Reminiscences

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
MADAM E. CALVÉ

IT has been my good fortune and my joy to know a man who truly “walked with God”, a noble being, a saint, a philosopher, and a true friend. His influence upon my spiritual life was profound. He opened up new horizons before me; enlarging and vivifying my religious ideas and ideals; teaching me a broader understanding of truth. My soul will bear him eternal gratitude.

This extraordinary man was a Hindu monk or the order of the Vedantas. He was called the Swami Vivekananda, and was widely known in America for his religious teachings. He was lecturing in Chicago one year when I was there; and as I was at that time greatly depressed in mind and body. I decided to go to him, having seen how he had helped some of my friends.

An appointment was arranged for me; and when I arrived at his house. I was immediately ushered into his study. Before going I had been told not to speak until he addressed me. When I entered the room, therefore, I stood before him in silence for a moment. He was seated in a noble attitude of meditation, his robe of saffron yellow failing in straight lines to the floor, his head swathed in a turban bent forward, his eyes on the ground. After a brief pause he spoke without looking up.

“My child,” he said, “what a troubled atmosphere you have: about you! Be calm! It is essential!”

Then in quiet voice, untroubled and aloof, this man, who did not even know my name, talked to me of my secret problems and anxieties. He spoke of things that I thought were unknown even to my nearest friends. It seemed miraculous, supernatural!

“How do you know all this?” I asked at last. “Who has talked of me to you?”

He looked at me with his quiet smile as though I were a child who had asked a foolish question.

“No one has talked to me,” he answered gently. “Do you think that is necessary? I read in you as in an open book.”

Finally it was time for me to leave.

“You must forget,” he said as I rose. “Become gay and happy again. Build up your health. Do not dwelt in silence upon your sorrows. Transmute your emotions into some form of external expression. Your spiritual health requires it. Your art demands it.”

I left him, deeply impressed by his words and his personality. He seemed to have emptied my brain of all its feverish complexities and placed there instead his clear and calming thoughts.

I became once again vivacious and cheerful, thanks to the effect of his powerful will. He did not use any of the ordinary hypnotic or mesmeric influences. It was the strength of his character, the purity and intensity of his purpose, that carried conviction. It seemed to me, when I came to know him better that he lulled one’s chaotic thoughts into a state of peaceful acquiescence, so that one could give complete and undivided attention to his words.

He often spoke in parables, answering our questions or making his points clear by means of a poetic analogy. One day we were discussing immortality and the survival of individual characteristics. He was expounding his belief in reincarnation, which was a fundamental part of his teaching.

“I cannot bear the idea!” I exclaimed. “I cling to my individuality, unimportant as it may be! I don’t want to be absorbed into an eternal unity. The mere thought is terrible to me.”

One day a drop of water fell into the vast ocean,” the Swami answered. “When it found itself there, it began to weep and complain just as you are doing. The great ocean laughed at the drop of water, ‘Why do you weep?’ it asked. ‘I do not understand. When you join me, you join all your brothers and sisters, the other drops of water of which I am made. You become the ocean itself. If you wish to leave me, you have only to rise up on a sunbeam into the clouds. From there you can descend again, a little drop of water, a blessing and a benediction to the thirsty earth.'”

With the Swami and some of his friends and followers I went upon a most remarkable trip, through Turkey. Egypt, and Greece. Our party included the Swami; Father Hyacinthe Loyson; his wife, a Bostonian; Miss MacLeod of Chicago, an ardent Swamist and charming, enthusiastic woman; and myself, the song bird of the troupe.

What a pilgrimage it was! Science, philosophy, and history ‘ had no secrets from the Swami. I listened with all my ears to the wise and learned discourse that went on around me. I did not attempt to join in their arguments, but I sang on all occasions, as is my custom. The Swami would discuss all sorts of questions with Father Loyson, who was a scholar and a theologian of repute. It was interesting to see that the Swami was able to give the exact text of a document, the date of a Church Council, when Father Loyson himself was not certain.

When we were in Greece, we visited Eleusis. He explained its mysteries to us and led us from altar to altar, from temple to temple, describing the processions that were held in each place, intoning the ancient prayers, showing us the priestly rites.

Later, in Egypt, one unforgettable night, he led us again into the past, speaking to us in mystic, moving words, under the shadow of the silent sphinx.

The Swami was always absorbingly interesting, even under ordinary conditions. He fascinated his hearers with his magic tongue. Again and again we would miss our train, sitting calmly in a station waiting-room, enthralled by his discourse and quite oblivious of the lapse of time. Even Miss MacLeod, the most sensible among us, would forget the hour, and we would in consequence find ourselves stranded far from our destination at the most inconvenient times and places.

