solely a body, its loss indeed places the final period to identity.
But if prophets down the millenniums spake with truth, man is
essentially of incorporeal nature. The persistent core of human
egoity is only temporarily allied with sense perception.

Although odd, clear memories of infancy are not extremely rare. During
travels in numerous lands, I have listened to early recollections
from the lips of veracious men and women.

I was born in the last decade of the nineteenth century, and passed
my first eight years at Gorakhpur. This was my birthplace in the
United Provinces of northeastern India. We were eight children: four
boys and four girls. I, Mukunda Lal Ghosh {FN1-4}, was the second
son and the fourth child.

Father and Mother were Bengalis, of the KSHATRIYA caste. {FN1-5} Both
were blessed with saintly nature. Their mutual love, tranquil and
dignified, never expressed itself frivolously. A perfect parental
harmony was the calm center for the revolving tumult of eight young
lives.

Father, Bhagabati Charan Ghosh, was kind, grave, at times stern.
Loving him dearly, we children yet observed a certain reverential
distance. An outstanding mathematician and logician, he was guided
principally by his intellect. But Mother was a queen of hearts,
and taught us only through love. After her death, Father displayed
more of his inner tenderness. I noticed then that his gaze often
metamorphosed into my mother's.

In Mother's presence we tasted our earliest bitter-sweet acquaintance