DAYS OF ECSTASY AT DAKSHINESWAR

Indeed to be with Shri Ramakrishna was, in itself, a Tapasya (spiritual self-denial) and a Sadhana. It was, in itself, a rising beyond all bodily ideas and limitations of the senses. It required concentration and strength of character of the highest order to follow the Master in his flights of thought. It stirred the whole soul of the devotee to realisation and ecstatic fervour to enter the field of divine emotion which Shri Ramakrishna tried to depict in words and in which he soared, beyond all words, to God. The company of Shri Ramakrishna was, in itself, a most compelling stimulus to spirituality. Emotion literally blazed there. There the soul of things literally shone forth.

Only those who have sat at the feet of the Master can know the ocean of sweet intimacy and oneness with Shri Ramakrishna in which the disciples were bathed. It was a tender, natural, human and easy relationship, free from any affectation and the repelling spirit of egoism and aloofness which so often characterises the atmosphere which surrounds the Guru. The spirit was indeed divine ; the presence of God was always felt; and yet there was much laughter and fun beneath the spreading trees of Dakshineswar and in the Master’s room. The Master and the disciples would often sit under the boughs of the trees talking intimately and sweetly. And every now and then some spiritual remarks of the Master would change the human joy into divine blessedness.

Referring to those days Naren used to say, “It is impossible to give others even an idea of the ineffable joy we derived from the presence of the Master. It is really beyond our understanding how he would give us training, though unconsciously on our part, through fun and play, and thus mould our spiritual life. As the master-athlete proceeds with great caution and restraint with the beginner now overpowering him in the struggle with great difficulty, as it were, again owning defeat at his hands to strengthen his spirit of self-reliance, in exactly the same manner did Shri Ramakrishna treat us. Realising that in all exists the Atman (Self) which is the source of infinite strength, in every individual, pigmy though he might be, he was able to sec the potential giant. He could clearly discern the latent spiritual power which would in the fullness of time manifest itself. Holding that bright picture before us he would speak highly of us and encourage us. Again he would warn us lest we should frustrate this future consummation by becoming entangled in worldly desires, and further he would keep us under control by carefully observing even the minute details of our life. All this was done silently and unobtrusively. That was the great secret of his training of the disciples and moulding of their lives. Once I felt that I could not practise deeper concentration in meditation. I told him of it and sought his advice and direction. He told me his personal experiences in the matter and gave me instructions. I remember that as I sat down to meditate during the early hours of the morning, my mind would be disturbed and diverted by the shrill note of the whistle of a neighbouring Jute Mill. I told him about it, and lie advised me to concentrate my mind on the very sound of the whistle. I followed his advice and derived from it much benefit. On another occasion I felt great difficulty in totally forgetting my body during meditation and concentrating the mind wholly on the ideal. I went to him for counsel, and he gave me the very instruction which he himself had received from Totapuri while practising Samadhi at the time of his Vedantic Sadhana. He sharply pressed between my two eyebrows with his finger nail and said, ‘Now concentrate your mind on this painful sensation 1’ As a result I found I could concentrate easily on that sensation as long as I liked, and during that period I completely forgot the consciousness of the other parts of my body, not to speak of their causing any distraction in the way of my meditation. The solitude of the Panchavati, associated with the various spiritual realisations of the Master, was also the most suitable place for our meditation. Besides meditation and spiritual exercises, we used to spend a good deal of time there in sheer fun and merrymaking. Shri Ramakrishna also joined with us, and by taking part enhanced our innocent pleasure. We used to run and skip about, climb on the trees, swing from the creepers and at times hold merry picnics. On the first day of the picnic the Master noticed that I myself had cooked the food, and he partook of it. I knew that he could not take food unless it was cooked by Brahmins, and therefore I had arranged for his meal at the Kali-temple. But he said, ‘It won’t be wrong for me to take food from such a pure soul like yourself.’ In spite of my repeated remonstrations, he enjoyed the food cooked by me that day.”

And Naren was in his element at Dakshineswar. All his boyish enthusiasm was let loose there. He was like a young lion sporting joyously in the presence of a strong but indulgent parent. All that pent-up energy of mind and heart which, revealing itself partially before, had brought on a great anguish of mind and tempest of heart, was now free to express itself fully. It manifested itself as a torrent of spiritual energy. Shri Ramakrishna understood and was delighted beyond words. The flights of Naren’s soul were visible to him. Like a majestic king, venerable in the long years of his spiritual experience, was the old man ; and Naren was like the young prince and heir, full of the fire and energy and vigour of his spiritual inheritance. The Master let Naren’s mind work by the force of its own pressure. He allowed the mind of Naren to become its own Guru. He held that sincerity of heart brings on, of itself, the gradual illumination of the mind. He allowed Naren to doubt him, to sound him. He said, “Do not accept anything because I have said so. But test everything for yourself. It is not in assent or dissent that the goal is to be attained, but in actual and concrete realisation.” And this Naren did, though oftentimes it required infinite patience and entailed much sufferings on the Master.

It may be truly stated that only Narendra Nath, amongst the disciples, fully understood the greatness of Shri Ramakrishna. He also weighed the words of the Master in the balance. He alone dared to doubt. But, then, he alone had the glorified conviction with regard to the Master, which comes of having transcended doubt. The other disciples hung with rapt attention upon every word that fell from his lips. They were Bhaktas, they loved the Master. Theirs was the conviction which comes of love. They knew Shri Ramakrishna only through their burning love for him. But Naren would question him. Naren would smile at his statements and criticise them. Naren, too, had love for the Master such as no other disciple had, and it was this love which caused him to respect, to revere and adore him. But he would not be satisfied until he had made his convictions of the truth of Shri Ramakrishna’s teachings absolutely infallible, in so far as the analytical intellect was capable of sanctioning the utterances of a saint and seer.

It was this power of searching for truth, partly intellectual and partly spiritual, which filled the Master with a feeling bordering on respect for Naren. Yes, this was the “Shiva-nature” or the “Shiva-power” in Naren, as Shri Ramakrishna used to say. On a certain occasion, the Master said to the disciples present pointing to Narendra Nath, “Behold! Here is Naren. See! See! O what power of insight he has! It is like the shoreless sea of radiance! The Mother, MahaMaya Herself, cannot approach more than within ten feet of him! She is bound by the very glory which She has imparted to him!” Then he prayed that the Mother might dim that radiance in order that Naren might be able to work. “O Mother,” he prayed, “put a little of Thy Maya into Narendra!” For otherwise, he would be concerned, by the natural tendency of his soul, only with the highest reaches of personal realisation ; he would be immersed in eternal meditation and would be mindful only of the Supreme Reality and thus be lost to the world!

The other disciples accepted Shri Ramakrishna’s valuation of Naren as indisputable. Had he not gauged the depths of their own natures also! Had he not, at the very first sight, had the vision of the special forms of divinity to which their minds tended! Mad ne not told every one or tnem ms secret tendencies! By merely touching them he had imparted powers and realisations unto them! Who were they to doubt when he said of Naren, “He has eighteen extraordinary powers one or two of which are sufficient to make a man famous in the world”, or “He is a burning, roaring fire consuming all impurities to ashes”, and added, “Even should Naren live on beef and pork, it could not harm in the least the great power of spirituality within him!”

Wonderful was Shri Ramakrishna’s method of teaching. He would seldom enter into the argument of his disciples. With a word, a glance or a song, he would teach ; and the teaching was always, “Realisation is the only goal. When realisation conies into the heart, all arguments cease and the state of divine knowledge shines forth”. One day Naren and other disciples were engaged in a tempest of argument:    “Is God Personal or Impersonal? Does God become incarnate or is divine Incarnation a myth?” On and on the argument raged, until it covered all points of theological inquiry. Naren was the victor. He had overwhelmed all their theories. Shri Ramakrishna approached the gathering, and they heard the opening notes of the following song come from his lips:

“O my mind, what avail thy efforts to realise that Being!

Groping about, as thou dost, like a madman in a dark room !”

The song continued:

“Go into the six schools of philosophy.

There that Being thou shalt not find!

Neither in the Tantras. nor in the Vedas !

That Being is fond of the sweet essence of Love !”

The disputatious disciples sat silent and ecstatic. Yes, here was the great answer to all their questionings. Indeed, Shri Ramakrishna was a teacher who spoke only in the language of realisation. He was not metaphysical. He had seen ; he had literally seen the Truth. So, what need of splitting hairs over questions that must remain for ever debatable to the human mind? Like Buddha of old, Shri Ramakrishna had little use for logic. Spirituality is not the attainment of a great development of the faculty for setting line theories into words. It is realisation. It is character. It is the conquest of lust and gold. Shri Ramakrishna took the burden of realisation from the plane of discussion into the sphere of personal striving, into the sphere of austerities and of a realistic effort at vision. Whenever the discussion grew hot, he became impatient of “much talk”. Often he would compare the disputatious scholars who soared high on the wings of discussions to vultures and kites, which whilst soaring high kept their eye on the carrion beneath. The eyes of vain scholars were likewise fixed on the carrion of name and fame, lust and gold.

But the Master never interfered, no matter how high the discussion rose. He let them talk. They would learn better, he would say. Sometimes, however, he enjoyed it. By it he sensed the spiritual consciousness of his disciples. Verily was the Master’s company a great school in the training of the soul. It was all a stimulus to personal growth. Every one was free to utilise his own powers in discovering and realising his personal potentialities. But there were certain special occasions when Shri Ramakrishna would intervene. These were, for example, when Naren’s towering thought endangered the limited vision of another. There was that instance when Naren attacked faith as a means to liberation. He spoke of “blind faith”. The Master said, “Naren, what do you mean by ‘blind faith’? Faith is always blind. Has faith an ‘eye’? Why say ‘blind faith’? Either simply say ‘faith’ or say ‘Jnana’ (knowledge). What do you mean by classifying faith as one kind having an eye, and the other being blind?” By these words Shri Ramakrishna meant to convey that even the highest human knowledge, even all philosophy was “blind faith”, as compared with one atom of that realisation which came from an actual perception of Reality. Slowly but surely Naren came to understand that it was not knowledge but realisation which was true religion. Man must see God. Thinking of Reality was good, but better was the vision of it. It took time and much loving patience. But in the end Naren discovered that Shri Ramakrishna’s teaching was the eloquent silence of insight. Often, during conversations, Shri Rama-krishna would burst into some soul-stirring utterances. At other times he would leave the disciples to themselves and to their argumentative moods; the discussion ended, they would find him in deepest Samadhi. This, the disciples came to know after a time, was a silent and eloquent protest to their heated discussion. The most eloquent and convincing power in all the methods of Shri Ramakrishna’s teachings was the spiritual radiance of his personal life. His character was the power behind his teaching. The man who preached universal love and toleration lived it. Shri Ramakrishna never attacked any social custom. He did not preach against caste. Himself a Brahmin, he showed his great love for the outcaste millions who were lowest in the social scale ; and he also revealed his sense of utmost humility before his Mother, by performing the most menial of all services, which even the lowest of the out-castes, the Chandalas and the Pariahs, would shrink from doing.

What were Shri Ramakrishna’s answers to questions pertaining to God-vision and methods of realisation? How to pray? “Pray in any form”, he would say, “for the Lord hears the footfall even of an ant.” How to find God? “By the conquest of lust and gold.” Sincerity was the main theme of his teaching. Without sincerity nothing was possible *, with sincerity all was possible. He would say to Naren and others that if they but carried out one-sixteenth of what he had done to realise God, they would be blessed for ever. Is God Personal or Impersonal? “He is both”, said Shri Ramakrishna, “and yet He is beyond. Beyond any intellectual or theological dogmas. He is manifest in the soul’s own inmost realisation. He assumes any form for the pleasure of His devotee. He is inexpressible. He is not to be put between the covers of a book or in the boundary of a temple.” “Is image-worship right or wrong?” Shri Ramakrishna said that all such were idle questions. Worship of anything was true which helped one to see God. Intense longing was the one thing needful.

Shri Ramakrishna was intimately connected with all paths of Sadhana that led to the realisation of God. The all-comprehensive Hindu scriptures prescribe certain methods of worship suited for particular temperaments, which appear rather vulgar and indecent to others. Once the drift of conversation turned to such modes of spiritual discipline. The Master said to Naren, “These people cannot rightly pursue their course of Sadhana. Most of them satisfy their base passions in the name of religion. Well, Naren, you need not hear these things. As regards myself, I look upon all women as my mother. This is a very pure attitude of mind. There is no risk or danger in it. To look upon woman as sister is also not bad. But the other attitudes are very difficult and dangerous. It is almost impossible to keep the purity of the ideal. There are various ways to reach God. Some of these are dirty like the scavenger’s entrance to a house. It is really desirable to enter the house by the front door.” Then in an exalted mood he said, “There are many opinions and many ways. I do not like these any more. The aspirants of different ways quarrel among themselves. You are my own people. There are no outsiders here. I tell you, I clearly find He is the whole and I am His part. He is the Lord and I am the servant. Again sometimes I think that He is I and I am He.”

Shri Ramakrishna’s manner of teaching charmed Narendra Nath. It modified his puritanical view of life which he as a Brahmo had. Shri Ramakrishna could not bear the word •“sin” ; he had no such terms in his spiritual vocabulary as “born in sin” and “a child of wrath”. He admitted that man was born with limitations ; but where others fixed their attention upon limitations only, he foresaw that the destiny of every soul was the triumphant conquest of all limitations. On one occasion when Naren was denouncing the degenerating influence of certain weaknesses of schoolboys, believing them to be undermining their character, the Master chanced to overhear and said, “Why talk of these matters! Talk of the Lord and nothing else.” Such was his method of teaching and its substance.

The general teachings which the Master imparted to his disciples Narendra Nath assimilated in a unique way. He was the readiest among them all in arriving at their true spirit. His soul was most attuned to the spiritual vibrations of the Master’s words. Thus he read volumes where others read but pages of that Revelation unto men which was the life and gospel of Shri Ramakrishna. Really Naren possessed a rare insight to interpret Shri Ramakrishna’s words. One instance will suffice. One day, some time during the year 1884, Shri Ramakrishna was seated in his room at Dakshineswar surrounded by his disciples among whom was Naren. The conversation drifted to the Vaishnava religion. The Master gave the gist of the cult of Lord Gauranga and finished by saying, “This religion enjoins upon its followers the practice of three things, viz relish for the name of God, compassion for all living creatures and service to the Vaishnavas, the devotees of the Lord. The real meaning of these precepts is this:    That God is not different from His name. Therefore one should always repeat His name. God and his devotee, Krishna and the Vaishnava, are not separate from one another. Therefore everyone should show respect to all saints and devotees. Realising this world as belonging to Shri Krishna, utmost compassion should be shown to all creatures.” Hardly had he uttered the words, “Compassion to all creatures”, when he fell into Samadhi. After a while he came back to a semi-conscious state of mind and said to himself, “Compassion for creatures! Compassion for creatures! Thou fool! An insignificant worm crawling on earth, thou to show compassion to others! Who art thou to show compassion? No, it cannot be. It is not compassion for others, but rather service to man, recognising him to be the veritable manifestation of God !”

Everyone present there, no doubt, heard those words of Shri Ramakrishna uttered from the innermost consciousness of his soul; but none but Naren could gauge their meaning.

When Naren left the room he said to the others, “What a strange light have I discovered in those wonderful words of the Master! How beautifully has he reconciled the ideal of Bhakti with the knowledge of the Vedanta, generally interpreted as hard, austere and inimical to human sentiments and emotions! What a grand, natural and sweet synthesis! The ordinary impression is that the culture of the knowledge of Vedanta demands an utter ostracism of society and humanity and a rooting out of all tender sentiments such as love, devotion, compassion, etc. The aspirant thus goes astray in cherishing an uncompromising hatred towards the world and his fellow creatures, thinking them as impediments in the way of spiritual attainments. But from those words of wisdom which Shri Ramakrishna uttered in an ecstatic mood, I have understood that the ideal of Vedanta lived by the recluse outside the pale of society can be practised even from hearth and home and applied to all our daily schemes of life. Whatever may be the avocation of a man, let him understand and realise that it is God alone who has manifested Himself as the world and created beings. He is both immanent and transcendent. It is He who has become all diverse creatures, objects of our love, respect or compassion and yet He is beyond all these. Such realisation of Divinity in humanity leaves no room for arrogance. By realising it, a man cannot have any jealousy or pity for any other being. Service of man, knowing him to be the manifestation of God, purifies the heart, and in no time, such an aspirant realises himself as part and parcel of God, Existence-Knowledge-Bliss Absolute.

“Those words of Shri Ramakrishna throw an altogether new light upon the path of devotion. Real devotion is far off until the aspirant realises the immanence of God. By realising Him in and through all beings and by serving Him through humanity, the devotee acquires real devotion. Those following the paths of work and Yoga are similarly benefited by those words of the Master. The embodied being cannot remain even for a minute without doing any work. All his activities should be directed to the service of man, the manifestation of come wnen i snail proclaim mis grana trum Derore me wona at large. I shall make it the common property of all, the wise and the fool, the rich and the poor, the Brahmin and the Pariah.” 

“It must be constantly borne in mind that the whole gist of the Master’s personality and teaching was the very essence of Hinduism. It was not a sectarian Hinduism, but that wide and all-comprehending attitude of the soul which has been in a marked degree a Hindu racial ideal at all times. On the surface it appears as a rigidity of ceremonial form and as a congeries of unbelievable myths. But with the background of the Advaita philosophy, the whole setting and details are seen in an altogether different light. Therefore when Naren came to Shri Ramakrishna he found an altogether new theology. True, it was the same theology which he had been taught from his infancy, but he was now approaching it with understanding, whereas, as a child, he had imbibed it without reason, simply as a matter of custom and heredity. Formerly when the intellect aroused itself, doubt also arose ; but now a new order of thought, a new outlook was being opened. For, the very life of Shri Ramakrishna revealed to him potentialities and realities in Hinduism he had never dreamt of. The Hinduism of Shri Ramakrishna was a positive, practical and living realisation. However Naren might question the actuality of the spiritual ideals and gods with which Hinduism abounds, he could not doubt the earnestness of his Master. Shri Ramakrishna injected a living spirit into Hinduism. It might be superstition, thought Naren at first; the Master himself might be a madman ; but it must be a remarkable superstition which enabled this madman to transmit spirituality even by a touch! To Shri Ramakrishna Hinduism was alive. And, in this, how superior was it, thought Naren, to the theologically healthy but spiritually lifeless body of Brahmoisml For him, at least, Brdhmoism did not emanate a burning and contagious spirituality. It was more of a social reform movement, even though the members, considered individually, might be possessed of great spiritual aspiration. And did not Keshab Chandra Sen, the leading spirit of the Brahmo movement, come and sit at the feet of Shri Ramakrishna, according him honour and worship bordering on that given to Divinity?

To Shri Ramakrishna Naren was indebted for his introduction to Hinduism. This understanding was a process. Naren came by it in watching his Master in religious worship, in religious teaching and in religious ecstasy. The spirit of this understanding was communicated to Naren in spite of himself. The Master injected his own consciousness, his own personal realisation of the Mother and of Hinduism into the soul of Naren. How he did this is not fully known. The process was purely spiritual and too subtle to be explained. The doubting Naren was passing away ; the devotional Naren, the spiritual Naren—Naren, the Hindu—was being born.

In those days Naren, in common with many Brahmos feared for the psychical consequences of intense meditation, and too much inebriation from the love of God. Shri Ramakrishna quieted him on this point saying, “God is like an ocean of syrup. Would you not dive into it? Suppose, my boy, there is a vessel with a wide mouth containing syrup, and suppose you are a fly anxious to drink of the sweet fluid. How would you like to drink of it? Naren said to him in reply that he would like to sit on the edge and drink from the vessel, adding that if he chanced to fall in he was sure to be drowned and thus lose his life. Thereupon the Master said to him, “You forget, my boy, this is the Ocean of Sachchidananda, the Existence-Knowledge-Bliss Absolute. Here one need not be afraid of death. This is the Ocean of Immortality. Only fools say that one should not run to excess in one’s love and devotion for God. Can anybody ever carry to excess his love for the Divine? Therefore I say to you, dive deep into the Ocean of God.” And Naren followed this advice in his life. His intellect might have questioned, but his heart went straight to the goal.

At this time, strange experiences came to him. Many times he saw Shri Ramakrishna in meditation when he himself was at home and the Master in distant Dakshineswar. One night, Naren dreamt that Shri Ramakrishna came to him and said, “‘Come! I will show you Gopi Radha!” Naren followed him. After having gone some distance, the Master turned to him and said, “Where else will you go?” Saying this, Shri Ramakrishna transformed himself into the beautiful personality and exquisite form of Radha herself. This so affected the conscious mind of Naren that whereas, formerly, he had only sung songs of the Brahmo Samaj relating to the Formless Brahman, he now sang songs to the great spiritual love of Radha, the individual soul, for Sri Krishna, the Indwelling Beloved One. When he narrated this dream to his brother-disciples, they were amazed. One asked him, “Do you believe in the significance of this?” And Naren answered, “Surely I do”.

Sometimes, Naren would see his “double”, as it were, following meditation. It would appear as one just like himself, of the same shape and form, and he wondered, “Who is this?” It would respond to all his actions like an image reflected in a minor and remain with him sometimes for more than an hour. He told Shri Ramakrishna of it, and the Master passed it over lightly, saying, “It is only an incident in the higher stages of meditation”.

Naren once longed to be lost, forgetful of all outer things, in Bhava or the ecstatic state. He saw how the devotees of the Master, such as Nityagopal and Manomohan, would fall to the ground seemingly lifeless at the chanting of the names of God. He was much depressed that he was unable to enter these states of blessedness in a like manner, and he complained about it to Shri Ramakrishna. The Master regarding him with tenderness replied, “My child, do not be disturbed. What does it matter? When a huge elephant runs into a pond, it sets up a great commotion in it, but if it goes into the waters of the Ganga, little commotion is set up. These devotees are, as it were, small ponds. A little of this great power of Divine Love coming into the enclosure of these small ponds lashes the water into a fury ; but you are like the huge river.”

About this time Naren passed through a test which proved that he was a roaring fire of spirituality and renunciation. Some of his wealthy friends one day invited him for a drive to their garden in the suburbs of Calcutta. He consented joyfully but had no idea what sort of an evening drive it would be. They stopped in front of a house, and all alighted and entered the grounds where a garden party was being held. Merry-makers were these, and Naren enjoyed their singing and sang himself. After a time he grew tired and was told that he might rest comfortably in an adjoining room. His friends seeing him alone sent a dancing girl to amuse him. He was as simple as a child and talked to her like a brother. She told him many interesting things about her life, telling him of her sorrows and misfortunes. Seeing that she had engaged all his interest and sympathy, she misinterpreted his attitude and took a fancy to make him know what she felt. Instantly he remembered Shri Ramakrishna and thought of God. He became serious and started to his feet and said to the girl, “Excuse me, I must be going now. I have a genuine sympathy for you and wish you well. If you know that it is a weakness to lead such a life, you will get over it some day”. They parted. ‘The girl returned in bewilderment and said to Naren’s friends sarcastically, “It is a nice trick you have played upon me, sending me to tempt a Sadhu! ” Such was the great influence Shri Ramakrishna had cast on Naren.

One cannot bask in the radiance of a great personality without having the inner powers and potentialities aroused. Naren also acquired power and personality and a great spiritual consciousness at the feet of Shri Ramakrishna. The words of hope and strength which the Master spoke concerning him invigorated him. He became conscious of his future greatness. Once he said to his friends, “What! At best you will be lawyers or doctors or judges. Wait, I shall chalk out a path for myself”. He felt sure of himself because the Master was so sure of him. He saw famous men—physicians, lawyers, scholars, and religious teachers—who came to the Master all gathered together by his personality. Physicians tested his trances and his renunciation of gold ; even when outward consciousness had receded, the body would shrink in response to the slightest contact with gold. Scholars noted down his sayings and found them to be utterances of the highest realisations. All were convinced of the spiritual greatness of Shri Ramakrishna. Naren was also convinced of his greatness, and the Master, too, had given him the foremost place among his disciples and devotees, though from a worldly point of view Naren knew he was nothing when compared with many of these. This enhanced Naren\s self-reliance. The Master was not guided by worldly position in his choice. To one who was enormously rich and who won the title of Raja, he said, “People call you Raja. But I cannot do so! That will be a lie on my part”. To another, a self-styled philanthropist, he said, “You are a small-minded man, low born as you are”.

Thus Naren’s all-round development, physical, intellectual and spiritual, was due to the influence of Shri Ramakrishna. Naren had the native graceful bearing of a wild animal, w’ith absolute freedom of motion. He would walk along, now slowly and then with speed, his mind absorbed in thoughts which literally swept his soul. And yet, he had a certain boyishness of spirit about him and a spontaneity of manner which were a delight to all who knew him.

His appearance was that of a young man full of vigour and vitality, with a frame slightly above the middle height and somewhat thickset in the shoulders. His chest was expansive. His head was broad towards the front, indicative of high mental power and development. It was well shaped throughout. Indeed, he was one of the few men of whom it can be said, without intimating any feminity of type, that he was graceful. His eyes were the most striking of his features. They were often likened to lotus petals. They were rather prominent, though not protruding, and varied greatly in their colour according to the feelings of the moment. They revealed a keen, alert mind. Sometimes they were luminous in the depth and steadfastness of gaze ; at other times they would sparkle with pleasure and excitement. When he spoke, it was as if, for the time being, only the person spoken to existed ; one could not but feel flattered. Some accused him of intellectual avariciousness, if such a term can be used, and said that his interest in any one ceased when “he had wrung him dry”, to use their own expression. But it was always true of him that he gave more than he received. It was an intellectual exchange. He was muscular and athletic in his build and of striking carriage. But one lost sight altogether of the body, being all-absorbed in the interest of studying the face. He had a strong jaw, evidence of an iron will and fixed determination. He seemed to some as a joyous dreamer, to others as an intense thinker, to others again, as one who lived in a world rich with ideal love and beauty ; but to all he seemed as a scion of an aristocratic house. His smile was benignant and merry.

But when he grew serious, his face would strike awe into the hearts of his companions. There were times when many of his brother-disciples regarded him as a child ; and they loved him all the more even when he was irritating or exacting or impetuous. When he became excited in discussion, or was rapt in thought, his face and eyes would blaze, revealing the tremendous power of his personality. When he was absorbed in his own thoughts he could send such a force of repelling reserve that one would not dare to approach him. In fact intense aloofness was one of his striking traits. His was the temperament of a genius. Various moods would come upon him, now of a strange impatience with his environment, and again of a sweet and loving patience as of one who is indifferent to results of plans and enthusiastic desires, and who possesses a sense of having eternity at his back. And it might be said that considering the difficulties under which he laboured and suffered, and also the scant appreciation from those for whom he laboured and suffered, it was a wonder that his heart did not become like steel. But love and the spirit of gentle bearing remained with him throughout. He would say to himself, ‘‘Why should one expect to be understood! It is sufficient that they love me! After all who am I! The Mother knows best. She can do Her work. Who am I to think myself indispensable”. Indeed, his was a radiant personality, a gracious personality and, withal, a powerful personality.

The love which Shri Ramakrishna bore for him, struck a balance between his intellect and heart. By instinct Naren was a philosopher. Shri Ramakrishna made him a devotee.

But, lest it be thought that the Master developed only so much religious and emotional sentimentality in his disciple, let it be remembered that the highest philosophical realisation which Naren ever came to experience was, likewise, due to the Master. Insight, tempered and softened by spiritual love, was the foundation of his spirituality. Naren was the philosopher in a unique sense. Though, to all appearances, he was primarily a philosopher, the Master used to say that only a Bhakta, or a devotee of God, could have such amiable and pleasing features. “Jnanis are generally dry in their appearance ; but Bhaktas are sweet to look upon.” Whatever this might have been, the words of Naren himself are best illustrative of his true nature. As Swami Vivekananda he once said to a disciple of his making a comparison between himself and the Master, “He was all Bhakti without, but within he was all Jnana ; I am all Jnana without ; but within my heart it is all Bhakti”. He meant by this that a great mantle of love hid the spiritual intellect of the Master, and a mantle of intelligence covered, as a cloak, the devotional nature within himself.

His afflictions and poverty drew out one side of Naren’s character, his associations another. Sliri Ramakrislma perfected these two characters and moulded him according to the ideal he had in mind, the ideal which became living and incarnate as the Swami Vivekananda. Shri Ramakrishna said that, had Naren been nurtured in luxury and comfort he would have certainly drifted in some other direction. He might have become a great statesman, a great lawyer, a great orator or social reformer. But poverty had given Naren sympathy with the poor. The divine character of his Master had proved to him that there was a difference between intellectuality and spirituality. Philosophy thus became to him a handmaiden for spiritual realisation. It verified his spiritual experiences. He did not denounce the intellect; he acclaimed it. But hereafter he made reason subordinate to spiritual realisation. Prayer and meditation were the wings upon which Naren now rose to the spiritual consciousness.

How wonderful was the Master’s love! After the passing away of Naren’s father, Shri Ramakrishna said to an influential devotee, “Naren’s father is dead. They are starving at home. Now it will be good if his friends help him’’. When the gentleman had taken his departure, Naren said, rather piqued, “Sir! Why did you tell that to him?” The Master, seeing that he had hurt his disciple’s sense of family pride in having thus made mention of their misfortunes, exclaimed with tears in his eyes, “O my Naren, do you not know that I would do anything for you ; that for you I would even go about begging from door to door!” Naren was overpowered. This was love in very truth. It was overwhelming and selfless love. “It was true,” as Naren said of himself in relation to his Master at a much later period, “he made me his slave by his great love for me!”

As has been seen Shri Ramakrishna was much alarmed when the relatives of Naren were planning for his marriage. His love for Naren, his desire to save him from the life of the world, made the Master prostrate before the feet of the Mother. He prayed to Her many times, “Oh Mother, do break up all these plans! May Naren not sink!” But however great might be the love of the Master for Naren, he would be strict with him if he at any time associated with evil companions, even if only by the way. Did the slightest shadow of an impure thought cross Naren’s mind, the Master at once detected it. When Naren came to him, after having associated with any questionable person, he would say that he could not even look him in the face nor could he eat from his hand.

Naren’s bright future was always present before Shri Ramakrishna’s vision. He knew that Naren’s was the path of renunciation. He directed the entire course of Naren’s training towards this end. In that light he scrutinised his every movement. Once he found that Naren associated intimately with a devotee who had led a worldly life, and he warned Naren. But he protested that the devotee had given up his questionable habits. The Master said, “However much you may wash the pot where garlic is kept, still some smell will linger. The boys are pure. They are as yet uncontaminated with any idea of lust and gold. You have seen mangoes that have been pecked by crows. These mangoes cannot be offered to God nor be eaten by man. The devotees who have tasted worldly pleasure, belong to another group. A group of monks was seated together thinking of God. Some women passed by. One of the monks opened his eyes and cast oblique glances at them. He had renounced the world after being the father of three children. You cannot expect figs from thistles. Worldly men have no leisure to think of God. But do you think I hate them? No, never, I find God has become all these. I look upon all women as my Mother. So I find no difference between a chaste woman and a girl of ill fame …. I find every one seeks glass beads. No one wants diamonds. Man is enamoured of lust. He is caught in the glamour of wealth and riches. But to one who has seen God, these appear as worthless trifles. Some one said to Ravana, ‘You go to Sita assuming all forms in order to intimidate or humour her. Why don’t you take the form of Rama so that she may take you for her husband? Ravana replied, ‘If I meditate upon Rama, even the most exquisite beauty of the world appears as mere straw’. Devotion to God is impossible without purity of heart. An impure man cannot have single-minded devotion. His mind is diverted to various things. You cannot expect anything when you are attached to lust and gold. It is extremely difficult for a worldly man to be perfectly unattached. He is a slave to his wife, slave to his money and slave to his master.” Then looking at Naren, he said, “My dear boy, you will never attain to your goal if you are attached to lust and gold”. Verily as the sun is vastly above the earth, so was this Guru above all other Gurus : The Master and Naren transcended all traditional ideas of Guru and disciple. And was it wonderful that Naren should have counted, towards the close of his active life, these days of ecstasy at Dakshineswar, as days of eternal blessedness?

Such was the teaching Shri Ramakrishna gave to Naren during the first four years of their relationship, and such was the environment in which Naren grew beyond the confines of his utmost spiritual hopes. It is difficult to state, from a chronological point of view, just when Naren became the disciple of the Master. From a mystical point of view he had become the disciple when Shri Ramakrishna touched his heart. It was then that the Master literally took possession of him. But consciously Naren became the disciple only when his intellect had been convinced, which was a process of some months. But when he became the disciple, it was irrevocable. The period in which his mind hesitated before fully accepting the Master was part of his training. Had he accepted him from the very beginning, without understanding, he would not have become Swami Vivekananda, possessed of the power of convincing others because he himself had gone through the process of being convinced.

For five years Naren had the company of his Guru. These years were a period of silent realisation, silent teaching and silent assimilation. Every time Naren visited Dakshineswar it was a stirring event both to himself and the Master, marking the intensification of their relationship and the absorption of ideas and ideals on the part of the disciple. He was becoming saturated with spirituality. The Master gave him all that was to be given, all that he had. Shri Ramakrishna was like one who had struggled hard amidst almost insuperable difficulties to acquire a great treasure, and Naren was the son and heir who was to reap this treasure. Shri Ramakrishna had built up a great spiritual empire by conquering the dangerous invaders— lust and gold. Naren was to extend this empire over the earth. Shri Ramakrishna had dived deep down into the spiritual ocean. Naren was to show to the world the treasures which the Master had found therein. Shri Ramakrishna was the realisation and insight, and Naren was to become the utterance thereof.

Through Naren one is able to enter the group of devotees first at Dakshineswar, later on at Shyampukur and Cossipore, and witness the spiritual experiences and observe the methods of teaching of the Master. The training was all directed to making the disciples aware by a gradual process that all religions are paths to God and that all are essentially one. Naren judged Shri Ramakrishna from the broad standpoint of religion.

wnetner lie was literally an incarnation or Lroa or not, aia not occupy the attention of Naren. He saw the character of the Master. That told a more complete tale in the way of revelation than all the most well-balanced metaphysical theories put together. Naren’s views at this time were broad, in fact too broad for the average understanding. He accepted Shri Ramakrishna in a larger sense than most of those about him. He often grew impatient over their tendency towards fanatical, limited and prejudicial acceptance of the Master. He held him in too high a reverence to place his personality into the narrow measure of the understanding of the Incarnation theory. Naren was too matter-of-fact spiritually to be self-deluded. He unconsciously accepted Shri Ramakrishna’s life as the demonstration of means towards all spiritual ends. He saw the spiritual path-finder in him. He heard his words as utterances of human verity in regard to the highest possibilities of the spiritual life. He instinctively sensed in the Master that which he later understood in the light of the science of a spiritual psychology, namely, that human personality can transcend its own boundaries by the sheer effort of intensification of transpersonal ideals. All the efforts of the saints had been this. And in Shri Ramakrishna Naren saw these efforts brought into the highest possible practice and realisation. He saw him in an intensely human light as the re-maker and preserver of the Hindu Dliarma (religion); and in this light he saw in Shri Ramakrishna a new Chaitanya, a new Shankaracharya, a new Buddha ; aye, even more, for the difficulties which stood in the way of the reinvigoration of Hinduism were far more numerous and serious in the present age than at any previous time. Instinctively Naren realised all this as a fact; and instinctively he saw the greatness of Shri Ramakrishna. This consummation was brought about at Shyampukur, and more intensely, at the garden-house of Cossipore.

It was in the middle of 1885 that Shri Ramakrishna showed the first symptom of a throat trouble which ultimately ended in the fatal cancer. He suffered so much from the intense heat of the summer that he began the use of ice. After a month or two he developed pain in his throat which was aggravated by talking and Samadhi. A physician was consulted who prescribed the necessary medicine and warned him against much talking, and at the same time cautioned the devotees against his going into Samadhi too often. But all attempts of the devotees to control the Master proved futile. At about that time Shri Ramakrishna attended a festival at Panihati, in the suburb of Calcutta, spending the whole day in singing and dancing and often going into Samadhi. The result was an aggravation of the disease. The doctors now definitely diagnosed it as “clergyman’s sore throat”. The Master carried out the instructions of the physician in all things but in the two essentials. Whenever there was an occasion for deep spiritual converse, he would lose all body-consciousness and go into ecstasies, or when afflicted people came to him for solace he would talk, no matter what it cost him. At the same time his communion with God was intensified; he had no regular hours for food or drink ; most of his time was spent in meditation and prayer, which with him meant Samadhi. This made the last year of his life a slow crucifixion.

The devotees naturally became anxious. Narendra fully realised the gravity of the situation. He remarked to a friend, “I am afraid the object of our love and adoration will not live for long. I have read the medical books and consulted some doctor-friends about his disease, and I am afraid his throat trouble has turned into cancer, the cure for which has not yet been discovered.” Shri Ramakrishna readily agreed to the proposal of going to Calcutta for systematic treatment. Accordingly a small house was rented, but the Master did not like it and straightway left for Balaram Bose’s place at Baghbazar. Within a week he was removed to a better house at Shyampukur. Doctor Mahendra Lai Sarkar, the leading homoeopath of Calcutta, agreed to undertake his treatment. Naren organised the nursing; the Holy Mother came from Dakshineswar to do the cooking. Naren’s deep love for the Master, his wonderful self-sacrifice and intense enthusiasm greatly influenced the other disciples and they all resolved to devote their lives to the service of their spiritual guide and to the realisation of God. They forgot their studies and home. Their parents and guardians began to interfere; but for the zeal and encouragement of Naren, it would have been almost impossible for them to have continued the course they mapped out for themselves.

As none of the householder devotees was rich enough to bear the expenses single-handed, at times the faith of the boys wavered, and they wondered where the money to meet the expenses was to come from. They feared that they might even have to give way to the demands of their families and return to their homes. Whenever this happened some fresh proofs of divinity in Shri Ramakrishna would become manifest to convince them that he was the Lord Himself. Then they would reproach themselves saying, “Why this baseless apprehension, this anxiety about funds? Shri Ramakrishna himself will provide the means.” They were convinced that any service rendered to the Master would be conducive to their highest spiritual welfare, and they realised that his illness gave all an opportunity of service to the Guru, every one according to his full capacity. So the householders resolved to spend their last farthing in the service of the Master,, and the young Brahmacharis gave their energies in personal service. All were upheld by an unbounded enthusiasm which was strengthened and stimulated by the spiritual revelation of Shri Ramakrishna. Many who were unable to go to Dakshineswar to see him found the opportunity at Shyampukur.

Naturally, there was much speculation as to the reason for the Master’s illness among the devotees. Some ascribed it to the will of the Divine Mother as being necessary for the fulfilment of a particular purpose ; others thought that it was self-imposed by an Incarnation of the Divine to help mankind; ? a third group concluded that as birth, disease, decay and death are all incidental and inevitable phases of human life, the disease of the Master was a perfectly natural phenomenon, and that it was foolish to give a mystic or supernatural explanation to it. At the same time they were willing to shed the last drop of their blood in his service and to mould their lives in accordance with the lofty spiritual ideal given to them by the Master. Needless to say that Narendra Nath was the leader of the last group which consisted mostly of young men reading in schools and colleges. Though different groups of devotees regarded the Master variously as an Incarnation of God, a superman or a God-man’, all of them were convinced beyond a shadow of doubt that the goal of life would be realised if they could emulate his example and render him service.

Naren was not a fanatic. Yet he had to acknowledge that before him he saw the loving, struggling, suffering human personality transformed the next moment into a divine personality. The human and the divine, he began to see, were inseparably related. Thus, by degrees, he came to know religion as a genuine human fact, its achievements lying in realistic efforts and the actual conquest of human limitations. He saw this enacted before him daily by Shri Ramakrishna. In the face of this what mattered belief? Realisation is the great desideratum. Shri Ramakrishna was the man of realisation. Naren aspired ever to be like him. The voice of his Master, his tears and smiles during his spiritual experiences, the manner in which he walked and ate and performed the thousand and one things of daily life became gospels, apocalyptic revelations unto him. Naren sat at the feet of the Master and in his eyes he read the whole meaning of the Vedas and the Upanishads.