One day we lost our way in Cairo. I suppose, we had been talking too intently. At any rate, we found ourselves in a squalid, ill-smelling street, where half-clad women lolled from windows and sprawled on doorsteps.

The Swami noticed nothing until a particularly noisy group of women on a bench in the shadow of a dilapidated building began laughing and calling to him. One of the ladies of our party tried to hurry us along, but the Swami detached himself gently from our group and approached the women on the bench.

“Poor children!” he said. “Poor creatures! They have put their divinity in their beauty. Look at them now!”

He began to weep. The women were silenced and abashed. One of them leaned forward and kissed the hem of the robe, murmuring brokenly in Spanish, “Humbre de Dios, humbre de Dios!” (Man of God!). Another, with a sudden gesture of modesty and fear, threw her arm in front of her face as though she would screen her shrinking soul from those pure eyes.

This marvellous journey proved to be almost the last occasion on which I was to see the Swami. Shortly afterward he announced that he was to return to his own country. He felt that his end was reproaching, and he wished to go back to the community of which he was director and where he had spent his youth.

A year later we heard that he had died, after writing the book of his life, not one page of which was destroyed. He passed away in the state called samadhi, which means, in Sanskrit, to die voluntarily, from a will to die, without accident or sickness, saying to his disciples. “I will die on such a day.”1

Years later, when I was travelling in India, I wished to visit the convent where the Swami had spent his last days. His mother took me there. I saw the beautiful marble tomb that one of his American friends, Mrs. Leggett, had erected over his grave. I noticed that there was no name upon it. I asked his brother, who was a monk in the same order,2 the reason of this omission. He looked at me in astonishment, and with a noble gesture that I remember to this day. “He has passed on.” he answered.

The Vedantas believe that they have preserved, in their original purity and simplicity, the teachings of Hinduism. They have no temples, saying their prayers in a simple oratory, with no symbolic figures or pictures to stimulate their piety. Their prayers are all addressed to the Unknown God.

“O, Thou who hast no name! O, Thou whom none dare name! O, Thou the Great Unknown!” they say in their supplications.

The Swami taught me a sort of respiratory prayer. He used to say that the forces of the deity, being spread everywhere throughout the ether, could be received into the body through the indrawn breath.

The monks of the Swami’s brotherhood received us with simple, kindly hospitality. They offered us flowers and fruits, spreading a table for us on the lawn beneath a welcome shade.

At our feet the mighty Ganga flowed. Musicians played to us on strange instruments, weird, plaintive chants that touched the very heart. A poet improvised a melancholy recitative in praise of the departed Swami. The afternoon passed in a peaceful, contemplative calm.

The hours that I spent with these gentle philosophers have remained in my memory as a time apart. These beings, pure, beautiful, and remote, seemed to belong to another universe. a better and wiser world.

(Prabuddha Bharata, November 1922)

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
MAUD STUMM

IT was in the fall of 1895 that I first saw him, sitting with his back to the light in Mrs. Leggett’s sitting room in Paris. I did not catch his name, but presently found myself next to him, and being asked if I spoke French. He said he didn’t either; when I asked him if in his opinion English would be the next dominant language of the world — as they seemed to be the coming race — “The next great leading force on the earth will be the Tartars or the Negroes” — was his astonishing reply; and he proceeded to give his reasons. I found that he dealt not with decades or even centuries but with vast ages and movements of races, as judged by his knowledge of the past.

Then I inquired who this deep-voiced man was, and was told he was a holy man from the East, Swami Vivekananda. It was long after this that the flower of the Italian army was destroyed utterly by the Negroes of Abyssinia, and I recalled the prophecy that sounded so unlikely!

[She saw him at a dinner given by Mrs. Francis Leggeit at the Metropolitan Club, New York, in 1896.]

Besides this wonderful guest were three others, one of them the young Boston woman who had taken the prize for the “Hymn of the Republic” sung at the World’s Fair. She was little and sat very erect, with an alert expression. Swami was rolling out Sanskrit and translating the ancient glories of India, nobody daring to speak. He dwelt finally upon the spiritual superiority of the Hindu, even today. Thereupon the Boston lady interrupted: “But, Swami, you must admit that the common people of India are way below the cultivation of the same class in, say Massachusetts; why look at one item — the newspapers!” Swami, recalled from his poetic flight, raised his great eyes and regarded her silently. “Yes, Boston is a very civilized place,” he said. “I landed there once, a stranger in a strange land. My coat was like this red one and I wore a turban. I was proceeding up a street in the busy part of the town when I became aware that I was followed by a great number of men and boys. I hastened my pace and they did too. Then something struck my shoulder and I began to run, dashing around a corner, and up a dark passage, just before the mob in full pursuit, swept past — and I was safe! Yes,” he concluded, “Massachusetts is a very civilized place!” Even this did not silence the little woman, and with astonishing temerity she raised her voice again to say, “But, Swami, no doubt a Bostonian in Calcutta would have created just such a scene!” “That would be impossible,” he replied, “for with us it is unpardonable to show even polite curiosity to the stranger within our gates, and never open hostility.”

