that two sons were born. One was born to Rajah’s Bengali wife, her first, and he was named Ambar. The other was born to Emily, a son named Dennis, her third child. Rajah was the father of both. It was the simultaneous birth that apparently broke Emily’s will to stay with Rajah. ‘My mother could not stand the fact that my father kept a relationship with the other lady,’ Buddha recounted, ‘and so she decided to go back to London.’⁸ Neither woman would ever bear another child of Rajah’s.

Emily decided to return to England and sought out help from her parents to do so. Despite ‘the disavowal of her father’ over her unwed relationship with Rajah during the previous years, she wrote to him, pleading that he finance her return to England, along with three children in tow.

His stunning rebuke came as a two-pence coin in the envelope, and a note, ‘I care tuppence for you.’ Her father, Joseph Arthur Johnson, had disowned her. Though Emily desperately wanted to return to London, she was stuck in Calcutta for another year and a half.

According to both the English and Indian sides of the family, it was Rajah’s father who finally resolved the dilemma.

He told Emily, ‘Since you have decided, I will not stop you. You go but keep some remembrance with me.’

Emily asked, ‘What remembrance?’

He replied, ‘You have got three children; keep at least one child with me.’

A deal was struck. Raj Shekhar would arrange the fare, but on the condition that one of the grandchildren be left behind with the Calcutta family. Which child stayed would be Emily’s choice. Emily could not refuse the offer and was forced to choose a child to abandon.

In 1916, Emily boarded the City of Karachi steamship, which returned her to London on 6 February. On the incoming passenger list under ‘Mrs. Emmie Bose’ were Dennis (one and a half years) and Haydee (four and a half). Her son Francis (Buddha), two and a half years old, had been left behind in Calcutta. Emily said to her grandchildren in England decades later that ‘it was something she regretted to her dying day’. There was resentment from the ancestors on the English side, passed on by Emily, who ‘tearfully regretted leaving Francis’. The fateful decision fell entirely on the grandfather as ‘it was her father-in-law that asked her to leave one child behind’.⁹

Buddha later recounted the resolution:

Mother thought, the eldest child is a daughter and I cannot keep her here. She was worried about in what condition she would be raised. So she decided not to leave the daughter. And when the grandfather asked her to leave behind the younger child, she refused as he was only months old. I was the lucky or unlucky one, who was left behind here.¹⁰

In the garden at the Great Eastern Hotel, the showy flower of the water lily blossoms and floats effortlessly top the water. But after just a few days, the colour fades, the petals wilt and fall into submersion. Underwater, the stalks curl up and the petals turn in. The once fragrant lily transforms into seedpods. The seeds can be sown; but it’s not a necessity – the lily is a rhizome. In dormancy it will remain, until awakened for the next growth cycle. Then, from its mass of roots below, a new generation of stems emerge, and again the lily blossoms.

7

YOUR NAME IS BUDDHA

Filling in the early years of Buddha’s life – after his mother left, but before he met the Ghosh family – requires some assistance and digging into. Chitralekha Shalom is among the first I get to know in this process. She had married into the family and worked by Buddha’s side at the Yoga Cure Institute in New Alipore (south Calcutta), from the mid-1970s until 1982. She taught yoga to the women while Buddha taught the men. ‘If history could be re-written,’ Chitralekha tells me one day, ‘I would make Rajah and Emily stay back in England.’ Their time on the stage in London together was full of fame and romance, but like the fleeting lily above the water, fame did not last.

I ask Chitralekha, ‘Did Buddha ever talk about the difficulty of his childhood?’¹

She replies, ‘Baba used to tell me his stories in snatches, randomly, not in one sitting. I remember these sessions would take place only when we were alone.’ The two would sit ‘alone under the jamrul tree in front of the small office room’ where Baba, as she called Buddha, shared his memories and confided in her. Buddha was a private person. Even those who knew him well cannot recall him talking about his own life.

Then I meet Mataji (Swamini Guru Priyananda), a 92-year-old swamini, who called Buddha her guruji. Now she lives the life of a sannyasini, splitting her time between the ashram near Ahmedabad and the foothills of the Himalayas.² I visit Mataji in Mussoorie, the cool hill station where she lives during the hot summer months. Chitralekha, who has not seen Mataji in over thirty years, is there too, and together they answer questions about Buddha’s upbringing and the difficulties he encountered in his youth.³

‘When you listen to his life story, you wonder what gave him courage to go on,’ remarks Mataji.

I ask, ‘Did he remember his British mother, from that young age?’

‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘In Central Calcutta, whenever he saw a white woman in a frock he would run to her shouting, Mama, Mama!’ He ‘would only keep crying and not eat properly; he would cry only for mama’. This continued until his Bengali stepmother decided it was her duty to give him the love of a mother. She ‘took him in her lap and said, I am your Mama. No one has named you yet. Let me name you. Your name is Buddha.’ Gradually, ‘he accepted the Bengali mother as his real mother’.

Buddha would tell of how ‘he’d grown up listening to stories of Ramayana and Mahabharata at home and was very attracted to gods and goddesses and scriptures.’²

His father, Rajah, called it ‘all rubbish’, and would shout, ‘There are no gods!’ and then insist Buddha had ‘no table manners’ and should ‘sit with the dog’.

‘And so he had to sit with the dog and have his food,’ Mataji explains. She reflects on Buddha retelling the events with ‘tears in his eyes’.

‘You are a foreigner’s child,’ his father told him.

It was true, Chitralekha explains of Buddha. ‘He was British-fair, and his skin pigmentation stood out among the darker Indians wherever he went. The colour became a stigma, as in those days most Hindu Indians considered anyone outside their particular caste as rejects or mleccha.’⁴ When young Buddha went to a friend’s place he was made to stand outside the house. If he requested water, the tumbler ‘would be thrown in the dustbin after he drank’. It was a difficult situation for him, ‘but luckily, the new mother was all love and care’.

PART TWO

MOTHER, A SCHOOL

FOR BOYS

8

KALI MA

My biggest problem was this, I had no idea who or

what was a mother. I still do not know what a

mother is and so, talking about a mother seems an assumption.¹

– Bishnu Ghosh

In the early 1880s, Bhagabati Ghosh arrived in Calcutta from rural Bengal and married Gyana Prabha Bose, who was from Serampore, about 40 miles outside of Calcutta.² The Ghoshs started their family in Rangoon, Burma, where Bhagabati was a British railway administrator. After a decade in Burma, they moved back to India as a well-salaried, but otherwise ordinary family. At that time, in the early 1890s, Bhagabati was secular in his beliefs, a non-believer in anything mystical. After a supernatural experience, Bhagabati dramatically turned towards the practice of Kriya yoga,³ and thereafter his occupational lifestyle was augmented with a daily Kriya practice involving pranayama techniques. Gyana was a traditional Hindu mother and devotee of Kali with her daily bhakti (devotional) practice; she too became a kriyaban. It is not a stretch to say that their children had a congenital inclination to practise Kriya yoga.

In 1893, Gyana became pregnant with Mukunda Lal (who later became Yogananda).⁴ When Bishnu Charan was born on 24