He did not accept Shri Ramakrishna as an Incarnation of God, nor again as an ordinary human being. One day in reply to certain criticisms of Dr. Mahendra Lai Sarkar, the attending physician, Narendra Nath said, “Sir, we look upon the Master as a person who is like God. Let me make my idea clear to you. There is a point somewhere between the vegetable and animal creation where it is difficult to say whether a thing is an animal or a plant. Much in the same way, there is a point somewhere between the man-world and the God-world where one cannot say with certainty whether a person is human or divine.” He concluded by saying, “We look upon him not as God but as a God-like person. And hence we offer him worship bordering on divine worship.”

The Master, knowing that he was approaching the end of his mortal existence, was all the more eager to kindle in the heart of his chief disciples a burning desire for the realisation of God, which can only be attained by reducing to ashes all attachment to lust and gold. Therefore, his utterances at Shyampukur are replete with a spirit of utter renunciation. Shri Ramakrishna not only imparted his spiritual teaching to his disciples, but he gave them likewise the stimulus and the strength to follow those teachings. His own life, the force of his utterances, the ease with which he slipped into the highest Samadhi and his communion with Divine Realities—all these were as a great Light by which they gained a glorious spiritual consciousness. Coming at a time when Naren was being buffeted on all sides, the Master’s teaching sank deep into his heart to remain there for ever, a beacon light to show him the way through the wilderness of illusion.

When Doctor Mahendra Lai Sarkar, the Master’s attending physician, met Naren he was delighted with his conversations and invited him to dinner. Later when he heard him sing at Shyampukur, he was so pleased that he embraced and blessed him. He said to Shri Ramakrishna, “I am very glad to see that it is boys like him who come here for religious instruction. Naren is a real gem, fit to shine in any sphere of life.” The Master replied, “They say that the fiery appeal of Advaita Goswami brought about the Incarnation of Shri Gaurdnga at Nadia. Similarly everything that you see here (meaning his own advent) is on account of him (Narendra Nath).”

Of all the disciples of the Master, Naren, though very young, possessed the most penetrating intellect, as was shown by his keen observation and comprehensive outlook on life. This, in a measure, made him their natural leader, competent to chide as well as to guide, as will be shown by what follows.

While companionship with Shri Ramakrishna and wholehearted service to him gave the devotees increased faith and devotion, they were unconsciously walking on a very dangerous road. The emotions of the boys were more or less stirred up by the tragic picture unfolding before their eyes. To those of them who were of the more sentimental type, these emotions were insidiously replacing the sterner ideals of renunciation and self-restraint which are the bed-rock of spirituality. Emotion is good in its place, but it is not the goal—and too much indulgence therein might even cause one to miss the object to be attained. Of course, there were some reasons for their taking this mistaken view of spirituality. The mind naturally seeks the line of least resistance trying to make a compromise between God and the world, between renunciation and enjoyment. Few realise their contradictory nature and are satisfied with a partial success in spiritual matters. Shri Ramakrishna, knowing this, tested new-comers to see if their idea was of a comfortable religion, one that would not interfere with the satisfaction of their worldly desires. In such cases he never gave the entire spiritual truth but contented himself with imparting as much as they would find easy to accept and assimilate. This made for individual training. Of course, his instruction to householders was different from that given to his young boys not yet contaminated by the world. His general instructions were still different. There we find him saying, “In this Kali-Yuga the only way to cultivate spirituality is by chanting the name of the Lord and following the path of devotion as marked out by the sage Narada.” The devotees, however, did not realise the full significance of these words, that Narada taught complete renunciation of the world through love of God by a gradual process.

Another cause of the devotees’ error seems to have been their lack of comprehension of the significance of Shri Rama-krishna’s life. In moments of spiritual uplift they would see the Master weep and dance before he became lost in Samadhi. But his emotion, unlike theirs, had as its background a life of stern austerity and uncompromising renunciation and was evidence of strength rather than weakness. The situation had come to this pass when Girish Chandra Ghose arrived on the scene. Girish openly proclaimed the Master to be an Incarnation of God, and he tried. to induce everyone to share his conviction. This proved nearly fatal to the disciples, for

Girish’s case was a unique one. With none of his sincerity; there were some who went about declaring that they had given Shri Ramakrishna the “power of attorney” like Girish in spiritual matters and had therefore no need of any discipline, Girish soon was supported in his views by Ram Chandra Datta who thought the Master to be Shri Krishna and Shri Gauranga. Encouraged by Girish’s public announcement, he busied himself in working out fully his Incarnation theory and even went so far as to assign to different devotees the respective roles they had played with the above-named Incarnations. Those who displayed the greatest amount of sentimentality were spiritually the highest in his estimation.

Matters were brought to a head by Vijay Krishna Goswami, the great Brahmo preacher, who, though not a disciple of the Master, had had a vision of him as he sat in meditation in his room at Dacca. He lost no time in going to see the Master to tell him, “I have travelled all over the country and met many spiritual persons. But I have found none like you. Here is the full quota of sixteen annas1 ; whereas at other places I have found but two, three or four annas at the most. I saw you at Dacca in a vision and I have no doubts of you. People do not understand you because you are so easy of access. You live very near to Calcutta. The mere wish brings us to you. There is no difficulty of conveyance. Therefore, we cannot properly estimate your value. But had you been seated on the summit of a high mountain, the journey to which would mean great trouble and hardships, then we would have regarded you in a different light. Now we think that if such a very spiritual man lives near us, how great must be the spirituality of those who live far off! That is why we roam hither and thither in quest of spirituality instead of coming to see you.”

1 Sixteen annas make a rupee.

It may be easily seen that Vijay’s presence at Shyampukur caused the smouldering embers to burst into flame. The belief in the Master as a Divine Incarnation spread among the devotees like wild fire. Some of them waited in eager expectancy for miraculous manifestations of Shri Ramakrishna’s divine power; others would fall into partial trances accompanied by convulsions on hearing devotional music or the like.

Narendra Nath was the first to realise the dangers of the path the devotees were taking. He tried to convince the young disciples of their danger by telling them, “The effusion of sentiment which is not attended by a corresponding transformation of character and which is not strong enough to destroy the cravings of lust and gold by awakening in the heart an enthusiasm for the vision of God—is neither deep nor of any real value in the realm of spirituality. Physical contortions, tears, horripilations, and even momentary trance which result from this wrong emotion are, in reality, hysterical. These should be controlled by a determined effort. If that fails, one should take a nutritious diet or even consult a doctor. For unconsciously, you are feigning these things. It is only in rare individuals of gigantic spirituality that those emotions, overflowing the walls of restraint and appearing as trance or the shedding of tears, etc. are genuine. But ignorant people do not realise this and think that these outward symptoms, of themselves, indicate deep spiritual fervour. So instead of practising restraint, devotion and renunciation, they studiously cultivate these effusions with the result that their weakened nerves respond in this way to the slightest religious stimulus. If this is allowed to go on unchecked, the result is physical and mental disaster. Of one hundred persons who take up the spiritual life eighty turn out to be charlatans and fifteen become insane. Only the remaining five may be blessed with a vision of real truth. Therefore beware.”

That Naren was right was proved when it transpired later that some of those emotional outbursts had been carefully rehearsed at home ; other cases were mere imitation. These yielded to an increase of food and sustained efforts at self-control. When these simple methods failed, Naren would make the individual the butt of searing ridicule. He hated the weakness that prompted the surrender of straightforwardness and discrimination. He placed positive ideals before the young disciples and tried to appeal to their innate strength. He surcharged with the ideals of austerity and real dispassion for the ephemeral objects of the world. He would depict to them in glowing colours the soul-stirring events of the Master’s Sadhana period and keep them spellbound by dwelling on his real greatness. Quoting from the Imitation of Christ, he would say, “If one really loves the Lord, one must mould one’s life according to the ideals of the Master. Therefore this is the real touchstone of our love for Shri Ramakrishna.” Again he would remind them of the Master’s teaching, “Keep the knowledge of Advaita in your pocket, and then act as you like in the world/’ He explained to them that the emotional side of the Master’s life was founded upon discrimination, and that therefore they must, above all, in their efforts to imitate him, try to discriminate between the real and the unreal.

While Naren was thus engaged in his own spiritual pursuits and in shaping the character of his young brother-disciples, the condition of the Master was going from bad to worse. Medicines proved of no avail. Dr. Mahendra Lai thought that it might be due to the foul and congested air of Calcutta and advised removal to some garden-house in the suburbs. After a vigorous search the garden-house belonging to Gopal Chandra Ghosh at Cossipore was hired on rupees eighty a month. On the afternoon of 11th December, 1885, the Master was removed to the new premises. He felt much refreshed at this new place «on account of its beautiful scenery, free air and solitude.

COSSIPORE AND THE PASSING OF THE MASTER

With Cossipore is ushered in the last scene of the wonderful life of the Master, the pathos and sublimity of which is like the melting beauty of the setting sun. These were days of intense physical suffering, yet of ineffable bliss, for he felt that he had fulfilled his mission on earth and was leaving behind him a number of youthful, all-renouncing and determined disciples who would carry on his message. His great hope lay in Narendra Nath and even on his death-bed he devoted himself to the task of moulding his and some of the others’ lives and characters. Of his approaching end he gave ample hints to the devotees:    “I shall make the whole thing public before I go”, “When people in large numbers will begin to whisper about the greatness of this body, then the Mother will take it back”, “Devotees will be sifted into inner and outer circles towards the end”, and so on.

Naren grew in power and spiritual vigour from day to day, while Shri Ramakrishna grew worse, although in his mind and heart burned the same divine flame, all the greater in its luminousness and intensity because of his physical sufferings. The disciples nursed him faithfully, making their service to the Guru, literally, an act of worship. But nothing could stay the progress of the disease. The Master was again commanded by his physician not to strain his throat by talking. But he could not resist the urge to transmit his knowledge to the multitude of religious aspirants who flocked to him at all hours.

Day after day the body of the Master grew weaker and weaker. The boys, under the direction and supervision of Naren, gave all their time to nursing him. This required that they stay day and night at the Cossipore garden. It meant serious objections and opposition from their guardians. Naren had been then studying for the law examination and at this time the lawsuit with some of his relatives, which we have mentioned, was pending in the Courts of Calcutta. The latter made it imperative for him to be in Calcutta part of the time ; but he resolved to do his studying in the time left to him at Cossipore.

Shri Ramakrishna was now practically alone with these young men. Having given up their homes for the time at the urgent desire of Naren, they gave themselves up in unparalleled living and devoted service to Shri Ramakrishna. Naren was to them a constant source of inspiration. During their leisure periods, he would gather them together, and the time was spent in study, music, conversations and discussions of the divine traits of their Master’s character. Naren’s personality was like a blazing fire, the welding heat of which united the various heterogeneous elements of the boys into a homogeneous whole, possessed, as it were, of one body and one soul. They were twelve1 in number, every one of them a tower of strength in consecration and single-minded devotion.

1 The names of these twelve are Narendra, Rakhal, Baburam, Niranjan, Yogin, Latu, Tarak, Gopal Senior, Kali, Shashi, Sharat, and& Gopal Junior. Sarada on account of the persecution of his father used to come only now and then and stay for a day or two.Harish stayed only for a few days, after which this brain was deranged and he went home. Hari and GangAdhar would come intervals and practise Tapasya at home.

As the end of the Master came nearer, Narendra Nath’s hankering after the realisation of God increased and intensified. His heart was like a seething cauldron. One night after deciding to go home for a day or two to settle some household affairs he went to bed but could not sleep. Calling Sharat, Junior Gopal and a few others to him he said, “Come, let us have a walk in the garden”. As they walked about Naren said, “The Master’s disease is most severe. May it not be that he intends to lay down his body! Strive your best for spiritual uplift through service unto him and prayer and meditation, while yet there is time. After his passing away, there will be no end to your repentance. We are wasting our time in the foolish thought that we shall pray to God after finishing this or that business at hand. That is only fastening more, chains of desires on us, and desire means death. We must root that out at once.”

In that cold starry night they felt a great urge to meditation. A stack of dry hay and twigs was lying near. Naren said, “Set fire to it. It is at this hour that the monks light their Dhuni fires. Let us do the same and bum our desires.” The fire was lighted, and the boys sat around it, feeling that they were really making a bonfire of their desires and being actually purged of all impurities.

One day Shri Ramakrishna initiated Naren with the name of Rama, telling him that it was the Mantra which he had received from his own Gum. In consequence of this, Naren’s emotions were stirred to tremendous heights. Towards the evening he began to encircle the house, repeating the name of the Lord “Rama! Rama!” in a high and excited voice. All outward consciousness had apparently gone, and he was full of ecstatic fire. When the Master was informed of this, he only said, “Let him be, he will come round in due course.” The emotional storm subsided in a few hours, and Naren became his old self again.

The Cossipore garden-house became a Temple and a University Hall in one. At times philosophy held the floor; again devotion rose high ; singing and chanting would fill the time that could be snatched from nursing. The Master would send Naren and other disciples to meditate. And Naren in the intensity of his meditations had many realisations. Or the Master would ask him to sing; and in his song great waves of rapturous love for God would sweep over him carrying him on to regions of pure ecstasy.

The following conversation between Narendra and Mahendra, a lay disciple of the Master, gives an idea of Naren’s mental condition at the time:

Narendra: “Last Saturday (2nd January, 1886), I was meditating here. Suddenly I felt a strange creeping sensation in the chest.”

Mahendra:    “It was the awakening of the Kundalini.”

Narendra:    “Probably so. I clearly felt Ida and Pingali, and asked Hazra to put his hand on my chest. Yesterday I saw Shri Ramakrishna upstairs and said, ‘Everyone has been blessed with some sort of realisation. Let me, too, have something. When all have got it, shall I alone be left out?’ He said, ‘Make some arrangements for your family, and you shall have all. What do you want?’ I said, ‘I wish to remain immersed in Samadhi for three or four days at a stretch—breaking it just to take food.’ He said, ‘You are a fool. There is a state higher than that even. Do you not sing, ‘Thou art all that there is?’ Come here after making some provision for your family, and you shall realise a state even higher than Samadhi.’

“This morning I went home. They took me to task for neglecting my studies when I should be busy preparing myself for my examination. I went to study at my grandmother’s house. But as I was about to begin, I was seized with a sort of dread, as if it were a most horrible thing to read! A struggle raged in my heart. I never wept like that in my life! Then leaving my books and all, I ran here. My shoes slipped off somewhere on the road. I was running past a rick of straw and some fibres flew out and stuck to my body! I ran and ran till I reached here.”

That very night at about nine o’clock, in spite of the aggravation of his complaint, the Master spoke in whispers or by signs of Narendra. He said, “Look at the wonderful state of Narendra! There was a time when he did not believe in the Personal aspect of God. Now see how he pants for realisation! ” Then he gave a hint that Naren was soon to reach the goal. That very night Naren with some of his brother-disciples left for Dakshineswar to practise meditation.

There was nothing unnatural in Naren’s request. It is the heartfelt desire and ambition of every sincere Sadhaka of all ages and climes to feel the ecstasy of merging himself in God. Samadhi is the culmination of spirituality. But Naren was bom for the fulfilment of a higher and greater purpose. He was to be not only a Siddha-purusha—a perfect soul—but a saviour of souls as well. He was not only to cross the ocean of Maya himself, but to help others to do so. From that standpoint individual liberation was destined for Naren to be comparatively insignificant. Shri Ramakrishna was fully aware of this as was shown by his telling Naren that he would make him realise a higher and nobler state than Samadhi. He wanted Naren to be a Jnani and a Bhakta in one, to see God in His various forms as well as in the Absolute State.

On another day the Master asked, “Why do you not continue your college studies?” The young disciple replied with emotion, “Sir, I would feel relieved if I could find a drug by taking which I might forget for all time all that I have learnt.” All this time Naren was practising many austerities and meditating a great deal, spending night after night under the Panchavati before a Dhuni fire. The Master had initiated him into various paths of spiritual discipline, and in carrying out these injunctions Naren attained remarkable results. Shri Ramakrishna was silently preparing him to be the head of the group of young monks who were to consecrate their lives in the near future to carrying out his mission on this earth. One day the Master expressly commissioned him to look after the young devotees, saying, “I leave them to your care. See that they practise spiritual exercises even after my passing away and that they do not return home.”

One day, in preparation for the prospective monastic life, the Master commanded the young boys to beg food from door to door. They consented immediately with enthusiasm ; and with the name of the Lord upon their lips they went forth to beg in the neighbourhood. They had varied experiences ; some were abused for neglecting their duties ; the sight of others caused many mothers to shed tears. The food which they collected in this manner was cooked in the garden and offered to the Master, who was overjoyed. He took a grain of rice and said, “Well done! This food is very pure.” He knew that soon these young boys would put on the ochre robe of renunciation and go forth empty-handed in quest of God, begging what food was necessary from pious householders.

It is interesting to see how the Master was strengthening the bonds between himself and his disciples. Naren, of course, was the central figure. He was looked up to because of Shri Ramakrishna’s high estimate of his spiritual worth. Then, too, he was the most intellectual of them all. He had combined reason and secular knowledge with his devotional nature, besides being more strongly fortified in his religious convictions. When the Master’s teaching and the monastic tendencies of himself and his fellow disciples were challenged, his explanations were irresistibly logical. And in speaking for himself, he spoke for his fellow disciples. It was he who fired them with a great enthusiasm by the power of his remarkable personality. Did any differences or difficulties arise they would come to him for their solution. Shri Ramakrishna encouraged this in innumerable ways. He told them all that Naren was their leader, and made them feel that the spiritual understanding of his chief disciple should be their infallible guide in the days that were to come. And many of the disciples did understand the Master the better through Naren. He explained that great life to them. His understanding of the Master was their understanding and strength.

In the midst of all his strivings and hankerings for the realisation of Truth, he never lost sight of his Master, but remembered that it was he who, through his infinite grace, was preparing him for the realisation of God. The Master was his friend, philosopher and Guru, all in one. The Master’s illness was constantly in his mind. One day, about this time, Pandit Shashadhar Tarkachudamani, a great Hindu scholar and a devotee of the Master, came to Cossipore. In course of the conversation, the Pandit said, “Sir, it is written in the scriptures that perfect souls like you can cure any physical malady by a mere wish. If you would but concentrate your mind on the affected part, determined that it shall be cured, the cure will take place. Why don’t you try it, sir?” Shri Ramakrishna replied without a moment’s hesitation, “You are a scholar and yet you make such a senseless proposal! I have given my mind once for all to God. How is it possible for me to take it away and concentrate it upon this cage of rotten flesh and blood?” The Pandit was silenced. After he had left, Naren and a few disciples begged the Master to heal himself saying, “Sir, you must get rid of this disease, at least for our sake.”

Shri Ramakrishna: “Do you think that I undergo this suffering voluntarily? I would like to see it cured. But it is. still there. Everything depends upon the sweet will of the Divine Mother.”

Naren: “Then, please tell the Mother to cure you. She cannot hut listen to your prayer.”

Shri Ramakrishna: “It is easy for you to talk like that. But I can never say such things.”

Naren: “But that will not do. You must tell the Mother about it, at least for our sake.”

Shri Ramakrishna: “Very well. Let me see what can be done.”

After a few hours, Naren came back and said, “Did you ask the Mother about it? What was Her reply?” The Master said, “I said to Her, pointing to iny throat, ‘I cannot eat anything on account of a sore here. Please see that I may eat a little.’ The Mother replied, pointing to you all, ‘Why, are you not eating through so many mouths! ‘ I was so ashamed that I could not utter another word.”

Naren was startled at these words. What an absence of body-consciousness! What a firm realisation of the Truth of Advaita! Naren knew then that his Master was really unique in his realisations.

Meditation was becoming a fixed habit with Naren and manifested itself outwardly in the power to plunge the mind into the deepest concentration upon any subject. Naren was now sensing spiritual powers within him. He knew moments when he literally touched divinity and was made physically conscious of Reality by the spiritual transfiguration of the functions and faculties of the senses. His thought, became a sweeping power. And on one occasion he displayed this:

It was in March of 1886. Naren was seated with three or four brother-disciples in a room in the Cossipore garden on the night of the Shivaratri. They had fasted the whole day and intended to spend the night in meditation, worship and prayer.

A mild shower of rain feel in the evening and small patches of fleecy clouds spread over the starlit sky. The worship of the first part of the night finished, Naren was talking with his brother-disciples. For one reason or another the different devotees left the room and Naren was left alone with Kali (subsequently Swami Abhedananda). Suddenly he desired to test on Kali his power to transmit a certain high consciousness of the Advaita Vedanta which he himself possessed. He said to Kali, “After a few minutes, touch me.” When a brother-disciple re-entered The room, he found Narendra and Kali seated in a meditative posture. Presently Kali touched Naren’s right knee with his right hand, which began to tremble. After a minute or two Naren said to Kali, “All right. How did you feel!” “I felt,” replied Kali, “a shock as though from an electric battery.” The third disciple asked, “Kali, was it Naren’s touch that made your hand shake?” “Yes,” Kali answered, “I could not keep my hand steady though I tried.”

After finishing the midnight worship, the young men again sat for meditation. Kali this time became absorbed in deep meditation, quite unconscious of the outer world. Those present concluded that it was all due to Naren’s touch. When the worship was finished, Naren went to see the Master. As he entered the room, the Master said, “Well, you are frittering away your power before you have accumulated enough. Gather it first and then you will understand how much of it you should spend and in what way. Mother will let you know. Do you understand what great harm you have done to that boy by infusing your idea into him? He had been following a particular line for a long time. All is spoilt now. Well, let bygones be bygones. Never do it again. However, the boy is lucky.” Naren was totally dumbfounded. Shri Rarnakrishna knew, although he was in his room, what was going on in the garden. Naren kept silent at the Master’s reproof.

Shri Ramakrishna was sinking daily. The anxiety and grief of the devotees knew no bounds. They redoubled their efforts to serve him. The young men made Cossipore garden their home much to the chagrin of their guardians. The householders defrayed all expenses most ungrudgingly. All felt that the chief support of their life was going to be taken away. The sight of the haemorrhage would send a thrill of horror into their hearts. But the Master, in the midst of all sufferings, looked as cheerful as ever, for he recognised the benign hand of the Divine Mother behind all this. When the pain became unbearable, he would whisper with a smile, “Let the body and the pain take care of each other, thou, oh my mind, be always in bliss 1“ One night he whispered to Mahendra, “1 am bearing all this because otherwise you would be weeping. If you all say that it is better that the body should go rather than suffer so, let it go.” To other devotees he said, “The disease is naturally of the body. I see many forms of the Lord, and this (his own form) too, is one of them.”

Next morning (March 15, 1886) the Master felt a little better. He was talking with the devotees in whispers or by signs. Naren, Rakhal, Mahendra and a few others who were present appeared very gloomy and depressed.

Shri Ramakrishna: “Do you know what I see? It is He who has become all this. Men and animals that I see appear to be but frameworks coated with skin, and through them He is moving the head and limbs! As I once saw in a vision, all—the garden, houses, roads, men and cattle—everything made of wax, composed of the same substance!

“I see that He Himself has become the executioner, the victim and the sacrificial post!”

As he said this he fell into Samddhi and lost all outward consciousness. Returning partially from that state, he said, “Now I have no pain—I am perfectly at ease!”

The disciples were startled to find how he could so easily detach himself from the body-idea and go beyond all relative pleasure and pain. Looking at Latu, the Master said, “There sits Latu, leaning his head upon his hand. It seems to me as if the Lord is seated in that posture.”

As he cast his eyes upon the disciples, he appeared to melt in love. Like a mother, he began to caress Rakhal and Naren and said to Mahendra, “Had this body been allowed to last a little longer, many more people would have been spiritually awakened/’ He paused a little, and said, “But that is not the wish of the Mother.” Repeating the same sentence he said, “No, the Mother, has ordained otherwise. Lest people should take advantage of my simplicity and illiteracy, and prevail upon me to bestow upon them the rare gifts of spirituality, She will take me away. And this is an age when devotional exercises are at a sad discount.”

Rakhal (tenderly):    “Please ask Her to let your body last.”

Shri Ramakrishna:    “That depends upon Her will.”

Narendra:    “Your will has become one with Hers.”

Shri Ramakrishna paused for a minute and said, “I now see that my will is entirely merged in Hers.”

The devotees sat silent. Shri Ramakrishna tenderly gazed upon them and said:

“Here (i.e. within him) are two personalities. One is God and the other is His devotee. It is the latter who broke his arm and who is ill. Do you understand?”

The devotees kept quiet. The Master added, “Alas I To whom shall I tell this and who will understand me?” After a pause, “He comes as a man—as an Incarnation. He brings His devotees with Him. The devotees again return with Him.” Rakhal:    “So you must not leave us behind.”

Shri Ramakrishna (smiling):    “A band of minstrels suddenly appear before a house. They sing and dance, and go away as suddenly as they came—nobody knows them! ”

After a short pause he resumed:    “Pain is unavoidable so long as there is form. Therefore, I sometimes wish that I may not have to assume this form again. But still there is the other side of the shield. Through the body one may taste divine bliss. Otherwise everything appears insipid. After going to feasts repeatedly one does not enjoy the humdrum food at home. That the Lord takes on a form is for the sake of His devotees/’ Looking affectionately at Naren, the Master gave him some instructions about Pure Knowledge and the state of a man after realisation.

Shri Ramakrishna (to Naren):    “Always discriminate as to whether you are body, mind or intellect. Try to discover your real nature. The real Self is unattached. Sattva, Rajas and Tamas are the three qualities. But It is not attached to any of these.”

Naren:    “Yes, sir.”

Shri Ramakrishna:    “It is beyond qualities; beyond ignorance. Lust and gold is Maya. Knowledge, renunciation and devotion—these are the divine attributes of Maya. Though you and other devotees are anxious about me through some attachment, yet it does not bring bondage to the soul. It leads to the highest realisation of the Self. Even after realisation some retain relationship with Maya—1 mean its divine attributes to serve as a teacher to mankind and to taste the felicity of divine relationship with God and His devotees.”

Naren:    “Some get cross with me when I advocate the need of renunciation.”

Shri Ramakrishna (in a whisper):    “One must renounce.

(Pointing to his limbs) Suppose one thing is placed under another. If you want to take the former, won’t you remove the latter? Can you get at that without removing this one?” Naren:    “Quite so.”

Shri Ramakrishna:    “When you see everything saturated with That, can you see anything else?”

Naren:    “Must one renounce the world?”

Shri Ramakrishna:    “As I said, if you see everything saturated with That, can you see anything else—family or the like?” The Master was looking at Naren most tenderly. Addressing the devotees, he said, “Capital!” Naren asked with a smile, “What do you mean by that?” The Master replied smiling, “You are swiftly progressing towards renunciation.” Rakhal said, “Naren now appreciates you thoroughly.” To which the Master replied, “Yes, and many others too do the same.” Then to Naren and others he said, “I now realise that everything has come out of this.” He asked Naren if he had understood the meaning of that. Naren said, “All created things have come out of you.” Shri Ramakrishna was delighted and said to Rakhal:    “Do you see! He has understood!”

This remarkable conversation was illuminating to Naren in many respects. He had come to the Master with many doubts, regarding the very existence of God, His nature and the Incarnations. The Master, at first, tried to convince Naren through his intellect. Therefore, he propounded to him the theory of Advaita Vedanta which makes an irresistible appeal to reason. Naren assimilated this idea quickly but longed to go on to the vision of Brahman, beyond name and form and all relative settings. He wanted to realise the Self in Samadhi. The Master promised to take him to a higher plane than that—to the realisation that Brahman not only transcends the universe, but is also immanent in it. All that exists is Brahman. The aspirant reaches a high stage of illumination when he realises the universe as the manifestation of Truth, the relative as only another phase of the Absolute. The man of highest realisation passes easily from one state to the other. Naren now realised that it is possible for the same transcendental Truth to embody Itself in a human form, and that to know the Incarnation is to know the Absolute. To see the Son is to see the Father. And no one can see the Father except through the Son. To embrace the universe after transcending it is the last divine sacrifice. Naren saw Shri Ramakrishna in a new light. He further realised that the paths of Devotion and Knowledge lead to the same goal, that Love is the culmination of Realisation, the Jacob’s ladder through which the man of realisation connects the Absolute with the relative.

At one time the sole topic of discussion and meditation among the disciples in their leisure hours was the career and gospel of Lord Buddha, the Enlightened One. The main speaker and the inspirer was of course Naren. He had saturated himself with Buddhistic lore. For the time he was a Buddhist in spirit. The towering intellect of the Enlightened One, the eminent sanity of his views, his uncompromising demand for Truth, his burning renunciation, his compassionate heart, his sweet, deep and luminous personality, his sublime morality, and the manner in which he struck the balance between metaphysics and human character—all these had aroused tremendous enthusiasm in Naren. He forgot everything else for the time being. Naren’s enthusiasm was contagious and spread to the other disciples. They were all determined, like Buddha, to realise Truth even at the sacrifice of life itself. They inscribed in bold characters upon the wall of the meditation room, “Let my body dry up, as it were, on this seat; let the flesh thereof and the bones sink into dissolution ; without realising that Enlightenment which is difficult to attain even in aeons, this body shall not rise from its seat.” Instinctively Naren’s mind turned to Buddha Gaya, the place of the Tathagata’s illumination, where these pregnant words were uttered, and he determined to go there and meditate under the sacred Bo-tree. He confided this only to Tarak and Kali. Tarak arranged for the passage money, and about the beginning of the month of April in the year 1886, Naren with Tarak and Kali crossed the Ganga for the Railway station at Bally. Since they left no information as to their journey, their friends became very anxious, thinking that they might have renounced the world to take up the life of the wandering monk and that they might never return. Subsequently it was learned that the three boys had gone to Buddha Gaya, dressed in Gerua, to practise austerities.

The three friends alighted at Gaya and walked seven miles to the place of Buddha’s illumination. The wonderful solitude of the place and its sweet associations gladdened their hearts beyond expectation. One evening when all was silent and hushed, they repaired to the stone seat under the sacred Bodhi tree and sat in meditation. The silence of the evening hour and the solemnity of his thought stirred the depths of Naren’s emotional nature. Suddenly he burst into tears, and putting his arm about Tarak seated next to him, he embraced him with wonderful tenderness. Startled, Tarak asked him the reason for this demonstration. Naren said that as he meditated, the sublime character of Buddha, his wonderful compassion, his humane teachings, and the subsequent history of India transformed by the magic wand of Buddhism—all these presented themselves before his vision in such glowing colours, like pictures seen in a kaleidoscope, that he could not control his feelings.

Naren and his companions stayed three or four days at Buddha Gaya as guests of the Mahant of the temple. At the end of that time they began to feel a desire to see the Master again. Part of the passage money was obtained from the Mahant, and they came to Gaya town, where Naren met an old acquaintance of his father, a practising lawyer of Gaya who invited the three young monks to a soiree at his home. The invitation was accepted, and Naren added to the enjoyment of the evening by singing a number of songs. The remainder of the passage money was contributed by the kindly host, and soon they were back to the Cossipore garden. The Master was overjoyed to see his beloved Naren and made him tell all that he had seen, heard, felt and thought at Buddha Gaya.

Naren was indelibly impressed with what he had seen and realised there, and for some days could talk of nothing else.

One day, on the 9th of April, 1886, shortly after his return, he had the following conversation with the Master and his brother-disciples.

Shri Ramakrishna (to Mahendra):    “Naren had been to Buddha Gaya”

Mahendra (to Naren):    “What is the philosophy of Buddha?”

Naren:    “He could not express in words what he had realised ; therefore people call him an atheist.”

Shri Ramakrishna (by signs): “Why should he be an atheist? No, he was not an atheist. Only he could not express his realisation in words. Do you know the meaning of the word Buddha? It means that by thinking of Consciousness, one becomes Consciousness Itself.”

Naren:    “Yes, sir. There are three classes of Buddhas — Buddha, Arhat. and Bodhisattva.”

Shri Ramakrishna:    “This is also the play of God—a new sport. How could Buddha be an atheist? The state of being conscious of one’s Self cannot be described as existence or nonexistence.”

Naren (to Mahendra):    “Here contradictions meet. Oxygen and hydrogen constitute water ; again they produce the oxy-hydrogen flame. In this Buddha state both work and inactivity are perfectly possible—I mean selfless work. Worldly people, those who are engrossed in sense-objects, speak of the world as existence ; again those who believe in the theory of Maya speak of it as non-existence. The Buddha state is neither existence nor non-existence.”

Shri Ramakrishna (to Naren):    “What does Buddha say?”

Naren:    “He did not speak about the existence of God.

But he exhibited mercy towards all. A hawk was going to devour a bird which was its prey and Buddha offered his own flesh in place of the victim’s. What renunciation! The son of a king, he renounced everything! There is nothing wonderful in the renunciation of a man who has no possessions.

“After becoming enlightened and realising Nirvana, he at once returned to the ancestral home and requested his wife, his child and many of the royal family to embrace the life of monasticism. What a great renunciation! But contrast it with the conduct of Vvasadeva. He prevented Shukadeva, his son, from renouncing the world and advised him to practise religion at home. Buddha did not believe in power or anything of the kind. He spoke only of the annihilation of desires. He sat for meditation under a tree and said, ‘Let this body dry up here’, i.e. let me die on this spot if I cannot attain to Nirvana. This body is a great rogue. Nothing can be achieved without controlling it.”

Shashi:    “Why then do you say that meat produces the quality of Saliva? You advocate meat-eating, don’t you?”

Naren:    “Yes. I do. But I can also live on rice alone,even without salt.”

Shri Ramakrislina (to Naren):    “Well, you find here (meaning his own self) everything, don’t you? It is like a grocer’s shop which keeps everything, even the smallest titbit.”

Naren:    “Yes, sir, having attained all these states, you keep yourself, as it were, at a lower level.”

Shri Ramakrishna:    “Yes. it is, as if someone keeps me there.”

Picking up his fan the Master said, “When I realised God, He was as tangible as this fan. Furthermore, I saw that God and that which resides in this body (pointing to himself) are one and the same thing.”

Naren said, “The perfected soul attains his own liberation, but retains the sense of ‘I’ and ‘mine’ and suffers from the pain and pleasure of the body for the redemption of humanity. We work on compulsion ; it is like coolie’s work. He does it for the fun of the thing.”

The few days that were left to Shri Ramakrishna on this plane were memorable ones for the disciples. One day, Gopal Senior, one of the disciples, brought some Gerua clothes and Rudraksha beads to the Master for distribution among Sadhus. The Master said. “Here are boys full of renunciation. You won’t be able to find better monks anywhere. Distribute the clothes and beads amongst them.” One evening he called the boys, the future apostles of the Ramakrishna Order and put themthrough a certain ceremony. Thereafter they were permitted to take food from all irrespective of caste and creed. The Master himself initiated these boys as monks, fulfilling their heart’s desire. Thus was sown the seed of the future Ramakrishna Order, which was to grow and develop into a mighty organisation.

Now, we come to the greatest moment of Naren’s Sadhana, the very crest and glory of his spiritual realisations. Ever since the Master had initiated him into the intellectual and spiritual awareness of the Advaita Vedanta, he was pining for a vision of the Absolute. He prayed to feel Divinity ; to have the whole of Nature erased from the tablets of perception. To lose the T in order to plunge into the Region of True Being which is even beyond thought—such was Naren’s prayer to Shri Ramakrishna. Naren wanted to realise the very spirit of the Upanishads and be able to say from experience that which is the last utterance of the human soul and the first note of Divine Consciousness—“Aham Brahmasmi”. I am Brahman!

Naren had teased the Master for this realisation but of no avail. One evening however it came unexpectedly. He was meditating, when suddenly he felt a light at the back of his head, as if a torch-light had been placed there. It became more and more brilliant, larger and larger and finally seemed to burst. His mind became merged in it. What transpired then in his consciousness was beyond words, for that Absolute State is beyond description. Afterwards he wrote some verses, “The Hymn of Samadhi”, which best illustrate that exalted condition. It was all still and quiet in the room where Naren and Gopal Senior were meditating. Suddenly Gopal heard Naren cry out, “Gopalda, Gopalda, where is my body?” In partially descending from that state Naren had consciousness only of his head ; his body seemed lost. “Why, Naren, it is there, it is there,” answered Gopal startled beyond description as he looked at Naren’s rigid body. He then hastened for help to Shri Ramakrishna and found him in a state of intense calm, his countenance deeply serious as though he knew what was happening in the next room. In reply to Gopal’s demand for aid for Naren he said, “Let him stay in that state for a while. He has teased me long enough for it.”

1 Naren, Rakhal, Baburam, Yogin, Niranjan. Tarak, Sharat, Shashi, Latu, Kali and Gopal (senior).

About nine o’clock at night Naren began to show faint signs of returning consciousness. When he regained full consciousness of the physical world he found himself surrounded by his anxious brother-disciples. Memory came back. He felt as though he were bathed in ineffable peace. His heart was full to overflowing with ecstasy. He realised that the Absolute of Vedanta alone could reconcile all philosophies. When he presented himself to the Master, the latter said, looking deep into his eyes, “Now then, the Mother has shown you everything. Just as a treasure is locked up in a box, so will this realisation you have just had be locked up and the key shall remain with me. You have work to do. When you will have finished iny work, the treasure-box will be unlocked again ; and you will know everything then, just as you do now.” He warned him to be careful of his body for some time, and to exercise the utmost discretion in his choice of food and companions, accepting only the purest.

Afterwards Shri Ramakrishna said to the other disciples, “Naren will pass away only of his own will. The moment he realises who he is, he will refuse to stay a moment longer in the body. The time will come when he will shake the world to its foundations through the strength of his intellectual and spiritual powers! I have prayed that the’Divine Mother may keep this realisation of the Absolute veiled from Naren. There is much work to be done by him. But this veil is so very thin that it may give way at any time.” It was Naren’s intense desire to realise the absolute Brahman that decided Shri Ramakrishna to give it to him. But the Master had no intention of permitting him to stay there. As Naren’s work was to be in the sphere of compassion and service to humanity, he could not remain in Nirvikalpa Samadhi if he was to do it. It is only a Ramakrishna who is able to come from and go to the Absolute at will, and even he assured his return to ordinary consciousness by creating some desire, of the simplest and most childlike nature before going into Samadhi and repeating it insistently so that there was nothing left to chance. He would say, “I—I—I shall smoke”, ”1 shall have water to drink”.

The days passed in devotion, in service, in sorrow, in ecstasy—Naren leading, the others following. But few days were left before the soul of Shri Ramakrishna would pass into Nirvana, the Infinite Realisation. The time was near at hand when the light of this great life was to become extinct, to escape from the cage of the body. The disciples were untiring in their attention in spite of sleepless nights and busy days. What did it matter if their own bodies succumbed in his service? In August of the year 1886, people came and went by scores ; it seemed as if everyone who had ever known the Master felt that the end w as drawing near.

It was two years and six months since the Master had bound Naren over to the Mother, an event for which Shri Ramakrishna had waited for many years ; for after giving over the whole treasure of his realisations he would be free to depart. Naren used to say, later on, “From the time that he gave me over to the Mother, he retained his vigour of body only six months. The rest of the time he suffered.” Indeed, the power of the Master was being diverted into a new channel—into Naren who had been prepared for this by more than four years of spiritual training. Naren, at this time, was meditating with great intensity. One day he and Girish Babu sat under a tree to meditate. There were mosquitoes without number there, which disturbed Girish so much that he became restless. On opening his eyes he was amazed to see that Naren’s body was covered as if with a dark blanket, so vast was the number of mosquitoes upon him. But Naren was quite unconscious of them and had no recollection of these when he returned to his normal state.

Towards the close of the month of July the malady in the Master’s throat had made such progress that he could speak only in a whisper, or else make his wishes known by signs. The disciples were grief-stricken that he, their father, their guide, he who loved them all as a mother loves her children, who had borne patiently with them, and had given up his own life for them, was sinking daily. Often, the Master would call the young disciples to his side, caressing them lovingly, speaking eloquently by means of signs of the love he bore them. His constant thought was, “What will become of them without me?” But there was Naren!

It so happened that Naren had been called to the side of the Master some days earlier, when he was suffering intensely and could scarcely speak. The Master wrote on a piece of paper, “Narendra will teach others.” Naren hesitated and said, “I won’t do that.” But the Master replied, “You shall have to do it.” Some time before he had told Naren, “My Siddhis (powers) will manifest through you in time”, meaning thereby that Naren in later years, as a teacher, would in a miraculous way turn many of the most worldly-minded to the spiritual life.