The next time I remember seeing Swami Vivekananda was when Mrs. Colston and I met him and… Turiyananda, when they landed in New York in 1899. Tired and ill-looking, I saw them early on an August morning descend the gangplank of the small steamer. I had telegraphed Sydney Clarke to help us by being at the pier to look after their baggage. He came, greeted them, claimed the curious foreign-looking boxes, had them checked, and was off to his work. The boat arrived ahead of time, and we happened to be the only three in town at that hour, the party from Ridgely arriving at 10 o’clock, and so disappointed! … As Swami landed with Turiyananda from the steamer, he was carrying most carefully a big bottle wrapped in papers that were torn and ragged; this precious bottle, which he refused to relinquish before reaching Binne-water, contained a wonderful kind of sauce like curry; brought thus by hand from India. “For Jo!” (Josephine MacLeod) he said….

Then we all went back together, and the days that followed! The air of freedom seemed to do him good — and such talks, such wonderful sermons! With his flame-coloured robes draped about him, what a figure he was as he strode the lawns of Ridgely! His stride came nearer to the poet’s description of a “step that spurned the earth” than anything I ever expect to see again; and there was a compelling majesty in his presence and carriage that could not be imitated or described.

One day he told me that he wanted to undertake some sort of work that would keep his hands busy and prevent him from thinking of things that fretted him at that time — and would I give him drawing lessons? So materials were produced, and at an appointed hour he came, promptly, bringing to me, with a curious little air of submission, a huge red apple, which he laid in my hands, bowing gravely. I asked him the significance of this gift, and he said, “in token that the lessons may be fruitful” — and such a pupil as he proved to be! Once only did I have to tell him anything; his memory and concentration were marvellous, and his drawings strangely perfect and intelligent for a beginner. By the time he had taken his fourth lesson, he felt quite equal to a portrait; so… Turiyanananda posed, like any bronze image, and was drawn capitally — all in the study of Mr. Leggett, with its divan for our seat, and its fine light to aid us. Many great ones may come to that room in its future years, and probably will, but never again that childlike man, toiling over his crayons, with as single a mind and heart as if that were his vocation. How often he thanked me for the pleasure it gave him, and for the joy of learning, even that!

Then one very warm day, in the morning-room, we asked him to show us how he wound his turban and he did, adding several other methods employed by different castes and tribes. When he arranged it as the desert people do, to keep the neck from the great heat, I asked him to pose, and he did, talking all the time. That was the day he talked to us of purity and truth. There are many memories connected with those days at Ridgely. Nearly every day Swami was wonderful in a new way! and now it would be music that he dwelt upon, now art, and once he burst into the morning-room, declaring for “Liberty”. “What do I care if Mohammed was a good man, or Buddha! Does that alter my own goodness or evil? Let us be good for our own sake on our own responsibility! Not because somebody way back there was good!” Another time he tried to teach me an ancient Indian love song:

And the flower says, nodding, nodding,
Come gather me, and make of me a garland
For the neck of thy beloved!

I could learn the words, but the air was quite beyond me, so full of little half-tones, and curious runs and turns.

Soon after this, a very large and elaborate dinner was given at Ridgely — the flowers and lights on the table were wonderful and the ladies all in their loveliest gowns and jewels. At a moment when the talk and gaiety had reached its height, and I was observing it all without at that instant taking part, thinking of the good fortune that made such a thing possible and wondering if they all were as merry as they seemed, Swami was seated just obliquely opposite to me and all at once I heard his deep even tones, as if right at my ear, and through all the noise of other talk, “Don’t let it fool you. Baby.” And I saw he had been observing me, over the flowers and lights. (“Baby” was his nickname for me; why I do not know.)

“You never can hide your heart behind those eyes,” he told me once. “for they speak before your lips.” And then he added, “Don’t try to. Keep the shell of pretence that everybody goes encased in off yourself; don’t let it form. You will suffer, but you will feel more and do better work. Nearly all the world goes in a thick casing of convention and hypocrisy — like the two men in the fable, greeting each other with cheek pressed to cheek, each looking over the other’s shoulder, meanwhile winking at the rest of the world.”

