The Science of Yoga: The Risks and the Rewards by William J Broad Page A

influences on human physiology—how the discipline can slow the metabolism.
    The rapture of yogis still held secrets. But Paul had taken a bold step that began a revolution.
    Investigators who wandered the Asian subcontinent in search of the miraculous had to pay close attention to the possibility of cheaters, an issue that had clearly worried the maharajah of the Punjab. India teemed with street magicians who did feats of illusion for a living—everything from charming snakes and dismemberingone another to climbing ropes that disappeared into thin air. The ragtag clans had operated for centuries and had so refined their acts that Western conjurers often puzzled over the tricks and came to India to learn the secrets.
    The magicians of India typically worked hard to cultivate religious associations, invoking the names of Hindu gods and saints. So, too, many poor religious figures in India—including yogis and swamis—gave in to the temptation of doing street magic as a way to make a living and often sought to pass off simple conjuring “as miraculous evidence of divine powers,” according to Lee Siegel, an analyst of Indian magic.
    An Indian sociologist once disguised himself as a penniless monk. His survey of hundreds of Hindu holy men found that more than 6 percent admitted to the performance of magic tricks and pseudo-yogic feats, including live burials. Interred performers would get food surreptitiously or leave the cell through a secret hole. In one case, townspeople were surprised to find an ostensibly buried holy man strolling beside a river.
    In 1896, Hungary held a Millennial Exposition in Budapest to celebrate its first thousand years. The festivities were to include two holy men from India. The yogis were said to have the ability to go into deep trances, seeming to die, and then return from the dead.
    Professor Aurel von Török, director of the Anthropological Museum in Budapest, was famous for his precise studies of skulls. His personal appearance echoed his love of precision and his abiding sense of caution—his beard tidy, his glasses tiny.
    The professor had a difficult time making arrangements to see the holy men and taking measurements. The yogis took turns displaying themselves in a glass coffin, going into trances and switching places every week or two, always with great fanfare and prayer and incantation. The awestruck crowds and all the comings and goings conflicted with the calm required for serious investigation.
    With some irritation, von Török noted in a preliminary report that true science was difficult under the circumstances. Unexpected results had clearly aroused his suspicions: the professor studied the men carefully but could find no plunge in their vital signs.
    The wisdom of von Török’s caution soon became apparent. A few skeptics hid themselves in the apartment with the glass coffin. Late one night, they watched inastonishment as the lid of the coffin opened and the yogi stepped out. He proceeded to enjoy a cake and a bottle of milk.
    They seized the startled man.
    He and the other impostor managed to escape—Houdini-like—and save their show for another city and another day.
    Inquiries into the miraculous side of yoga deepened in the course of the twentieth century, as we shall see. But the analyses and exposés amounted to little compared to a potent new force that surged across the length and breadth of yoga, concealing its unbecoming aspects and bestowing on its scientific investigation new legitimacy. That, in turn, caused the sheer quantity of research to explode.
    The force was Hindu nationalism. It took shape as the nation’s elite, drawing on decades of rising anger over British colonial rule, worked hard to create a national identity that could unify the masses, counter notions of Western superiority, and forge the popular will necessary to oust the hated foreigners. (Around the same time, a similar effort got under way in Ireland, with similar results.)
    The surge in