Verily, Naren was the rock of Vedanta and the Master singled him out as the one upon whom to build the structure of the Modem Gospel of the Eternal Religion as he himself had realised it. Naren was overcome with emotion. A feeling of utmost humility came over him, commingled with poignant grief, for, in a way, it was an assurance from the Master’s own lips that the time for the Great Deliverance was close at hand.

Now that the last days were approaching, the Master set himself with greater energy’ than ever to mould, in a calm and silent way, the spiritual life of these boys, particularly that of Naren. Every evening he would call Naren to his room and for two or three hours at a time would impart final instructions to him on various spiritual subjects and advise him to keep his brother-disciples together, how to guide and train them so that they would be able to live the life of renunciation.

It was now only three or four days before the Masters Mahasamadhi. Shri Ramakrishna called Naren to him. Looking steadfastly at him he entered into deep meditation. Naren felt as if a subtle force, resembling an electric shock, were entering his body, and he lost all outer consciousness. When he came to, he found the Master weeping. Wondering, Naren asked Shri Ramakrishna why he wept, and was told, “Oh Naren, today I have given you my all and have become a Fakir, a penniless beggar. By the force of the power transmitted by me, great things will be done by you ; only after that will you go to whence you came.” Naren suddenly became the possessor of all the spiritual wealth of his Guru, acquired by years of superhuman efFort and at the cost of terrible austerities. Shri Ramakrishna willingly deprived himself of his powers in order that Naren might be endowed with spiritual omnipotence. When that which was Ramakrishna had completed its task in its human Incarnation and manifestation, it gave itself wholly and entirely to Naren, as one gives a flower or bestows a gift, for the good of the world.

A couple of days before the final Mahasamadhi of the Master, as Naren was standing by his bedside, a curious thought flashed across his mind, “He has said many times that he is an Incarnation of God. If I can make him say now as he is in the throes of death, in the midst of human anguish and physical pain, ‘1 am God incarnate*, then I will believe him!’* The moment this thought came to him, the Master turned towards him and summoning all his energy said distinctly, “O my Naren, are you not yet convinced? He who was Rama and Krishna is now Ramakrishna in this body—but not from the standpoint of your Vedanta!” Naren was stricken with remorse and shame for having doubted, even for a moment, after so many revelations.

The last two days were sad ones for the disciples. They knew that all would soon be over, and that they would be left fatherless in the darkness of the world. The Master’s suffering on the last day was intense. The physician was summoned but was unable to do anything. A little before dusk the Master complained of difficulty in breathing. Suddenly he entered into Samadhi. It was rather of an unusual kind. Some of the disciples began to weep. After midnight, Shri Ramakrishna regained consciousness of the physical world and said that he was hungry. He ate a small quantity of porridge and seemed better. Leaning against five or six pillows supported by Shashi he talked up to the last moment with Naren, and gave him his last counsel in a low voice. Then uttering thrice the name of Kali he lay gently back on the bed. Suddenly, at two minutes past one, on the 16th of August, 1886, a thrill passed through the Master’s body, the hair stood on end, the eyes became fixed on the tip of the nose, a divine smile lit up the face and the Master entered into trance, the Mahasamadhi from which he never returned to this mortal plane of existence. The curtain fell on a great spiritual life. The immortal spirit, so long confined in a physical casement, burst through its limitations of name and form, and became one with the Infinite Spirit. The barriers of time and space were broken, and he who had been the light and guide of a few souls, now became a spiritual beacon for the whole universe. Though the disciples knew all this, yet they were overwhelmed with grief. The more they looked upon the pallid face and rigid body of the Master, the more they wept. They felt themselves like helpless orphans; that benign smile would greet them no more, that radiant face would no longer console them ; the sweet words of peace and benedictions were hushed for ever; those lips which had spoken innumerable words of love and blessings were now sealed in death. They were stupefied.

The cot upon which the Master lay was brought down in the morning, the body was wrapt in ochre robes and adorned with sandal paste and flowers. For some time it stood in the ground of the Cossipore garden-house—the home of so many sweet, never-to-be-forgotten memories. Then a procession was formed, and to the sound of devotional music it was taken to the cremation ground on the Ganga, a little distance away. The disciples and devotees were in tears. All took turns in carrying the beloved burden of the Master’s form. Many of the spectators bowed before it.

At the ghat the body of the Master was tenderly laid upon the pyre prepared for it. The pyre was lighted ; incense and clarified butter were poured upon it, and in a couple of hours, everything was finished.

In the midst of this terrible grief, a spirit of calm resignation suddenly descended upon the heart of the disciples. Was he really gone? He who sacrificed his life for their welfare, could he have left them for ever? No, was not he, their Lord, the Soul of their souls, the same even in death as in life? If they were to believe his own words, he had simply passed from one chamber to another. Bereavement was transformed into ecstasy they had so often felt while the Master was in the body.

The ashes and other remains of the body were collected and put into an urn. Slowly and heavily they retraced their steps and entered the garden-house shouting “Jai Ramakrishna!”— “Victory’ to Bhagavan Shri Ramakrishna! ”

THE BARANAGORE MATH

The scene shifts from the burning – ghat to the Ramakrishna monastery at Baranagore after a few days’ sojourn at Cossipore, where the boys stayed until the lease expired. The young disciples are now seen garbed in the ochre robes of the monk and grouped together as the Brotherhood of Shri Ramakrishna, with Narendra as the leader. The relics of the Master are now reposed in the monastery in a room set apart for the purpose, where religious services before the picture of Shri Ramakrishna are conducted. The boys faced the direst poverty, but it had no terrors for them. So rapt were they in their desire to follow the injunctions of the Master that, forgetting sleep, they spent night after night in prayer and spiritual exercises. Naren spurred them on to burning renunciation and intense devotion. After passing through the travail of a new birth, after answering the challenges of internal and external nature, these young-disciples emerged as apostles of a new Dispensation.

Narendra Nath’s pathway to the place where he became the world-renowned Swami Vivekananda was not an easy one. He had to face starvation and intense physical as well as mental agony, and undergo the pain of martyrdom before he gained acknowledgment from the world. The boy who acquired spiritual power and realisation became the saint and the prophet who distributed the fruits of realisation and translated personal power into impersonal service. Naren, the disciple, became Swami Vivekananda—the teacher. He who sat at the feet of Shri Ramakrishna is now the master of numerous devotees and disciples. He, who as the disciple of Shri Ramakrishna sought for spiritual illumination, becomes himself the focus of a contagious spirituality. Narendra Nath is transformed into the monk Vivekananda and the spirit of Shri Ramakrishna pervades him. And yet, as the few following chapters will show, this was not the work of a day or a month. It was a gradual process.

There was no miracle in it. The story is intensely human and of the greatest interest to all seekers after Truth.

From now on, one is ushered into a world where the untiring energy of the great soul of Swami Vivekananda is made manifest through a tremendous will, which builds and expands his life-work to vast spiritual proportions. Here we see suffering and the meeting with and overcoming of difficulties. One is brought face to face with a powerful, fiery and yet most human personality whose presence is suggestive of the great peace beyond the strife of life. There is laughter and sweet human sentiment as well, for he enjoyed life and was filled with a joyous sense of humour and fun and light-heartedness. In his heart he was always the boy of Dakshincswar. But one never knew when some revelation of the supreme illumination of his thought and the great depth of his spirituality, some sudden transition from fun to spiritual illumination, from the heights of thought to the joyousness of laughter, would come. And yet he was always the monk, the prophet, the teacher. It was as if his soul was constantly with God, and his thought and love always in the service of man.

The death of Mahapurushas, whilst productive of great sorrow, creates a great urge towards the attainment of the highest ideals. So it was with the devotees and disciples after the passing of Shri Ramakrishna. They were overwhelmed with a powerful desire to attain the most exalted consciousness, and they found themselves strengthened by the knowledge that the work of the Man of Dakshineswar was not to end with the death of the body ; that it was to express itself in an eternal flow of spiritual life and knowledge of the Indestructible. And the channels of this flow were to be the hearts of the devotees and the souls of these young men who at the touch of the Master felt the utter evanescence of the world. After his Mahasamadhi, the disciples were at first too bewildered to know what to do. The passing of the Master, though long expected in a sense, was yet unexpected in another; and their grief knew no bounds.

Meanwhile there was still a fortnight before the agreement for the house at Gossipore would expire. Tarak, Latu and Gopal Senior had already given up their homes and were living there. The other young men came daily to spend most of the time in meditation, song and conversation. The topic was only one— their great Master. Here in this very house in which he had lived, they recalled over and over again his last days and the memorable days of Dakshineswar; here Naren entertained them with thrilling tales of the Master’s life, and his mission and teachings, until they were filled with ecstasy. A great spirit idled the whole place and throbbed with wonderful vitality and power.

Another experience that Naren could never forget was his vision of Shri Ramakrishna the week after his death. One night Naren and a brother-disciple named Harish were standing beside the little pond of the garden-house of Cossipore, talking, no doubt, of that loss of which their hearts at the moment were so lull. It was about eight o’clock. Suddenly, as they stood there, Naren saw a shining form covered with cloth coming slowly towards them up the drive from the gate. Could it be the Master? He kept quiet, fearing that he was a victim of a hallucination, when suddenly he heard his companion say hi a hoarse whisper, “What is that?’’ At this, Naren called loudly, “Who is there?” At the sound of his voice, others came hurriedly from the house to see what was happening. Blit they were too late :    when the phantom came to a thick jasmine bush within ten yards of where the two were standing, it vanished. Lanterns were brought out, and every nook and comer of the garden was searched, but nothing could be found. The vision left a profound impression on Naren. It may be mentioned here that after the passing of the Master, the Holy Mother, following the custom of Hindu widows, was about to remove her bracelets and put on the insignia of widowhood, when Shri Ramakrishna suddenly appeared before her and forbade her to do so. “I am not dead,” he said. After that vision the Holy Mother to the last day of her life wore gold bracelets on her wrists and used to wear a red-bordered cloth. On other occasions too, she was blessed with similar visions of the Master.

Following the cremation of the Master’s body, his ashes had been gathered together and placed in a copper receptacle. This was kept in the room the Master had occupied during his last illness. It was agreed between the householder devotees and the young disciples that the ashes would be kept at the Cossipore garden-house and then removed to a place on the bank of the Ganga. But owing to lack of money they could not purchase the plot of land, and the householders headed by Ram Chandra Datta, Devcndra Nath Mazumdar and Nitya-gopal demanded the ashes in order to bury them in a retreat built by Ram Babu at Kankurgachhi, a suburb of Calcutta. The boys refused and a dispute arose, characterised by much intensity of feeling and high words. Of the boys, Shashi and Niranjan had constituted themselves guardians and protectors of the Master’s relics. They were giants, the one in resolution, the other in appearance, and they held themselves ready to stand their ground at any cost. In this dilemma, Naren was appealed to. He said, ‘‘Brothers, be reasonable! Let it not be said that the disciples of Shri Ramakrislina fought over his remains! Let them have the ashes! Let us mould our lives according to our Master’s teachings. If we are true to his ideals, if we live up to them, we have done more than merely worshipping the relics.” Accordingly a day was appointed to give the ashes to the householders. But on the eve of this occasion Narendra bethought himself, ‘‘But certainly they cannot have the whole of the Master’s relics. We shall give them only the ashes!” And to his brother-disciples he said, ‘‘Please bring the copper pot.” They did so, and at Naren’s command opened the receptacle and took out the bigger bones.1 Naren and his brother-disciples then swallowed a minute portion of the relics and as a result had deep meditation that night. The householder devotees, unaware of what had happened, received the receptacle containing the ashes from the disciples, who taking turns carried it on their heads to Kankurgachhi, where it was buried with proper ceremonies. Shashi’s eyes were filled with tears as he saw the ground stamped down over the Master’s

1 Swami Saradananda gives a different version in Udbodhan, Vol. XVII, p. 440.

ashes ; afterwards he said, “It seemed as if they were hammering and crushing the very heart out. of us.” Later an altar and a temple were erected upon this spot, which came to be known as the Yogodyan, or the Retreat of Yoga, and every year a celebration is held in honour of Shri Ramakrishna. The relics which the monks retained were sealed in an urn which was kept at Balaram Babu’s house in Calcutta. The Holy Mother, shortlv after, set out on a pilgrimage for Vrindaban and took the pot with her. Daily she performed her rites of worship before it, feeling therein the presence of the Master. Portions of the relics were sent to Hardwar and other sacred places to be consigned to the Ganga according to the custom of the Hindus. A year later on her return she gave the urn of relics to Narendra Nath.

When the monks removed to Baranagore from Cossipore they took with them, not only the Master’s relics, but also his bedding, clothes, furniture and the utensils which had been used in serving him, as valuable treasures ; in all their subsequent moves these have gone with them. To this day they are being preserved by the monks of the Order with a religious devotion. The monastery was located at Baranagore from the year 1886 to 1892. From 1892 to 1897 the monastery was at Alambazar in the neighbourhood of Dakshineswar. Thence it was removed to the garden-house of Nilambar Mukherjee on the bank of the Ganga, exactly across the river from the suburb, Baranagore. Now it is established permanently a short distance up the Ganga—which the Master loved so much—in Belur. the beautiful and spacious premises secured by Swami Vivekananda for his fellow-monks. And it was he who carried the urn containing the relics on his head from the garden-house of Nilambar Babu, and as he placed it in the Belur Math he said with tears in his eyes, “Now I have placed the Master here. He will remain here permanently.” He wept as he remembered the memorable words of the Master uttered some years ago at the Cossipore garden during his last illness, “Wheresoever you choose to put me, there I shall gladly abide.”

To return to the time when the Cossipore house had to be given up. Naturally the question arose, what was to become of the young disciples who were planning to embrace the monastic life? A few of them, Tarak, Latu arid Copal Senior, had already given up their homes and relatives. Latu and Yogin had accompanied the Holy Mother to Vrindaban, whither Tarak soon followed. Naren was determined that the young boys should renounce the world at once. Some of the householders out of their love for the lads thought:    “How

will they get on? We cannot leave them to wander about like ordinary Sadhus. They are still boys with bright prospects before them. Let them return to their homes. That is the wisest course ; it will make them as well as their relatives happy.” Others clearly saw that it was impossible for them to do so, imbued as they were with Shri Ramakrishna’s ideal of stern renunciation. In the days before the passing of the Master, several of the young men, even while serving him, were studying in the university, and their parents and guardians, naturally eager to get them back to the world, urged upon them the necessity of continuing their studies. The pressure was very strong and some of the boys returned to their homes to finish their course and to please their families. But those who were determined not to go back, how and where were they to live? They had no means and no place to go to. At this time, Surendra Nath Mitra, the lay devotee who had borne the major part of the expenses of the Masters illness, had a strange vision. One evening, Shri Ramakrishna appeared to him and asked him to aid the boys in their sad plight. He went at once to them and said, “Brothers, where will you go? Let me rent a house where you may stay together, and where we householders may find a temporary refuge from the worries of the world. I used to give a little towards the expenses of the Cossipore garden-house. I will gladly continue that help, and you will thus be enabled to hire a house and live very simple.” Naren was overcome with emotion.

Narendra Nath went in search of quarters to house the monks. After a vigorous search a house was found at Bara-nagore, midway between Dakshineswar and Calcutta. It was a dreary, deserted place, sadly in need of repairs, very old, and with the reputation of being haunted. It was two stories in height ; the lower story was the resort of lizards and snakes. The gateway had long since tumbled down. The verandah which flanked the front part of the upper story showed signs of decay ; the main room where the monks lived was in a most dilapidated state. Indeed, nobody else would have lived there. To the cast of the house was another one which had been used as a chapel; to the west was a jungle-like garden overgrown with weeds and undergrowth ; at the back was a pond covered with green scum which was a breeding place for mosquitoes. The whole place was weird. This dreary retreat w

That all these boys eventually formed themselves into the Ramakrislina Brotherhood was largely the work of Naren. When his family matters were settled and he saw his way clear to follow the monastic life, he went to the homes of those boys who had resumed their studies and in a very whirlwind of enthusiasm tried to induce them to return to Baranagore. He would argue with them for hours, in his efforts to persuade them to come with him to the monastery, never stopping until he had gained his point. Once at the monastery they could not resist the spiritual impetus of Naren’s songs and thrilling conversations. He would talk of the departed Master and his life of renunciation with such vividness of language and such intensity of spirit that none could withstand him.

Narendra Nath was like a spiritual lion, and his brother-disciples looked upon him as their leader, not only because the Master had taught them to do so and his personality unconsciously dominated their every inmost thought and desire, but because he seemed to be the mouthpiece of the Master ; and yet Naren was their brother and comrade. Their love for him almost amounted to reverence. The Master’s words concerning him were constantly in their minds. Did they in their zeal for realisation disobey him and run to excess in the practice of austerities, all that he would say was, ‘‘Did not the Master himself give all of you into my charge?” They could not escape the magnetism of his personality. His lace, his speech, his eyes, the manner in which he walked, the way in which he showed his confidence in them, and cheered and spurred them on, even his methods of admonishing them, made him seem the spirit of the Master incarnate as it were.

About this time an incident occurred which clinched the resolve of the boys in their resolution to renounce the world. A few months after coming to Baranagore, they received an invitation, which was readily accepted, from Baburam’s mother to make a short visit to Antpur, his native village. They were most cordially received. Here the light of their combined spiritual fire blazed up into a tremendous conflagration. Narendra’s religious enthusiasm added fuel to the flame ; it seemed as if the spirit of the Master was speaking and working through him. He was intensely possessed by the living vision of the Sannyasin’s life and would cry out, “Let man-making be the goal of our lives! Let us make this our only Sadhana! Away with vain learning! Let not the glamour of the world captivate our minds even for a moment! Realisation of God is the one and the sole thing in life! That is what Shri Ramakrishna’s life represented! We must realise God!” The boys inspired by these thoughts and fired by a oneness of purpose became aware of a sense of unity — a feeling that they were all inseparably connected by some wonderful spiritual power, making them brothers ; and during their stay at Antpur they seemed to grow into one body, one mind and one soul. The days passed in meditation, song and prayer. The Master was the sole topic of conversation. His name was always on their lips and in their thought. Upon all alike there seemed to descend a great spirit of renunciation, a desire to take the Sannyasin’s vow, each in the presence of the others. The monastic spirit seemed to be intensified in their hearts, both for their own liberation as well as for the good of the world. And every disciple saw in his brother-disciples a world of spiritual force; and that vision intensified the love amongst them. This was bound to be, for the spirit which was the Master’s was destined to be perpetuated, not singly or isolatedly as in the ordinary case of Guru and disciple, but organised in a definite form.

Thus at Antpur, in the still hours, great things were happening in subtle ways, knitting the brothers together in indissoluble close bonds. All this found expression one night before a huge Dhuni in the compound of the house made holy with their prayers. It was late in the evening when the monks1 gathered together before the fire of huge logs. Overhead was the canopy of the Indian sky, and all around ineffable peace. The meditation lasted a long time. When a break was made Naren began to tell the story of the Lord Jesus, beginning with the wondrous mystery of his birth through his death on to the resurrection. Through the eloquence of Narendra, the boys were admitted into that apostolic world wherein Paul had preached the gospel of the Arisen Christ and spread Christianity far and wide. Naren made his plea to them to become Christs themselves, to aid in the redemption of the world; to realise God and to deny themselves as the Lord Jesus had done. Standing there before the Dhuni, with the flames lighting up their countenances and

1 Naren, Baburam, Sharat, Shashi, Tarak, Kali, Niranjan, Gangadhar, Sarada.

with the crackling of the wood the sole disturbance of their thought, they took the vows of Sannyasa before God and one another. The very air seemed to vibrate with their ecstatic fervour. Strangely, the monks discovered afterwards that it was Christmas Eve! Before returning to Baranagorc they went on pilgrimage to the famous temple of Tarakeswar Shiva to worship the Lord of Monks.

After returning Sharai and Shashi immediately renounced, and joined the Baranagore monastery. Then Rakhal, Niranjan. Baburam and Kali came, followed by Subodh and Sarada Prasanna, the latter having passed his First Arts Examination that very year. Gangadhar who could never bear any separation from his beloved Naren was a frequent visitor to the monastery. After his return from a pilgrimage to Tibet he joined the Order. Hari as also Tulsi. frequent visitors to the monastery, ultimately became members. With the exception of short trips here and there, for three years, until he became fhc itinerant monk, Narendra was always with them, guiding and inspiring them. Yogin and Latu who had been staying at Vrindaban with the Holy Mother, joined the little group at Baranagore after their return to Calcutta. Thus in the course of one year, the Baranagore monastery was filled with the young men who had caught their inspiration from the Master.

And what a life they led! Unwilling to beg, they lived on what chance would bring. They vied with one another in doing the household tasks, even the most menial ones. Many were the days when there was nothing to eat> but the spiritual discourses, meditation and singing went on as though their bodies did not exist. Their only clothes were the Kaupin (loin cloth) and a few Gerua pieces ; a mat on the floor sufficed for their bed ; a few pictures of saints and gods and goddesses, the Japamala or beads and a Tanpura (stringed musical instrument) hung from the walls. Their whole library consisted of about a hundred books in all. There was only one piece of cloth and a Chaddar to be worn about the shoulders, which were common property and were hung upon a line so that whosoever had to leave the premises might have wherewith to be clothed respectably. Surendra Nath Mitra, or Suresh Babu as he was called by the community, was the ministering angel of the monastery and looked after the bodily needs of the monks. The small sum which he at first gave being insufficient for their needs he increased it. Not satisfied with this, he kept himself secretly informed as to the conditions in the Math, and often sent extra money or provisions to alleviate their extreme poverty.

Sometimes, however, there were visitors of quite a different nature. These were the guardians and relatives of the young monks, who came hoping to induce them to return to the worldly life. They would implore, weep, threaten, but of no avail ; the monks were inexorable. Their renunciation was complete and final. Not even the thought of their mothers was allowed to stand in the way of their realisation of God. They flatly refused to recognise the authority of the guardians and took refuge in silence when they would say, “Naren is the root of all this evil. The boys had returned home and had renewed their studies when he came and upset all our plans.”

That was life indeed at Baranagore, ecstasy surpassing ecstasy. Oftentimes Sankirtana (religious songs sung in chorus) would begin in the morning and continue till evening with no thought of food or rest. In their burning desire for God-vision Prayopaveshana (meditation without interruption with such disregard of the body that death ensues) did not seem extreme.

The best description of the days at Baranagore comes from the lips of Naren himself. Many years after the greatest triumph of his career, a disciple asked him, “Maharaj, how did you maintain yourselves at that time?” The Swami’s mind travelled back across the years, his whole face took on an expression, half-sad, half-glorious, as old memories flitted across his mind. Of a sudden he turned upon the disciple with, “What a silly question! We were Sannyasins, don’t you see? We never thought of the morrow. We used to live on what chance brought. Suresh Babu and Balaram Babu have passed away. Were they alive they would dance with joy at the sight of this Math!” Continuing, he remarked, “You have heard of Suresh Babu’s name, I dare say! Know him to be the source of this Math.

It was lie who helped to found the Baranagore Math. It was Suresh Mitra who supplied our needs! Who can equal him in piety and faith, my boys?” Musingly, he went on, “There were days at the Baranagore Math when we had nothing to eat. If there was rice, salt was lacking. Some days, that was all we had, but nobody cared. Leaves of the Bimba creeper boiled, salt and rice—this was our diet for months! Come what would, we were indifferent. We were being carried on in a strong tide of religious practices and meditation. Oh, what days! Demons would have run away at the sight of such austerities to say nothing of men! Ask Rakhal, Shashi and others; they will tell you. The more circumstances are against you, the more manifest becomes your inner power. Do you understand?” It was only to his disciples in whom he desired to kindle the same fire of devotion and renunciation that he was so frank ; with others he was intensely reticent about those days.

Swami Sadananda, an early disciple of the Leader, speaking in later times of these days as they were lived by his Guru, said, “During these years Swamiji would work twenty-four hours at a time. He was like a lunatic, in his activity. Early in the morning, whilst it was still dark he would rise and call the others, singing, ‘Awake! Arise, all ye who would drink of the divine nectar!’ And long after midnight he and the other monks would still be sitting on the roof of the monastery building, singing canticles of praise. The neighbours expostulated, but of no avail. And the musical voice of Swamiji would lead the chanting of the names of ‘Sita-Rama’ or of ‘Radha-Krishna.’ Those were strenuous days. There was no time for rest. Outsiders came and went. Pandits argued and discussed. But he, the Swami, was never for one moment idle, never dull.”

In the Baranagore monastery, hours would be consumed in the study of philosophy. The theories of Kant, Hegel, Mill and Spencer were discussed by the devotees; even the atheists and materialists received their share of attention. Besides philosophy, religion, theology, history, sociology, literature, art and science were touched upon. If the talk was whether God existed or not, Naren would prove with the backing of logic and reason that God was a myth. Again he would be equally convincing in his argument that God was the only reality in the universe. The Sankhya, Yoga, Nyaya, Vaisheshika, Mimamsa and Vedanta—every one in its turn was matched against the others, and their points of agreement and difference were brought out with rigorous analytical acumen. The Vedanta was compared with the Buddhistic philosophy and vice versa. Occasionally Christian missionaries would come to the Math to argue with the monks. After defeating them at every point Narcndra would expound to them the greatness of Christ.

Often he would develop most original lines of thought, illustrative of the historical import of Shri Ramakrishna’s life and teachings and their influence upon the present generations of Hindus. He would show how that life was destined to alter their theological outlook by giving them a true understanding of the Hindu ideals of worship. Narendra’s voice was the delight of the monks. It made them recall the Master’s words spoken several years before, “As the snake remains spellbound with its hood up on hearing the sweet music of the flute, so does He who is in the heart, the Antaryami, when Naren sings! ”

Together with meditation, song and study, the young monks observed all the religious festivals, and it is interesting to see how they celebrated the first Shivaratri, the Night of Shiva, at the Baranagore Math. They began the day by singing a song of the glories of Shiva which had just been composed by Naren. The twenty-four hours of the day were spent in fasting, praying and worshipping. During the night, at stated intervals—their bodies covered with ashes—they danced clapping their hands, and lifted their voices in song, calling on, “Hara! Hara! Mahadeva!” or “Shiva Guru! Shiva Guru!” in a classic and continuous chant. At the close of the night, during the early hours of the morning the Homa fire was lighted and oblations made in the names of all gods and goddesses and Incarnations of all nations. The spiritual atmosphere at Baranagore was wonderful in these days. Everyone marvelled at the austerities of Naren and his brother monks. Even yet, one can hear it said, “It is impossible for ordinary men to bear such rigorous hardships and practise such Tapasya as they did.” And yet they themselves were never quite satisfied with their spiritual progress and in their sorrow in not realising God would sigh, “Oh, wonderful were Shri Ramakrishna’s renunciation, and intense longing for God:    We are not able to attain even one-sixteenth part of what he taught! ”

Though covered with the outward veneer of Juana, Naren was all Bliakti within. One day, he said to a young brother-disciple who was mentally disturbed because of the futility of his attempts to realise God, “Have you not read the Gita? God is residing in the hearts of all creatures. He is, as it were, revolving the wheel of life to which we are tied. You are more insignificant than even the crawling worm. Gan you really know God? Try to think for a minute of the real nature of man. Of these innumerable stars, every one is a solar system. We see only one solar system and know only an infinitesimal fraction of that. The earth compared with the sun is like a small ball and man is but an insect moving on its surface.” Then he burst into a song in which he resigned himself to God and besought His aid to steer clear of the pitfalls and temptations of the world. Again he said to his brother-disciple, “lake refuge in God. Resign yourself completely at His feet. Don’t you remember the words of Shri Ramakrishna? God is like a hill of sugar. You are an ant. One grain of sugar is sufficient for you. Yet you want to carry home the entire hill. Shukadeva was at the most a bigger ant. Therefore I would say to Kali, ‘Do you want to measure God by your foot-rule?’ God is the infinite ocean of mercy! He will shower His grace on you. Pray to Him, ‘Protect us always, O Lord, by Thy benign mercy. From the unreal lead us to the Real, from darkness lead us unto Light, from death lead us to Immortality!’” “How should one pray to God?” the brother-disciple asked. “Why,” Naren replied, “only you need to repeat His Name. That is what the Master told us.” Then the boy said, “Now you say that God exists, and in another mood you tell us that according to Charvaka and other philosophers the world was not created by any extraneous agency, that it has evolved of itself.” Naren said, “But have you not read chemistry? Hydrogen and oxygen do unite to form water etc., but not without the intervention of the human hand or some intelligence. Everybody admits that there must be an Intelligent Force guiding all these combinations, an Omniscient Being directing this phenomenal universe.” “But how can we know that He is merciful?” Narendra said, “‘Your benign face/ the Vedas say. John Stuart Mill echoes this. He must be an ocean of mercy who has infused one little spark of mercy into the human heart. The Master used to sav, ‘Faith is the one essential thing/ God is very near us. You only require faith to realise this.” Then the young disciple said good-humouredly, “Sometimes you say that God does not exist. Now you are telling us that He does. You cannot be veracious in your statement when you change your opinions so often.” Naren replied, “I shall never change these words:     We do not have faith in God so long as we are assailed by egotism and desire. Some sort of desire always persists.” Then overwhelmed with emotion, he began to sing, “He is the merciful parent always giving shelter to those who take refuge in Him.” All the songs that followed spoke of devotion and divine fervour.

And in those days everyone was filled with the spirit of the Master. There was not a day in which his personality was not most realistically felt. And for these disciples there was neither day nor night, neither hours nor moments, for they dwelt in a state of ecstasy. Indeed they were mad, mad for God-vision. And all sorts of spiritual experiences were theirs. Some would sit motionless for hours plunged in meditation, whilst others sang themselves into devotional rapture. The nights of some were spent at the burning-ghat deeply absorbed in Japa and meditation. There were still others who would tell their beads all day and all night or sit night after night before a Dhuni in their determination to realise God.

Naren was as intense as the rest, but his sense of responsibility for them caused him to watch them with a vigilant eye, and when he found any of them practising austerities that were too severe, he would say, “Do you think you are all going to be Ramakrishna Parainahamsas? That will never be. A Ramakrishna Paramahamsa is born only once in an age!’’

The Master seemed to be alive and enthroned in the tabernacle of the Math to those devotees. Besides the daily worship before his image in which Mantras were recited, lights waved, incense burned and gongs beaten in joyous adoration, offerings of the purest food obtainable were made. Particularly impressive were the twilight hours, the time of Aratrika (evening service), when the monks lifted their voices in unison in the soul-inspiring verse which was adapted from the hymn chanted at that hour in Varanasi at the temple of Vishwanath.

Jaya Shiva Omkara! Bhaja Shiva Omkara!

Brahma, Vishnu, Sadashiva! Hara, Hara. Hara, Mahadeva!

It was Shashi, who became known afterwards as Swami Ramakrishnananda, who spent himself in constant spiritual service of the Master. He was the “mother” of the Math, the self-constituted guardian of the rest in practical matters, literally routing them out of their meditations to attend to their ordinary duties. Though he was himself inclined to deep meditation and fervent prayer, he compelled himself to remember their wants, to force them to bathe or to take their scanty meals. Narendra Nath recalling these blessed days to a disciple, many years later, said, “O, what a steadfastness to the ideal did we ever find in Shashi! He was a mother to us. It was he who managed about our food. We used to get up at three o’clock in the morning. Then all of us, some after bathing, would go to the worship-room and be lost in Japa and meditation! There were times when the meditation lasted to four or five o’clock in the afternoon. Shashi would be waiting with our dinner ; if necessary, he would, by sheer force, drag us out of our meditation. Who cared then if the world existed or not! ”

The spirit of true Sannyasa was upon all. And Naren would say in protest to a householder’s argument, “What! Even if we do not see God, shall we return to the life of the senses? Shall we degrade our higher natures?” There were times when Naren would cry out, “Of what value are my realisa-lions! I have seen the Mantra in letters of gold and shining with effulgence! Many times have I seen the Form of Kali and of other aspects of the Personal God! But, where, oh, where is Peace! I am dissatisfied with everything. Everything, even talking to devotees has become distasteful to me. It seems that there is no such thing as God. Let me starve to death if I cannot realise the Truth.” Was this discontent caused by the memory of his Nirvikalpa Samadhi in Cossipore? No wonder he was dissatisfied with Forms. Flad he not experienced the Formless! One of the householder devotees wrote of him at this time in his diary, “Today Narendra has put on a new Gerua cloth. How fascinating he appears! His face is full of the fire of wisdom, and yet how it is mellowed with divine love! Blessed are those monks who think day and night of nothing but God!”

And the Baranagore monastery—what worlds of spirituality and insight does it: call to mind! To the devotees of Shri Rama-krishna and Swami Vivekananda the word “Baranagore” is synonymous with “Spiritual Sadhana.” If the garden of Dakshin-eswar was literally saturated with the divine presence and blessedness thereof, the monastery of Baranagore was none the less so, for there these young men who had sat at the feet of Shri Ramakrishna developed, in a great measure, their strength and holiness. All who came within the sphere of their influence were caught up in their spirit of God-intoxication. Every one of these young men whom Shri Ramakrishna had made his very own, represented a phase of manifestation of the Master himself. With the delight of the martyr they practised the severest of spiritual austerities, calling his name until their voices gave way and they sank deep into meditation. The world had no meaning for them. They were aware only of God, and in those days there was lighted a fire of the spirit which nothing can extinguish. Already has it swept across even to foreign lands, spreading as it goes, the Gospel of Shri Ramakrishna.

THE ITINERANT DAYS: THE NORTHERN TIRTHAS

Thus was consolidated the monastic Order of Ramakrishna at Baranagore. Some time at this period they performed the sacred Viraja ceremony and took the vows of lifelong celibacy and poverty, dedicating their lives to the realisation of God. The old names were changed for new ones to complete their severance from the old world and its associations. Rakhal and Yogin became Swamis Brahmananda and Yogananda respectively; Baburam and Niranjari, Swamis Premananda and Niranjan-ananda ; Shashi and Hari, Swamis Ramakrishnananda and Turiyananda; Latu and Sarada, Swamis Adbliutananda and Trigunatitananda ; Tarak and Kali, Swamis Shivananda and Abhedananda; Sharat and Gangadliar, Swamis Saradananda and Akhandananda; and Gopal Senior and Subodh became Swamis Advaitananda and Subodliananda. Some years later the list was completed by Hari Prasanna under the name of Swami Vijnanananda. Naren did not assume any permanent name. During his itinerant days he changed his name several times in order to avoid recognition. On the eve of his sailing for America he took the name of Swami Vivekananda at the request of the Maharaja of Khetri.1

1 Hereafter we shall refer to these monks by their Sannyasa names except in the case of Naren whom we shall continue to refer as Naren or simply as the Swami till his starting for the West when he actually took the name of Swami Vivekananda. Where the former names of the monks are used in quotations or extracts we request the reader to refer to this page for identity, if necessary.

Even as the feature of the Order was twofold, that of itinerant monkhood with personal freedom and yet bound by the love of the Master and the inspiration of his divine life to an organisation with a definite mission to fulfil, so in the personality of every member, especially Naren, were seen the two tendencies at war with each other at times. Loyalty to the Math and its mission was at variance very often with the traditional ideal of monasticism, and there were times when it seemed the Sadhu tendency would force them to the isolated Sannyasin’s life in spite of themselves.

The tendency to pilgrimage was manifest even from the beginning; for several of the monks, as soon as the Master had departed, accompanied the Holy Mother to Vrindaban. Tri-gunatita one day abruptly left Baranagore without confiding his plans to any one. He left a note behind which read, “I am going to Vrindaban on foot. It is dangerous for me to stay here. Ideas may change. Formerly I used to dream of home and parents. Then I saw the form of Maya. Twice have I suffered much. Indeed, twice I had to return home. Therefore I am going on a long journey. The Master once said to me, ‘Never trust your relatives. They can do anything.’ ‘* He, however, returned very soon to the Math. Akhandananda started on a pilgrimage over the Himalayas to Tibet. Abhedananda, after his return from Vrindaban, again set out, in the company of Saradananda and Premananda, for Puri. Brahmananda often spoke of going to some distant solitary place, such as the bank of the sacred Narmada, to meditate. Even the holy atmosphere of Baranagore seemed to them not free enough; they desired to live as wandering monks, depending solely on God. But Ramakrishnananda chose to stay by the sacred relics of the Master.

Naren, too, was becoming restless. He felt his attachment to the brother-disciples as a sort of golden chain impeding his progress towards the realisation of God. Therefore he resolved to strike out into the unknown paths of the monk’s life. One by one, all his Gurubhais, excepting Ramakrishnananda, had gone. The first wanderings of Naren were, one might say, but temporary absences. He would sally forth on one journey or pilgrimage after another, but would return against his will very soon. Although every time he left he would say, “It will be for good and all this time’’, something inevitably forcefl him back.

Thus with the exception of several flying visits to Vaidya-nath and Simultala, and a visit to Antpur, whither he had gone at the earnest solicitations of his friends who felt that he needed a rest from the strenuous life of the monastery, Naren did not leave Baranagore until the year 1888 was well on its way.

He had made up his mind to break from the monastery to test his own strength, to gather experiences of a new life, to make himself absolutely fearless, and at the same time to force his brother-disciples to learn self-reliance and to stand alone. He struggled hard to free himself ; his mind wavered between the desire for the life of the Sadhu and his sense of responsibility for the Brotherhood.

There are necessarily some blanks in this part of Naren’s life-history, for he himself was indifferent as to the recording of his plans and journeys and spoke of them afterwards vaguely, casually. Then, too, he held his spiritual experience during the time too sacred to be discussed, even with his brothers. And yet something is known of him as the wandering monk. Sometimes one or other of the monks accompanied him ; and those householders whom he met and initiated as lay disciples on his long tours throughout the land, have faithfully recorded the events during the time he lived with them, including even conversations. Then there are his letters written occasionally to his Gurubhais and his own disciples. Thus one is able to construct his life from 1887 to 1893 fairly accurately. All his brother monks excepting Ramakrishnananda, and Adbhuta-nanda were with him in some one or other of his travels up to the time when he broke off all communication with the Baranagore Math, and these have become, as it were, his verbal historians. But more particularly Akhandananda, who was with him longer than any of the others, from the end of July, 1890, till the latter part of the autumn of the same year.

The first definite journey on which Naren set out, accompanied by Premananda and Fakir Babu, a lay devotee of the Master, was to Varanasi. He stayed there for about a week. The sacred Ganga, the scores of praying votaries, the numerous temples, the atmosphere of holiness, the thought that it was here that the Lord Buddlia and Shankara had preached—all these made a vivid appeal to his imagination.

One day, as he was returning from the temple of Mother Durga, he was pursued by a troop of monkeys and fled, fearing that they might harm hirn ; suddenly he heard the voice of an old Sannyasin calling out to him, “Stop, always face the brutes!” Naren turned, his fear gone; seeing him defiant the monkeys fled. In a lecture given in New York, years later, he referred to this incident and pointed out the moral of the story in this wise, “So face nature! Face ignorance! Face illusion! Never fly! ”

At Varanasi he stayed at the Ashraina of Dwarakadas. This gentleman introduced him to the celebrated Pandit and Bengali writer, Bhudev Chandra Mukhopadhyaya. Naren held long conversations with him. When they parted, the Pandit said, “Wonderful! Such vast experience and insight at such an early age! I am sure he will be a great man!’’ He also visited the great saint, Trailanga Swami, who lived, lost to all outward activity, absorbed in the deepest meditation. To him, Shri Ramakrishna also had gone many years before. Naren next went to Swami Bhaskarananda, a celebrated ascetic of great learning. The conversation drifted gradually to the subject of the conquest of lust and gold. This was the one great condition laid down by Shri Ramakrishna for the realisation of God, one which he impressed*with great emphasis on his monastic disciples. Bhaskarananda speaking ex cathedra, as it were, said, “No one can completely renounce lust and gold.” Naren replied boldly, “There have been many saints who have done so. And I myself have seen at least one who had completely overcome lust and gold.” The Swami smiled but did not believe him, and Naren left the place in righteous indignation.