One of the greatest things about Swami was his human side. Like a big lovable boy, he thoroughly enjoyed the things he liked: ice cream, for example. How many times I have seen him rise from the table after salad, excusing himself to smoke or walk, when a very quick word from Lady Betty (Mrs. Francis H. Leggett) that she believed there was to be ice cream would turn him back instantly, and he would sink into his place with a smile of expectancy and pure delight seldom seen on the face of anybody over sixteen. He just loved it, and he had all he wanted too.

While I was there that aunimn, I had a worriment that bothered me a good deal, and though I said nothing of it to anyone, it was constantly in my thoughts. Late one afternoon Swami asked me to take a little walk to see a threshing machine at work in a barnyard visible from the west windows of Ridgely. I had been staying in the village for a week, coming every day to the Manor House, and sharing in all its dear delights. All at once, as we went down the hill, he said, “Where were you last night? We missed you at the Ridgely party.” I was perfectly amazed but managed to say I had not heard of it. “Wonderful affair,” he continued, “stringed instruments and such a supper! Pheasants'” he added. “Ever taste pheasant?” “No,” I faltered, “tell me who was there.” “Oh everybody,” he said, “and they danced and danced, not at the Casino but in the house, everything moved out. Wonderful party!” Why I had not been asked and what it all meant, how they could have managed not to speak of it to me before or after! Well, I gave it up, and did not learn until the next day that it was fable, told to change my line of thought and lift me out of the worry for a little while. And nothing could have been more convincing than his manner.

I can see him now, lying at full length on the green couch in the hall, sound asleep like a tired child. Once I tried to draw his features thus, in absolute repose; the lines of the mouth were so simple and lovely and yet so very difficult!

Once he asked me at the end of the drawing lessons, what he could do for me. And having heard that he was wonderful at reading the future, I begged him to do it for me. So he said he would when he felt “prophetic”. A few days after he said, “Come!” and led the way to the library. We sat on the green divan, and asking me to open my hand flat, he laid his hand lightly upon it and turned his head away. He was absolutely silent and as nearly everyone had gone off to walk or read, I hoped for an uninterrupted reading. He took a deep breath or two and began to speak, “I see…” when the door burst open and Alberta in her riding habit descended upon us and broke the spell. He never took it up again and I left shortly after.

Another time there were several lady guests, two of them were accompanied by daughters. We were in the hall, after dinner, and he was draped in his flame-coloured silks. Oh, how splendid a figure, enthralling to the heart and imagination. As he sat by the fire, his eyes slowly turned from one to the other, heavy, dark, liquid eyes, like the “thick clustering bees” in the Eastern simile. All at once he began to speak on marriage, and from the first word the depth of his great meaning was apparent. He spoke as I have never heard a man speak to women. “Of the space that makes attraction felt” in that great bond; and while it seemed to cause some alarm at first to the two mothers, the dignity and nobility of his presentation soon enthralled them too. We shall none of us hear its like again. His views were those of a perfectly normal and natural being with a spiritual nature equal to the other. The words that he said were like a song, impossible to repeat, but of so clear a meaning that they were the very stuff of life itself. When he had finished he arose and amid perfect stillness took his departure; the ideal of a holy man.

(Vedanta and the West, November-December 1953)

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
SISTER NIVEDITA

1. Calcutta, February 15, 1899: My lecture on Kali came off on Monday. The Albert Hall was crammed. The Chairman spoke against Kali and me, and was very touching, when unfortunately a devotee got up and amidst tremendous excitement called him all sorts of names. I am sorry to tell you that I laugh whenever I think about it all. Swami was greatly pleased about the lecture, and I trust that there is some reason, for I have several times since been inclined to think that I had done nothing but harm. You see the — declare that that was not Kali worship, and that only what appealed to their lowest feelings was understood by the mob.

Anyway, the Kalighat people have asked me to speak on Kali worship there, at Kalighat. It may not come to anything, but Swami thinks that would be the greatest blow that could be struck against exclusiveness. One lovely gift my lecture has brought me is the friendship and enthusiasm of a young boy full of noble impulses and freshness. I have found out the culminating point of sacrifice, and wonder if I could express it. It seems that the sacrifice of animals only goes on till the devotee is strong enough to offer himself instead, and then, like the Pelican he draws his own blood, and buries the feet of the Mother in flowers dipped in it. To me it explains and justifies the whole. I don’t know how you will feel about it. Everyone seemed to know about that when Swami explained it to me, so I suppose it is recognized.

Yesterday morning two of us went early to be blessed by the old Devendra Nath Tagore. Swami sent word early that he was particularly pleased, and I told the old man this, and said I felt that I was making Swami’s pranams as well as my own. He was quite touched, said he had met Swami once when wandering round in a boat, and would greatly like him to come to him once more. When I told Swami, he was wonderfully moved, and said, “Of coarse I’ll go, and you can go with me, and fix a day as soon as you please!” It seems that as a boy he clambered up into Mr. T’s boat and put anxious questions about Advaitism, and the old man paused and said gently at last, “The Lord has only shown me dualism.” And then he had patted him and said he had the yogi’s eyes.

2. Calcutta, February 21, 1899: My Kali lecture had been a good foundation for bringing Swami to an issue with some friends, whom we were visiting. And so the talk had been all of symbolism. He said,”Poor M. has never studied the history of symbolism. That is why he does not understand that the natural symbols are no good. You see I had a curious education; I went to Shri Ramakrishna and I loved the man, but I hated all his ideas. And so for six years it was hard fighting all the time. I would say, I don’t care in the least for this thing you want me to do’, and he would say, ‘Never mind, just do it, and you will see that certain results follow.’ And all that time he gave me such love; no one has ever given me such love, and there was so much reverence with it. He used to think, “This boy will be So-and-so’, I suppose, and he would never let me do any menial service for him. He kept that up to the very moment of his death too. He wouldn’t let me fan him, and many other things he would not let me do.”

3. Calcutta, March 12, 1899: Last night a monk called, and when I said I wanted to interview Swami for Awakened India, offered to take me back at 6 in the house-boat, if I would drive home. S. came too, in order to bring me home, so we walked. We got there at 8 o’clock. Swami had been sitting beside the fire under the tree…. When I had interviewed him, he said, “I say, Margot, I have been thinking for days about that line of least resistance, and it is a base fallacy. It is a comparative thing. As for me, I am never going to think of it again. The history of the world is the history of a few earnest men, and when one man is earnest the world must just come to his feet. I am not going to water down my ideals, I am going to dictate terms.”…

4. Calcutta, April 9, 1899: Swami says my great fault is attempting too much, in which he is emphatically right. I am to give up all thought of plague-nursing and throw my whole heart and soul still deeper into the sanitation that we have now on hand. Won’t I be just? This is an infinitely higher proof of self-sacrifice and obedience on my part, as you know well, than the delightful excitement of risking plague would be. I say this out of a childish haughtiness, because a friend I prize well is grieved that I have not gone on. And I, too proud to give him a chance of overtly saying so, much less of vindicating myself, am still not proud enough to be beyond the doubts of conscience.

We have had two hundred and thirty-five rupees subscribed for sanitation. It seems a great success, though of course we could do with a great deal more. When the monk who has the work in hand went over on Saturday to report, he said Swami was so touched by the news, that they had two hours of everything, from the Upanishads onwards, “There could be no religion without that activity, that manhood and co-operation. There was Nivedita living in a corner and English people helping her. God bless them all!” But to my great amusement when I reported today, he just winked and said. “Plague, Margot, plague.” He told me, “Our men might be rough and unpolished, but they were the manly men in Bengal. The manhood of Europe was kept up by the women, who hated unmanliness. When would Bengali girls play this part, and drench with merciless ridicule every display of feebleness on the pan of man?”

5. Calcutta, May 1, 1899: …At the Math Swami is lying ill with fever and bronchitis.

On Friday I went to lunch with Swami… .His mood on Saturday was entirely different, however. His days were drawing to an end; but even if they were not, he was going to give up compromise. He would go to the Himalayas, and live there in meditation. He would go out into the world and preach smashing truths. It had been good for a while to go amongst men and tell them that they were in their right place, and so on. But he could do that no longer. Let them give up, give up, give up. Then he said very quietly, “You won’t understand this now, Margot; but when you get further on you will.” …

I find there is money enough in Bengal for Swami, but people want to make their conditions, and so it never reaches him. This is his true attitude of staunchly refusing plum cake, and accepting starvation as the price of principle…..Swami is right about the world being reached that way and no other. The world is something that overcomes the man who seeks it and crouches to him who renounces it….

6. Calcutta, May 8, 1899: How beautiful those times are, “Thy place in life is seeking after Thee. Therefore be thou at rest from seeking after it,” After all, that is the whole truth. The things after which one may and must seek are so very different.