From Varanasi Naren returned to Baranagore. As in the past, he spent his days with his brother-disciples in meditation, study and discussion. He had seen by this time a bit of India and during his travels had come across various people and many shades of opinion. His outlook was considerably widened, and he desired that his brother-disciples also enlarged their mental horizon. Sometimes a dim vision of the missionary life, the urge of the inner self, to go about ministering to the oppressed and downtrodden would present itself before Naren’s mind. This idea of service to man as the manifestation of God obsessed him at times. What better way could be found of applying the ideas of Vedanta to practical life? And he strove to inspire his brother-disciples with this new idea of religion. Even in those early days Naren would urge them to go to the village of the outcastes to preach ; but the monks were quite averse from preaching. Their ideal was the realisation of God, first and foremost; after that, let their example be the teacher even as it had been with the Master. And the injunctions of Naren had confirmed them in this. Though he constantly insisted upon the necessity of making oneself fit by realisation before one preached, yet sometimes the spirit of the preacher would take hold of him, and once he said to a brother monk who was inveighing against lectures and sermons, “Everyone is preaching; what they do unconsciously I will do consciously. Ay, even if you, my brother monks, stand in my way, I will go and preach among the Pariahs in the lowest slums. Preaching means expression. Because Trailanga Swami remains silent and never talks do you think he does not preach? His very silence is a sermon! Even trees and plants are preaching!” Yes, Naren as Swami Vivekananda was to preach consciously and with soul-stirring eloquence that which hitherto the saints had done in silence. In Baranagore this great task commenced and his first audience was this little group of monks and devotees.

Naren’s stay this time at Baranagore was a short one, for he was eager to take up again the solitary meditative life of the Sannyasin. He soon set out for the northern Tirthas. His first halt was at Varanasi, where he met Babu Pramadadas Mitra, the great Sanskrit scholar, who was acquainted with Akhanda-nanda and through him had learned of Narendra Nath. Naren and Pramadadas soon became close friends, and Naren wrote many letters from the various places of pilgrimage asking the advice of Pramadadas in interpreting the Hindu scriptures.

Next he visited Ayodhya where he pondered long upon the RaMayana, building the great empire of the King-God Rama out of the materials of his learning and imagination, and listened with rapture to the singing of the Sadhus in his praise. From Ayodhya he went on to Lucknow where he was lost in admiration of the splendour of the palaces of the late Nawabs of Oudli, and of the city’s gardens and mosques. From Lucknow on to the beautiful city of Agra of Mogul memories and greatness. The handicraft and workmanship of Indian artisans astounded him ; the beauty of the Taj Mahal overpowered him. He visited it many times, seeing it from many angles, in every perspective and light and, above all, through his love for India. He used to say, “Every square inch of this wondrous edifice is worth a whole day’s patient observation, and it requires at least six months to make a real study of it!” The great fort at Agra stimulated his historic imagination ; walking about the streets of Agra amidst its palaces and tombs, he saw the whole Mohammedan era unfold before him.

From Agra he went on to Vrindaban, reaching it during the early part of August, 1888. The last thirty miles he went on foot, travelling as an itinerant monk with no possessions save a staff, a Kamandalu (water pot) and one or two books. About two miles from Vrindaban, he saw a man comfortably smoking a Chilluin (pipe) of tobacco by the wayside. Naren was weary and worn and felt that a smoke would do him good ; so he asked the man to allow him to have a pull or two at the Chillum. The smoker shrank back and said hesitatingly, “Sir, I am a Bhangi, a sweeper!” Naren, gripped by traditional ideas of caste and social position, shrank back too, and went on his way without a smoke. After going a short distance, the thought struck him, “What, I have taken the Sannyasin’s vow and have given up all ideas of caste, family prestige and all, and yet I fell back into caste ideas when the man told me that he was a sweeper! And I could not smoke the Chillum which he had touched! That was due to ages of habit!” Nothing would do, but he must turn back in search of the man. He found him where he had left him, still smoking. Naren said to him, “My son, please prepare me a Chillum of tobacco.” He did not listen to the man’s objections this time but insisted on taking the tobacco from that very Chillum. After smoking it Narcn continued on his way to Vrindaban. In speaking of Sannyasa once to a disciple, later on, he cited this incident and said, “Do you think the ideals of Sannyasa are easy to practise in life, my boy? There is no other path of life so arduous and difficult. Let your foot slip ever so little on the edge of a precipice, and you fall to the valley below. If one has taken the Sannyasin’s vow, one has to examine oneself every moment to see if one is free of the ideas of caste, colour, etc. That incident taught me the great lesson that I should not despise anyone, but must think of all as children of the Lord.”

Arriving at Vrindaban, Naren rested at Kala Balm’s Kunja, a temple erected by the ancestors of Balaram Bose, one of the lay disciples of the Master. Here Naren felt as if the floodgates of his heart were suddenly opened ; the associations of the place with the life of Shri Krishna and his divine consort Radha evoked in him the highest devotional feeling. The life of Shri Krishna became vividly real to him, and he made up his mind to visit the suburbs of Vrindaban, where so many of the incidents that are told of Shri Krishna took place. So we find him wending his way towards Govardlian Hill. Once, in making a circuit of it, he made the vow that he would eat only what food was offered to him without the asking. By noon-time of the first day he was exceedingly hungry. To add to his discomfort, it rained heavily. Faint with hunger and much walking, he went on and on ; suddenly he heard someone calling to him from the rear, but he paid no attention. Nearer and nearer came the man calling out that he had brought food for him. Naren began to run as fast as he could to test this apparent act of Providence. The man ran also and about a mile farther on overtook him at last and insisted on his accepting the food. That done, the man went away without a word. Naren burst into tears at this proof of the Lord’s care of His devotee in the wilderness.

From Govardhan, Naren came to Radhakunda, a place held sacred by the Vaishnavas because of its association with Radlia. At this time he had only the Kaupin, or a narrow strip of cloth about his loins ; having no other to wear after his bath he took this off, washed it and left it on the side of the tank to dry, whilst he was bathing. When he had bathed, to his surprise the Kaupin was gone! In his search hither and thither, he chanced to look up in a tree, and he saw a monkey sitting there with the cloth in its hands. When the monkey refused to surrender it, Naren was filled with anger against Radha, the presiding deity of the place, and vowed that he would go into the innermost recesses of the forest and starve himself to death. As he advanced into the jungle in pursuance of his plan, a man (who probably had seen the whole incident) came up with a new Gerua cloth and some food which Naren accepted. Naren retraced his steps and found, to his surprise, his Kaupin lying on the very spot where he himself had put it to dry before entering the water.

Next, we see Naren at the Hatliras railway station on his way to Hardwar. The station-master, Sliarat Chandra Gupta, was a remarkable character, a Bengali who had been reared amongst the Mohammedans of Jaunpur and who spoke Hindi and Urdu with more fluency than his mother tongue. His whole character might be summed up in three words—sweetness, sincerity and manliness. As he was going about in the performance of his duty, the figure of a monk, seated on the ground in the station compound, caught his eye. At the first sight he was attracted by. the aura of spirituality about the young monk and went up to him to find if he might be of some service. After an exchange of greetings, Sharat asked, “Swamiji, are you hungry?” The monk replied, “Yes, I am.” “Then please come to my quarters,” said Sharat. Naren asked with the simplicity of a boy, “But what will you give me to eat?” Quoting from a Persian poem, Sharat said, “Oh beloved, you have come to my house. I shall prepare the most delicious dish for you with the flesh of my heart.” Naren accepted the invitation. Later Sharat found the Swami singing a Bengali song signifying:    “My beloved must come to me with ashes on his moon face.” The young devotee disappeared, to return divested of his official clothes, with ashes on his face.

In the course of his conversation with the station-master Naren learned that Brajcn Babu, an old acquaintance, lived close by, and after the meal was over, he went to call on him. Brajen Babu welcomed him cordially and insisted that he should stay with him. All the time Naren was with him the whole Bengali population of the town poured in upon him. Sharat and his friend, Nata Krishna, were constant visitors and became attached to him. In a letter reminiscent of those days Nata Krishna writes:    “Thus we with others spent the most blessed days of our life in constant spiritual conversations with him. By the power of his holy company, the sectarian quarrels and ill-feeling amongst the different factions of the Bengalis vanished. Those who entertained the pride of age or high position in society, used to come and sit like children before the young monk, forsaking their conceit of knowledge and position, and ask him questions on religious matters. The evening was generally spent in music, and all the gentlemen who assembled there were simply charmed with his sweet voice and sat for hours as if spellbound. The more they heard him the more they thirsted in their souls to hear him.”

One day Sharat said to Naren, “Why do you look so sad?” Pausing for a while, Naren replied, “My son, I have a great mission to fulfil and I am in despair at the smallness of my capacity. I have an injunction from my Guru to carry out this mission. This is nothing less than the regeneration of my motherland. Spirituality has fallen to a low ebb and starvation stalks the land. India must become dynamic and effect the conquest of the world through her spirituality.” Sharat, spellbound at these words, said with all the ardour of his soul, “Here I am, Swamiji ; what do you want me to do?” The monk demanded, “Are you prepared to take up the begging bowl and the Kamandalu and work for the great cause? Can you beg from door to door?” “Yes,” was the bold reply; and with a begging bowl in hand he went round to beg from the porters of the station.

One morning Naren decided to leave Hathras. He said to Sharat and Nata Krishna, “I cannot stay here any longer. We who are Sannyasins should not remain long in any place. Besides, I am becoming attached to all of you. This is also a bondage in spiritual life. Do not press me!” Finding the Swami immovable in his resolve to go, Sharat and his friend were grief-stricken. They requested him to make them his disciples. Naren replied, “Why! Do not think that everything in the life of spirituality will be gained by merely becoming my disciples. Remember that God is in everything, and then whatever you do will make for your progress. I shall come back now and then to be with you.” But Sharat was not to be thus put off; the Swami was forced to initiate him.

Sharat found a substitute to take on his duties, and accompanied the Swami to Hrishikesh. But the journey proved too strenuous for the disciple. Accustomed to much comfort he found that the Sannyasin’s life was one of constant and terrible Sadhana;, filled with uncertainties and hardships. “Once in our wanderings in the outlying districts of the Himalayas,” said Sharat much later, “I fainted with hunger and thirst. The Swami cared for me and thus undoubtedly saved me from certain death. On another occasion, like a syce he led the horse, across a ford in a mountain river which was very dangerous because of its swiftness and slippery bottom. He risked his life several times for my sake. How can I describe him, friends, except by the word Love, Love, Love! When I was too ill to do anything but stagger along, he carried my personal belongings, including my shoes,” Therefore, it is not strange that in later life when he once, feeling forlorn, asked the Swami if he was going to give him up, the Swami should answer with a sweet severity, “Fool, do you not remember that I have carried even your shoes!” Still another time, as the Swami and his disciple were wandering through the jungle, they came across some bleached human bones, with bits of rotten Gerua lying here and there. “See,” said the Swami, “here a tiger has devoured a Sannyasin! Are you afraid?” The disciple promptly replied, “Not with you, Swamiji!” Even in these early days; when he was an unknown Sadhu, the force of his character and his power to inspire others, which were the Swami’s main qualities, were to be plainly seen.

At Hrishikesh the Swami and the disciple lived like other monks. The Swami was in his element here, where the very atmosphere breathed monasticism. He was glad beyond measure to hear the inurniurings of the sacred Ganga and see the distant snow-clad peaks of the Himalayas. They dwelt there in an atmosphere of intense prayer and meditation. But at this juncture the disciple fell seriously ill and there was no other course but to take him back to Hathras. The Swami who was desirous of staying at Hrishikesh for a time and then going on to the sacred Kcdarnalh and Badrinarayan in the interior of the Himalayas, was forced to give up his plans.

So the Guru and the disciple journeyed back to Hathras where they were welcomed. But here Naren himself fell ill of malarial fever contracted at Hrishikesh. The brothers at the Baranagore Math heard of his illness and urged him to return as soon as possible. To ensure his return they reported that there were many pressing matters which made his presence in Calcutta necessary. Hearing this the Swami, in spite of his weakness, felt that he must go ; and in taking leave of his disciple he urged him to come, as soon as he was well, to the Baranagore monastery. At the expiration of several months when he was sufficiently recovered, Sharat Gupta gave up his job and joined his master at the monastery. Here he was received with open arms by the monks and admitted into their hearts and into their life as one of them, and he became Swami Sadananda.

The return of the Swami towards the end of 1888 was made the occasion for much jubilation at the Baranagore Math. Most of the monks were away on pilgrimage, but all of the householder disciples of the Master were present. With the exception of a short journey to Simultala where he went during the summer months of 1889 on account of his health and to see his relatives, this time the Swami stayed at the Baranagore Math for fully a year. Days passed in worship, prayer, meditation, study and song. Through loving discipline, Naren infused into his brother monks his own lire and wider knowledge of the mission that was before them, the mission which had been entrusted by the Master to his charge for fruition and dissemination. Most of the sublime ideas which he gave to the world in the time of his fame were not new, except in modes of expression, to his brother monks, for they had heard them in these Baranagore days. He broadened their perspective and made them think of India as an indivisible unit. Most of all, Naren initiated his fellow-monks into the living realities of Hinduism, making them conscious of the values of its thought and spirit. He made them capable of seeing Hinduism from the intellectual side and made them the defenders of the Faith against ruthless and ignorant criticism. He read and explained to them the sacred books of the Hindus.

The days at the Math were spent in strenuous study of the Hindu scriptures. Too poor to purchase books, the Swami borrowed some Vedanta literature from his friend Babu Prama-dadas of Varanasi, together with a copy of Panini’s grammar for the Gurubhais so that they might study the Vedas. He writes thus to Babu Pramadadas:    ‘‘The Vedas may well be said to have fallen quite out of vogue in Bengal. Many here in the Math are quite conversant with Sanskrit and are able to master the Samhita portion of the Vedas. They are of opinion that what has to be done must be done to a finish. So believing that a full measure of proficiency in the Vedic language is impossible without first mastering Panini’s grammar, which is the best available for the purpose, a copy of the latter is felt to be a necessity. This Math is not wanting in men of perseverance, talent and penetrative intellect. I can hope that by the grace of our Master, they will acquire in a short time Panini’s system and thus succeed in restoring the Vedas to Bengal.”

The Swami at this time was passing through a phase of enquiry into social customs and the anomalies of many scriptural passages. In his wanderings he saw for himself what an incubus the social system was for the masses; even the scriptures forbade the study of the Vedas by Shudras. The caste system which had originally rested on individual merits and qualifications had now hopelessly degenerated into slavish insistence on birth and heredity. The Swami was convinced that the regeneration of India demanded the throwing open of the immortal truths of the Vedas and the Upanishads to the classes as well as the masses. He voiced all these doubts to Prainadadas Babu who was a great Sanskrit scholar and, at the same time, asked many searching questions regarding the nature of the highest realisation, the authority of the Vedas, the law of Karma, the apparent contradictions to be found in various schools of Indian philosophy, the real import of the apparently meaningless injunctions of the Smritis, etc. These doubts and questions reflect only an intellectual stage of his reaching out towards the wisdom which was his in after years. His faith in the ideal of Truth and the realisations of the ancient seers as recorded in the scriptures was unshaken ; he was striving to understand their real significance. He wanted to reach that standpoint from which he could reconcile all contradictions and differences. “I have not lost,” he writes to Prainadadas Babu, “faith in a benign Providence—nor am I ever going to lose it, —my faith in the scriptures is unshaken. But by the will of God, the last six or seven years of my life have been full of constant struggles with hindrances and obstacles of all sorts. I have been vouchsafed the ideal Shastra ; I have seen the ideal man ; and yet I fail myself to get on with anything to the end— this is my profound misery.”

But there were times when the Swami felt much “agitated and cramped” in mind. He was close to his mother and brothers who were living in abject poverty. The litigation over their ancestral properties left them almost destitute. This seemed, sometimes, too much for the Swami to bear. “Living near Calcutta,” writes the Swami to his friend.- Pramadadas Babu, “I have to witness their adversity, and with the quality of Rajas prevailing, my egotism* sometimes develops into a desire to plunge into action. In such moments, a fierce combat ensues in my mind, and so I wrote that my mind was terrible. Now the lawsuit is settled. So bless me that after a stay in Calcutta for a few days more to settle matters, I may bid adieu to this place for ever. Bless me that my heart may wax strong with supreme strength divine and that all forms of Maya may drop off me for aye:    ‘We have taken up the Cross, Thou hast laid it upon us and grant us strength that we bear it unto death. Amen’.”

At such times the Swami would feel the strong desire to go again on pilgrimage, to pass his days in meditation and austerity. Often he would resolve to go to Varanasi and spend the time in the sacred city of Vishwanath. The presence of Pramadadas Babu there was an added temptation, for with him he might discuss many intricate problems of the scriptures. Life in Calcutta was becoming unbearable to him. Akhandananda was in the Himalayas. He wrote several times of crossing over to Tibet and gave many interesting descriptions of the Tibetan people and their customs. Four of the other disciples were in the Himalayas. The Swami’s desire to go also became irresistible, and one day during the last part of December, 1889, he left the monastery for Vaidyanath on his way, to the sacred ‘Lirthas (places of pilgrimage) of Northern India. His mind was longing for Varanasi. “My idea,” writes the Swami from Vaidyanath, “is to remain there for some time and to watch how Vishwanath and Annapurna deal it out to my lot. And my resolve is something like ‘either to lay down my life or realise my ideal’—so help me Lord of Kashi.”

But Providence decreed otherwise. At Vaidyanath he learned that Yogananda, one of the brother-disciples, was ill of chicken-pox at Allahabad. The Swami at once started for Allahabad. Through his nursing Yogananda recovered in a few days. Here the Swami received marked attention from the Bengalis of the town; they were astounded at his learning and wonderful character. The conversation centred chiefly around social and spiritual matters, and the Swami criticised with great vehemence the social abuses and iniquities of the Hindus. Here he came across a Mussulman saint, “every line and curve of whose face showed that he was a Paramahamsa”. Here too he heard of Pavhari Baba, the famous saint of Ghazipur. In order to meet him he went to Ghazipur during Lhe third week of January, 1890.

The Swami stayed with Babu Satish Chandra Mukherjee and Rai Gagan Chandra Roy Bahadur. Satish Chandra was an old friend of the Swami’s Calcutta days. At his house many persons came to hear and see the Swami. The Swami was pained to see his countrymen fallen from the ideal of the Hindu seers to the level of the materialistic Western life. “Everything here,” writes the Swami to Pramadadas Babu at Varanasi, “appears good, the people are all gentlemen, but much westernised ; it is a pity. I am thoroughly against the affectation of the West. Luckily my friend is not much inclined that way. What a frivolous civilisation is it indeed that foreigners have created! What a materialistic illusion have they brought with them! May Vishwanath save these weak-hearted!” In a postscript to the letter he adds, “Alas for the irony of fate, that in this land of Bhagavan Shuka’s birth, renunciation is looked down upon as a madness and sin! ” He asked the social-reform champions of the place to refrain from violent denunciation and to carry on their work of mass education with infinite love and patience so that the growth might be natural, from within. He pitied those who had lost sight of the spiritual standards of the Hindu civilisation.

And who was Pavhari Baba? Born of Brahmana parents in a village near Varanasi, he went in his boyhood to Ghazipur where, under the training of his uncle, a lifelong Brahmacharin, he became versed in Vyakarana (grammar) and Nyava (logic) and in the theology of the Ramanuja sect. On his uncle’s death he resolved “to fill the gap with a vision that can never change”. Possessed with the real determination to find Reality, he wandered throughout the land. At length he was initiated into the mysteries of Yoga on the top of Mount Girnar in Kathiawar, holy both to Hindu and Jain devotees. From Girnar he journeyed to Varanasi, where he met a great Sannyasin, who lived in a cave in the high bank of the Ganga. Here he mastered the Advaita Vedanta system, after which he travelled for many years studying, living in great austerity. Finally he came to his old home, Ghazipur, where, emulating his teacher in Varanasi, he dug a hermitage in the ground, by the river’s bank* staying there many hours a day in meditation, and spending the nights on the other side of the river in austere practices. His daily diet consisted of a handful of bitter Nimba leaves or a few pods of red pepper only. He held all work to be “worshipping the Lord”, and he would often give the food he cooked, after offering it to his Islita, to the poor or to wandering monks, refusing himself to eat. So spare was his diet that he was called Pavhari Baba, “The Air-eating Father”. As days went on, he spent more and more time in his cave, often months on end, until people wondered how he lived, and whether he was dead. After a time, however, the Baba emerged. When not absorbed in meditation he would receive visitors in a room above the entrance to his cave. Later he would see no one. Finally, one morning, smelling the odour of burning flesh and seeing volumes of smoke rising from his cell, people found that he had offered himself as a holocaust to the Lord, whilst his spirit soared into the blessedness of Samadhi.

No wonder, then, that the Swami was anxious to meet him. Later he admitted that he owned a deep debt of gratitude to the saint, and spoke of him as one of the greatest masters he had ever loved and served.1

1 Complete Works, Vol. IV, p. 283—Sketch of the Life of Pavhari Baba. 13

It was very difficult to get an interview with Pavhari Baba. He never left his room, and when willing to speak at all, he would come just to the door, speaking from the inside. When the Swami met the Babaji, he was greatly struck with his personality. “A great sage, indeed!” he writes. “It is all very wonderful, and in this atheistic age, a towering representation of marvellous power born of Bhakti and Yoga! I have sought refuge in his grace, and he has given me hope—a thing very few are fortunate enough to get.” The Babaji was also much pleased to meet the Swami and hoped that he might stay there for some time.

The Swami moved to the garden-house of Gagan Babu and began to practise severe asceticism. Though suffering from an attack of diarrhoea, he ate the coarse food obtained by begging. Almost every day he would go to the Babaji’s cell and beg the grace of the saint. But Pavhari Baba was a wonderful man and full of humility. He never gave a direct reply to questions but would say, “What does this servant know?” But fire would flash as the talk went on. If the Swami were too pressing the Babaji would say, “Favour me highly by staying here for some days.” When the Swami who was suffering from lumbago could not go to the Babaji, the Babaji would always send someone to inquire about the Swami’s health.

It was at Ghazipur that the Swami met many European officials. Through Gagan Babu, he met Mr. Ross, a Government official in the opium department, who asked him many penetrating questions about the Hindu festivals. He also asked the Swami to write a paper on the Hindu festival, “Holi”, which the latter did. Mr. Ross introduced the learned Sannyasin to Mr. Pennington, the District Judge, who became so charmed with the Swami’s learned exposition of Hindu religion and social customs that he asked him to go to England to preach these ideas. Then with still another gentleman, Colonel Rivett-Carnac, the Swami had a lengthy discussion on Vedantism. At this time the Swamf rose to his very highest moods. The spirit of the preacher in him was aroused, and he spoke with power and luminous insight.

At Ghazipur the Swami was in regular correspondence with Akhandananda who was sending him interesting descriptions of the Tibetans. The Swami wrote to his brother-disciple explaining the philosophy of the Tantrika rites and the Buddhistic doctrines. Naren was a great admirer of Buddha and would have liked to go to Tibet to study the Buddhistic scriptures. To this end he suggested to Akhandananda that he should come to Ghazipur and that from there they would set out together for Tibet via Nepal where one of his friends was private tutor to H. H. the Maharaja. It would be easy for them to penetrate into Tibet with the officers of the Nepalese Government who went annually to Lhasa under the protection of the Nepal State.

But now one turns from the group of the European and Indian listeners and from the eloquence of the monk to the silence and inner workings of the Swami’s own mind. At all times he was afflicted with a spiritual dissatisfaction and restlessness. He was always seeking, always striving and always analysing. In a solitary lemon-garden, said to be haunted, he practised the severest Sadhanfi; in spite of his ill health, he made efforts to plunge his soul into the highest Reality.

In the spiritual evolution of Naren two parallel lines of thought are seen at work at this period of his life. In the conscious plane he was filled with the desire to realise the highest Truth and remain immersed in Sarnadhi. All other ideals appeared insignificant to him in comparison. While this mood was uppermost he felt a great spiritual unrest, the like of which he had experienced only at the Cossipore garden-house during the closing days of Shri Ramakrislina’s life. The zeal for the highest Sarnadhi ate him up, as it were, day by day. In his intense restlessness to be merged in the Absolute, he had forgotten the words of the Master, “You have now tasted the highest realisation. For the present it is kept locked up and the key shall be with me. You have work to do. When you have finished that, you will enter into this Sarnadhi without a break/’ But in the unconscious plane of his mind another current of thought seemed to work with equal force. At such periods he was literally mad for the regeneration of his motherland. He would forgo the pleasure of the Nirvikalpa Sarnadhi even, in order to work for the uplift of the masses. It was the mission and purpose of his life. His was not to be a life of asceticism and retirement but that of intense activity and self-immolation. He would be sternly reminded of this latter ideal, as if by an unseen power, when he concentrated all his energy in meditation.

Naren suffered at this time from various mental and physical agonies. Lumbago was giving him a good deal of trouble. Sometimes the pain in the loins made him frantic. “I know not,” he writes, “how I shall climb up the hills. I find that the Babaji has wonderful endurance, and that is why I go to him.” He was greatly upset to learn that Abhedananda, his brotlier-disciple, was suffering from repeated attacks of malaria at Hrishikesh. The Swami sent a wire from Ghazipur to know if he needed him. “Well,” he writes to Pramadadas Babu, “you may smile, sir, to see me weaving all this web of Milya, —and that is, no doubt, the fact. But then there is the chain of iron and there is the chain of gold. Much good comes of the latter, and it drops off by itself when all the good is reaped. The sons of my Master are indeed the great objects of mv service, and here alone I feel I have some duty left for me.” But a week later he writes to Pramadadas Babu again, “You know not, sir, I am a very soft-natured man in spite of the stern Vedantic views I hold. And this proves to be my undoing. At the slightest touch I give way. For howsoever I may try to think only of my own good, I begin, in spite of myself, to think of other people’s interests.” He had set out this time with a stern resolve to carry out his own plans, but he had to give them up at the news of the illness of a brother at Allahabad. And now came this news from Hrishikesh. No reply had come as yet to his telegram to Hrishikesh. He was in a quandary, between his monastic yearnings and his love and sense of responsibility for his brother-disciples. What system of Yoga would be best to make it possible to remain serene in the midst of all these disturbing phenomena and to help him to concentrate on the Brahman? That was his constant thought. It was to learn this Yoga that he went to the Babaji.

But the Babaji, too, was proving difficult and showed no disposition to pass on to Naren the knowledge he craved. To all Naren’s importunities he was deaf. At last the Swami decided that if it were necessary in order to learn the Yoga he desired, he would be initiated by Pavhari Baba. To such lengths would he have gone in his determination to attain the thing he sought. No sooner had his decision been made than Shri Ramakrishna appeared before him and looked intensely into his eyes, without a word. Through a mist of tears Naren saw words of power, divinity, love and insight. He was abashed, overcome by self-reproach. And yet the struggle continued for days thereafter. Many times he resolved to become the disciple of Pavhari Baba in spite of his vision, but the vision of Sliri Ramakrishna recurred, and other things happened, of which the Swami never spoke. So he gave up the idea. In the end it was Shri Ramakrishna who was triumphant. Long after the Swami composed a song in Bengali entitled “A song I sing to Hiee” in which one finds a glimpse of this experience.1

1 Complete Works, Vol. IV, p. 511.

The Swami understood Shri Ramakrishna after this. He saw clearly that the Master was the fulfilment of spirituality, that one who had sat at his feet and been blessed by him, stood in need of no other spiritual help. He wrote to Pramadadas Babu, referring to Pavhari Baba, “But now I see the whole matter is inverted in its bearings! While I myself came as a beggar to his door, he in turn wanted to learn of me! This saint perhaps, is not yet perfected—too much of rituals, vows and observances, and too much self-concealment. The ocean in its fullness cannot be contained within its shores, I am sure. So it is not good, I have decided, to disturb this Sadhu for nothing and very soon I shall take leave of him….

“To no great one am I going again. . . . So, now, the great conclusion is that Ramakrishna has no peer; nowhere else in this world exists such unprecedented perfection, such wonderful kindness for all that does not stop to justify itself, such intense sympathy for man in bondage. Either he must be the Avatara as he himself used to say, or else the everperfect divine man, whom the Vedanta speaks of as the free one, who assumes the body for the good of humanity. This is my conviction, sure and certain ; and the worship of such a divine man has been referred to by Patanjali in the aphorism, ‘Or the goal may be attained by meditating on the pure soul of a saint/

“Never during his life did he refuse a single prayer of mine. Millions of offences has he forgiven me. Such great love even my parents never had for me. There is no poetry, no exaggeration in all this. It is the bare truth and every disciple of his knows it. In times of great danger, great temptation, I have wept in extreme agony with the prayer, ‘O God, save me’, and no response came ; but this wonderful saint, or Avatara, or whatever you may wish to call hint, knew, through his power of insight into the human heart, of all my afflictions and removed them, in spite of myself, by bringing me to him.”

The Swami was satisfied, no more was his mind distracted ; and soon he was able to give himself over to single-minded meditation. These occurrences are not indicative of any loss of faith in his Master, as the excerpt given below from a letter to Akhandananda shows:    “My motto is to learn to recognise good, no matter where I may come across it. This leads my friends to think that I may lose my devotion to the Guru. These are ideas of lunatics and bigots. For all Gurus are one, fragments and radiations of God, the Universal Guru.” That the Swami’s idea was only to learn Raja-Yoga from Pavhari Baba is clear from an earlier portion of the same letter. He writes, “Our Bengal is the land of Bhakti and Jnana. Yoga is scarcely mentioned there. What little there is, is but the queer breathing exercises of the Hatha-Yoga—which is nothing but a kind of gymnastics. Therefore I am staying with this Raja-Yogi—and he has given me some hope.” Premananda was one of those who had mistaken Naren’s devotion to Pavhari Baba for disloyalty to Shri Ramakrishna, and he had come to Ghazipur to persuade Naren to go to Varanasi. Naren was very harsh with him and sent him away. He was not going to be overpowered any more by his love for his Gurubhais. He went away from Ghazipur to some distant village to meditate for days together without telling them where he was going. He wrote to Abhedananda to come to Varanasi and requested Pramadadas Babu to look after him. He asked Akhandananda to cease wandering in the Himalayas and either to settle at some place of his choice or to return to the Math at Baranagore.

But the persistent rumours of the illness of Abhedananda compelled him at last to go to Varanasi. This fitted in with his plans, for he had had in his mind for some time the secret desire to practise Tapasya at the holy city. He hurried to Varanasi as the guest of Pramadadas Babu. After making every arrangement for the care of Abhedananda, he settled himself in Pramadadas Babu’s garden and devoted his entire lime to the practice of austerities. While at Varanasi he received the heart-rending news of the passing away of Balaram Bose, the great householder devotee of the Master. He was plunged into a sea of grief. The memory of innumerable days of sweet companionship and of staunch friendship that crowded in upon him made him but lament the more. Pramadadas Babu was struck to see a monk, a strict Vedantist, so upset by death. But Narcn said, ‘‘Please do not talk that way. We are not dry monks. What! Do you think that because a man is a Sannyasin he has no heart.! ” And with the intention of bringing solace to the bereaved family, who were all devotees of the Master, and also to enquire into the affairs of the Math, Narcn left Varanasi for Calcutta.

And now that he was back to that same old life of prayer and meditation which had obtained in the Baranagore monastery, he encouraged the monks, whom he loved with his whole heart, to live up to the ideal. All his extensive learning went towards the intellectual development of his Gurubhais. In giving up their university examinations and renouncing their degrees, the monks had in reality lost nothing. Indeed they were admitted to a richer intellectual life, for their Leader was in himself an encyclopaedia of knowledge. Yet the Swami did not set himself up as a teacher. He would talk for hours, sometimes continuing the same subject for days, to the monks as they sat around him. There were no formal classes—he was simply expressing himself.

The presence of Naren was sorely needed at the Baranagore Math, for since the passing of Suresh Chandra Mitra on the 25th May, 1890, the brotherhood was in great financial difficulties. There was, sometimes, a great scarcity of food, but they were upheld by the power of meditation and prayer. Naren was the compelling guide, the leader in it all. He set their souls on fire with the memory of the Master’s words and the thrilling stories of his own life as a wanderer.

At this time he was assailed by the thought that something should be done to perpetuate the memory of Shri Ramakrishna in Bengal, the land of his birth—the erection, for instance, of a suitable temple on the bank of the Ganga in his name. Apropos of this he wrote a beautiful letter to Pramadadas Babu from Baranagore dated the 2fitli May, 1890, from which we give below some extracts.

“For various reasons, the body of Shri Ramakrishna had to be consigned to fire. There is no doubt that this act was very blamable. His ashes, however, have been preserved, and if they be now properly enshrined somewhere on the bank of the Ganga, I presume we shall be able, in some measure, to expiate the sin lying on our heads….

“What greater regret can there be than this that no memorial in this land of Bengal in the neighbourhood of the place of his Sadhanft has as yet been raised in honour of him by whose birth the race of the Bengalis has been sanctified, the land of Bengal has become hallowed, who came on earth to save the Indians from the spell of the worldly glamour of Western culture, and who therefore chose most of his all-renouncing monks from university men?

“. . . Suresh Babu had offered a sum of Rs. 1,000 for the purpose, promising to give more, but for some inscrutable purpose of God he left this world yesternight! And the news of Balaram Babu’s death is already known to you.

“Now there is no knowing as to where his disciples will go with his sacred remains and his seat (you know well people here in Bengal are profuse in their professions, but do not stir out an inch in practice). The disciples are Sannyasins and are ready forthwith to depart anywhere their way may lie. But I, their servant, am in agony, and my heart is breaking to think that a small piece of land could not be had in which to install the remains of Bhagavan Ramakrishna.”

He begged Pramadadas Babu to raise a subscription from his friends there and thus help in the erection of the memorial. “I am,” the letter continues, “Shri Ramakrishna’s servant and am willing even to steal and rob, if by doing so I can perpetuate his name on the land of his birth and Sadhana and help even a little his disciples to practise his great ideals…. It would be the greatest pity if the memorial shrine could not be raised on the land of his birth and Sadhana! The condition of Bengal is pitiable. The people here are unable even to dream what renunciation truly means—only luxury, sensuality and selfishness are eating into the vitals of the race. May God infuse renunciation and unworldliness into this land!” But even in the midst of the training of his brother-disciples and his plans for raising a memorial to the Master, the spirit of restlessness seized him anew! And this time it drew him away for years from the Baranagore Math and his Gurubhais. Day by day he knew he was being drawn into a web of relationships and responsibilities, and calls on his time and attention were coming from all sides. All these were interfering with his taking up the life of the itinerant monk and his purpose, through just such a life, of becoming more confident of himself and the message he was to give. He must: settle down ; he must give himself up to contemplation ; he must solve all the problems of the soul, and of the land he was born in. And therefore after two months’ stay in the monastery he started out in July, 1890, with the same old determination—never to return. This time the Swami intended to make the pilgrimage to the Himalayas from which Swami Akhandananda had just returned, with tales of marvellous interest and descriptions of far-off Tibet and beauteous Kashmir; with glowing accounts of the Tibetan lamaseries and of the grandeur of Kedarnath, Naren said to him, “You are my man! You have faith! Gome, let us be off together!” In a letter to a fellow monk, dated the 6th July, 1890, the Swami wrote:    “I intend shortly, as soon as I can get a portion of my fare, to go up to Almora and thence to some place in Garhwal on the Ganga where I can settle down for a long meditation. Gangadhar is accompanying me. Indeed, it was with this desire and intention that I brought him down from Kashmir…. I am longing for a flight to the Himalayas.” 

He said to his Gurubhais, “I shall not return until I acquire such realisation that my very touch will transform a man.”Before leaving Calcutta he went to Ghusuree, a village across the Ganga, where he sought out the Holy Mother to receive her blessings. And he told her, “Mother, I shall not return until I have attained the highest Jnana!” The Holy Mother blessed him in the name of the Master. She said, “My son, will you not see your own mother at home before leaving?” And he answered, “Mother, you alone are my mother! ” And seeing his spirit, the Holy Mother again blessed him.

WANDERINGS IN THE HIMALAYAS

Thus one sees the Swami, restless and impatient, ridding his heart of all attachment, to fulfd his purpose. From the moment he left Calcutta he was happy. The solitude, the village air, the seeing of new places, the meeting with new people and the getting rid of old impressions and of worry delighted him. The first place at which he and Akhandananda halted for some days was Bhagalpur. They were, at first, the guests of Kumar Nitya-nanda Sinha, who perceived after conversation that they were highly educated and one of them was marvellously gifted. From there they went to the house of Manmatha Nath Chodhury, the private tutor to the Kumar. Babu Mathura Nath Sinha, a pleader, who was then in Bhagalpur wrote a letter afterwards reminiscent of his meeting with the Swamis in which he says :

“The very sight of them prepossessed rue in their favour, I remembered to have seen one of them, who later on became renowned as the Swami Vivekananda, in my college days at Calcutta, as often leading the choir at the SfulhAran Brail mo Samaj. My conversation with him covered much ground, including literature, philosophy and religion, principally the latter two. It seemed that learning and philosophy were as the very air which he breathed. I discovered that the soul of his teaching was an intense and unselfish patriotism with which lie invested and vivified his subjects. This was an abiding characteristic with him. When I read the glowing descriptions of the success he won at the Chicago Parliament of Religions, I felt that in him India had found her man.”

Manmatha Babu, whose guest the two Swamis were at Bhagalpur, was a staunch Brahmo. The Swami explained to him the many aspects of Hindu religion and impressed him by his interpretation of the various episodes of Shri Krishna’s life. In June, 1906, Manmatha Babu wrote to a disciple of the Swami :

“One morning in August of the year 1890, Swami Vivekananda with Swami Akhandananda came unexpectedly to my house. Thinking them to be ordinary Sadhus, I did not pay them much attention. We were sitting together after our noonday meal ; and believing them to be ignorant, 1 did not enter into conversation with them, but began to read an English translation of a work on Buddhism. After a while, Swamiji asked me what book I was reading. In reply, I told him the title of the book and asked, Do you know English?’ He replied, ‘Yes, a little.’ Then I conversed with him on Buddhism, but after a short time, I found out that he was a thousand times more learned than I. He quoted from many English works, and Babu Mathura Nath Sinha of Danapnr and myself were astonished at his learning and listened to him with rapt attention. . . .

‘One day Swamiji asked me if I practised any special Sadhanas, and we conversed on the practice of Yoga for a long time. From this I was convinced that he was not a common man, as what he said of Yoga was exactly the same as that which I had heard from the Swami Dayananda Sarasvati. Besides, he gave out many other important things on the subject which I had not heard before.

Then, to test his knowledge of Sanskrit, I brought out all the Upa-nishads that I had with me and questioned him on many abstruse passages from them. By his illuminating replies I found that his mastery of the scriptures was of an extraordinary kind. And the way in which he recited from the Upanishads was charming. Thus, being firmly convinced of his wonderful knowledge equally in English, Sanskrit and in Yoga, I was greatly draw’ll towards him. Though he stayed in my house for only seven days. I became so devoted to him that I resolved in my mind that by no means whatever would I let him go elsewhere. So I strongly urged him to live always at Bhagalpur.

‘Once I noticed him humming a tune to himself. So I asked him if he could sing. He replied, ‘Very little.’ Being pressed hard by us he sang, and what was my surprise to see that as in learning so in music he had wonderful accomplishment! Next day I asked him if he were willing thai I should invite some singers and musicians ; he consented and I asked many musicians, several of whom were ostads, or adepts in the art, to come. Believing that the music would end by nine or ten at the latest, I did not arrange for supper for the guests. Swamiji sang without ceasing till two or three o’clock in the morning. All without exception were so charmed, that they forgot hunger and thirst and all idea of time! None moved from his seat or thought of going home. Kailas Babu, who was accompanying the Swami in his songs, was forced to give up finally for his fingers had become stiff and had lost all sensation. Such superhuman power I have never seen in anybody, nor do I expect to see it again. The next evening, all the guests of the previous night, and many others, presented themselves without any invitation. The player on the instrument also came, but Swamiji did not sing that evening. So everyone was disappointed.

’ Another day I proposed to introduce him to all the rich men of Bhagalpur, and that I myself would take him to them in my carriage so that it would not be any trouble to him. But he declined and said, ‘lt is not the SannyAsin’s Dharma to visit the rich!’ His fiery renunciation made a deep impression on me. Indeed, in his company I was taught many lessons which have always remained with me as spiritual ideals.

“From my boyhood, I was inclined to live in some solitary place and perform Sadhanas. When I met Swamiji, this desire grew strong. I often told him, ‘Let us both go to Vrindaban, and depositing three hundred rupees for each of us in the temple of Shri Govindaji we shall have as food Govindaji’s Prasad for the rest of our lives. Thus, without being a burden to anyone, we shall practise devotion day and night in a sequestered spot on the banks of the holy Jamuna!’ In reply to this he said, ‘Yes, for a special temperament or nature, this scheme is no doubt good, but not. for all,’ meaning himself, who had renounced everything. Amongst his many new ideas, the two most impressive to me were :

“ ‘Whatever of the ancient Aryan knowledge, intellect and genius is still left can be mostly found in those parts which lie near the banks of the Ganga. The further one goes from the Ganga, the less one sees them. This convinces one of the greatness of the Ganga as sung in our scriptures.

“ ‘The epithet mild Hindu, instead of being a word of reproach ought really to point to our glory, as expressing greatness of character. For, see how much moral and spiritual advancement and how much development of the qualities of love and compassion have to be acquired before one can get rid of the brutish force of one’s nature, which actuates the ruining and the slaughter of one’s brother-men for self-aggrandisement! . . . .’

“Swamiji fully knew in his heart that I would not willingly or easily let him depart from Bhagalpur. So. one day when I was away on some important business, he grasped this opportunity of leaving, after taking farewell of those at home. When I came back I made a strenuous search for him. but could discover no clue of him anyw’here. And yet, why should I have thought that my will would avail! Why should Swamiji be like a frog in the well, when his field of work was the whole wide world!

“He had expressed to me his intention of going to the BadarikAshrama. Therefore, after he had left Bhagalpur, I even went up to Almora in the Himalayas in search of him. There Lala Badri Shah told me that he had left Almora some time before ; and knowing that he must have already journeyed a long way in the direction of the Northern Tirtha, I was compelled to give up my idea of following him.

“It was my heart’s desire to bring him once more to Bhagalpur after his return from America, but he could not come, having then perhaps very little leisure or opportunity to do so.’’

At the instance of Akhandananda, the Swami next visited Vaidyanath. Here they went to see Babu Raj Narayan Bose, the venerable old Brahmo preacher. The Swami had instructed his Gurubhai not to let Raj Narayan Babu know that he knew English. In the course of conversation many topics arose that required the use of English words, as for example “plus” ; but the Swami surmounted the difficulty by making the plus sign by crossing his fingers. Not once did the old gentleman dream that the young monk before him spoke English as fluently as his own mother tongue. Much later, when the Swami’s name became famous throughout the length and breadth of India, Raj Narayan Babu discovered that it was he who had visited him years ago and remembered his meeting with him. He said in surprise, “I thought he did not know English! ” After passing the night with him, the monks started for Varanasi on the following day.

At Varanasi, the Swami stayed with his friend Pramadadas Babu, with whom he spent hours in the discussion of scriptural topics. He was very eager to see the snow-capped Himalayas, and so did not prolong his stay at Varanasi. As he was taking leave of Pramada Babu, he said, “When I shall return here next time I shall burst upon society like a bomb-shell, and it will follow me like a dog!” And he did not return to this sacred city until he had verily stirred up the world to new modes of thought and resurrected the spirit of the Indian sages.

At the insistence of Akhandananda, the Swami next went to Ayodhya and to the Ashrama of Janakivar Saran, a Sanskrit and Persian scholar, the Mahan t of a local temple with vast estates. The Swami was much impressed with his learning and spiritual fervour and remarked to his brother-disciple, “I have seen a man, a real holy man! ”

Next, one sees the Swami and his Gurubhai as the guests of Ram Prasanna Bhattacharya in Naini Tal, where they remained for about a fortnight. Then they left for Almora on their way to Badarikashrama, determined to walk all the way without a pice. On the third day they stopped for the night near a watermill by the side of a stream. An aged Peepul tree stood on the bank of the flowing stream ; after his bath, the Swami repaired to the tree and sat there for about an hour absorbed in meditation. Then he said to his companion, “Well, Gangadhar, here under this banyan tree one of the greatest problems of my life has been solved/’ Then he told of his wonderful vision about the oneness of the microcosm and the macrocosm. What the Swami entered in a fragmentary way in his note book on that day, is given here, in translation, as it was found, verbatim. From this one may get a glimpse of his trend of thought and realisation. It reads :

“In the beginning was the Word etc.

“The microcosm and the macrocosm are built on the same plan. Just as the individual soul is encased in the living body, so is the Universal Soul in the Living Prakriti (Nature)—the objective universe. Shiva (Kali)1 is embracing Shiva ; this is not a fancy. This covering of the one (Soul) by the other (Nature) is analogous to the relation between an idea and the word expressing it: they are one and the same, and it is only by a mental abstraction that one can distinguish them. Thought is impossible without words. Therefore, in the beginning was the Word etc.

1 Shiva etc.—The reference is to the Tantrika conception of Kali embracing Shiva. Kali is the Mother of the universe, and Shiva, Her Divine Spouse.

“This dual aspect of the Universal Soul is eternal. So what we perceive or feel is this combination of the Eternally Formed and the Eternally Formless.”

When the monks arrived at Almora, Akhandananda took the Swami to the garden of Amba Dutt, wdiilst he himself went to inform Saradananda and Vaikunthanath of their arrival. These two brother-disciples had been in the Himalayas for some time. When they learned of the Swami’s presence, they hastened to the garden-house of Amba Dutt to greet him. They were half way to the place, when they met the Swami himself coming to see them. Lala Badri Shah, who was their host and one of the party, welcomed the Swami to his home. Here he had a long discussion with one Shri Krishna Joshi, the Sheristadar, on the necessity of renouncing the world. The court-officer was struck with his power of eloquence and learning. The Swami was much impressed with Badri Shah’s devotion and hospitality and remarked that he had rarely seen a devotee like him. Terrible news reached the Swami here. A telegram came from the brother telling of the suicide of one of his sisters. A letter which followed gave details. This caused the Swami great anguish of heart : and yet even in this grief he saw other realities. Through this perspective of personal woe he seemed to have been rudely awakened to the great problems of Indian womanhood. He now decided to travel into the wilder mountains. The situation was a peculiar one, a mingling of the domestic and monastic consciousness ; but the balance of thought and determination swung with power in the latter direction.

Therefore he left in company with Saradananda, Akhanda-nanda and Vaikuntha, with a coolie to carry their load, and turned his steps towards Garliwal. On the way Akhandananda suffered greatly from severe cough. The party reached Karna-prayag on the way to Badarikashrama. There they had to halt for three days, at the end of which time they gave up the idea of going up to Kedarnath and Badarikashrama as the road was closed by the Government on account of famine. After leaving Karnaprayag, the Swami and Akhandananda were taken ill with fever whilst staying in a Chati, or halting place for pilgrims. They remained at the Chati until they sufficiently recovered to go on, and at the end of a week the party proceeded to Rudraprayag. The scenery in these parts is beautiful beyond description with its waterfalls, streams, wild forests and its perfect peace and solitude. The invigorating atmosphere buoyed up the spirit of the Swami and the occasional glimpses of the eternal snows gladdened his heart. At Rudraprayag they met a Bengali monk, Purnananda by name, with whom they spent the night. A short distance from Rudraprayag, in a Dharmashala (a resting place) the Swami and Akhandananda were again attacked with high fever, this time so severely that they were unable to continue their journey. Fortunately, they met the Sadar Amin of the Garhwal District, Badri Dutt Joshi, who was on tour and encamped there. Seeing the suffering of the two monks he gave them some Ayurvedic medicines, and when they were sufficiently improved to be moved,sent them by Dandi to Srinagar,ninemiles off. There they gradually recovered. The monks were now one hundred and twenty miles from Alniora, which distance had been covered in a little more than two weeks. In spite of their repeated illness their time had been spent in wandering slowly up the mountain paths, begging their food, meditating and holding religious conversations.

At Srinagar the monks dismissed the coolie and took up their abode in a lonely hut by the banks of the Alakananda river in which Swami Turiyananda had once lived. Here they stayed about a month, living on Madhukari Bhiksha, which means, literally, the food procured by begging from house to house even as a bee collects honey from different flowers. During these journeys, as well as at Srinagar, the Swami instructed the Gurubhais in the teachings of the principal Upanishads excepting the Chhandogya and the Brihadaranvaka. The days passed away very happily in prayer, meditation and scriptural study. At Srinagar he met a schoolmaster, by caste a Vaishva, who was a recent convert to Christianity. The Swami spoke to him so eloquently of the glories of Hinduism that he returned to the Sanatana Dharma and became greatly attached to the monks.

From Srinagar they next moved to Tehri. At Tehri they found two rooms in a deserted garden meant for wandering monks. Here on the bank of the sacred Ganga they lived on Madhukari Bhiksha and spent most of their time in meditation and prayer.

After a time, they became acquainted with Babu Raghu-nath Bhattacharya, the Dewan of the Tehri Raj and an elder brother of Pandit Haraprasad Shastri of Calcutta. The Swami stayed with him for a few days. He was still eager to find a suitable place for meditation on the bank of the Ganga. The Dewan offered to help and even made suitable arrangements to enable him to do so in Ganeshprayag at the confluence of the Ganga and the Vilangana rivers. These plans had to be altered ; for, on the very day they were completed, Akhanda-nanda again fell ill, this time, of cold and examination of his chest by a local physician showed that his lungs were affected 14 and he was advised to move immediately to the plains for systematic treatment. The doctor was of opinion that the winter in the hills which was fast approaching would be too severe for the patient. Though everything was settled to go to Ganesh-prayag, the Swami immediately changed his plans and went at once to the Dewan to explain the reason for the change and said that he would avail himself of his kindness sometime in the future. The Dewan gave him a letter of introduction to the Civil Surgeon of Dehra Dun and provided two ponies to take the Swami and Akhandananda to Mussooree besides meeting the other necessary expenses of the way. So, for the sake of his Gurubhai whom Shri Ramakrishna had entrusted to his care, the Swami, after about a month’s stay at Tehri, went to Dehra Dun, many miles away. Akhandananda writes, “I have heard the Swami say times without number that whenever he desired to retire into the life of silence and austerity, he was compelled by the pressure of circumstances to give it up.”

Leaving Tehri, the monks went to Rajpur, by way of Mussooree. Here they met Swami Turiyananda, who joined the party. Immediately at Dehra Dun Swami Akhandananda was taken to have his chest examined by Dr. Maclaren, the Civil Surgeon, to whom the Swami had brought a letter of introduction from the Dewan of Tehri. Careful examination found the patient to be suffering from a slight attack of bronchitis. Doctor Maclaren advised him to live in the plains and to have proper medical treatment. But some sort of shelter had to be found for the sick monk. So the Swami himself set out about the town of Dehra Dun in search of a suitable place, enquiring at many houses saying, “My Gurubhai is ill! Can you give him a little place in your house and arrange for suitable diet for him?” But he only received cold-hearted replies and excuses. At last Pandit Ananda Narayan, a Kashmiri Brahmin and a vakil of the town, took charge of the sick monk. He rented a small house for him and provided suitable diet and warm clothing. The others stayed elsewhere and lived on Bhiksha

The Swami remained at Dehra Dun for about three weeks, and after advising Akhandananda to go to a friend’s house at Allahabad, he with the others went to Hrishikesh. Instead, Akhandananda, while visiting a friend at Saharanpur on his way to Allahabad took his advice and went to Meerut to consult Dr. Trailokya Nath Ghosh under whose treatment he remained for a month and a half.

The Swami went on to Hrishikesh, the place hallowed by Hindu legend and story. It is a picturesque and secluded spot, situated at the foot of the Himalayas, in a valley surrounded by hills and almost encircled by the Ganga. The whole place is monastic ; the very air is pure and holy. Thousands of Yogis and Sannyasins of diverse sects assemble there every year to spend the winter in reading the scriptures and practising Yoga and meditation. In those days it was a jungle, covered with groves, wild plum shrubs, bushes of wild flowers and evergreens, and dotted here and there with thatched cottages raised by the Sadhus for their habitation.

The Swami and his Gurubhais stayed there for some time, dwelling in a hut near the temple of Chandeshwar Mahadeva, and living on Madhukari Bhiksha. Again the desire to perform severe Sadhanas arose in the Swami : but as ill luck would have it. his intention was frustrated by severe illness attended with high fever and delirium. He grew worse and worse until he became unconscious and almost pulseless as he lay on his rude bed composed of a couple of coarse blankets spread on the ground. Overwhelmed with grief and anxiety his brethren were at a loss to know what to do. In those days help could be found only at a great distance. They were in the utmost agony of mind, when a native of the hills appeared on the scene. He prescribed an indigenous medicine which, mixed with honey, was forced into the Swami’s mouth. Happily, it proved to be efficacious, and the Gurubhais were much relieved.

That experience made the Gurubhais realise just, who and what he was to them. If he should die, they thought, they would be friendless and alone in the world ; without him the world would be a wilderness. When he recovered the Gurubhais took him to Hardwar, near at hand. Swami Brahma-nanda came from Kankhal where he had been staying, and all of them went to Saharanpur, visiting the house of Banku Bellari Babu, a local pleader. When they learned that Akhandananda was in Meerut, they immediately went to that place.

The monks found Akhandananda at the residence of Dr. Trailokya Nath Ghose. Akhandananda was very eager to see the Leader, hut was frightened when he saw the ravages that illness had made on him. “I had never seen him thinner,*’ he said, “he was worn to a shadow. It seemed that he had not as yet recovered from his terrible illness at Hrishikesh.” For fifteen days the two monks remained with the physician, whilst the other brethren stayed at the house of Yajncshwar Babu. who later on embraced the monastic life and became known as Swami Jnanananda, the leader of the Bharat Dhanna Mahamandal. Afterwards, ail the brothers went to live together in the Settji’s garden, the proprietor of which was a friend of Yajneshwar Babu. The Leader was still taking medicine to counteract the havoc wrought by the illness, and to control the persistent and frequent attacks of fever. There is no doubt that the austerities practised during his wanderings and haphazard eating had weakened him greatly. But at Meerut he gradually grew stronger.

While in the Settji’s garden, Swami Akhandananda brought to him an acquaintance, an Afghan gentleman who chanced to be a refugee Sardar and a relative of the Amir Abdar Raha-man of Afghanistan. This gentleman was as punctilious as the Hindus themselves in approaching a Sadhu, performing his ablutions in advance and bringing a basket of sweetmeats carried by a Hindu servant for presenting to the Swami. He was amongst the first of large numbers who came to see the Swami. In fact, this garden at Meerut was beginning to seem like a miniature Baranagore monastery, for here with the Leader were Swamis Brahmananda, Akhandananda, Turiyananda, Sarada-nanda, Vaikunthanath, and one day Swami Advaitananda joined the party. The Swami was now fully restored to health and vigour, and every day he read to them after the noonday meal from the Sanskrit classics, interpreting and explaining the texts in a masterly way. Mrichhakatika, Abhijndna-Shakuntala and Kumdra-Sambhava as well as the Vishnu-Purana were the books taken up one after the other. The monks themselves held singing parties and kept up their devotional practices and meditation even as they did at Baranagore. In the evening they used to go to the parade ground to see the various outdoor sports of the soldiers. This was one of the happiest periods of their life.

Desirous of spending some time in intellectual pursuits, the Swami asked Akhandananda to get from the local library the works of Sir John Lubbock. The books were returned the next day, with the message that the Swami had finished them. The librarian refused to believe this, saying that it was impossible. Whereupon the Swami went to the library and said, “Sir, I have mastered the whole of them ; if you doubt it, you may put any question to me about them.” After a few questions the librarian was convinced that he had been in error and his astonishment was great. Later Swami Akhandananda asked, “Swamiji, how did you do it?” The Leader replied, “I never read a book word by word. I read sentence by sentence, sometimes even paragraph by paragraph in a sort of kaleidoscopic form.”

After a stay in Meerut for about five months, the Swami again grew restless. He remembered the life of freedom of the stern ascetics in the neighbourhood of Hardwar and Hrishikesh. “I saw many great men in Hrishikesh,” said the Swami in later life. “One case that I remember was that of a man who seemed to be mad. He was coming nude down the street, with boys pursuing and throwing stones at him. The whole man was bubbling over with laughter, while blood was streaming down his face and neck. I took him and bathed his wound, putting ashes (made by burning a piece of cotton cloth) on it to stop the bleeding. And all the time, with peals of laughter, he told me of the fun the boys and he had been having, throwing the stones. ‘So the Father plays,’ he said.

“Many of these holy men hide in order to guard themselves against intrusion. People are a trouble to them. One had human bones strewn about his cave and gave it out that he lived on corpses. Another threw stones, and so on.” The Swami continued, ‘‘The Sannyasin needs no longer to worship or to go on pilgrimage or perform austerities. What then, is the motive of all this going from pilgrimage to pilgrimage, shrine to shrine, and austerity to austerity? He is acquiring merit, and giving it to the world!1 Yes, such a life was calling the Leader, if not in all the severity of its outward form, at least in its spirit, its desire for realisation and for solitude. His longing to see the Lord and receive His commands became so great that his Gurubhais were overcome with awe. For the Swami told them at Meerut that he had decided on the immediate course he was going to follow, that he knew already his mission. He had received the command of God regarding his future and told the monks that he was going to leave them in order to become the solitary monk. When Akhandananda begged to be taken along with him he said, ‘‘The attachment of Gurubhais is also Maya! If you fall ill I must look after you, and in case of my illness you must attend me. Thus one is hindered in one’s resolutions and attainment of the goal, I am determined to have no longer any form of Maya about me! ” And so, one morning in the latter part of January, 1891, he left his devoted brethren and journeyed on to Delhi by himself.

1 Sister Nivedita: The Master as I saw him, pp. 239 41.

IN HISTORIC RAJPUTANA

The Swami, with his scanty belongings and royal bearing, under the assumed name of Vividisliananda entered Delhi, the city of sovereign memories. The crisp air, the grandeur of the place, its memories, its history, its atmosphere, fdled him with physical and spiritual elation. He put up at the residence of Syamaldas who received him with open arms.

Here in Delhi he went everywhere and saw everything. The royal sepulchres and palaces, the deserted sites of capitals, the ruins of royal and imperial greatness impressed the young monk with the ephemeral nature of all human glory and the permanence of the spirit which knows neither coming nor going. At the same time, the historian in him found in Delhi the symbol of the immortal glory of the Indian people, and its grand but composite culture.

In the meantime some of the Gurubhais that were left at Meerut started for Delhi. At Delhi the brother-disciples soon discovered their beloved Leader, who was glad to see them. They said, “We did not know that you were staying here. We have come to Delhi to see only the old Imperial Capital. Here we heard of one Swami Vividishananda, an English-speaking monk. We were curious’to see him, and it is by mere accident that we met you.” The Swami replied, “My brethren, I have said that I desire to be left alone. I have asked you not to follow me. This I repeat once more. I do not want to be followed. Herewith I leave Delhi. No one must follow me or try to know my whereabouts. I demand that you obey me. I am going to cut myself off from all old associations. Whithersoever the spirit leads, there shall I wander. It matters not whether it is a forest or a desert waste, a mountain region or a densely populated city. I am off. I wish every one to strive for his own goal according to his light.” Still the Swami lingered on at Delhi; and though he lived apart from the Guru-bliais, they ate together. One day Dr. Hem Chandra Sen, a well-known Bengali physician of Delhi, spoke slightingly about the Swami to Akhandananda. A few days back when the Swami had consulted him about his tonsil his attitude seemed pronouncedly antagonistic. The doctor, however, expressed a desire to Akhandananda to meet the Leader again. One evening many professors of the local college assembled at the Doctor’s house and the Swami and his two brother-disciples were invited. A great discussion ensued. Many questions were asked and the Swami with his vast erudition impressed them all. Thereafter Dr. Sen became much attached to the small group of monks, and he invited them the following day to a feast at his house. After the brother-disciples left for Ghaziabad, the Swami set out for Rajputana. His soul was in the grip of a great restlessness and desire to attain the goal for which he had been born. He knew instinctively that the time to start his great mission was nearing ; that it was the guidance of the Master, the will of the Mother, that he should seek solitude. He was glad to be cut off from his beloved brethren—the last attachment of his soul. He remembered the words of the Dhammapada:

”Go forward without a path! Fearing nothing, caring for nothing,

Wander alone, like the rhinoceros!

Even as the lion, not trembling at noises,

Even as the wind, not caught in the net,

Even as the lotus leaf, unstained by the water,

Do thou wander alone, like the rhinoceros!”

The great strength of these words upheld and inspired him. Renouncing all ties, loosing all bondages, breaking down all limitations, destroying all sense of fear, the Swami went forth, even as the rhinoceros—towards Alwar, in the beautiful and historic land of Rajputana.

One morning in the beginning of February, 1891, the Swami alighted from the train at the Alwar railway station. Walking along the public road, fringed with gardens and verdant fields, and passing a row of beautiful mansions, he finally arrived at the State Dispensary, where stood a Bengali gentleman, Guru Charan Laskar, who proved to be the doctor in charge. The Swami inquired of him in Bengali if there was a place where Sannyasins could put up. The doctor, who was impressed by the remarkable appearance of the monk, bowed low before him, and joyfully accompanied him to the Bazar where he showed him a room in the upper story of one of the shops and said, ‘‘This is for Sannyasins, sirl Will you make vourself comfortable here for the present?” “Gladly!” responded the Swami. Seeing to the Swami’s immediate needs, the doctor hastened to the house of a Mohammedan friend, a teacher of Urdu and Persian in the High School and said, “O Moulavi Sahib ! A Bengali dervish has just arrived! Come immediately and see him! I have never seen such a Mahatma before! Please talk with him while I finish my work, and I shall join you presently.” Both hurried to the Bazar, and taking their shoes off entered the bare room in which the Swami had arranged his belongings, consisting of a few books tied up in a blanket, a piece of yellow cloth, a Kamandalu and a staff, and saluted him with reverence.

The Swami called the Moulavi Sahib to his side and discoursed with much love on religious matters. Of the Koran, he said, “There is one thing very remarkable about the Koran. Even to this day, it exists as it was found eleven hundred years ago. It retains its pristine purity and is free from interpolations.” Both the visitors were much impressed, and Guru Charan, on his return to his dispensary, spoke to everyone of “a great monk” who had just come. And those who heard the physician’s words caught some of his enthusiasm and went to meet the Swami. The Moulavi likewise informed all his Moslem friends, who also came in numbers. Soon a great concourse of people gathered. The Swami’s room and even the verandahs were crowded. The Swami’s discourse was interspersed with the singing of Urdu songs, Hindi Bhajana, and sometimes Bengali Kirtana, and songs of the great devotees— Vidyftpati, Chandidas and RamprasM. Sometimes he recited passages from the Vedas and the Upanishads, from the Bible and the Puranas. Or he would inspire them spiritually with stories from the lives of saints like Buddha, Shankara, Ramanuja, Guru Nanak. Ghaitanya. Tulsidas, Kabir, and Ramakrishna, with which he used to illustrate his teachings of the scriptures.

After a few days, the number of devotees and admirers became so great that some well-to-do man of Alwar arranged that he should stay at the house of Pandit Shambhunathji, a retired Engineer of the Alwar State. Here the Swami regulated his life, remaining by himself in prayer and meditation from early morning until the hour of nine, when he emerged from his room to find generally some twenty or thirty people of all castes, creeds and classes awaiting him. Some were Sunnis and Shiahs of the Mohammedan fold, some were Shaivites and Vaishna-vites. Some were men of wealth and position and learning, others were illiterate and poor. The Swami treated them all alike and answered their questions until noon. There was absolute freedom between him and those who came, if one asked an irrelevant question, such as, “Maharaj, to what caste does your body belong” even while he was explaining the highest metaphysical subject, he would immediately reply without any evidence of vexation, “It is Kayastha!” Some monks would have evaded a direct reply, hoping to be taken for a Brahmin, but the Swami was above all thought of caste. Again another would ask him, “Sir, why do you wear Gerua?” To which he would reply, “Because it is the garb of beggars ! Poor people would ask me for alms if I were to wear white clothes. Being a beggar myself, most times I do not have even a single pice with me to give them, and it causes me pain to have to refuse one who begs of me. But seeing my Gerusi cloth, they understand that I am a beggar even as they are, and they would not think of begging from a beggar.” This is a most original and touching explanation of his reason for wearing the San-nyasin’s robe, for the popular saying is, “Without Bhek, or a distinguishing garb of renunciation, no Bhiksha, or alms, is available.”

Sometimes the conversation would centre upon the blessedness of Mother-worship, and his heart would become so full that he could say nothing but “Mother! Mother!” At these times his chanting of Her name, which was at first loud and full, gradually became softer and softer as though it, too, were travelling with his soul—far, far away—until finally it would die away ; and from the Swami’s closed eyes tears of joy would fall showing how very close was his spiritual communion with the Mother. And the devotees would share in his ecstasy and from their eyes too would flow tears of joy. In the afternoon, and particularly the evening, there would be the same ecstasy of song and prayer, and often many of those present would join with the Swami in songs of praise of the Lord. Days slipped by in this manner ; all sense of time seemed to be lost! Sometimes the meetings would continue to midnight. He initiated some, giving them Mantras.

Among all his friends the Moulavi Sahib was one of the most devoted. He had a strong desire to invite him to his house and give him Bhiksha. He thought, ‘Swamiji is a great dervish with no caste distinction. But then Panditji, with whom he is staying, may object.” Nevertheless, he went to Panditji one evening, and with folded hands before all present said, “Do allow me to have the Babaji in my house for his meal tomorrow! To satisfy you all I will have all the furniture in my sitting-room washed by Brahmins ; the food which will be offered to Swamiji will be purchased and cooked by Brahmins in the utensils brought from their homes.” And he added, “This Yavana will be more than compensated if he can but see the Swami, at a distance, eating his food.” The Moulavi spoke these words with such sincere humility that all present were impressed, and Panditji clasped his hands in friendship saying, “My friend, Swamiji is a dervish! What is caste to him! There is no need to take such trouble. I, for my part, have no objection. Any arrangement you may make will satisfy us. Indeed, under such conditions as you propose, I myself can have no qualms of conscience in eating at your house, to say nothing of Swamiji who is a Mukta!” And so it happened that the Moulavi Sahib entertained the Swami in his own house and felt himself blessed. Many other devout Mohammedans followed the Moulavi’s example and cordially invited the Swami to their homes also.

Some time later, Major Ramchandraji, the Dewan to the Maharaja of Alwar, chanced to hear of the presence of a great Sadhu in the city, and invited him to his house. On better acquaintance he felt that the Swami would be a helpful influence for the Maharaja, Mangal Singhji, who had become much anglicised in thought and manners. He wrote to the Maharaja, who was at that time living in a palace some miles distant, saying, “A great Sadhu with a stupendous knowledge of English is here.” The very next day the Maharaja came to the Dewan’s house, where he met the Swami and bowed down before him,at the same time urging him to be seated.

1 The Sannyasins who have renounced the world belong to the fourth or highest state of social gradation in Hindu society, and as such they are worthy of respect from even Princes.

The Maharaja opened the conversation with, ‘‘Well, Swamiji Maharaj, I hear that you are a great scholar. You can easily earn a handsome sum of money every month. Why then do you go about begging?” The Swami replied with a question which was a home thrust, ‘‘Maharaj, tell me why you spend your time constantly in the company of Westerners and go on shooting excursions and neglect your duties to the State.” The courtiers who were present were taken aback. “What a bold Sadhu!    He will repent of this,” they thought with bated breath. But the Maharaja took it calmly, and after a little thought replied, “I cannot say why, but no doubt because I like to!” “Well, for that very same reason do I wander about as a fakir,” the Swami exclaimed.

The next question the Maharaja asked was, “Well, Babaji Maharaj, I have no faith in idol-worship. What is going to be my fate?” And he smiled as he spoke. The Swami seemed slightly annoyed and exclaimed, “Surely you are joking!” “No, Swamiji, not at all! You see, I really cannot worship wood, earth, stone or metal, like other people. Does this mean that I shall fare worse in the life hereafter?” The Swami answered, “Well, I suppose every man should follow his religious ideal according to his own faith!” The devotees of the Swami became perplexed at this reply, for they knew that the Swami sanctioned image-worship. But the Swami had not finished. His eyes alighted on a picture of the Maharaja which was hanging on the wall. At his express desire it was passed to him. Holding it in his hand he asked, “Whose picture is this?” The Dewan answered, “It is the likeness of our Maharaja.” A moment later they trembled with fear when they heard the Swami commanding the Dewan to spit upon it. “Spit upon it!” commanded the Swami. “Any one of you may spit upon it. What is it but a piece of paper? What objection can you have to do so?” The Dewan was thunder-struck, and the eyes of all glanced in terror and awe from the Prince to the monk, from the monk to the Prince. But all the while the Swami insisted, “Spit upon it! I say, spit upon it!” And the Dewan in fear and bewilderment cried out, “What! Swamiji! What are you asking me to do? This is the likeness of our Maharaja! How can I do such a thing?” “Be it so,” said the Swami, “but the Maharaja is not bodily present in this photograph. This is only a piece of paper. It does not contain his bones and flesh and blood. It does not speak or behave or move in any way as does the Maharaja. And yet all of you refuse to spit upon it, because you see in this photo the shadow of the Maharaja’s form. Indeed, in spitting upon the photo, you feel that you insult your master, the Prince himself.” Turning to the Maharaja he continued, “See, Your Highness, though this is not you in one sense, in another sense it is you. That was why your devoted servants were so perplexed when I asked them to spit upon it. It has a shadow of you ; it brings you into their minds. One glance at it makes them see you in it! Therefore they look upon it with as much respect as they do upon your own person. Thus it is with the devotees who worship stone and metal images of gods and goddesses. It is because an image brings to their minds their Ishta, or some special form and attributes of the Divinity, and helps them to concentrate, that the devotees worship God in an image. They do not worship the stone or the metal as such. I have travelled in many places, but nowhere have I found a single Hindu worshipping an image, saying, ‘O Stone! I worship Thee! O Metal ! Be merciful to me!’ Everyone is worshipping, O Maharaja, the same one God who is the Supreme Spirit, the Soul of Pure Knowledge. And God appears to all even according to their understanding and their representation of Him. Prince, I speak for myself! Of course, I cannot speak for you!” And Mangal Singh, who had been listening attentively all this time, said with folded hands, “Swamiji! I must admit that according to the light you have thrown upon image-worship, I have never yet met anyone who has worshipped stone, or wood, or metal. Heretofore I did not understand its meaning! You have opened my eyes! But what will be my fate? Have mercy on me!” The Swami answered, “O Prince, none but God can be merciful to one, and He is ever-merciful! Pray to Him. He will show His mercy unto you!”

After the Swami had taken leave, Mangal Singh remained thoughtful for a while and then said, “Dewanji, never have I come across such a Mahatma! Make him stay with you for some time.” The Dewan promised to do so, adding, ”I will try my best; but I do not know if I shall succeed. He is a man of fiery and independent character.” After many entreaties the Swami consented to live with the Dewan, but only under one condition, that all those poor and illiterate people who often came to him should have the right to see him freely whensoever they desired, even as the rich and those of higher positions. The Dewan readily agreed to this and the Swami consented to stay on with him.

Many of those who visited the Swami found their lives completely changed as the result of their contact with him. There was an old man, however, who came daily, constantly asking him for his blessings and his mercy. Accordingly the Swami instructed him in certain practices, but he would not follow them. Finally, the Swami became impatient with him, and one day seeing the man coming at a distance and wishing to get rid of him, he assumed an attitude of extreme reserve. He did not answer any of the old man’s questions, nor respond to any of the greetings of the many friends gathered there. They could not understand what the matter with him was. An hour and a half passed in this way, and still the Swami sat like a statue. The old man became angry and left swearing to himself. The Swami then burst into boyish laughter, in which all present also joined. A young man asked, “Swamiji. why were you so hard on that old man?” The Swami replied lovingly, “Dear sons, I am ready to sacrifice my life for you. for you are willing to follow my advice and have the power to do it! But here is an old man who has spent nine-tenths of his life in running after the pleasures of the senses ; now’ he is incapacitated for both the spiritual and the worldly life and thinks he can have God’s mercy for the mere asking! What is needed to attain JTruth is Purushakara, or personal exertion. How can God have mercy on one who is devoid of such exertion? He who is wanting in manliness is full of Tamas. It was because Arjuna, the bravest of warriors, was going to lose this manliness that Shri Krishna commanded him to do his Swadharma, so that by fulfilling his duties without attachment to results, he might acquire the qualities of Sattva, purification of hearty renunciation of all work, and self-surrender. Be strong ! Be manly! I have respect even for a wicked person so long as he is manly and strong, for his strength will make him some day give up his wickedness and even renounce all work for selfish ends, and will thus eventually bring him to the Truth.”

Following the Swami’s instructions, many young men of Alwar applied themselves to the study of Sanskrit. At times the Swami acted as teacher. He told them, “Study Sanskrit, but along with it study Western science as well. Leant accuracy, my boys! Study and labour, so that the time will come when you can put our history on a scientific basis. For now Indian history is disorganised. It has no chronological accuracy. The histories of our country written by English writers cannot but be weakening to our minds, for they tell only of our downfall. How can foreigners, who understand very little of our manners and customs or of our religion and philosophy, write faithful and unbiased histories of India? Naturally, many false notions and wrong inferences have found their way into them. Nevertheless Europeans have shown us how to proceed in making researches into our ancient history. Now it is for us to strike out an independent path of historical research for ourselves, to study the Vedas and the Puranas and the ancient annals of India, and from these make it our life’s Sadhana to write accurate, sympathetic and soul-inspiring histories of the land. It is for Indians to write Indian History. Therefore set yourselves to the task of rescuing our lost and hidden treasures from oblivion! Even as one whose child has been lost does not rest until one has found it, so do you never cease to labour until vou have revived the glorious Past of India in the consciousness of the people. That will be the true national education, and with its advancement a true national spirit will be awakened!”

The Swami’s personality endeared him to everyone. There was a Brahmin boy who often came to him and who loved him as a disciple loves his master. He was of the age when he should have been invested with the sacred thread, but he lacked the means. When the Swami heard of this he could not rest. He spoke to the well-to-do among his devotees, “I have one thing to beg of you. Here is a Brahmin boy who is too poor to meet the expenses for his Upanayana, or the sacred thread ceremony. As householders it is your duty to help him. Try to raise a subscription on his behalf. It is unbecoming for a Brahmin boy of his age not to know the obligator)’ religious duties of his caste. Moreover, it will be very good of you if you can provide for his education also.” The devotees hastened to raise the necessary funds. The Swami left shortly after this, but one can see in the first letter that he wrote to one of his friends at Alwar a month later that he did not forget the case, for he begins the letter by asking about the Upanayana ceremony of the boy.1

1 Complete Works, Vol. VI, letter addressed to G. S., dated the 30th April, 1891.

So the days grew into weeks, and when seven weeks had passed the Swami felt the Parivrajaka call. He said to his friends, “I must be going! A Sannyasin must always be on the move.” And so he left, bidding farewell to his devoted disciples and Bhaktas,who could not bear the thought of parting from him. He was much affected at leaving them, but he, the Teacher, must always wander, teaching, preaching and helping mankind everywhere, with the Spirit of the Lord within his heart. His friends insisted that he must travel by a covered bullock-cart as far as Pandupol at least, to avoid the heat and the loneliness. Several of his disciples begged to be allowed to accompany him for the first fifty or sixty miles ; at first he objected, but was overcome finally by their pleadings.

At Pandupol there is a well-known temple, dedicated to Hanumanji. The Swami proceeded there at once and slept that night in the temple-compound. On the following morning he abandoned the bullock-cart, and he and his party went on foot some sixteen miles through a wild mountainous region, infested with wild beasts, to a village known by the name of Tahla. But the members of the party were so occupied with the stories, now amusing, now serious, with which the Swami entertained them and they felt so blessed in his presence that they had no thought of danger. In this village they spent the night in a temple dedicated to Nilkantha Mahadeva.

The next morning, the Swami walked on some eighteen miles farther to the village Naravani where the Mother, in one of Her many forms, is worshipped. Here every year a great Mela or fair is held, and from all parts of Rajputana people come to worship Her. Here the Swami parted from his friends and went on by himself to the next village called Bosoweh, some sixteen miles distant, where he took the train for the city of Jaipur, whither he had been pressed to come by a devotee who had met him at Alwar. This gentleman boarded the train at the Bandikui station and accompanied the Swami the rest of the trip to Jaipur. At Jaipur, the disciple insisted that the Swami should pose for a photograph. The Swami, much against his wishes, finally consented. This was the first time that a picture of the Swami as the wandering monk was taken.

The Swami remained at Jaipur for two weeks, during which time he met a famous Sanskrit grammarian and decided to study grammar with him. The teacher, though very learned, had nol the faculty of imparting his knowledge. For three days he tried to explain to the Swami the commentary on the first Sutra or aphorism, but without success. On the fourth day, the Pandit said, “Swamiji, I am afraid you are not deriving much benefit from studying with me. for in three days I have not been able to make you grasp the meaning of the Sutra.” The Swami resolved to master the commentary by himself. In three hours he accomplished what the Pandit could not do in three days. Shortly after, he went to the Pandit and in a casual way explained the commentary and its purport. The Pandit was amazed. After this the Swami proceeded to master Sutra after Sutra and chapter after chapter. Later he said in speaking of this experience, “If the mind is intensely eager, everything can be accomplished—mountains can be crumbled into atoms/’

At Jaipur the Swami became very intimate with Sardar Hari Singh, the Commander-in-Chief of the State. He passed many days in his home discussing many interesting and instructive spiritual and scriptural subjects. One day the subject was the efficacy of image-worship. A strong believer in the doctrines of the Vedanta, Hari Singh did not believe in images and even after hours of discussion with the Swami he remained unconvinced. In the evening they went out for a walk. As they were passing along the footpath they came upon some devotees carrying the image of Shri Krishna and singing devotional songs as they went. The Swami and the Sardar watched the procession for a while as it passed. Suddenly the Swami touched Hari Singh and said, “Look there, see the living God!’’ The eyes of the Sardar fell on the image of Lord Krishna, and he stood there transfixed with tears of ecstasy trickling down his cheeks. When he returned to ordinary consciousness, he exclaimed, “Well, Swamiji, that was a revelation to me. What I could not understand after hours of discussion, was easily comprehended through your touch. Verily I saw the Lord in the image of Krishna!”

Another day, the Swami was seated with a number of followers giving them spiritual instructions, when a learned Sardar, Pandit Suraj Narain, honoured throughout the province for his erudition, came to see him. He caught the thread of the Swain i’s conversation and said, “Swamiji, I am a Vedantist. I do not believe in the special divinity of Incarnations, the Avataras of the Hindu mythology. We are all Brahman. What is the difference between me and an Avatara?” The Swami replied, “Yes, that is quite true. The Hindus count fish, tortoise and boar as Incarnations. You say that you are also an Avatara. But with which of these do you feel yourself as one?” There was a peal of laughter at this, and the Sardar was silenced.

Being restless and also desirous of moving on, the Swami next went to Ajmer, replete with the memories of the magnificence of its Hindu and Mogul rulers. In the summer months of 1891, he is found at Mount Abu, a celebrated hill resort of Central India and Rajputana renowned for the delicacy and beauty of the carvings of the Dilwara temple.