I have seen Swami today. He told me how, as a child of thirteen, he came across a copy of Thomas à Kempis which contained in the preface an account of the Author’s monastery and its organization. And that was the abiding fascination of the book to him. Never thinking that he would have to work out something of the sort one day. “I love Thomas à Kempis, you know, and know it almost off by heart. If only they had told what Jesus ate and drank, where he lived and slept, and how he passed the day, instead of all rushing to put down what he said! Those long lectures! Why, all that can be said in religion can be counted on a few fingers. That does not matter, it is the man that results that grows out of it. You lake a lump of mist in your hand, and gradually, gradually, it develops into a man. Salvation is nothing in itself, it is only a motive. All those things are nothing, except as motives. It is the man they form, that is everything!” And now I remember he began this by saying, “It was not the words of Shri Ramakrishna but the life he lived that was wanted, and that is yet to be written. After all, this world is a series of pictures, and man-making is the great interest running through. We were all watching the making of men, and that alone. Shri Ramakrishna was always weeding out and rejecting the old, he always chose the young for his disciples.”

7. Calcutta, 1899: The event of the week has been my talk with my friends on Friday night. The husband told me, with some bitterness, that he meant to school himself into calling me “Sister Nivedita” instead of “Miss Noble”, then he would be able to think of me less of a human being. At present my dreadful narrowness hurt him unbearably. I got him to tell me our differences. Then it came out. The worship of Swami’s guru, “A man cast in a narrow mould, a man who held woman to be something half-fiend, so that when he saw one, he had a fit.” Between a gasp and a smile I said I could not accept the description. I pointed out that we, none of us, least of all Swami, wanted him to worship too. That was personal. Then again, “An avatara-doctrine could not supply India’s present need of a religion all-embracing, sect-uniting, etc.” To me this is curious, for it seems the only possible way to meet that need — an avatara that declares that sects are at an end. The man who does not believe in incarnation will not call him an avatara like Swami. Again my friend said, “This could not prove the new religion.” I said no one wanted it, no one was planning or bothering to do more than this one bit of educational work that the Order had before it, in all directions now. Questions of worship and the religion of the future could do what they liked. Then he spoke of the great thrill with which he heard Swami say that his mission was to bring manliness to his people, and with which still in England he read the Calcutta lectures and saw him contemptuously tear his great popularity to tatters for the real good of truth and man. But when he found him proceeding to worship his guru and other things, he had dropped with a groan. The man who had been a hero had become the leader of a new sect. I tell you all this by way of record. Some day people will say, “Swami neither did nor taught anything new”, so this emotional divergent is very precious to me.

8. Coasting Ceylon, June 28, 1899: It was quite exciting at Madras. Crowds of people had an appeal to the Governor to let Swami land. But plague considerations prevailed, and we were kept on board, to my great relief, for the sea-voyage is doing him a world of good, and one day of crowds and lectures would be enough to cause him utter exhaustion. It was sufficiently tiring to have to look down and be polite to the constant succession of boat-loads who came to the snip’s side with presents and addresses all day….

… Swami had just been here for an hour, and somehow the talk drifted on to the question of Love. Amongst other things he talked about the devotion of the English wife and the Bengali wife, of the suffering they would go through without a word. Then of the little gleam of sunshine and poetry, to which all human love must wade through oceans of tears, Then the tears of sorrow alone bring spiritual vision, never tears of joy. That dependence is fraught with misery, independence alone is happiness. That almost all human love, save sometimes a mother’s, is full of dependence. It is for oneself, not for the happiness of the one loved, that it is sought. That the love on which he could most surely count, if he became a drunkard tomorrow, was not that of his disciples, they would kick him out in horror, but that of a few (not all) of his gurubhais. To them he would be still the same. “And mind this, Margot,” he said. “It is when half a dozen people learn to love like this that a new religion begins. Not till then. I always remember the woman who went to the sepulchre early in the morning, and as she stood there she heard a voice and she thought it was the gardener, and then Jesus touched her, and she turned round, and all she said was “My Lord and my God!’ That was all, ‘My Lord and my God.’ The person had gone. Love begins by being brutal, the faith, the body. Then it becomes intellectual, and last of all it reaches the spiritual. Only at the last. ‘My Lord and My God.’ Give me half a dozen disciples like that and I will conquer the world.”

9. America, October 9, 12 & 13, 1899: Swami has been pacing up and down for an hour and a half,’warning me against politeness, against this “Lovely” and “Beautiful”, against this continual feeling of the external. “Come to the Himalayas,” he would say every now and then. “Realize yourself without feeling; and when you have known that, you can fall upon the world like a bolt from the blue. I have no faith in those who ask. ‘Will any listen to my preaching?’ Never yet could the world refuse to hear the preaching of him who had anything to say. Stand up in your own might. Can you do that? Then come away to the Himalayas and learn.” Then he broke into Shankaracharya’s sixteen verses on Renunciation, ending always with a humming refrain “Therefore, you fool, go and worship the Lord”. To get rid of all these petty relations of society and home, to hold the soul firm against the perpetual appeals of senses, to realize that the rapture of autumn trees is as truly sense-enjoyment as a comfortable bed or a table dainty, to hate the silly praise and blame of people — these things were the ideal that he was holding up, “Practise titiksha,” he said again and again, that is, bearing the ills of the body without trying to remedy, and without remembering them. The monk whose fingers were rotting away with leprosy and who stooped gently to replace the maggot that fell from the remaining joint, was the example he used. And he talked about loving misery and embracing death. Later he was pointing out how the only civilizations that were really stable were those that had been touched with vairagya.

Surely it cannot be that anyone of us fails to see that even the round of duties is merely a formula. It seems so clear that one is held by a chain that one has never yet been strong enough to break. Yesterday Swami talked of Shiva. “Let your life in the world be nothing but a thinking to yourself,” Even meditation would be a bondage to the free soul, but Shiva goes on and on for the good of the world, the Eternal Incarnation, and Hindus believe that but for the prayers and meditations of these great souls, the world would fall to pieces (that is, others would find no chance of manifesting and so coming to freedom) at once. For meditation is the greatest service, the most direct, that can be rendered.

He was talking too of the Himalayan snows and the green of the forests melting into them. “Nature making eternal Suttee on the body of Mahadeva,” he quoted from Kalidasa.

10. America, October 18, 1899: At lunch on Friday, Swami talked about Shri Ramakrishna. He abused himself for being filled and poisoned with the Western reaction of those days, so that he was always looking and questioning whether this man was “Holy” or not. After six years he came to understand that he was not “Holy”, because he had become identified with holiness. He was full of gaiety and merriment and he had expected the Holy to be so different! Later he began to talk of the functions of the nations, apropos, I suppose, of the Boer War. And as he passed to the problems of the Shudra, which would first be worked out here, his face took on a new light, as if he were actually seeing into the future; and he told of the mixture of races, and of the great tumults, the terrible tumults through which the next state of things must be reached. “And these are the signs,” he quoted from old books! “The Kali Yuga is about to thicken, when money comes to be worshipped as God, when might is right, and men oppress the weak.”

At one of the meals, Mrs. B. turned and pointed out how his poetry had been the weak point on which he had been beguiled to the loss of honour. And she said her husband was never sensitive to criticism about his music. That he expected. He knew it was not perfect. But on road engineering he felt deeply, and could be flattered. Then, in our amusement, we all teased Swami for his carelessness about his religious teacherhood and his vanity about his portrait painting; and he suddenly said. “You see there is one thing called Love. and there is another thing called Union; and Union is greater than Love. I do not love religion, I have become identified with it. It is my life; so no man loves that thing in which his life has been spent, in which he really has accomplished something. That which we love is not yet oneself. Your husband did not love music for which he had always studied: he loved engineering, in which as yet he knew comparatively little. This is the difference between bhakti and jnana; and this is why jnana is greater than bhakti.” All morning his talk of the great sweep of the Mogul hordes under Genghis Khan had been going on. It had begun in his talking about Law, the old Hindu conception of it as the King of kings who never slept and showing that the Hindu had in the Vedas the true notion of it, while other nations only knew it as regulations. On Sunday evening three of us accompanied a guest to her home. We had been reading Schopenhauer on “Women” aloud. Coming back it was wonderful moonlight, and we walked on up the avenue in silence; it seemed as if a sound would have been desecration. About it Swami said, “When a tiger in India is on the trail of prey at night, if its paw or tail makes the least sound in passing, it bites it till the blood comes.” And he talked of the need we Western women had to absorb beauty quietly, and turn it over in the mind at another time.

One afternoon so quiet was everything, we might have been in India. I had been feeling quite inferior to the people who wanted Advaitism and the Vedic texts, but oh, what a dose of the other was here.

It began with a song of Ramprasad, and I’ll try to give you the whole of that early talk.

From the land where there is no night
Has come unto me a man.
And night and day are now nothing to me.
Ritual-worship is become for ever barren.

My sleep is broken. Shall I sleep any more?
Call it what you will, I am awake.
Hush! I have given back sleep to Him whose it was.
Sleep have I put to sleep for ever.

The music has entered the instrument,
And of that mode I have learnt a song.
And that music is always playing before me,
And concentration is the great teacher thereof.