The Swami soon gathered around him a number of devoted followers with whom he used to walk in the evening. One day they were walking along the Bailey’s walk, commending the most beautiful scenery of the Hill Station. Below them stretched the lake of Mount Abu. The Swami with his friends left the walk and sat down amongst the stones. He began to sing and his song went on for hours. Some Europeans who were also taking an evening stroll were struck with the sweet music and waited for hours to get a glimpse of the singer. At last he came down and they congratulated him on his sweet voice and ecstatic song. At Mount Abu, destiny put the Maharaja of Khetri in his path. It happened in this wise. The Swami was living in a forlorn cave, where he practised austerities and meditation. His sole belongings were one or two blankets, a water-bowl and a few books. One day a Mussalman, a vakil of a native Prince, happened to pass by and saw the Swami. Struck with his princely appearance, he decided to talk to him. A few minutes’ conversation impressed him with the wonderful learning and scholarship of the recluse. He became much attached to the Swami and visited him quite often. One day the vakil asked the Swami if he could be of any service to him. The Swami said, “Look here, Vakil Saheb, the rainy season is fast approaching. There are no doors to this cave. You can make for me a pair of doors, if you please.” Much gratified, the vakil said. “This cave is a wretched one. If you will allow me, I will make a suggestion. I live alone in a nice Bungalow here. If you would condescend to come and live with me, I shall feel rnyself greatly blessed.” When the Swami agreed to the proposal, the vakil said. “But I am a Mussalman. I shall, of course, make separate arrangements for your food.” The Swami brushed this aside and moved to the Bungalow. Through the vakil and his brother officers of other States, the Swami made many friends in Mount Abu, including the vakil of the Maharao of Kotah and Thakur Fateh Singh, the Minister of that Prince. After a few days, the Mussalman vakil invited Munshi Jag-mohanlal, the Private Secretary to the Maharaja of Khetri, to see him. As it happened, the Swami was resting at the time, having on only a Kaupina and a piece of cloth. When the visitor saw the sleeping monk, he thought, “Oh! here is one of those common Sadhus, who are no better than thieves and rogues!” Presently the Swami awoke. Almost the first thing that was said to him by Jagmohanlal was, “Well, Swamiji, you are a Hindu monk. How is it that you are living with a Mussalman ! Your food might, now and then, be touched by him.” At this question, the Swami flared up. He said, “Sir, what do you mean? I am a Sannyasin. I am above all your social conventions. I can dine even with a Bhangi. I am not afraid of God, because He sanctions it. I am not afraid of the scriptures, because they allow it. But I am afraid of you people and your society. You know nothing of God and the scriptures. I see Brahman everywhere, manifested even through the meanest creature. For me there is nothing high or low. Shiva, Shiva!” A sort of divine fire shone about him. Jagmohanlal was silenced; but all the same, he wished that the Maharaja should make the acquaintance of such a Swami. He said, “Swamiji, do come with me to the palace to meet the Maharaja.” The monk replied, “Very well, I will go day after tomorrow.” Jagmohan-lal on his return told his Prince all that had happened. The Maharaja became so desirous of meeting the Swami that he said, “1 will go myself to see him.” When the Swami heard this he went instantly to the palace, where His Highness warmly welcomed him. After the usual formalities he asked him, “Swamiji, what is life?” The monk replied, “Life is the unfold-ment and development of a being under circumstances tending to press it down.” The Swami s own life of hardship and renunciation caused a world of feeling to appear in his words. Impressed, the Maharaja next asked, “Well, Swamiji, what then is education?” The response was, “I should say, education is the nervous association of certain ideas.” And he went on to explain this statement, saying that not until ideas had been made instincts could they he reckoned as real and vital possessions of consciousness. Then he told of the life of Shri Rama-krishna to the Maharaja, who sat listening to him eagerly and attentively, his soul wrapt in a flame of burning passion for Truth, as he heard the words of spiritual nectar fall from the Swami’s lips.

For days the Maharaja listened to the monk’s words of wisdom ; then he invited him to go with him to Khetri. The Swami reflected for a moment and agreed. Several days after, the Prince and his retinue left Mount Abu and journeyed by train to Jaipur, the Swami joining him as promised. The distance of ninety miles from Jaipur to Khetri was travelled in a state carriage. A few days after reaching Khetri, the Swami initiated him. And what a wonderful disciple he became I Memories still live of him kneeling in reverence before the Swami, and the monk in his turn, knowing the depth and the sincerity of the man, loved him dearly and expected much of him in the way of advancing the well-being of the country. Later, in America, he kept him advised of his progress and made him one of the privileged ones by writing him marvellous letters.

The Swami passed many weeks with the Maharaja, studying, teaching and living the spiritual life. Though in a palace, he lived as a monk, in constant communion with his soul and his Master. At the palace he became acquainted with Pandit Narayandas who was the foremost Sanskrit grammarian of his time in Rajputana. Believing this to be a great opportunity, the Swami decided to resume his study of the Mahabhashva, Patanjali’s great commentary on the Sutras of Panini, which he had begun at Jaipur. The Pandit was pleased to have him as a pupil. After the first day he remarked. “Swamiji, it is not often one meets a student like you!” One day the Pandit questioned the Swami on a very long lesson given the day before. To his surprise the monk quoted the whole of it verbatim, adding his own comments thereto. After a time the Pandit seeing that his pupil was often forced to answer his own questions said, “Swamiji, there is nothing more to teach you. I have taught you all that I know, and you have absorbed it.” And so the Swami, saluting the Pandit respectfully, thanked him for the kindness he had shown him and became in many respects the teacher of the teacher.

On one occasion the Maharaja asked the Swami, “Swamiji, what is law?” Without a moment’s hesitation he exclaimed, “Law is altogether internal. It does not exist outside ; it is a phenomenon of intelligence and experience. It is the mind which classifies sense-observations and moulds them into laws. The order of experience is always internal. Apart from the impression received through the sense-organs and the reaction of intelligence upon these, in an orderly and consecutive manner, there is no law. The scientists say that it is all homogeneous substance and homogeneous vibration. Experience and its classification are internal phenomena. Thus law itself is intelligent and is born in absolute intelligence.” Following upon this statement the Swami spoke of the Sankhya philosophy and showed how modern science corroborated its conclusions. He then influenced the Maharaja to take an active interest in scientific study, urging upon him the country’s need for scientific training and researches. With this purpose he ordered some science primers for the Maharaja and, later on, some scientific instruments of a simple order, and himself began to teach his royal pupil.

No words can paint the devotion of the Maharaja to his Guru. So great was his reverence for him that he would serve him, rubbing his feet gently, whilst the Swami lay asleep ; but the Swami did not allow him to do this before others, saying that it would lower the dignity of the Maharaja in the eyes of his subjects.

One day the Maharaja expressed sorrow to the Swami for not having been blessed with a son and heir, and feeling that the Swami could grant him any favour, said, “Swamiji, bless me that a son may be born unto me. If you will only do so, there is no doubt that my prayer will be granted.” Seeing his anxiety, the Swami blessed the Prince.

But let it not be thought that the Swami spent the whole of his time in the palace. He was often at the houses of his poorer devotees, and frequently ate at the house of Pandit Shankar Pal, a poor Brahmin. The whole town of Khetri was enamoured of the Swami, and he treated the least of his admirers with the same love and affection as he showed to the Maharaja.

He thus spent some time at Khetri, beloved of the Prince and his subjects, instructing them in various ways and showering his blessings on them. But soon again the Swami felt that he must go into the wide world, unattached. And so next we find him on his way to Ahmedabad.

 

IN THE BOMBAY PRESIDENCY

In Ahmedabad, of historic memories, after wandering about several days and living on alms, the Swami was finally received as a guest at the house of Mr. Lai Shankar Uinia Shankar, one of the Sub-Judges of the Alunedabad District. During his stay there he visited the many places of historic interest both in the city proper and its environs. In olden times Alunedabad was the capital of the Sultans of Gujarat, and one of the handsomest cities in Hindusthan. The Swami enjoyed particularly the beautiful Jain temples, as well as the evidence of Mohammedan culture, as shown by the glorious mosques and tombs. Here he was able to add to his knowledge of Jainism, for there were many Jain scholars living there. After a few days, he journeyed oil to Wadhwan.

From Wadhwan the Swami proceeded next to Liinbdi. This is the chief town of the cotton-producing State of that name. In this State, lie begged his way from door to door, sleeping wherever he could find shelter, and living as chance dictated. On arriving in the city he made enquiries and learned that there was a place where Sadhus lived. It was somewhat isolated, but the Sadhus welcomed him warmly and urged him to stay with them as long as he wished. Fired and worn out and starved after his long marches, he accepted the invitation. He had not the slightest idea of the character of the place. What; was his horror to find, after he had been in the house for a few days, that the inmates belonged to a degenerate sect of sex-worshippers. He could hear the prayers and incantations of women as well as of men in the adjoining room. His first thought was to leave the place at once; but to his bewilderment he found that he was locked in, and a guard had been set to prevent his escape. The high-priest of the sect summoned him and said, “You are a Sadhu with a magnetic personality; evidently you have practised Brahmacharya for years. Now you must give us the fruit of your long austerity. We shall break your Brahma-diarya in order to perform a special Sadhana and thereby we shall be enabled to acquire certain psychic powers.” In spite of his terror, the Swami kept his presence of mind, betraying no anxiety and seemingly taking the matter as a jest. Amongst the Swami’s devotees was a boy who used to come frequently to see him. To him the Swami entrusted a note to the Thakorc Salieb in which he explained his predicament and asked for help. The boy hurried to the palace and managed to deliver the note to the Thakore Salieb himself. The Prince immediately sent some of his guards to the Swami’s rescue, and thereafter at the Prince’s solicitation the Swami took up his residence in the palace. While in Limbdi, the Swami held many discussions in Sanskrit with the local Pandits. His Holiness the late Shankaracharya of Govardhan Math, Puri, bore witness to this, and was astonished at his learning and at his wonderful toleration. After a short stay in Limbdi, he left for Junagad with many recommendations to the friends of the Prince there and elsewhere. The Prince entreated him to be very cautious in his solitary wanderings. The Swami himself after his terrible experience decided to use great circumspection in choosing his lodgings and to exercise discrimination with regard to persons with whom he might come in contact.

With the recommendations from the Thakore Saheb of Limbdi, the Swami visited Bhavnagar and Sihore on his w’ay to Junagad. Arriving at Junagad, he became the guest of the Dcwan of that State, Babu Haridas Viliaridas. who was so charmed with his company that every evening he, wdth all the State officials, used to meet the Swami and converse with him till late at night.

In his talks at Junagad the Swami spoke of Jesus Christ and then in a spirit of patriotism revealed to his devotees the whole character of the great influence which Hinduism had exercised on the Western religious imagination and showed how Central and Western Asia was the scene of the international exchange of ideas. He showed them the historic values of their own culture and the invaluable worth of the Hindu experience in the propagation of spiritual ideas throughout the world. Pie also told them the life-history of the Man of Dakshineswar, illustrating it with innumerable sayings of the Master. It was thus that the people of the distant province came to know of Shri Ramakrishna and appreciate his teachings.

Interested as lie always was in ancient monuments and mins, the Swami found ample scope for study here. Because of Mount Girnar, a few utiles from the city. Junagad is not only a place of historic interest, but a place of pilgrimage as well. For here are many temples sacred to Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism. There are also many beautiful mosques and tombs. Of Hindu ruins, the caves called the Kliapra Khodia. used at various times as a monastery by different orders of monks, were probably the most interesting. The Swami visited them all, but was chiefly interested in Mount Girnar, which is sacred to all creeds of India. Consumed with a yearning to perform Sadhanas, he sought out a solitary cave in which to practise meditation. At the end of some days he returned to his friends with renewed mental energy. Soon after, he felt that lie must move on. And so taking leave of his friends at Junagad. he went to Bliooj with letters of introduction to high officials there from the Dewan of Junagad.

It might seem inconsistent to some that a man of stern renunciation like the Swami spent so much of his time in the palaces of the Princes of India and with their Dewans. Many even severely criticised him for doing so ; others asked him why he did so. The Swami replied that his intention was to influence the Maharajas and turn their attention to the religious life, thereby insuring the performance of their Swadharma, that is, government for the good of the people whose custodians they were. Upon these Princes depended not only the welfare and contentment, but the advancement as well of the governed. They alone could inaugurate liberal reforms, improved methods of education, and charitable and philanthropic institutions in their territories. “If I can win over to my cause those in whose power are wealth and the administration of the affairs of thousands, niv mission will be accomplished all the sooner; by influencing one Maharaja alone I can indirectly benefit thousands of people.” With this intention he would occasionally give up the purely Parivrajaka life to reside in some palace. One day lie would be seen walking in the gardens of some Prince, or driving with him in his carriage : perhaps the next day would find him alone and afoot on the dusty roads, on his wav to some poor devotee’s house.

At Bhooj, he stayed with the Dewan. The latter spoke to a disciple who visited him several years later of the Swami’s prodigious intellect, most gracious personality, and wonderful power of presenting the most abstruse thoughts in such a simple way. that all who met him were fascinated. With the Dewan he held long discussions, as he had done with the Prime Minister of Junagad. about the industrial, agricultural and economic problems of the land and the need for the spread of education among the masses. The Swami was introduced to the Maharaja of Cutch by the Dewan, and had long talks with him, which made a great impression upon the Prince.

As usual, the Swami paid visits to the various sacred places of pilgrimage in the vicinity, mingling with the pilgrims and Sannyasins, and gaining much knowledge and experience. From Bhooj he returned to Junagad, rested there for a few days, and then he was off again to Verawal and Patau Somnath, popularly known as Prablias. Vcrawal’s title to fame is its anticjiiitv ; Patan Somnath’s lies in its great ruined temple. Three times it was destroyed, and three times rebuilt. It is said that in olden times ten thousand villages were held by the temple as its endowment, and that three hundred musicians were attached to it. The Swami paused at this great ruin and pondered over the greatness which was India’s in the past. The very dust for miles about is sacred to the spiritual Hindu, for, as the story goes, it was here that the Yadavas—the clan to which Shri Krishna belonged—slew one another, and their extensive kingdom was brought to ruin by Shri Krishna’s divine will. After this he himself, knowing that his time was come, left his body as he sat in Yoga under the spreading branch of an ancient tree ; it was the arrow of an aboriginal, who mistook him for a deer, that killed him.

The Swami visited the Soinnath temple, the Suraj Mandir and the new temple of Somnath built by Rani Ahalyabai of Indore, and took his bath at the confluence of the three rivers. At Prabhas he again met the Maharaja of Clutch and had many long conversations with him. The Prince was deeply impressed by his magnetic personality and was astonished at his vast knowledge. He used to say, “Swamiji, as after reading many books the head becomes dazed, even so after hearing your discourses my brain gets dizzy. How will you utilise all this talent? You will never rest until you have done wonderful things!’’

After a short time he returned to Junagad, which seems to have become the centre from which he made a number of side trips through Kathiawar and to Gutcli. Leaving Junagad a third time he now came to Porbandar with a letter of introduction to the Prime Minister. Porbandar is held to be the site of the ancient city of Sudaniapuri, known to the readers of the Bhagavata. In this place the Swami visited the ancient temple of Sudania. He was cordially welcomed by the Dcwan, Pandit Shankar Pandurang, who was the administrator of the State during the minority of the Prince. The Dewan was a great Vedic scholar and was at that time translating the Vedas. Struck with the SwamPs scholarship, he often asked his help to explain some of the more abstruse passages of the Vedas, which the Swami did with his usual lucidity. At the request of the Dewan he stayed at Porbandar for eleven months to help him with his book. Both worked constantly, the Swami becoming more and more interested as he perceived the greatness of the thought contained therein. He finished the reading of the Mahabhashya, the great commentary’ of Patanjali on Panini’s grammar, and took up the study of French, at the instance of the Pandit who said, ‘*It will be of use to you, Swamiji! ”

As he came to understand the Swami better and to appreciate his intellectual power and the breadth and originality of his ideas, Pandit Shankar Pandurang said, “Swamiji, I am afraid you cannot do much in this country. Few will appre-date you here. You ought to go to the West where people will understand you and your worth. Surely you can throw a great light upon Western culture by preaching the Sanatana Dharma!” The Swami was glad to hear these words, for they coincided with his own secret thoughts, which were as yet vague, although he had already expressed them to Mr. C. H. Pandva at Junagad.

During this period, the Swami was exceedingly restless. He was beginning to understand to some extent the truth of the Master’s words that he had power enough in him to revolutionise the world! Wherever he travelled and at all the courts he visited, the Pandits and the Princes found in him the same terrible restlessness to do some work for his country, some time, somewhere! The idea uppermost in his mind was the spiritual redemption of India. He saw the limitations of orthodoxy as well as the dread blunders of reform. Everywhere lie found petty jealousies, animosity and lack of unity. He saw India, potentially supreme, glorious beyond words and rich with Hindu and Aryan culture, being degraded by the stupid activities of the so-called “leaders”—demagogues preaching reforms which they were unable to incorporate into their own lives, and blinded by the glare of an extraneous culture and its ephemeral power, trying to throw overboard without reflection the whole cargo of the race’s experience. He confided to those who loved and admired him that the time had come for a new order of things. To the Ruling Chiefs and their Prime Ministers he announced this message. And they, recognising that he was a genius and a man of realisation gifted with an irresistible personality, listened to his words. He felt that to raise India in the estimation of the civilised world he must first preach the glories of the Sanatana Dharma to the West. The more he studied the Vedas and pondered over the philosophies which the Aryan Rishis had thought out, the surer he was that India was in very truth the Mother of Religions, the cradle of civilisation and the fountain-head of spirituality.

When the Swami was at Porbandar a curious thing happened. Swami Trigunatita had been for some time making the round of pilgrimages afoot and had just then come from Gujarat to Porbandar, and was staying witli some other wandering Sannyasins. The monks desired to make the pilgrimage to Hinglaj, but it was an arduous journey of many miles, and they were weary and footsore ; so they thought of travelling to Karachi by steamer and thence to Hinglaj by camel. But they had no money. They were at a loss as to what to do, when one of the group said, “There is a learned Paramahamsa stopping with the Dewan of Porbandar. He speaks English fluently and is accounted a great scholar. Let Swami Trigu-natita go and interview him. Perhaps the Mahatma will intercede with the Dewan for us so that our expenses may be paid.” Trigunatita set out at the head of the little company for the palace. It so happened that at that hour the Swami was pacing the parapeted roof of the palace and saw the group of Sadhus at a distance on their way to the palace. Seeing Trigunatita in the group he was surprised, but assuming an air of indifference, he went to his room on the ground floor to receive his brother-disciple. Trigunatita was exceedingly glad to meet the beloved Leader so unexpectedly. But the Swami sternly rebuked him for following him about. Trigunatita protested that he had not the slightest idea that he was in Porbandar, that he and his friends had come to the palace solely to beg the passage money to Hinglaj. The Swami was able to arrange this and dismissed Trigunatita with a warning never to seek him again. The Swami broke from his associates at Porbandar, and next went as a wandering monk to Dwaraka, holy with innumerable memories and legends of Shri Krishna. But of its glories nothing remains at the present day. Now the ocean roars in tumult over the place where once stood a great capital of which Shri Krishna was the reigning prince. Gazing out upon the ocean, waves of agony rose in the Swami’s mind at the thought that nothing remained but ruins of that Greater India. He sat on the shore and yearned ardently to fathom the contents of the future years. Then rising as from a dream, he betook himself to the monastery founded by Shri Shankard-charya, known as the Sdradd Math, where he was received by the Mahanta, and was assigned a room. There in the silence of his cell in the ruined city of the Yadavas he saw a great light as it were—the bright Future of India.

He next journeyed on to Mandvi, where he met Akhanda-nanda, who had been following him from Delhi. The tw

His next stage was the dominions of the Gaekwar of Baroda. He stayed at the capital for a short time, as the guest of Dewan Bahadur Manibhai J., the late minister of Baroda, a man of innate piety and nobility of character. From there he passed into Khandwa in Central India. In the course of his wanderings in the town he came across the residence of one Babu Maridas Chatterjec, a pleader. This gentleman found the Swami standing at his door w’hen he returned from the Court. At First he took him to be an ordinary Sadhu, but was soon made aware during his conversation with the monk that he was the most learned man lie had ever met. Naturally, he invited him to stay at his house, and treated him as a member of the family. He remained here for about three weeks, paying a flying visit up-country to Indore. The Bengali settlement and many persons of the city met the Swami, and all were impressed with his knowledge of the scriptures and English literature. Says the Swami’s host:    “There was not the least trace of affectation in his conversation. His elevated thought and noble sentiments flowed in the choicest language in an easy and natural way. He had an earnestness about him which made him look as one inspired.”

The host asked the Swami to give a public lecture. The Swami was half-inclined to do so, but said that as he had never lectured before in public he had no experience of how to modulate his voice on the platform. Nevertheless, he did not mind trying if it were possible to get a sympathetic audience, with the Deputy Commissioner to preside. But as the conditions proposed were not practicable in a backward place like Khandwa, the idea had to be abandoned.

During his stay there. Babu Madhav Chandra Ranerjee, the Civil Judge, gave a dinner to the Bengali residents in honour of the Swami. The Swami took with him some of the Upani-shads. with the intention of expounding them before and after the dinner. When the guests arrived, he read some of the very intricate and abstruse passages, explaining them in such a way that a child could understand. Among the guests was Babu Pyarilal Ganguly, a pleader and a Sanskrit scholar, who was inclined to play the role of a critic. But when he heard the illuminating replies and comments of the Swami, he was completely disarmed and after the reading said to Haridas Babu that the Swami’s very appearance denoted greatness. When this remark was communicated to the Swami by Haridas Babu, a remarkable glow illumined his countenance, and he said, “Well, I myself do not know : but my Guru used to say the same thing about me, only in more glowing terms.”

Here at Khandwa one gets the first glimpse of his serious intention to be present at the Parliament of Religions at Chicago. Somewhere, it might have been Junagad or at Porbandar, he had heard of the great religious convention that was to be held sometime in the following year. He said to Haridas Babu, “If someone can help me with the passage money, all will be well, and I shall go.”

Before he left Khandwa, Haridas Babu’s brother gave him a letter of introduction to Seth Ramdls Chhabildas, a noted Barrister of Bombay. Leaving many friends and admirers in Khandwa and promising to return sometime, he left for Bombay and arrived there about the last week ot July, loy. He was met by Mr. Chhabildas, and it was at his house that he lived during his stay. One day the Swami went to see a noted politician of Bombay, who showed him a Calcutta newspaper containing an account of the controversy about the Age of Consent Bill. The Swami hung his head in shame when he read that the bill was opposed by the educated section of the Bengali community, and bitterly criticised the iniquitous practice of early marriage.

The Swami remained in Bombay for several weeks, after which he moved on to Poona. Here he was the guest for several days of Bal Gangadhar Tilak, the renowned scholar and patriot, with whom the Swami had many interesting conversations on various topics. Hearing that the Thakore Saheb of Limbdi was then at Mahabaleswar, he went there to see the Prince. The Thakore Saheb, who had been initiated by him, pleaded with him saying, “Swamiji, do come with me to Limbdi and remain there for good! ” But the Swami declined the invitation saying, “Not now, Your Highness! For I have a work to do! I cannot rest now. But if ever I live the life of retirement it shall be with you! ” He could not however carry out this intention, for he entered Mahasamadhi in the midst of his work.

The Swami next visited the Maharaja of Kolhapur, to whom he had a note from the Maharaja of Bhavnagar. The Rani of Kolhapur became much devoted to the Swami and was fortunate enough to have the Swami accept a new Gerua cloth. The Khangi Karbhari, a high state official of Kolhapur, gave the Swami a letter of introduction to a Mahratta gentleman of Belgaum. One morning at about 6 o’clock in 1892, the Swami went to Belgaum. We give below some reminiscences (slightly abridged) of the Swami by Prof. G. S. Bhate, M.A., the son of this Mahratta host at Belgaum.

. . . The Swami was rather striking in appearance and appeared to be even at first sight somewhat out of the common run of men. But neither my father nor any one else in the family or even in our small town was prepared to find in our guest the remarkable man that he turned out to be.

“From the very first day of the Swami’s stay, occurred little incidents which led us to revise our ideas about him. In the first place, though he wore clothes of the familiar SannyAsin’s colour, he appeared to be dressed somewhat different from his brother SannyAsius. He used to wear a banyan. Instead ol the Danda he carried a long stick, resembling a walking stick. His kit consisted of the usual gourd, a pocket, copy of the Gita and one or two books. . . . Wc were not accustomed to a SannyAsin using the English language as a medium of conversation, wearing a banyan instead of sitting hare bodied, and showing a versatility of intellect and variety of information which would have done credit to an accomplished man of the world. . . . The first day after the meal the Swami asked for a betel-nut and PAn. Then either the same day or the day after, he wanted some chewing tobacco. One can imagine the horror which such demands from a SannyAsin, who is supposed to have gone beyond these small creature comforts, would inspire. From his own admissions wc learned that lie was not a Brahmin and yet he was a Sannyasin : that he was a Sannyasin and vet craved for things which only householders are supposed to want. This was really very upsetting to our preconceived notions, and yet he succeeded in making us accept the situation and to see that there was really nothing wrong in a Sannyasin wanting PAn and SupAri or chewing tobacco. The explanation lie gave of his craving disarmed us completely. He said that ho had been a gay young man, a graduate of the Calcutta University, and that his life before he met Ramakrishna Paramahamsa had been very worldly. As a result of the teaching of his Guru he had changed his outlook on life, bill some things he found it impossible to get rid of, and he let them remain as being of no great consequence. When he was asked whether he was a vegetarian or meat-eater, he said that as he belonged not to the ordinary order of SannyAsins but to the order of the Paramahamsas, he had no option in the matter. The Paramahamsa, by the rules of that order, was bound to eat whatever was offered ; when there was no offering he had to go without food. Further a Paramahamsa was not precluded from accepting food from any human being irrespective of his religious beliefs. When asked whether he would accept food from non-Hindus, he told us that, he had often taken food from Mohammedans.

“The Swami appeared to be very well grounded in the old Pandit method of studying Sanskrit. At the time of his arrival, I was learning the AshtAdhyAyi (of Panini) by rote, and to my great surprise, his memory, even in quoting from the portions of the AshtAdhyAyi which I had been painfully trying to remember, was much superior to mine. If I remember aright, when my father wanted me to repeat the portions that I had been preparing, I made some slips, which to my confusion the Swami, smiling, corrected. The effect of this was almost overwhelming as far as my feelings towards him were concerned. . . .

“For a day or two after his arrival my father was busy in trying to take the measure of his guest. Soon he came to the conclusion that the guest was not only above the ordinary, but was an extraordinary personality. He gathered a few of his personal friends together, to sec wliat their opinion would be. They agreed that it was worth-while to gather together the local leaders and learned men to meet and argue with the Swami. What struck us most in the crowded gatherings which began to be held every day after the presence of the Swami became known in Belgauin, was the unfailing good humour which the Swami preserved even in heated arguments. He was quick enough at retort, but there was never any sting in it. One day we had a rather amusing illustration of the Swami’s coolness in debate. There was at that time in Belgaum an executive Engineer who was the best informed man in our town. He was one of the not uncommon typo of Hindu whose external life was most orthodox but who was at heart a sceptic with a strong leaning towards science. He felt that religion or belief in religion was a custom which had gained sanction only through practice through the ages. With these views he found the Swami rather a formidable opponent, armed with larger experience, more philosophy and more science, than he could muster. Naturally, he lost his temper in argument, and was discourteous, if not positively rude, to the Swami. My father protested, hut the Swami smilingly intervened, saying that he did not mind. . . . Though the Swami soon got the best of the argument with all, his aim was not so much to be victorious as to create the feeling that the time had come to demonstrate to the country and to the whole world that, the Hindu religion was not dying and to preach to the world the priceless truth contained in the Vedanta. … He complained that the Vedanta had been treaied as the possession of a sect rather than the perennial source of universal inspiration that it really was.”

From the diary of the Subdivisional Forest Officer, Babu Haripada Mitra, with whom the Swami stayed for nine days, we get the following interesting impressions of the Swami:

”It is the late evening of Tuesday, the 18th of October, 1892. A stout young SannyAsin of cheerful countenance came to see me with a friend of mine, a lawyer. Looking at him, I saw a calm figure, with eyes flashing like lightning, clean-shaven, garbed in a Gerus Alkhalla, and with a Gerua turban on the head, and Mahratta sandals on the feet. He was most prepossessing. I was at once attracted to him. At that time I believed every SannyAsin to be a cheat, and was a sceptic in matters of religion and God. My first thought was that this man must have come to beg something or to ask me to take him into my house because it did not suit him to live with a Mahratta. When I entered into conversation with him, I was surprised to find that he was a thousand times superior to me in every respect, and that he: asked for nothing! I begged him to come to live with me, but he said, ‘I am quite happy with the Mahratta ; if I should leave after seeing a Bengali, he might be hurt. Besides, the whole family treats me with great love. But I will think about it and let you know later on.* However, he promised to take breakfast with me the next morning.”

The next morning Haripada Babu waited for a long time ; when the Swami did not come, he went to the Mahratta’s house to escort the Swami to his home. He was surprised to find there a large crowd of many leading Vakils, educated men, Pandits and prominent citizens asking the Swami questions. Saluting him he took his seat among them and was amazed at the ready replies which the Swami gave in English, Hindi, Bengali, and Sanskrit without pausing.

When the visitors left, the Swami said to Haripada Babu, “I hope you will excuse me for not keeping the appointment. You see, I could not go without hurting many people’s feelings.” On his again pressing the Swami to come and live in his house, the Swami said, “I shall go if you can make my host agree to your proposal.” After much persuasion the Mahratta friend agreed to it. The Swami’s belongings at this time consisted of a Kamandalu, a book wrapped in Gerui cloth and a book on French music which he was studying.

Three days in Haripada Babu’s house passed in constant talk and discussion on religious matters with many educated gentlemen of the town. During this short time many of the doubts which had obsessed the mind of his host for years were dispelled. On the fourth day the Swami said that it was high time for him to be on the move again, for “Sannyasins,” he remarked, “should not stay more than three days in a city, and one day in a village. If one stays for long in one place, attachment grows. We Sannyasins should keep at a distance all the things that bind one to Maya.” But the host protested, and the Swami consented to stay a few days more.

. One day, the Swami related to his host many incidents of his wanderer’s life after he had taken the vow not to touch money. As the tale unfolded Haripada Babu thought, “What pain and trouble and hardship have been his!” But the Swami regarded them lightly as of no importance. He related how in one place he was very hungry and was given a food so hot with chillis that the burning sensation in the mouth and stomach did not subside for a long time. Again, he was driven away with the remark that there was no place for Sadhus and thieves! He also related how he was for a time under the sharp eye of detectives who watched his doings and movements. These were to him huge jokes, “the play of the Mother!”

His host found the Swami well-read not only in religious and philosophical books, but in secular ones as well. To his surprise he heard him quote at considerable length from the Pickwick Papers. Thinking it very strange that a Sadhu should be so familiar with secular literature, he asked the Swami how often he had read it, and was astonished to learn that he had read it only twice. In answer to the question as to how he could have memorised it in only two readings, the Swami answered that when he read anything he concentrated his entire attention upon it. “The power of mind arises from control of the forces of the body. The idea is to conserve and transform the physical into mental and spiritual energies. The great danger lies in spending the forces of the body in wanton and reckless pleasures, and thus losing the retentive faculties of the mind.” “Whatever you do, devote your whole mind, heart and soul to it. I once met a great Sannyasin, who cleansed his brass cooking utensils, making them shine like gold, with as much care and attention as he bestowed on his worship and meditation.”

“Swamiji was,” says his host, “a real teacher. Sitting before him was not like doing so before an austere school master. He was often merry in conversation, full of gaiety, fun and laughter even while imparting the highest instruction. The next moment he would solve abstruse questions with such seriousness and gravity that he filled every one with awe. Persons of various natures came to see him, some on account of his great intellect, some to test his learning, some from personal motives, others for instruction, still others because he himself was so interesting, others, again, because they desired to spend the time free from the troubles and vexations of worldly life. Everyone had free access to him and was cordially received. It was wonderful to see the Swamiji grasp the intentions and fathom the characters of those who came. No one could conceal anything from his penetrating eye. He seemed to read their inmost thoughts! There was a young man who often came to him thinking of becoming a Sfuiliu, so that he might escape the troubles of preparing himself for the ensuing University examination. But Swamiji on seeing the boy at once understood him and said with a smile, ‘Come to me to become a Sadhu after you have secured the M.A. degree, for it is easier to do so than to lead the life of the Sannyftsin.’ It was simply wonderful how Swamiji charmed our hearts. I shall never forget the lessons which he imparted while sitting under a sandal tree in the courtyard of my house.”

At this time Haripada Babu was given to dosing himself with various medicines. The Swami advised him against it, saying that most diseases were purely of a nervous character and could be eradicated by vigorous and radically different states of mind. “And what is the use of thinking of disease always?“ added the Swami. “Keep cheerful; live a righteous life ; think elevating thoughts ; be merry, but never indulge in pleasures which tax the body or which cause you to repent; then all will be well. And as regards death, what does it matter if people like you and me die? That will not make the earth deviate from its axis! We should never consider ourselves so important as to think that the world cannot go on without us! ” From that day Haripada Babu gave up the habit.

Haripada Babu used to get irritated when reprimanded at the office by his superiors (who were English), though he had a coveted position and was drawing a handsome salary. When the Swami heard this he said, “You have yourself taken this service for the sake of money and are duly paid for it. Why should you trouble your mind about such small things and add to your miseries by thinking continually, ‘Oh, in what bondage am I placed!’ No one is keeping you in bondage. You are quite at liberty to resign if you choose. Why should you constantly carp at your superiors? If you feel your present position helpless, do not blame them, blame yourself! Do you think they care a straw whether you resign or not? There are hundreds of others to take your place. Your business is to concern yourself solely with your duties and responsibilities. Be good yourself and the whole world will appear good to you, and you will see only the good in others. We see in the external world the same image which we carry in our hearts. Give up the habit of fault-finding, and you will be surprised to find how gradually those against whom you have a grudge will change their entire attitude towards you. All our mental states are reflected in the conduct of others towards us.” These words of the Swami made an indelible impression on the listener, and he turned over a new leaf.

Haripada Babu had been studying the Bhagavad-Gita by himself, but was unable to grasp its teachings and gave it up, thinking that there was no practical value in it. But on the Swami’s reading and explaining some portions of it to him, he realised what a wonderful book the Gita was. He grasped its spirit and relationship to daily life. But it was not alone the Gita that he came to appreciate under the Swami’s kind instruction, but also the works of Thomas Carlyle and the novels of Jules Verne.

“I had never found in anybody such intense patriotism as was his. One evening, reading in a newspaper that a man had died in Calcutta from starvation, the Swami was overcome with sorrow. On asking the cause of his grief, he told me what he had read, and said, ‘It is not surprising that in Western countries, in spite of their organised charitable institutions and charity-funds, many people die every year from the same cause—the neglect of society. But in our country, where righteousness has always been upheld, every beggar receives something, if only a handful of rice ; and so we do not often have people dying of starvation, except when there is a famine. This is the first time I ever heard of anyone dying of starvation.* ‘But, Swamiji,’ I rejoined, ‘is it not a waste of money to give alms to beggars? My English education leads me to believe that instead of really benefiting them it only degrades their nature, for with the pice given to them they get the means to indulge in such bad habits as smoking Ganja (hemp) and so on. Instead, it is far better to contribute something towards organised charity.’ Then the Swami said with great intensity, ‘Why should you worry your head about what a beggar does with a pice or two you give him? Is it not better for persons like you who can afford it, to give him something than to drive him to steal? Suppose he spends the trifle on hemp, that affects only him ; but when he resorts to stealing or something worse it affects the whole of society.* ’*

In his talks with Haripada Mitra he anticipated many of the mature views on life which he expressed publicly later on. Even at that time one finds him advocating reform with regard to early marriage, advising all, especially young men, to take a bold stand against this custom, which was enervating Hindu society. Writes Haripada Babu in his diary:

“Speaking of the Sannyasa Ashrama lie remarked that it was best for a man to practise the control of his mind during his life as a student or as a householder before taking to the life of a wandering monk. ‘Otherwise,’ he said, ‘when the first glow of enthusiasm fades out, the man is likelv to consort with those hemp-smoking, idle vagabonds who in the guise of Sadhus parade the country.* …. I said to him, ‘Swamiji, if according to your advice I give up anger and pride and look upon all with an equal eye, then my servants and suliordinates will be rude and disobedient to me, and even my relatives will not let me live in peace!’ He replied. ‘Be like the snake of Shri Ramakrishna’s parable! At first the terror of the village, the snake met a Sadhu who spoke to him of his evil ways. The snake repented and the Sadhu gave him a certain Mantra to meditate upon and advised him to practise non-resistance. The snake retired to a solitary nook and did as he was told. It so happened that, the Sannyfisin in his wanderings passed by this same village some time later. What was his surprise when he saw the snake half-dead, as the result, of violent beatings and maltreatment. He asked the snake how he had come to such a pass, to be met with the reply that by following the religious life lie bad become harmless, and that those who had formerly feared him now pelted him with stones and beat him mercilessly. Then the Guru said, ‘My Child, 1 asked you not to harm anyone, but I did not forbid you to hiss.’ So the snake did as he was bidden, and ever afterwards, though he injured none, none dared injure him.’ And applying this parable the Swami told me that, though it is necessary to appear worldly before worldly people, one’s heart should always he given over to the Lord and the mind kept under firm control.

“The Swami used to say, ‘Religion results from direct perception! Put in a homely way, the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Try to realise religion, otherwise you will gain nothing.’ Quoting the Lord Buddha he said, ‘Argument is as a desert and as a wilderness wherein one loses his way and comes to grief. Realisation is everything.’ It was not his habit to answer the same question in the same manner, citing the same illustration. Whenever the same question arose he made of it a new subject as it were. One never felt bored at hearing him, hut always wished to hear more and more.’’

All those who heard the Swami speak at Belgaum were struck with his knowledge of the physical sciences. It was that knowledge which he used to furnish his discourses with scientific parallels. He also showed to them that the aim of religion and the purpose of science were one and the same—Truth—which is always one. From religion he would go on to the discussion of sociological questions, telling with sorrow in his voice of the sad condition of the villagers who, not knowing sanitary laws and the principles of hygiene, used the same ponds for drinking, bathing and cleaning purposes. “What brains can you expect of such people?” the Swami would exclaim in despair.

During the discussions in Bclgaum he often became impatient with those who were fanatical and did not care to follow the drift of his thought. Sometimes they were obstreperous, and then he would blaze away at them. He was like a thunderbolt. He spoke the truth. He spoke boldly. He did not mince matters. Speaking of those who hold to their own views fanatically and ignorantly, the Swami told the following story: “There was once a king who hearing that the prince of a neighbouring territory was advancing upon his capital to lay siege to it. held a council, calling all the people for advice as to how to defend the country from the enemy. The engineers advised the building of a high earthen mound with a huge trench all around the capital; the carpenters proposed the construction of a wooden wall ; the shoe-makers suggested that the same wall be built of leather, for ‘there is nothing like leather,’ they said. But the blacksmiths shouted out that they were all wrong, and that the wall should be built of iron. And then came in the lawyers with the argument that the best way to defend the State was to tell the enemy in a legal way that they were in the wrong and out of court in attempting to confiscate another’s property. Finally came the priests, who laughed them all to scorn, saying, ‘You are all talking like lunatics! First of all the gods must be propitiated with sacrifices, and then only can we be invincible.’ Instead of defending their kingdom they argued and fought among themselves. Meanwhile the enemy advanced, stormed and sacked the city. Even so are men.”

One day, when he and his host were alone, the Swami told of his intention to sail for America to attend the Parliament of Religions in Chicago. His host was delighted, and carried away with enthusiasm,proposed then and there to raise a subscription in the city for this purpose;but the Swami,for reasons best known to himself,objected to the proposal.

It so happened that some time before the Swami came to Belgaum, Haripada Babu’s wife had expressed a desire to him to be initiated by a Guru. He had replied, “You should choose one upon whom I could look with veneration, otherwise you will neither be happy nor reap any benefit thereby. If we meet any really holy man, both you and I will take initiation from him.” The wife had agreed to this. Now7 Haripada Babu asked her if she would like to be the Swami’s disciple. She had thought of this many times but was afraid the Swami would not accept her. So she said to her husband that she would consider herself blessed if the Swami would agree. Haripada Babu said, “We must try anyway. If we let this opportunity pass, we may never find the like of him again.” When Haripada Babu spoke to the Swami about the matter, the Swami protested, “It is very difficult to be a Guru. A Guru has to take on himself the sins of his disciple. Besides, I am a Sannyasin. I want to free myself of all bondages and not add new ones. Moreover, the disciple should see the Guru at least three times before initiation.” But Haripada Babu was not to be put off. Finding them determined, the Swami finally initiated them.

THROUGH SOUTHERN INDIA TO CAPE COMORIN

With the exception of a short visit to Mormugao in the Portuguese seaside colony, the Swami came direct from Belgaum to Bangalore in the State of Mysore. For the first few days he lived an obscure life, but it was not long before he became the centre of attraction and made the acquaintance of Sir K. Seshadri Iyer, the Dewan of Mysore. A few minutes’ conversation was sufficient to impress that remarkable man with the fact that the young Sannyasin before him possessed “a magnetic personality and a divine force which were destined to leave their mark on the history of his country.” He remained as the guest of this great statesman for some three to four weeks, during which time he met the distinguished officials and noblemen of the Court of Mysore. Wherever he went he was sought after not only by his co-religionists, but by people of other faiths and creeds as well. Sir Seshadri Iyer was delighted with “this learned Sadhu” and said on one occasion, “Many of us have studied much about religion. And yet what has it availed us? Here is this young man whose insight exceeds that of anyone I have ever known. It is simply wonderful. He must have been bom a knower of religion, otherwise how could he at such a comparatively young age have gained all this knowledge and insight?” Thinking that the Maharaja of Mysore might be interested in this “young AcMrya,” Sir Seshadri Iyer introduced him to the Prince. The Swami, clad in his Gerua, princely himself in his bearing, entered the audience-room of the Maharaja, Shri Chamarajendra Wadiyar. The Prince was delighted with him. “Such brilliancy of thought, such charm of personality, such wide learning and such penetrating religious insight” quite won him over. The Swami became the guest of the State. Often he was closeted with the Maharaja, who sought his advice on many important matters.

One clay, in the presence of his courtiers the Maharaja asked, “Swamiji, what do you think of my courtiers?’’ “Well, I think Your Highness has a very good heart, but you are unfortunately surrounded by courtiers, and courtiers are courtiers everywhere!” came the bold answer. “No, no, Swamiji,” the Maharaja protested, “my Dewan at least is not such. He is intelligent and trustworthy.” “But, Your Highness,” said the Swami, “a Dewan is one who robs the Maharaja and pays the Political Agent.” The Prince changed the subject. Afterwards he called the Swami to his private apartments, and said, “My dear Swami, too much frankness is not always safe. If you continue to speak as you did in the presence of my courtiers, I am afraid you will be poisoned by someone.” The Swami burst out, “What! Do you think an honest Sannyasin is afraid of speaking the truth, even though it cost him his very life? Suppose, Your Highness, your son should ask me on the morrow, ‘Swamiji, what do you think of my father?’ Am I to attribute to you all sorts of virtues which I am quite aware you do not possess? Shall I speak falsely? Never!” But with what love and regard he spoke of this Maharaja in his absence! It was the Swami’s habit to take one to task for one’s weaknesses, but behind one’s back he had nothing but praise for one’s virtues, while the defects were disregarded.

During his stay at the Court, the Swami met a noted Austrian musician, with whom he discussed European music. All were amazed at the Swami’s knowledge of European music. Another day he met an electrician, who was engaged in an electric installation in the palace. Casually the talk turned upon the subject of electricity, and here also the Swami showed himself to be quite at home.

During his stay in Mysore a great assembly of Pandits was held in the palace-hall and the Swami was invited to be present. The Prime Minister was the Chairman; the topic was the Vedanta. After the Pandits had finished, the Swami was invited to speak. In telling language, now with epigrams, now with great eloquence, the Swami explained the ideas of the Vedanta, and the Pandits with one voice applauded him.

Pleased beyond measure with the Swami, the Prime Minister one day requested him to accept some presents from him, and ordered one of his secretaries to take him to the most expensive shop in the Bazar and purchase for him anything that he might like to have. To gratify his host the Swami accompanied the man, who took his cheque-book with him, ready to write a cheque for as much as one thousand rupees. The Swami was like a child ; he looked at everything, admired many things, and in the end said, “My friend, if the Dewan wishes me to buy anything I desire, let me have the very best cigar in the place.” Emerging from the store, the Swami lighted the cigar, which cost a shilling only, and drove to the palace, eminently satisfied with his purchase.

One day the Swami was called to the apartments of the Prince, and the Prime Minister went with him. The Maharaja asked, “Swamiji, what can I do for you?” The Swami, evading a direct reply, burst forth into an eloquent description of his mission. He dwelt on the condition of India, saying that India’s possession was philosophical and spiritual, and that it stood in need    of modern scientific ideas as    well    as a thorough

organic reform ;that it was India’s place to what treasure it possessed to the peoples of the West, and that he himself intended going to America to preach the gospel of Vedanta to the Western nations. And the Prince promised, then and there, the necessary money to defray his travelling expenses. But for some reason best known to himself, perhaps because of his vow first of all to visit Rameswaram, the Swami refused the generous offer of the Maharaja at this time.

The longer the Swami remained with the Maharaja, the greater became the latter’s attachment to him. When the Swami spoke of departing, he was visibly distressed and requested him to stay a few days more. He added, “Swamiji, I must have something with me as a remembrance of your personality. So, allow me to take a phonographic record of your voice.” This the Swami consented to, and even now the record remains preserved in the palace, though it has long since become indistinct. In truth, so great was the admiration of this ruler for the Swami that he proposed to worship his feet, even as one worships those of one’s Guru ; but this the Swami did not allow him to do.

Some few days later, the Swami said that it was high time for his departure. Hearing this, the Prince desired to load him with rich presents. The Swami declined the offer. But the Maharaja insisted.    The Swami said, “Well, Your Highness, if you persist in offering me something, then please give me a non-metallic Hookah. That will be of some use to me.” Thereupon the Maharaja presented him with a beautiful rosewood pipe, delicately carved. On the Swami’s departure the ruler bowed at his feet, and the Prime Minister made many unsuccessful efforts to thrust a roll of currency notes into his pocket. The Swami finally said, “If you desire to do anything for me, please purchase my ticket to Trichur. I am on my way, as you know, to Rarneswaram, but I shall halt for a few days in Cochin.” Realising that the Swami would not allow him to do more for him, the Prime Minister purchased a second-class ticket and gave him a letter of introduction to Mr. Shan-kariah, the acting Dewan of Cochin.

At Trichur he remained only a few days, and then left for the southernmost part of India. He passed through Malabar and was particularly taken with the grand and picturesque scenery of Travancore. He visited Trivandrum, the capital city, where he stayed with Professor Sundararama Iyer, the tutor to the First Prince, the nephew of the Maharaja of Travancore. The celebrated scholar, Mr. RangScMriar of Madras, then Professor of Chemistry at the Maharaja’s College, met him as well. Mr. S. K. Nair of Travancore says:

“Both these gentlemen, who were themselves erudite scholars in English and Sanskrit, found great pleasure and derived much benefit by constant conversation with the Swami. Anyone who became closely acquainted with him could not but be struck with his powerful personality and be drawn to him. He had the wonderful faculty of answering many men on many questions at one and the same time. It might be a talk on Spencer, or some thought of Shakespeare or Kalidasa, Darwin’s Theory of Evolution, the Jewish history, the growth of Aryan civilisation, the Vedas, Islam or Christianity—whatever the question, the Swami was ready with an appro-priatc answer. . . . Sublimity and simplicity were written boldly on his features. A clean heart, a pure and austere life, an open mind, a liberal spirit, a wide outlook and broad sympathy were the redeeming characteristics of the Swami.”

During his visit here he taught in private the necessity of many reforms affecting the whole Indian nation, and of the necessity of raising the masses. Professor Sundararama Iyer in writing of the Swami’s stay with him for nine days at Trivandrum says:1

1 The narration has been condensed at places to economise space.

“I met Swami Vivekananda for the first time at Trivandrum in December, 1892, and was privileged to sec and know a good deal of him. … He came to me accompanied by his Mohammedan guide. My second son, a little boy of twelve, took him for, and announced him to me as a Mohammedan too, as he well might from the Swami’s costume, which was quite unusual for a Hindu Sannyasin of Southern India. . . . Almost the first thing he asked me to do was to arrange for his Mohammedan attendant’s meal. This companion was a peon in the Cochin State service and had been detailed to accompany him to Trivandrum by the Secretary to the Dewan, Mr. W. Ramaiya. . . . The Swami had taken almost nothing but a little milk during the two previous days, but it was only after his Mohammedan peon had been provided with food and had taken his leave that he gave any thought to his own needs. After a few minutes’ conversation I found that the Swami was a mighty man. . . . When I asked him what food he was accustomed to, he replied, ‘Anything you like, we Sannyasins have no preferences’. . . .

“On learning that the Swami was a Bengali, I made the observation that the Bengali nation had produced many great men and, foremost of them all, the Brahmo preacher, Kcshab Chandra Sen. It was then that the Swami mentioned to me the name, and expatiated briefly on the eminent spiritual endowments of his Guru, Shri Ramakrishna, and took my breath completely away by the remark that Keshab was a mere child when compared with Shri Ramakrishna—that not only he, but many eminent Bengalis of a generation past had been influenced by the sage— that Kcshab had in later life received the benefit of his inspiration and had undergone considerable change for the better in his religious views—that many Europeans had sought the acquaintance of Shri Ramakrishna and regarded him as a semi-divine personage—and that no less a man than the late Director of Public Instruction in Bengal, Mr. C. H. Tawney, had written a paper on the character, genius, catholicity and inspiring power of the great sage.

“….The Swami’s presence, his voice, the glitter of his eye and the flow of his words and ideas were so inspiring that I excused myself that day from attending at the Palace of the late MArtanda VarraA, the First Prince of Travancorc, who was studying lor his M.A. degree under my tuition. … In the evening we went to the house of Prof. Rangacharya, Professor of Chemistry in the Trivandrum College, …. who was even then at the height of his reputation as a scholar and man of science throughout Southern India. Not finding him at home, we drove to the Trivandrum Club. There I introduced the Swami to various gentlemen present and to Prof. Rangacharya when he came in later on, to the late Prof. Sundaram Pillai, M.A., and others, among whom I distinctly remember a late Brahman Dewan Peslikar and my friend Narayana Menon. . . owing to an incident which, however trifling in itself, brought out a prominent characteristic of tlic Swami—how he noted closely all that was passing around him, how he combined with his rare gentleness and sweetness of temper, the presence of mind and the power of retort which could quickly silence an opponent. Mr. Narayana Menon had, while leaving the Club earlier in the evening, saluted the BrAhman Dewan Peshkar, and the latter had returned it in the time-honoured fashion in which BrAlimans who maintain old forms of etiqueite return the salute of Sudras, i.e. by raising the left hand a little higher than the right. … As we were dispersing, the Dewan Peshkar made his obeisance to the Swami, which the latter returned in the manner usual with Hindu monks by simply uttering the name of Narayana. This roused the Peshkar‘s ire, for he wanted the Swami’s obeisance in the fashion in which he had made his own. The Swami turned on him and said, ‘If you can exercise your customary form of etiquette in returning Narayana Menon’s greeting, why should you resent my own adoption of the SannyAsin’s customary mode in acknowledging your obeisance to me?’ This reply had the desired effect, and next day the gentleman’s brother came to us to convey an apology for the awkward incident of the night previous. Short as his stay had been at the Club premises, the Swami’s personality had made an impression on all. . . .

“The Swami paid a visit the next day to Prince Martanda Varma, who had, when informed by me of the remarkable intellectual and imposing presence of my visitor, expressed a desire for an interview. Of course, I accompanied the Swami and was present at the ensuing conversation. The Swami happened to mention his visits to various Native Princes, and courts during his travels. This greatly interested the Prince, who interrogated him regarding his impressions. The Swami then told him that, of all the Hindu Ruling Princes he had met, he had been most impressed with the capacity, patriotism, energy and foresight of H. H. the Caekwar of Baroda, that he had also known and greatly admired the high qualities of the small Rajput Chief of Khetri, and that, as he came further south, he had found a growing deterioration in the character and capacity of Indian Princes and Chiefs. The Prince then asked him if he had seen his uncle, the ruler of Travancore. The Svvami had not yet had time to arrange for a visit to His Highness. I may here mention that a visit was arranged for two days later through the good offices of the Dewan, Mr. Shankara Subbier. . . . The Maharaja received …. The Swami, inquired after his welfare, and told him that the Dewan would provide him with every convenience during his stay both in Trivandrum and elsewhere within the State. The visit lasted only for two or three minutes, and so the Swami returned a little disappointed ….

“To return to the Swami’s conversation with the Prince …. The Swami then made an earnest inquiry regarding Prince Martanda Varma’s studies, and his aims in life. The Prince replied that he was taking an interest in the doings of the people of Travancore, resolving to do what he could, as a leading and loyal subject of the Maharaja and as a member of the ruling family, to advance their welfare. The Prince was struck, like all others who had come in contact with him, with the Swami’s striking figure and attractive features ; and being an amateur photographer, asked the Swami to sit for his photograph. . . .

. . The Swami found me much inclined to orthodox Hindu modes of life and beliefs. Perhaps that was why he spoke a good deal in the vein suited to my tastes and views, though occasionally he burst out into spirited denunciation of the observance of mere DcshacMra, or local usage. . . .

“The Swami once made a spirited attack on the extravagant claims put forth by science on men’s allegiance. Tf religion has its superstitions/ the Swami remarked, ‘science has its superstitions too. Both the mechanical and evolutionary theories are, on examination, found inadequate and unsatisfying, and still there are large numbers of men who speak of the entire universe as an open secret. Agnosticism has also bulked large in men’s esteem, but has only betrayed its ignorance and arrogance by ignoring the laws and truths of the Indian science of thought-control. Western psychology has miserably failed to cope with the superconscious aspects and laws of human nature. Where European science has stopped short, Indian psychology comes in and explains, illustrates and teaches how to render real the laws appertaining to higher states of existence and experience. Religion alone—and especially the religion of the Indian sages—can understand the subtle and secret workings of the human mind and conquer its unspiritual cravings so as to realise the One Existence and comprehend all else as its limitation and manifestation when under the bondage of matter/ Another subject on which the Swami spoke was the distinction between the world of gross matter (Laukika) and the world of fine matter ,(Alaukika). The Swami explained how both kept within the bondage of the senses, and only he who rose superior to them could attain the freedom which is the aim of all life and raise himself above the petty vanities of the world, whether of men or gods. The Swami spoke to me of the institution of caste, and held that the BrAhman would continue to live as long as he found unselfish work to do and freely gave of his knowledge and all to the rest of the population. In the actual words of the Swami which are still ringing in my cars, ‘The BrAhman has done great things for India ; he is destined to do greater things for India in the future.* The Swami also declared himself sternly against all interference with the ShAstric usages and injunctions in regard to the* status and marriage of women. Women, like the lower classes and castes, must receive a Sanskrit education, imbibe the ancient spiritual culture, and realise in practice all the spiritual ideals of the Rishis., and then they would take into their own hands all questions affecting their own status and solve them in the light thrown on them by their own knowledge of the truths of religion and the enlightened perception of their own needs and requirements. . . .

“On the third and fourth day of the Swami’s stay with me, I sent information to a valued friend of mine in Trivandrum…..M. R. Ry. S. Rama Rao, Director of Vernacular Instruction in Travancore …. I remember vividly how once Mr. Raina Rao wished the Swami to explain Indriya Nigraha, the restraint of the senses. The Swami launched forth into a vivid story very much like what is usually told of LilA-Shuka, the famous singer of Krishna-Kamdmritam. The picture he gave of the last stage in which the hero is taken to Vrindaban and puts out his own eyes in repentance for his amorous pursuit of a Sett’s daughter and his resolve to end his days in unswerving meditation on the divine Shri Krishna at the place of His childhood on earth, remains with me even after the lapse of twenty-one years, with somewhat of the effect of those irresistibly charming and undying notes on the flute by the late miraculous musician, Sarabha SAstriar, of Kumbakonam. The Swami’s concluding words were, ‘Even this extreme step (of putting out the eyes) must, if necessary, be taken as a preliminary to the restraint of the wandering and unsubjugated senses and the consequent turning of the mind towards the Lord.’

“On the third or fourth day of his stay, I made enquiries, at the Swami’s request, regarding the whereabouts of Mr. Manmatha Nath Bhattacharya, Assistant to the Accountant-General, Madras …. From that time on the Swami used to spend bis mornings and dine with Mr. Bhattacharya. One day, however, when I complained that he was giving all his time to Mr. Bhattacharya, the Swami made a characteristic reply, ‘We Bengalis, are a clannish people.’ He said also that Mr. Bhattacharya had been his school or college mate, and that he had an additional claim for consideration as he was the son of the late world-renowned scholar, Pandit Mahesh Chandra NyAyaratna, formerly the Principal of the Calcutta Sanskrit College. The Swami also told me that he had long eaten no fish, as the South Indian BrAhmans, whose guest he had been throughout his South Indian tour, were forbidden both fish and ilesh, and would fain avail himself of this opportunity to have his accustomed fare. I at once expressed my loathing for fish or flesh as food. The Swami said in reply that the ancient Brahmans of India were accustomed to take meat and even beef and were called upon to kill cows and other animals in Yajnas or for giving Madhuparka1 to guests. He also held that the introduction and spread of Buddhism had led to the gradual discontinuance of flesh as food, though the Hindu Shastras had always expressed a theoretical preference for those who avoided the use of flesh-foods, and that the disfavour into which flesh had fallen was one of the chief causes of the gradual decline of the national strength, and the final overthrow of the national independence of the united ancient. Hindu races and states of India. . . . The Swami‘s opinion, at least as expressed in conversation with me, was that the Hindus must freely take to the use of animal food if India was at all to cope with the rest of the world in the present race for power and predominance among the world’s communities, whether within the British Empire, or beyond its limits. . . .

“Once a visitor, the Assistant Dewan or Peshkar in the Huzoor Office, Trivandrum, Mr. Piravi Perumal Pillai, detained the Swami from his usual visit to his Bengali countryman, Mr. Bhattacharya. He came to ascertain what the Swami knew of the various cults and religions in India and elsewhere, and began by voicing objections to the Advaita Vedanta. He soon found out that the Swami was a master from whose stores it was more important to draw what one could for inspiration without loss of time than to examine what were the depths and heights in which his mind could range. I saw the Swami exhibit on this occasion …. his rare power of gauging in a moment the mental reach of a self-confident visitor, and turning him unconsciously to suitable ground and giving him the benefit of his guidance and inspiration. On the present occasion, the Swami happened to quote from Lalita Vistara some verses descriptive of Buddha’s Vairagya and in such an entrancingly melodious voice that the visitor’s heart quite melted ; and the Swami skilfully utilised his listener’s mood to make a lasting impression of Buddha’s great renunciation, his unflinching search after truth, his final discovery of it and his unwearied ministry of forty-five years among men and women of all castes, ranks and conditions of life. The discourse occupied nearly an hour, and at its close the Swami’s visitor was so visibly affected and acknowledged himself as feeling so much raised for the time being above the sordid realities and vanities of life, that he made many devout prostrations at the Swami’s feet and declared, when leaving, that he had never seen his like and would never forget the discourse.

1 A mixture of honey containing meat etc., given to an honoured guest as a respectful offering.

. . Once I happened to ask him to deliver a public lecture. The Swami said that he had never before spoken in public and would surely prove a lamentable and ludicrous failure. Upon this I inquired how, if this were true, he could face the august assembly of the Parliament of Religions at Chicago at which he told me he had been asked by the Maharaja of Mysore to be present as the representative of Hinduism. The Swami gave me a reply which at the time seemed to me decidedly evasive, namely, that if it was the will of the Supreme that he should be made His mouthpiece and do a great service to the cause of truth and holy living, He surely would endow him with the gifts and qualities needed for it. I said I was incredulous as to the probability or possibility of a special intervention of this kind. . . . He at once came down on me like a sledge-hammer, denouncing me as one who, in spite of my apparent Hindu orthodoxy so far as my daily observances and verbal professions went, was at heart a sceptic, because I seemed to him prepared to set limits to the extent of the Lord’s power of beneficent interposition in the affairs of the universe.

“On another occasion, too, some difference of opinion existed in regard to a question of much importance in Indian ethnology. The Swami held that wherever a Brdhman was found with a dark skin, it was clearly a case of atavism, due to Dravidian admixture. To this I replied that colour was essentially a changeable feature in man and largely dependent on such conditions as climate, food, the nature of the occupation as entailing an outdoor or indoor life, and so on. The Swami combated my view and maintained that the Brahmans were as much a mixed race as the rest of mankind, and that their belief in their racial purity was largely founded on fiction. I quoted high authority—C. L. Brace and others— against him in regard to the purity of Indian races, but the Swami was obdurate and maintained his own view.

“During all the time he stayed, he took captive every heart within the home. To every one of us he was all sweetness, all tenderness, all grace. My sons were frequently in his company, and one of them still swears by him and has the most vivid and endearing recollections of his visit and of his striking personality. The Swami learned a number of Tamil words and took delight in conversing in Tamil with the Brdhman cook in our home. . . . When he left, it seemed for a time as if the light had gone out of our home . . .

The Swami next went eastwards in the direction of Rameswaram, stopping on the way at Madurai where he met the Raja of Ramnad, Bhaskara Setupati, to whom he had a letter of introduction. This devout Prince, who was one of the most enlightened of India’s noblemen, became a devoted admirer and disciple of the Swami. To him the Swami expressed many of his ideas pertaining to the education of the masses and the improvement of agricultural conditions, of the present problems of India and her great possibilities. The Prince persistently urged the Swami to go to the Parliament of Religions that was about to be held at Chicago, saying that that would be the most favourable opportunity of drawing the attention of the world to the spiritual light of the East and also of laying the foundation of his future work in India. He encouraged him and promised to help him. Being eager to visit Rameswaram, the Swami took leave of the Raja, telling him that he would let him know his decision about going to America in the near future.

Rameswaram is the Varanasi of Southern India. It is the holiest of holy places, immortalised in the RaMayana, in the journey of Rama to Lanka (Ceylon) in search of his abducted Queen Sita. The great temple at Rameswaram is entered by a gate one hundred feet in height. The glory of the temple is its great corridors and open galleries. It is said that Shri Rama-chandra on his return from Lanka after having defeated and slain Ravana founded this temple and worshipped Shiva there’ The Swami was happy to have accomplished one of the most cherished purposes of his life.

The Swami next journeyed on to Kanyakumari, (Cape Comorin) the southernmost extremity of India. Now was finished that great pilgrimage which extends northwards to those distant snow-clad regions where the Himalayas pass into Tibet. He thought of the sacredness of India and of the deep, deep spiritual life of which Badarikashrama and Kanyakumari were the towering landmarks. He was eager as a child to see the Mother; reaching the shrine he fell prostrate in ecstasy before Her image. Worship finished, he crossed to a rock which was separate from the mainland. About him the ocean tossed and stormed, but in his mind there was even a greater tempest. And there, sitting on the last stone of India, he passed into a deep meditation upon the present and future of his country. He sought for the root of her downfall, and with the vision of a seer he understood why India had been thrown from the pinnacle of glory to the depths of degradation. The simple monk was transformed into a great reformer, a great organiser and a great master-builder of the nation. There, where all was silence, he thought of the purpose and fruition of the Indian world. He thought not of Bengal or of Maharashtra, or of the Punjab, but of India and of its very life. All the centuries were arranged before him, and he perceived the realities and potentialities of Indian culture. He saw the whole of India organically and synthetically, as a great master-builder sees the whole architectural design. He saw religion as the very blood and life and spirit of India’s millions. Most vividly did he realise in the silence of his heart, “India shall rise only through a renewal and restoration of that highest spiritual consciousness which has made of India, at all times, the cradle of the nations and the cradle of the Faith.” He saw her greatness and her weaknesses as well, the central evil of which was that the nation had lost its individuality. The only hope was, to his mind, a restatement of the culture of the Rishis. He found that religion was not the cause of India’s downfall, but the fact that true religion was nowhere followed, for religion when dynamic was the most potent of all powers.

His soul brooded with infinite tenderness and infinite anguish over India’s poverty. What use is the Dharma, he thought, without the masses? Everywhere and at all times he saw that the poor and the lowly had been oppressed and downtrodden for hundreds of years by every Power that had come in the changes of fortune to rule them. The autocracy of priesthood, the despotism of caste, the terrible demarcations that these created within the social body, making the majority of the followers of Dharma the outcasts of the earth—these the Swami saw as almost insurmountable barriers to the progress of the Indian nation. His heart throbbed with the great masses ; he seemed to have entered, in some supreme mode of feeling, that world of India’s outcasts and poverty-stricken millions. t In their sufferings he found himself sharing, at their degradation he found himself humiliated, in their lot his great heart longed to share. Agony was in his soul when he thought how those who prided themselves on being the custodians of Dharma had held down the masses for ages upon ages. In a letter written many months after, one catches the ardour and the intensity of his meditation here. The Swami writes, “In view of all this, specially of the poverty and ignorance, I got no sleep. At Cape Comorin, sitting in Mother Kumari’s temple, sitting on the last bit of Indian rock, I hit upon a plan:    We are so many Sannyasins wandering about, and teaching the people metaphysics—it is all madness. Did not our Gurudeva use to say, ‘An empty stomach is no good for religion?’ That those poor people are leading the life of brutes, is simply due to ignorance. We have for all ages been sucking their blood and trampling them under foot.”1

But what was the remedy? The clear-eyed Swami saw that renunciation and service must be the twin ideals of India. If the national life could be intensified through these channels everything else would take care of itself. Renunciation alone had always been the great dynamo of strength in India. So in this critical time he looked to the men of renunciation to uphold the cause of India’s downtrodden masses. He hit upon a plan. “Suppose,” he continues in the same letter, “some disinterested Sannyasins, bent on doing good to others, go from village to village, disseminating education and seeking in various ways to better the condition of all down to the Chandala, through oral teaching, and by means of maps, cameras, globes and such other accessories—can’t that bring forth good in time? All these plans I cannot write out in this short letter. The long and short of it is—if the mountain does not come to Mohammed, Mohammed must go to the mountain. The poor are too poor to come to schools and Pathashalas ; and they will gain nothing by reading poetry and all that sort of thing. We as a nation have lost our individuality, and that is the cause of all mischief in India. We have to give back to the nation its lost individuality and raise the masses. The Hindu, the Mohammedan, the Christian, all have trampled them under foot.

1 Complete Works, Vol. VI, p. 254.

Again the force to raise them must come from inside, that is, from the orthodox Hindus. In every country the evils exist not with, but against, religion. Religion, therefore, is not to blame, but men.”

What could he do, a penniless Sannylsin! In the midst of black despair, came to him the great light of inspiration. He had travelled through the length and breadth of India, and he was sure he could find in every town at least a dozen young men who would help him in his endeavour to uplift the masses. But where to get the necessary money? He asked for help, but got only lip sympathy. “Selfishness personified—are they to spend anything!’* thus the Swami wrote later on. In his despair he looked to the infinite ocean, and a ray of light shot across his vision. Yes, he would cross the ocean and go to America in the name of India’s millions. There he would earn money by the power of his brain and returning to India devote himself to carry out his plans for the regeneration of his countrymen or die in the attempt. Shri Ramakrishna would show him the way out, even if nobody in the world helped him in his work.

Ay, here at Kanyakumari was the culmination of days and days of thought on the problems of the Indian masses; here was the culmination of hours of longing that the wrongs of the masses might be righted. His eyes looked through a mist of tears across the great waters. His heart went out to the Master and to the Mother in a great prayer. From this moment his life was consecrated to the service of India, but particularly to the outcast Narayanas, to the starving Narayanas, to the millions of oppressed Narayanas of his land. To him, in this wonderful hour, even the final vision of Brahman in the Nirvi-kalpa Samadhi and the bliss thereof became subservient to the overwhelming desire to give himself utterly and entirely for the good of the Indian people. And his soul was caught up in an ecstasy of vision of the Narayana Himself—the Supreme Lord of the Universe, whose love is boundless, whose pity knows no distinction between the high and the low, the pure and the vile, the rich and the poor. To him religion was no longer an scheme of things not only the Dharma, the Vedas, the Upani-shads, the meditation of Sages, the asceticism of great monks, the vision of the Most High, but the heart of the people, their lives, their hopes, their misery, their poverty, their degradation, their sorrows, their woes. And he saw that the Dharma, and even the Vedas, without the people, were as so much straw in the eyes of the Most High. Verily, at Kanyakumari the Swami was the Patriot and Prophet in one!

And so out of his meditation, as its very result, he determined to go to the West. He would make that intensely individualised and aggressively self-conscious West bow down to the Oriental experience as embodied in India’s message to the world. That on which the monks concentrate as the ideal of the race, and the realisation of which affords them infinite ecstasy and insight—That in Its entirety he would preach to the West. And in the wake of that preaching by himself and others yet to come, India would rise, he knew, as a great light, ay, even as the Sun itself, illuminating the whole world. He would throw away even the bliss of the Nirvikalpa Samadhi for the liberation of his fellow-men in India and abroad! Thus was the spirit of Shri Ramakrishna revealed to him in one of the most luminous visions of his life, the fruition of the deep meditations of many years. No wonder that he spoke of himself to one of his beloved Western disciples in later times as “A condensed India”.

FURTHER GLIMPSES OF PARIVRAJAKA LIFE

The life of a Parivrajaka, or itinerant monk, is necessarily of a chequered character. Though we have endeavoured to follow the Swami’s continuous journeying in some consecutive and chronological form, there are many gaps filled with numerous incidents concerning most of which the Swami maintained silence, for it was not his wont, unless solicited, to speak at length upon the experiences of these days. Some of these, however, he related, and before taking up the story of his advent in Madras, it will be well to gain a comprehensive survey of these disconnected but interesting happenings in order to realise the inner nature of the man and to bring into prominence some of the factors in the background of his life.

Once he had a strange vision. He saw an old man standing on the banks of the Indus and chanting Riks, or Vedic hymns, in a distinctly different way from the accustomed methods of intonation of today. The passage which he heard was:

“Oh, come Thou Effulgent One, Thou Bestower of Blessings, Signifier of Brahman in three letters! Salutation be to Thee, O Gayatri, Mother of Vedic Mantras, Thou who hast sprung from Brahman! ” The Swami believed that through this vision he had recovered the musical cadences of the earliest Aryan. He also found some remarkable similarity to this in the poetry of Shankaracharya. Such a vision as this shows the extraordinary development of Yoga powers in the Swami.

There is then the story of the Tari Ghat station told by a disciple:

“It was one of those scorching summer noons in the United Provinces, when the Swami alighted from the train at Tari Ghat.

“A cloak dyed in the usual Saunyasin colour, and a third-class ticket for a station some distance away which someone had given him, were about his only belongings. He did not possess even a Kainandalu. He was not allowed by the porter to stay within the station-shed. So he sat down on the ground, leaning against a post of the waiting-shed for the third-class passengers.

“Of the motley crowd assembled there, we need mention only a middle-aged man of the North India trading-caste, a Baniyft, who sat on a Durry (cotton mat) a little way off under the shelter of the shed almost opposite to the Swami. Recognising the Swami’s starving condition, he had made merry at his expense as they journeyed in the same compartment the previous night. And when they stopped at different stations and the Swami, who was suffering intensely from thirst, was unable to obtain water from the water-bearers because he had no money to pay for it, the Banya bought water to satisfy his own thirst and, as he drank it, taunted the Swami, saying, ‘See here, my good man, what nice water this is! You being a Sannyasin, and having renounced money, cannot purchase it and so you have the pleasure of going without it. Why don’t you earn money as I do and have a good time of it?’ He did not approve of Sannyftsa ; no, he did not believe in giving up the world and money-making for an idea. In his opinion, it was only right that the Sannyasin should starve, and so, when they both alighted at Tari Ghat, he took considerable pains to make it clear to the Swami by means of arguments, illustrations and pleasantries that he got just what he deserved. For the Swami was in the burning sun whilst the Baniya seated himself in the shade. ‘Look here,’ he began again with a derisive smile curling his lips, ‘what nice Puries and Laddus I am eating! You do not care to earn money, so you have to rest content with a parched throat and empty stomach and the bare ground to sit upon!’ The Swami looked on calmly, not a muscle of his face moved.

“Presently there appeared one of the local inhabitants carrying a bundle and a tumbler in his right hand, a Durry under his left arm and. an earthen jug of water in his left hand. He hurriedly spread the Durry in a clean spot, put on it the things he was carrying and called to the Swami, ‘Do come, Babaji, and take the food I have brought for you!’ The Swami was surprised beyond words. What did this mean? Who was this new-comer? The jeering Baniya’s look was changed to one of blank amazement. The new-comer kept on insisting, ‘Come on, Babaji, you must come and eat the food!’ ‘I am afraid you are making a mistake, my friend,’ said the Swami. ‘Perhaps you are taking me for somebody else. I do not remember having ever met you.* But the other cried out, ‘No, no, you are the very Babaji I have seen!* ‘What do you mean?’ asked the Swami, his curiosity fully aroused, while his jocose friend stood gaping at the scene. ‘Where have you seen me?’

The man replied, ‘Why, I am a sweetmeat vendor and was having my usual nap after my noon meal. And I dreamt that Shri Ramji was pointing you out to me and telling me that He was pained to see you without food from the day previous and that I should get up instantly, prepare some Puries and curry and bring them to you at the railway station with some sweetmeats, nice cold water, and a Durry for you to sit upon. I woke up, but thinking it was only a dream I turned on my side and slept again. But Shri Ramji, in His infinite graciousness, came to me again and actually pushed me to make me get up and do as He had said. I quickly prepared some Puries and curry, and taking some sweets which I had prepared this morning, some cold water and a Durry from my shop I ran here direct and recognised you at once from a distance. Now do come and have your meal while it is fresh. You must be very hungry.* One can imagine the Swami’s feelings at this time. With all his heart the Swami thanked his simple host, while tears of love flowed from his eyes, but the kind man protested saying, ‘No, no, Babaji! Do not thank me! It is all the will of Shri Ramji!’ The jeering Baniya was quite taken aback at this incident, and begging the Swami’s pardon for the ill words he had used towards him, he took the dust of his feet.”

This incident, revealing Divine Providence as manifesting in the Swami’s life, is complemented by an incident of a different character which occurred in Rajputana. Once when he was passing through that province, he travelled with two Englishmen in the same carriage. They took him to be an ignorant Sadhu and made jokes in English at his expense. The Swami sat as if he did not understand one word. When the train stopped at a station further on he asked the station-master in English for a glass of water. When his companions discovered that he knew English and had understood all they had said, they were much embarrassed at their vulgar conduct and asked him why it was that he had not shown any sign of resentment. He replied, “My friends, this is not the first time that I have seen fools!” The men showed fight, but seeing the Swami’s strongly built frame and undaunted spirit, they thought better of it and apologised to him.

An amusing incident is told of the Swami to the effect that during one of his long railway travels his fellow-passenger was a learned occultist, who besieged him with all sorts of questions, asking whether he had been in the Himalayas, and whether he had met there any Mahatmas, possessed of all sorts of incredible powers. The Swami wishing to teach him a lesson, encouraged him to talk. Then, smiling within himself, he gave such a glowing description of the miraculous performances of the Mahatmas that his listener gaped in amazement. Then he was asked if they had told him anything about the duration of the present cycle. The Swami said that he had a long talk on that subject with the Mahatmas, who spoke to him on the coming end of the cycle and the part they would play in the regeneration of mankind to bring about the Satya-yuga once more, and so on and so forth. The credulous man hung upon every word that fell from the Swami’s lips! Gratified with the acquisition of so much new knowledge, he invited the Swami to partake of some food, which he readily consented to do, for he had not eaten anything for a whole day. His admirers out of respect had bought him a second-class ticket, but as he was then living up to the ideal of taking no thought for the morrow, they could not persuade him to take either money or food with him.

When the meal was over, the Swami regarded the man with much interest, and seeing that he had a great heart but because of his credulous nature had become entangled in pseudomysticism, spoke to him frankly and sternly, “You who boast so much of your learning and enlightenment, how could you unhesitatingly swallow such wild, fantastic tales!” The gentleman hung his head at this reproof and uttered not a word. Thinking of diverting him from his distorted notions of what constituted spirituality, the Swami said to him with great vehemence of feeling, “My friend, you look intelligent. It befits a person of your type to exercise your own discrimination. Spirituality has nothing to do with the display of psychical powers, which, when analysed, show that the man who deals with them is a slave of desire and a most egotistical person. Spirituality involves the acquisition of that true power which is character. It is the vanquishing of passion and the rooting out of desire. All this chasing after psychical illusions, which means nothing in the solution of the great problems of our life, is a terrible waste of energy, the most intense form of selfishness, and leads to degeneracy of mind. It is this nonsense which is demoralising our nation. What we need now is strong common sense, a public spirit and a philosophy and religion which will make us men ” The gentleman on hearing this was overcome by emotion, and understood the righteousness of the Swami’s attitude. He assured him that he would thenceforth follow his valuable precepts.

Speaking to Girish Babu of the experience of his Parivrajaka days, the Swami told of an event, of a more pleasant character, which took place in Khetri. To use the Swami’s own words:

“In the course of my wanderings I was in a certain place where people came to me in crowds and asked for instruction. Though it seems almost unbelievable, people came and made me talk for three days and nights without giving me a moment’s rest. They did not even ask me whether I had eaten. On the third night, when all the visitors had left, a low-caste poor man came up to me and said, \Swamiji, I am much pained to see that you have not had any food these three days. You must be very tired and hungry. Indeed, I have noticed that you have not even taken a glass of water.’ I thought that the Lord Himself had come in the form of this low-caste man to test me. I asked him, ‘Can you give me something to eat?* The man said, ‘Swamiji, my heart is yearning to give you food, but how can you eat Chapatis baked by my hands ! If you allow me I shall be most glad to bring flour, lentils, and other things, and you may cook them yourself.* At that time, according to the monastic rules, I did not touch fire. So I said to him, ‘You had better give me the Chapatis cooked by you. I will gladly take them.* Hearing this, the man shrank in fear ; he was a subject of the Maharaja of Khetri and was afraid that if the latter came to hear that he, a cobbler, had given Chapatis to a Sannyasin, he would be severely dealt with and possibly banished from the State. I told him, however, that lie need not fear and that the Maharaja would not punish him. He did not believe me. But out of the kindness of his heart, even though he feared the consequence, he brought me the cooked food. I doubted at that time whether it would have been more palatable if Indra, the King of the Devas, should have held a cup of nectar in a golden basin before me. I shed tears of love and gratitude and thought, ‘Thousands of such large-hearted men live in lowly huts, and we despise them as low castes and untouchables!* When I became well acquainted with the Maharaja, I told him of the noble act of this man. Accordingly, within a few days the latter was called to the presence of the Prince. Frightened beyond words, the man came shaking all over, thinking that some dire punishment was to be inflicted upon him. But the Maharaja praised him and put him beyond all want.”

Once it occurred to the Swami, in the course of his itineracy, that going from place to place and begging for food from door to door was after all not the aim of his life for the realisation of which he had renounced his home. In a letter written about this time to one of his brother-disciples he says with great depression, “I am going about taking food at others’ houses shamelessly and without the least compunction like a crow.” He thought, “Let me beg no longer! What benefit is it to the poor to feed me? If they can save a handful of rice, they can feed their own children with it. Anyway, what is the use of sustaining this body if I cannot realise God?” A desperate ascetic mood came upon him, and a terrible spiritual dissatisfaction overwhelmed him, as sometimes occurs with great mystics, and he determined in a moment of supreme despair to plunge into a dense forest and, like some great Rishi of old, let the body drop from sheer starvation and exhaustion. Thereupon he entered into a thick forest which stretched for miles and miles before him, and walked the whole day without a morsel of food. The evening approached. He was faint from fatigue and sank to the ground beneath a tree, fixing his mind upon the Lord, his eyes looking vacantly in the distance.

After some time he saw a tiger approaching. Nearer and nearer it came. Then it sat down at some distance from him. The Swami thought, “Ah! This is right, both of us are hungry. After all, this body has not been the vehicle for absolute realisation, and as by it no good to the world will possibly be done, it is well and desirable that it should be of service at least to this hungry beast.” He was lying there all the while calm and motionless, waiting every moment for the tiger to pounce upon him, but for some reason or other the animal ran off in another direction. The Swami, however, thought that it might yet return and waited, but the tiger did not come. He spent the night in the jungle beneath the shelter of the tree, holding communion with his own soul. And with the approach of dawn, pondering in the silence of that forest on the guiding Providence of the Most High, a great sense of power came upon him. The full contents of this experience were known only to himself.

Once, in the course of his weary marches on foot, he became dizzy from exhaustion and could walk no farther. The sun was intolerably hot. Summoning his strength he reached a tree near by and sat down beneath its spreading branches. A sense of unutterable fatigue came over his limbs. Then, as a great light shines suddenly in the darkness, the thought came to him, “Is it not true that within the Soul resides all power? How can it be dominated by the senses and the body? How can I be weak?” Therewith a sudden energy flowed through his body. His mind became luminous. His senses recovered themselves, and he arose and journeyed on, determined that he would never yield to weakness. Many times he was in such a state in his Parivrajaka life ; but he asserted his higher nature again and again, and strength flowed back to him. Says the Swami in one of his lectures in California:

“Many times I have been in the jaws of death, starving, footsore, and weary ; for days and days I had had no food, and often could walk no farther ; I would sink down under a tree, and life would seem to be ebbing away. I could not speak, I could scarcely think, but at last the mind reverted to the idea:    ‘I have no fear nor death ; never was I born, never did I die ; I never hunger nor thirst. I am It! I am It. The whole of nature cannot crush me ; it is my servant. Assert thy strength, thou Lord of lords and God of gods! Regain thy lost empire! Arise and walk and stop not!* And I would rise up, reinvigorated, and here am I, living, today. Thus, whenever the darkness comes, assert the reality and every* thing adverse must vanish. For, after all it is but a dream. Mountain-high though the difficulties appear, terrible and gloomy though all things seem, they are but Maya. Fear not—it is banished. Crush it, and it vanishes. Stamp upon it, and it dies.”

At another time, whilst travelling afoot in Cutch, he was passing through a desert. The scorching rays of the sun poured down upon him. His throat was parched, and nowhere near did his eyes find a human abode. On and on he went, until he saw a village with inviting pools of water, and he was happy at the prospect of finding food, drink and shelter there.

He hastened his steps,believing that he would soon be there. After walking on and on for a long time the village was as far off as ever l Finally, in despair he sat down upon the sands and looked about him. Where was the village! Where had it gone! And then he knew—it was only a mirage! And he thought, “Such is life! Such is the deceit of Maya.” He arose and journeyed on, and though he saw the mirage again, he was no more deceived, for he knew what it was. When in the West he gave a series of lectures on Maya, he compared Maya to a mirage, using this experience as an illustration.

Once he said in the presence of a disciple, as if speaking to himself, “O the days of suffering I passed through! Once after eating nothing for three days I fell down senseless on the road. I did not know how long I was in that state. When I regained my consciousness I found my clothing wet through by a shower of rain. Drenched in it, I felt somewhat refreshed. I arose and after trudging along some distance I reached a monastery, and my life was saved by the food that I received there.”

Many, many were the times when the Swami faced danger, hardship and want in the solitude as the wandering monk. Oftentimes there was nothing in his possession save perhaps a photograph of Shri Ramakrishna and a copy of the Gita. In Central India, probably when he left Khandwa, he had many trying experiences with people who refused to give him food and shelter. It was in that period that he lived with a family of the sweeper caste and saw the priceless worth and potentialities that often lie within the lowest of the low. It might have been this experience and similar others of human contact that made him realise the distressing condition of his land. Poverty, wretchedness and utmost misery he saw on every side* and his heart was overwhelmed with pity. Such experiences as these made of him a great patriot and champion of the depressed millions.

At one time, during his wanderings in the Himalayas, he lived with a family of Tibetans with whom polyandry is;the prevailing custom, And this family consisted of six biothfcts with but one common wife. When the Swami became sufficiently familiar with them, he argued with his hosts concerning polyandry, becoming quite fervent in his denunciation. The man became much vexed with him and asked him, “How can you, a Sadhu, bring yourself to teach others to be selfish! ‘This is a thing which only I should possess and enjoy to the exclusion of any other,’—is not such an idea wrong? Why should we be so selfish as to have each a wife for himself? Brothers should share everything amongst themselves, even their wives.” Though the answer might have its logical weakness, the Swami was greatly astonished at such a reply from such simple-minded mountaineers. And, the Swami thought, one may argue for or against almost anything. It was this and similar incidents which caused him to think deeply over the customs and manners of various peoples, as he met them in his travels through many provinces from the Himalayas to the southernmost part of India. It certainly broadened his perspective and made him see life from all angles. It made him weigh well in the balance the arguments for as well as against any new experience or circumstance or custom which chanced to cross his path. He endeavoured to see the standards of social life and of ethics of all nations and races, through their eyes.

Before closing the chapter of his days of itineracy it would be relevant to think over the changes in the Swami’s personality and temperament since he started on this life from Baranagore. Before this he had not seen much of the outside world. This wandering life had a great educational value for him, opening up as it did opportunities for original thought and observation. The synthetic ideas absorbed at Dakshineswar Were put into practice through the ParivrSjaka experience. As one of his brother-disciples has said of him, “He was constantly on the look-out for new experiences at this time, constantly gathering ideas, making contrasts and comparisons, saturating his mind with the religious and social ideas of every province, studying various systems of theology and philosophy and finding out the inherent worth of all the varied Indian peoples whose life he closely observed/1 The most striking element in all his observations was his tireless search for unity in the world of Indian ideals. He finally realised that underlying all the diversity of customs and traditions was the oneness of the spiritual vision. The difference between the Mohammedan and the Hindu world he found to be only apparent, for the Mohammedans as a race were as generous and as human and as Indian at heart as the Hindus, and the enlightened among them understood and appreciated the culture of Hinduism and the intimate relationship between the philosophy of Sufism and Advaita Veddnta and other social and religious elements. So he came to think of both Mohammedans and Hindus as Indians first; and this automatically obliterated for him the distinction between the followers of the two great faiths. With this supreme synthetic outlook of the Indian world and the soundness of Indian ideals the Swami arrived at Madras, which practically terminated his days of wandering.

IN MADRAS AND HYDERABAD

It was in the last days of the year 1892, when the Swami arose from his meditation at Kanyakumari, and wended his way to Madras, a centre of orthodox learning and culture. From the shrine of the Mother he went afoot, journeying through Ramnad and onwards, until he reached Pondicherry, south of Madras. Weary from long marches he rested there for some days, and met several young men who became his admirers and invited him to their homes.

It was at Pondicherry that the Swami had a lengthy and bitter discussion with an exceedingly bigoted orthodox Pandit upon many important topics relating to Hinduism and its reform. The Pandit, being of the old school, antagonised the Swami at every turn. He was not so much learned as he was violent, and he became brutal in his denunciation of the Swami’s progressive ideas. The conversation turned on the question of sea voyage. When the Pandit could not hold his ground against the Swami, he would often interrupt him blurting out in Sanskrit with wild gestures, “Kadapi Na, Kadapi Na,” “Never, never !” “My friend,” the Swami cried out at last, “what do you mean? Upon every educated Indian devolves the responsibility of submitting the contents of the Dharma to the test* For this reason we must come out of the limited grooves of the past and take a look at the world as it moves onwards to progress at the present day. And if we find that there are hide-bound customs which are impeding the growth of our social life or disturbing our philosophical outlook, it is time for us to take an advance step by eschewing them.” The Swami spoke also concerning the uplift of the masses, and said that the time was at hand when the Shudras would arise and demand their rights and privileges. He insisted that it was the duty of the educated Indians to help the downtrodden masses by giving them education, to spread the ideal of social equality and to root out the tyranny of priestcraft and the evils of national disorganisation, which the perversion of the caste system and of the higher principles of religion had brought on.

Destiny works in strange ways. It so happened that Mr. Manraatha Nath Bhattacharya chanced to meet the Swami plodding up from Rameswaram, with staff and Kamandalu in hand. Learning that the Swami was on his way to Madras, Mr. Bhattacharya insisted that he should travel with him and be his guest. The Swami consented, and they started for Madras. There the Swami found awaiting him a dozen or more of the finest young men of the city, who in time became his disciples. From the day of his arrival he was besieged by numerous visitors.

From this time on the Swami seemed to be on the high road to public recognition. It was in Madras that many young men became his devoted adherents. It was here that he secured the funds wherewith he was enabled to go to America. It was in Madras that the message of his Master gained a ready acceptance. It was here, also, that his first work in India in the way of organisation and publication was commenced, and it was his Madrasi disciples who widely circulated his message even before his return from the West.

With the many eager inquirers who sought interviews with him, the Swami would discuss religion, psychology, science, literature or history. One day, when the Swami was in an exalted mood in which all thought was sublimated, some one asked him, “Swamiji, why is it that in spite of their Vedantic thought the Hindus are idolaters?” The Swami with flashing eyes turned on the questioner and answered, “Because we have the Himalayas! ” He meant thereby that, surrounded by Nature so sublime and soul-stirring, man cannot but fall down and adore. The Swami’s personality towered over everything. His thrilling musical voice, his songs, his strength of soul, his powerful intellect, his luminous and ready replies, his scintillating wit, his epigrams and eloquence held his hearers spellbound. And day after day the number of those who came to the house of Mr. Bhattacharya increased. He combined a spirit of humility with what would seem to be at times an aggressive self-consciousness; for sometimes he would beg pardon of a Pandit who had insulted him, calling himself an ignorant fellow ; at other times he would burst like a hurricane upon his audience, giving them no opportunity to escape from the currents of his thought. But all this was unostentatious and informal. He spoke no harsh words against anyone, but he did not refrain from criticism when necessary. For example, there was the case of the Pandit who asked him if there was any harm in giving up Sandhyavandana, or prayers performed in the morning, noon and evening, because of lack of time. “What!” cried the Swami almost ferociously, “Those giants of old, the ancient Rishis, who never walked but strode, of whom if you were but to think for a moment you would be shrivelled into a moth, they, sir, had time, and you have no time ! ” In that same meeting, when a Westernised Hindu spoke in a belittling manner of the “meaningless teachings” of the Vedic Seers, the Swami fell upon him with a thunderbolt vehemence, crying out, “”‘How dare you criticise your venerable forefathers in such a fashion! A little learning has muddled your brain. Have you tested the science of the Rishis? Have you even as much as read the Vedas? There is the challenge thrown by the Rishis! |f you dare oppose them, take it up.”

To relieve the undue strain put upon himself by the constant influx of people, the Swami used to walk in the evening on the seashore. One day, when he saw the wretched and half-starved children of the fishermen working with their mothers, waist-deep in the water, tears filled his eyes, and he cried out, “O Lord, why dost Thou create these miserable creatures! I can* not bear the sight of them. How long, O Lord, how longl ” Those who were in his company were overcome and burst into tears.

A party was arranged in his honour one evening. All the intellectual luminaries of Madras were present. The Swami declared himself to be an Advaitin, boldly, almost challeogingly. A clique of intellectuals asked him, “You say you are one with God. Then all your responsibility is gone. What is there to qheck you when you do wrong, and when you stray from the right path?” The Swami replied crushingly, If I honestly believe that I am one with God, I shall abominate vice and no check is needed! ”

In the course of a similar conversation in the palace of the Raja of Ramnad, some one had jeered at him for his assertion that it was possible for a human being to see Brahman, the Unknown. Aroused at once, he exclaimed, “I have seen the Unknown! ”

The Swami held several conversations at the Literary Society of Triplicane, which had given him his first introduction to the public ; many of its young members belonged to the social reform movement in Madras. But he saw that they were working from the wrong point of view, that of sweeping condemnation. In his repeated talks the Swami emphatically urged upon them the necessity of critically analysing foreign ideals and of avoiding the assimilation of irreligious foreign culture. He said that they should invoke the aid of all that was great and glorious in the past, otherwise the very foundations of the national structure would be undermined. He told them that he was not an enemy of social reform ; on the contrary, he yearned for reforms, but they must come from within, and not from without, and must be constructive and not destructive.

There came to him an atheist, the Assistant Professor of Science in the Christian College, Singdravelu Mudaliar. He saw the pragmatic values of Christianity and criticised Hinduism. He came to argue, but at the end of the conversation he was converted to the Swarai’s way of thinking and became his ardent disciple. The Swami loved him very much and called him “Kidi”. He said of him afterwards jocularly, “Caesar said, ‘I came, I saw, I conquered/ But Kidi came, he saw, and was conquered!” After a time Kidi devoted his life to the Swami’s cause, and when at his suggestion the Prabuddha Bharata was started in Madras, Kidi became its honorary manager. He later renounced the world to lead the life of a recluse and died a saintly death.

Mr. V. Subramanya Iyer says that he went with some of his class-fellows to the house of Mr. Bhattacharya, intending to have some fun. Thfty found the Swami smoking his Hookah in a sort of half-awake, half-dreamy state, seemingly in deep contemplation. One bolder than the others advanced and asked, ‘‘Sir, what is God?” The Swami smoked on as if entirely oblivious of the question. Then he raised his eyes, and said as if by way of reply, “Well, my fellow, what is energy?” When the boy and his companions were unable to give any real definition, the Swami roused himself and said, “What is this! You cannot define a simple word like ‘energy’, which you use every day of your life, and yet you want me to define God! ” They asked other questions, but the Swami’s replies crushed them. After a time the boys left, but Mr. Iyer who was greatly impressed remained and accompanied the Swami and his disciples on his daily walk to the seashore. Casually the Swami asked Mr. Iyer, “Well, my boy, can you wrestle?” Receiving an answer in the affirmative the Swami said in fun. “Come, let us have a tussle.” Surprised at the Swami’s athletic skill and strength of muscle, Mr. Iyer called him, ‘Taiwan Swami” or the “Athlete Swami”.

It so happened that one day the Swami found the cook of Mr. Bliattacharya looking longingly at the Hookah which the Maharaja of Mysore had given him, and so he asked him, “Would you like to have this?” The Swami repeated his question, and seeing the man puzzled and afraid to say “yes”, he then and there handed it to him. The man could not believe that he meant it. But when he actually had it in his hands, he was grateful beyond words, and those who heard of the incident saw what renunciation the Swami had, for he loved that Hookah, his only comfort. It was customary with him throughout his life to give away whatever anyone admired in his possession. On one occasion in America a young man (Mr. Prince Woods)1 coveted the staff which he had used whilst journeying to many pilgrimages during his wandering days. He had brought it all the way from India and prized it for its sacred associations. But he gave it away instantly, saying, “What you admire is already yours!”

1 Swamiji gave his trunk and blanket to Prince’s mother, Mrs. Kate Tennatt Woods of Salem, at whose home he stayed for a few days in September, 1893.

The Swami had a strange experience about this time. For some days, he was bothered by waves of psychic disturbance sent by some spirits. The spirits reported all sorts of false things to make his mind uneasy, which statements he learned later to be untrue. When they had thus annoyed him for some days, he remonstrated, whereupon they told him of their miserable condition. The Swami thought over the matter, and one day repairing to the seashore, he took a handful of sand as a substitute for rice and grain and offered it praying with his whole heart that these spirits might find rest. Thereafter they ceased to bother him, having attained peace.

In Madras the Swami gained numerous followers. The experience he had in Alwar was here intensified many times, for people flocked from all parts to hear him. More and more he revealed the strength, the purity and the effulgence of his soul, and his sweet personality captivated their hearts even as his ideas captivated their intellects. Mr. K. Vyasa Rao, B.A., speaks as follows, in a reminiscent mood, of the Swami of these days and the impression he created:

“A graduate of the Calcutta University, with a shaven head, a prepossessing appearance, wearing the garb of renunciation, fluent in English and Sanskrit, with uncommon powers of repartee, who sang ‘with full-throated ease* as though he was attuning himself to the Spirit of the universe, and withal a wanderer on the face of the earth! The man was sound and stalwart, full of sparkling wit, with nothing but a scathing contempt for miracle-working agencies . . . ; one who enjoyed good dishes, knew how to appreciate the Hookah and the pipe, yet harped on renunciation with an ability that called forth admiration and a sincerity that commanded respect. The young Bachelors and Masters of Arts were at their wits’ end at the sight of such a phenomenon. There, they saw the man and saw how well he could stand his ground in wrestling and fencing in the arena of the Universal Soul; and when the hour of discussion gave way to lighter moods, they found that he could indulge in fun and frolic, in uncompromising denunciation and in startling dons mots. But everything else apart, what endeared him to all was the unalloyed fervour of his patriotism. The young man who had renounced all worldly ties and freed himself from bondage, had but one love, his country, and one grief, its downfall. These sent him into reveries which held his hearers spellbound. Such was die man who travelled from Hooghly to Tamraparny, who bewailed and denounced in unmeasured terms the imbecility of our young men, whose words flashed as lightning and cut as steel, who impressed all, communicated his enthusiasm to some, and lighted the spark of undying faith in a chosen few.”

To many the Swami seemed the very embodiment of the culture of the Darshanas, the Agamas and the Yogas. He was saturated with the living consciousness not only of the Hindu spiritual experience, but also of the philosophical and scientific achievements of the West. One who was highly cultured, and became his disciple in these days, spoke of him thus:

“The vast range of his mental horizon perplexed and enraptured me. From the Rig-Veda to Raghuvamsha, from the metaphysical flights of the Vedanta philosophy to modem Kant and Hegel, the whole range of ancient and modern literature and art and music and morals, from the sublimities of ancient Yoga to the intricacies of a modem laboratory—everything seemed clear to his field of vision. It was this which confounded me, made me his slave.”

Another disciple writes:

“He frequently had to descend to the level of his questioners and to translate his soaring thoughts into their language. He would often anticipate several questions ahead and give answers that would satisfy the questioners at once. When asked how he so understood them, he would say with a smile that Sannyasins were ‘doctors of men’, and that they were able to diagnose their cases before they administered remedies to them.

“At times many men’s thoughts were his. He would answer scores of questioners at one time and silence them all.

“Soft and forgiving as he was to those on whom his grace rested, one had to live in his presence as in the vicinity of a dangerous explosive. The moment a bad thought entered one’s mind, it would flash across him also. One could know it from a peculiar smile that lit his lips and from the words that would casually escape from his mouth in the course of conversation.”

Already he had announced his intention of going to the West. He said about it to all those who knew him in Madras. And those who listened saw with him the imperative need of preaching the Dharma. And they understood the intention of the Swami to sail for the distant shores of the West. Not only did they understand his intention, they themselves intensified it. They went forth eager to raise subscriptions for the cause. He himself had had it long in mind to attend the Parliament of Religions, but he took no definite step in this matter, preferring to abide by the will of the Mother. And those who went forth to raise funds soon collected some five hundred rupees. But the Swami, when he saw the money, grew nervous. He said to himself, “Am I following my own will? Am I being carried away by enthusiasm? Or is there a deep meaning in all that I have thought and planned?” He prayed, “O Mother, show me Thy willl It is Thou who art the Doer. Let me be only Thy instrument.” He, a Sannyasin, inexperienced in the ways of the world, was about to sail for far distant lands, alone, unknown, to meet strange peoples and deliver to them a strange message! And so he said to the astonished disciples, “My boys, l am determined to force the Mother’s will. She must prove that it is Her intention that I should go, for it is a step in the dark. If it be Her will, then money will come again of itself. Therefore, take this money and distribute it amongst the poor.” His disciples obeyed him without a word, and the Swami felt as though a great burden had been taken off his shoulders.

He again settled down to the life of the Teacher, and prayed to the Mother and the Master in the solitude of his soul for guidance and direction. And in these days he meditated intensely. The monk with the prodigious intellect and the fire of patriotism became transformed into a simple child waiting for the Mother’s call, knowing that it would come. His soul grew tense with determination to make the Mother speak Her will.

But while he was in this devotional state, many of those in Hyderabad who had heard of the Swami from their Madras friends, begged him to come on a brief visit. He readily consented, thinking that there must be a hidden purpose in this unexpected call. His host at Madras telegraphed to a friend, Babu Madhusudan Chatterjee, the Superintending Engineer of His Highness the Nizam, that the Swami was to arrive at Hyderabad on the 10th of February and be his guest. On the clay previous, the Hindus of Hyderabad and Secunderabad had

called a public meeting to arrange a fitting reception for the Swami. So when he arrived at Hyderabad he was surprised to find on the station platform five hundred people assembled to receive him, including the most distinguished members of the Court of Hyderabad, several of the nobility and many rich merchants, pleaders and Pandits, notable amongst whom were Raja Srinivas Rao Bahadur, Maharaja Rambha Rao Bahadur, Pandit Rattan Lai, Captain Raghunath, Shams-ul-Ulema Syed Ali Bilgrami, Nawab Imad Jung Bahadur, Nawab Dula Khan Bahadur, Nawab Imad Nawaz Jung Bahadur, Nawab Secunder Nawaz Jung Bahadur, Mr. H. Dorabjee, Mr. F. S. Mundon, Rai Hukum Chand, M.A., LL.D., Setts Chaturbhuj and Motilal, bankers, and the host and his son, Babu Kali Charan Chatterjee. Babu Kali Charan, who was known to the Swami in Calcutta, introduced every one to him. Flowers and garlands were heaped upon the monk. Writes an eye-witness as follows:    We have never seen such crowds gathered before to receive a Swami! It was a magnificent reception.

On the morning of February 11, a committee of one hundred Hindu residents of Secunderabad approached him with offerings of sweets, milk and fruits, and asked him to deliver a lecture at the Mahaboob College in their city. The Swami consented, fixing the 13th as the date. Then he drove with Babu Kali Charan to the fort at Golconda of historic note and famous for its diamonds. On returning, the Swami found awaiting him a bearer from the Private Secretary to Nawab Bahadur Sir Khurshid Jah, Amiri-i-Kabir, K.C.S.I., the foremost nobleman of Hyderabad and the brother-in-law of His Highness the Nizam, requesting him to come to the palace for an interview on the following morning. At the appointed hour the Swami, accompanied by Babu Kali Charan, went to the palace, where he was received by an aide-de-camp of the Nawab. Sir Khurshid Jah was noted for religious tolerance and was the first Mohammedan to visit all the Hindu places of pilgrimage from the Himalayas to Cape Comorin. He received the Swami warmly.

For more than two hours the interview lasted, the Swami discussing the contents of Hinduism, Christianity and Islam.

The Nawab took exception to the idea of the Personal God as represented in Hinduism, himself believing in the Impersonal Ideal. Then the Swami spoke to him of the evolution of the idea of God, and proved the necessity of the conception of Him as a Person, a pragmatic factor in human experience, the highest conception of human nature. He pointed out that every other religion but Hinduism depended on the life of some person who was its founder, while Vedantism was based upon eternal principles and not upon persons, and that it was on this that it based its claim of being the universal religion. Rising higher and higher in his intellectual flights, the Swami introduced to the mind of the Nawab the whole background of religious ideas as having arisen from the inmost depths of the human nature and out of the perception of the Truth. He said that all ideals werc true, and that the different religious systems were but special paths for the attainment of these various ideals, which, when intensified, were certain to draw out the Divinity within man. Then, bringing the ideas of the Absolute and Vedanta into the discussion, he stated that man was the greatest of all beings, for it was out of the human spiritualised intelligence that all the truths of the universe had been discovered, and that he transcended all limitations and was Divine. He then gave out his intention of going to the West to preach the gospel of the Universal, Eternal Religion. His eloquence deeply impressed the Nawab, who said, “Swamiji, I am ready to help you in your undertaking with one thousand rupees.” But the Swami declined to accept the money at that time, saying that he would ask for it when he actually embarked on his mission.

On the morning of the 13th he met by appointment Sir Ashman Jah, K.C.S.I., the Prime Minister of Hyderabad, the Maharaja Norendra Krishna Bahadur, Peshkar of the State, and the Maharaja Shew Raj Bahadur, and all these noblemen promised their support for his proposed propaganda in America. In the afternoon he delivered a lecture at the Mahaboob College on “My Mission to the West”. The chair was occupied by Pandit Rattan Lai. Many Europeans attended this lecture, and more than one thousand persons were present. The Swami’s command over the English language, his learning, his power of expression and his eloquence were a revelation to all. On the next day the well-known bankers of the Begum Bazar, headed by Sett Motilal, interviewed him, and they all promised to help him with his passage money. Some of the members of the Theoso-phical Society and of the Sanskrit Dharma Mandal SabM also came. On February 15, the Swami received a telegram from Poona, signed by the leading citizens in the name of the Hindu societies of the city, urging him to come on a visit there. But the Swami replied that he could not come then, but that he would be very happy to go when he could. The next day he went to see the ruins of the Hindu temples, the famous tomb of Baba Saraf-ud-din, and also the palace of Sir Salar Jung.

It was in Hyderabad that he met a famous Yogi, gifted with psychic powers. He was a Brahmin of learning and culture who had given himself up to the training of the faculties of the mind and had developed many subtle powers. When the Swami arrived he found the man sick of a high fever, The Yogi seeing a Sannyasin before him asked him to sit near him, and regarding him by his signs to be a highly developed spiritual soul, begged him to put his hand on his head. On the Swami’s doing so the fever left, and he sat up. When the Swami told him of the object of his visit he demonstrated some of his wonderful powers. The Swami pondered long over the phenomena he had witnessed, and finally came to the conclusion that they wete of a subjective character, and that by the development of the faculties of the mind the greatest and most surprising phenomena could occur. Some of his reflections on this incident and allied subjects were embodied in a lecture he gave in California called, “The Powers of the Mind”.

On February 17, the Swami left Hyderabad. More than one thousand persons came to the railway station to bid him farewell. “His pious simplicity, unfailing self-control and profound meditation,” writes Babu Kali Charan, “made an indelible impression on the citizens of Hyderabad.”

When the Swami returned from Hyderabad to Madras, he was accorded an ovation at the station by his numerous disciples.

The Swami seemed more self-confident, for he had tested his oratorical powers before the assembly at the Mahaboob College, and felt that he was able to influence men, that he could sway vast assemblies as well as small gatherings. Indeed, he had told Mr. Mitra at Belgaum that a large audience draws out the powers of a speaker and makes him rise to the very apex of insight and self-expression. In Madras the Swami continued to gladden the hearts of his followers with religious discourses and conversations on an infinite variety of subjects. And each day brought new disciples and new devotees.

As the days passed, the Swami became more and more possessed with the idea of America. Sometimes his whole soul struggled with a feeling of uncertainty about his mission, for he felt that in America he would be greatly handicapped ; at other times he would be thrilled with anticipation, delighted at the idea of extending the scope of his work, and eager for new experience. He had at intervals an intuition of the great opportunity and success that awaited him, and he would talk with his disciples about his mission to the peoples of the West. And those who gave money towards his voyage were actuated not only by personal devotion to him, but also by the conviction that he was destined to accomplish great things. They knew nothing of Shri Ramakrishna’s prophecies concerning the Swami’s future greatness, for he never spoke of them. Says Mr. Vyisa Rao :

”When the world discovered Vivekananda, it discovered also Rama-krishna Par amah amsa, eight years after his passing away. People understood Shri Ramakrishna through the medium of his disciple, Vivekananda . . . and Shri Ramakrishna was taken for granted on the words of a young Sannyisin who was so strange in himself. … It was assuredly not because of Shri Ramakrishna that hopes were entertained of Swami Viveka-handa ; they were hopes centred in Vivekananda from what the people of Madras had seen of him unknown to reputation as he then was.”

During the months of March and April the disciples of the Swami in Madras took definite steps to raise subscriptions for his passage to America. In fact, some went even to Mysore, Ramnad and Hyderabad for the purpose. Naturally, they visited those whom the Swami had made his disciples, ot who were his outspoken admirers. Those, in particular, who had organised themselves into a subscription committee, as it were, were headed by Mr. Alasinga Perumal, a devoted follower of the Swami, who literally went begging from door to door. It was he and the young men under him who collected the major portion of the funds. “I’liey went for the most part to the middle classes, for the Swami had told them, “If it is the Mother’s will that I go, then let me receive the money from the people! Because it is for the people of India that I am going to the West—for the people and the poor!”

The Swami was still in a great tumult of emotion concerning the journey. It has been seen, when he was at Madras before his journey to Hyderabad, what steps he took to force the Mother Herself to tell him directly if it were Her will that he should go to the West. When he returned to Madras and found his disciples eager to collect funds and urging him to carry out his intention, he thought, “Well, their readiness is perhaps the first sign!” Then, for some reason, he seemed to pass again through a period of great uncertainty, in spite of being convinced of the necessity and the utility of it.

In this state of mind the Swami prayed to the Mother and to his Master for guidance. His hours of prayer were filled with a certain assurance, yet he demanded actual vision ; he desired the direct command. Several days later, one night as he lay half-asleep, the command came to him in a symbolic dream. The Swami saw the figure of his Master, Sri Ramakrishna, walking from the seashore into the waters of the ocean, and beckoning him to follow! He awoke. A great peace and joy filled his whole being; his mind seemed to have been impressed with the authoritative word, “Go!” The vision sustained him. He thought it to be a direct command from On High. All his doubts and misgivings were dissipated and his nervousness left him.

But even as when he first set out upon the Parivrajaka life he had sought the blessings of Sarada Devi, so now he yearned for her blessings on this longer journey. Accordingly he wrote to the Holy Mother, Sarada Devi, for her blessings, requesting of the Holy Mother, when she received this news, may well be imagined. For many, many months she had not heard from him who had been the most beloved disciple of the Master, and for whom she cherished a special affection. The maternal instinct of the Holy Mother prompted her to prevent his going to unknown distant lands ; at the same time she recognised that it was the will of the Master, and she set her personal feelings aside and sent on her blessings together with loving counsel* When the Swami received this letter, he was filled with joy. Now he felt sure of his mission. But just when all arrangements for sailing were made, Munshi Jagmohan Lai, the Private Secretary to the Maharaja of Khetri, appeared on the scene and stopped all plans for the time being.

About two years before, we saw the Swami at the Maharaja of Khetri’s palace. It will be recalled how the Prince had prayed to him to bless him so that a son might be born to him. Now, a son was born, an heir to the ancient Raj of Khetri. And die Prince in his excitement and joy sent his Private Secretary to get the Swami at Khetri for the festivities. He arrived at Madras and saw the Swami at Mr. Bhattacharya’s. The Swami was surprised to see him, and asked why he had come. When Jagmohan Lai explained, the Swami said, ‘‘Dear Jagmohan, I am making preparations to embark for America on the 31st of May, only a month hence! How can I go to see the Maharaja now?” But the messenger persisted, saying, “Swamiji, you must come to Khetri even if only for a day! Rajaji will be overwhelmed with disappointment if you fail to come! You need not trouble yourself about making any arrangement for your going to the West. The Maharaja himself will see to it. You simply must come with me.” The Swami at length consented.

On the way to Khetri the Swami stopped at Vapingana, Bombay and Jaipur. It was late evening when the Swami arrived at Khetri; and the palace was en fete and lit up resplendency. Indeed, the festivities had been going on for three or four days, and the whole city was beautifully decorated.

Singing, dancing and music were going on on all sides. The Maharaja was at the time in his State barge surrounded by his State guests, some of whom were the Chiefs of Rajputana. When Jagmohan Lai presented himself with the Swami, the Maharaja rose from his seat and prostrated himself before his Guru. The Swami blessed him and taking him by the hand, raised him up. All present also rose to their feet and bowed before him. The musicians sang a song of welcome as he was led to a seat of honour. Then the Maharaja formally introduced him to the assembled guests, and made known to them how the Swami had blessed him that a son might be born to him, and told them of the Swami’s decision to visit the West to preach the doctrines of the Sanitaria Dharina. At this the whole court cheered. Then the babe was brought in to be blessed by the Swami.

After a few days, the Swami informed the Prince that it was now time for him to be off to Bombay to make preparations for the voyage. The Prince and Jagmohan Lai accompanied the Swami as far as Jaipur, where an interesting incident occurred which proved to be a great eye-opener to the Swami. One evening the Maharaja was being entertained with music by a nautch-girl. The Swami was in his own tent when the music commenced. The Maharaja sent a message to the Swami asking him to come and join the party. The Swami sent word in return that as a Sannyasin he could not come. The singer was deeply grieved when she heard this, and sang in reply, as it were, a song of the great Vaishnava saint, Surdas. Through the still evening air, to the accompaniment of music, the girl’s melodious voice ascended to the ears of the Swami.

“O Lordv, look not upon my evil qualities!

Thy Name, O Lord, is Same-sightedness,

One piece of iron is in the Image in the Temple,

And another, the knife in the hand of the butcher,

But when they touch the philosophers’ stone,

Both alike turn to gold,

So, Lord, look not upon my evil qualities!” etc.

The Swami was deeply touched. The woman and her song told him something he was forgetting, that all is Brahman, that the same Divinity is back of all beings, ay! even in this woman whom he had despised. And he came to the Hall of audience and joined the party. Speaking of this incident later, the Swami said, ‘’Hearing the song I thought, ‘Is this my Sannyasal I am a Sannyasin, and yet I have in me the sense of distinction between myself and this woman ! ’ That incident removed the scales from my eyes. Seeing that all are indeed the manifestation of the One, I could no longer condemn anybody/’

The Swami left Jaipur for Bombay, accompanied by the Prince’s Private Secretary, who had been instructed to pay the expenses of the Swami’s journey and to provide him with everything necessary for his voyage to America. The Maharaja bade the Swami farewell with a heavy heart. It was at his court that the Swami had, at his request, assumed the name of Vive-kananda. Before that the Swami had travelled under various names—Sachchidananda, Vividishinanda, etc.

Alighting at the Abu Road station, the Swami spent the night in the house of a railway servant, who had been one of his kind hosts in the days of his wanderings. At the railway station, before resuming the journey, the Swami had rather an unpleasant experience with a European ticket-collector. A Bengali gentleman, an admirer of the Swami, was sitting with him in the compartment, when the man ordered him rudely out of the carriage, citing a railway regulation. The gentleman, who was also a railway employee, mildly protested and pointed out that there was no regulation to compel him to leave ; this only enraged the man the more. Then the Swami himself intervened, which did not mend matters, for the man turned on him, saying sharply, “Turn Kahe Bit Karteho?” which means, “Why dost thou meddle?” The Hindi word, “Turn” or “thou,” one uses only with inferiors, while “Ap” is used with one’s equals. At this, the Swami became indignant and said, “What do you mean by ‘Turn?’ Can you not behave properly? You are attending to first and second class passengers, and you do not know manners! Why do you not say ‘Ap?’” The ticket-collector, seeing his mistake, said, “I am sorry. I do not know the language well. I only wanted this man. . . .” The Swami interrupted him with, “Just now you said you do not know Hindi well. Now I see that you do not even know your own language. This ‘man1 of whom you speak is a gentleman! ” The ticket-collector feeling himself to be in the wrong left the compartment. Speaking of this incident to Jagmohan Lai, the Swami said. “You see what wc need in our dealings with Europeans is self-respect. We do not deal with men according to their positions, and so they take advantageous. We must keep our’dignity before others. Unless we do that, we expose ourselves to insult.’’)

At the Abu Road station Swamis Brahmananda and Turiya-nanda met him. Of this meeting, Swami Turiyananda said later on:    “I vividly remember some remarks made by Swamiji at that time. The exact words and accents, and the deep pathos with which they were uttered still ring in my ears. He said, ‘Haribhai, I am still unable to understand anything of your so-called religion.’ Then with an expression of deep sorrow in his countenance and an intense emotion shaking his body, he placed his hand on his heart and added, ‘But my heart has expanded very much, and I have learnt to feel. Believe me I feel intensely indeed.’ His voice was choked with feeling; he could say no more. For a time, profound silence reigned, and tears rolled down his cheeks.” In telling of this incident Swami Turiyananda was also overcome. He sat silent for a while, his eyelids heavy with tears. With a deep sigh he said, “Can you imagine what passed through my mind on hearing the Swami speak thus? ‘Are not these,’ I thought, ‘the very words and feelings of Buddha?’ … I could clearly perceive that the sufferings of humanity were pulsating in the heart of Swamiji—his heart was a huge cauldron in which the sufferings of mankind were being made into a healing balm.”

We shall make a little digression here to relate another incident indicative of the Swami’s loving heart as told by Swami Turiyananda after the Swami’s return from America. It took place at Balardm Bose’s home at Baghbazar, Calcutta, where the Swami was staying for a time. Swami Turiyananda said, “I came to see Swamiji and found him walking alone on the verandah lost in such deep thought that he did not perceive my arrival. I kept quiet, lest I should interrupt his reverie. After sonic time, Swamiji with tears rolling down his cheeks began to hum a well-known song of Mirabai. Then with his face in his hands and leaning on the railings he sang in anguished tones, ‘Oh, nobody understands my sorrow! nobody understands my sorrow!’ The sad strains and Swamiji’s dejection seemed to affect even the objects around him! The whole atmosphere vibrated with the sad melody:    ‘No one but the sufferer knows the pangs of sorrows.’ His voice pierced my heart like an arrow, moving me to tears. Not knowing the cause of Swamiji’s sorrow I was very uneasy. But it soon flashed upon me that it was a tremendous universal sympathy with the suffering and oppressed that was the cause of his mood.”

To return to our story, the Swami and his companion went on to Bombay, where they were met by Alasinga Perumal, who had come all the way from Madras to bid farewell to the Swami. The Maharaja of Khetri had instructed Jagmohan Lai to make every possible arrangement for the Swami’s comfort. The Swami was therefore outfitted properly, presented with a handsome purse and a first class ticket on the Peninsular and Orient Company’s steamer, “Peninsular”. The few intervening days were passed in silent meditation, in calling on friends and in religious discourses.

But often his mind reverted to the far-off monastery in Baranagore. He wondered how it and the Gurubhais were faring. He hoped that all was well. They did not know definitely where he was. But so great were their hope and faith in him, that when they first heard of a Hindu Monk’s great triumph in America, they were almost certain that Swami Vive-kananda was no other than he who was their own beloved Narcn.

Finally the day arrived May SI, 1893. The ship, the bidding of farewells, the many anxieties of foreign travel, to which the Swami as a Sarmyasin was unaccustomed—all these things were new to him. Then, too, at the insistence of his friends he had been made to dress himself in a robe of ochre silk and a turban of the same material. Indeed, he looked like a prince. But his heart was consumed by various emotions. Jagmohan Lai and Alasinga Perumal accompanied him up the gangway and remained until the very last moment when the great gongs of the ship struck. When finally the moment of departure came, there were tears in their eyes. They prostrated themselves at his feet in final salutation and left the ship, which soon after started on its course. Mr. Chhabildas who was the kind host of the Swami at Bombay sailed by the same boat.

The Swami stood on the deck gazing towards the land until it faded out of sight, constantly sending his benedictions to those who loved him and whom he loved so tenderly. His eyes were filled with tears; his heart was overwhelmed with emotion. He thought of the Master, of the Holy Mother, and of his Guru-bhais. He thought of India and her culture, of her greatness and her sufferings, of the Rishis and of the Dharma. And his heart seemed to burst with love for his native land. Slowly he was encompassed by the black waters of the ocean, and he murmured under his breath, “Verily, from the Land of Renunciation I go to the Land of Enjoyment! ” But it was to be no enjoyment for him. It was to be work, work, strenuous, terrible work and struggle, and much difficulty and asceticism. That work Was to break his body to pieces ; he was not to know any rest. He was to have but nine years more of life, and that in service and often in sorrow. He breathed the sacred name of his Master and that of the Divine Mother of the Universe almost audibly. Yes, he, the great Seer of the Vedic Wisdom, was always and everywhere the Child of the Mother, and the Disciple of his Master! The ship moved on its way southward to Ceylon ; and the Swami was alone with his thoughts and the vastness of the sea.

Before taking leave of the Swami on his way to the West for the purpose of representing India and its spiritual ideals and culture at the World’s Parliament of Religions at Chicago, it would be appropriate to conclude the chapter with the words of a well-known writer in order to show how well the Swami had fitted himself for his glorious mission : uayananaa. tie naci oecome a proiouna stuaent oi imsiaas and Nischaldas. He had learned all about the saints of Maharashtra and the Alwars and Nayanars of Southern India. From the Paramahamsa Parivrajakacharya to the poor Bhangi Mehtar disciple of Lalguru hd had learnt not only their hopes and ideals, but their memories as well. To his clear vision the Mogul supremacy was but an interregnum in the continuity of Indian national life. Akbar was Hindu in breadth of vision and boldness of synthesis. Was not the Taj, to his mind, a Shakuntala in marble? ‘The songs of Guru Nanak alternated with those of Mirabai and Tansen on his lips. The stories of Prithvi Raj and Delhi jostled against those of Chitore and Pratip Singh, Shiva and Umi, Radha and Krishna, SitaRam and Buddha. Each mighty drama lived in a marvellous actuality, when he was the player. His whole heart and soul was the burning epic of the country, touched to an overflow of mystic passion by her very name/ He held in his hands all that was fundamental, organic, vital; he knew the secret springs of life. There was a fire in his breast, which entered into him with the comprehension of essential truths, the result of spiritual illumination. His great mind saw a connection where others saw only isolated facts; his mind pierced the soul of things and presented facts in their real order. His was the rhost universal mind, with a perfect practical culture. What better equipment could one have who was to represent before the Parliament of Religions, India in its entirety—Vedic and VedAntic, Buddhistic and Jain, Shaivic and Vaishnavic and even Mohammedan? Who else could be better fitted for this task than this disciple of one whb was in himself a Parliament of Religions in a true sense?’’