Prasad speaks, understand O Mind, these words of science,
The secret of Her whom I call my Mother.
Shall I break the pot before the market?1
Lo, the six philosophers2 could not find out Kali.

The world hast thou charmed, Mother,
Charmer of Shiva.
Thou who playest on the vina,
Sitting on the huge lotus of muladhara3.

This body is the great vina
And sushumna, ida and pingala are the strings thereof.
And thou playest on the three gamuts,
With the great secret of qualitative differentiation.

Ramakrishna used to see a long white thread proceeding out of himself. At the end would be a mass of light. This mass would open, and within it he would see the Mother with a vina. Then She would begin to play; and as She played, he would see the music turning into birds and animals and worlds and arrange themselves. Then She would stop playing and they would all disappear. The light would grow less and less distinct till it was just a luminous mass, the siring would grow shorter and shorter, and the whole would be absorbed into himself again. And as Swami told this, he said. “Oh, what weird scenes things bring before me, the weirdest scenes of my whole life! Perfect silence, broken only by the cries of the jackals, in the darkness under the great tree at Dakshineswar. Night after night we sat there, the whole night through, and He talked to me. when I was a boy. The guru was always Shiva and was always to be worshipped as Shiva, because he sat under the tree to teach, and destroyed ignorance. One must offer all one’s doings, or even merit would become a bondage and create karma; so Hindus getting you a cup of water will say, ‘To the World’ or may be ‘To the Mother’. But there is one soul that can take it all without harm — One who is eternally protected, eternally the same. unspoilt — He who drank the poison of the world and only made Himself the blue-throated. Offer all you do to Shiva.”

Then he talked of vairagya, how much grander to give one’s youth, how miserable to have only age to offer. Those who come to it old attain their own salvation; but they cannot be gurus, they cannot show mercy. Those who come young shall carry many across without any benefit to themselves.

Then he talked of the school, “Give them all you like, Margot, never mind A B C. It matters nothing. Give as much Ramprasad and Ramakrishna and Shiva and Kali as you like. And do not cheat these Western people, do not pretend it is education and A B C you want money for. Say it is the old Indian spirituality that you want and demand help, do not beg it. Remember you are only the servant of Mother, and if She sends you nothing, be thankful that She lets you go free.”

11. America, October 27, 1899: Yesterday three of us were together when Swami came in, and said. “Let’s have a chat.” He talked about the Ramayana. I’ll tell you a curious thing. When Sadananda talks about the Ramayana. I become convinced that Hanuman is really the hero; when Swami talks of it, Ravana is the central figure. So he told us: Rama was called “The Blue-lotus-eyed”, and he trusted to Mother to help him to recover Sita.4.

But Ravana had prayed to Mother too, and Rama came and found him in her arms so he knew he must do something tremendous, and he vowed one hundred and eight blue lotuses to her image if she would help him. Hanuman went off and got the lotuses, and Rama began the great “Call upon the Mother”. (It was autumn, and the time of Her puja was the spring, so it is in memory of that worship by Rama that the Great Mother Worship has ever since been held in September). Now he covered Her feet with blue lotuses till one hundred and seven were offered (and Mother had stolen one); and lo, the last was missing. But Rama was determined. He was not to be beaten, and calling for a knife, he was about to cut out his own eye that the number of blue lotuses might be complete. And that won the Mother; and She blessed the great hero, so that his arms prevailed. Though not indeed his arms altogether, for in the end Ravana was betrayed by his own brother, and the struggle was brought to an end. “But it was great about the traitor brother in one sense,” said Swami. “For he was taken away to reside at the court of Rama, and thither came the widow of Ravana to look upon the face of the warrior who had robbed her of her husband and son. Rama and his court stood prepared to receive the cortège; but to his amazement, he could see no great queen adorned in splendour, only a simple-looking woman attired in the simple garb of a Hindu widow. ‘Who is this lady?’ he asked the brother in bewilderment, and he replied, ‘Behold, O King, the lioness whom thou hast robbed of her lion and whelps! She comes to gaze upon thy face.'”

What ideals of womanhood Swami holds! Surely not even Shakespeare or Aeschylus when he wrote Antigone, or Sophocles when he created Alcestis had such a tremendous conception. As I read over the things he has said to me of them, and as I realize that it is all, every word of it, a trust for the women of the whole world’s future, but first and chiefly for them of his own land, it seems a trilling thing whether oneself should ever be worthy or not.

One night he was in a great mood of devotion, and told us of Hrishikesh and the little hut that each sannyasin would make for himself and the blazing fire in the evening, and all the sannyasins sitting round it on their own little mats, talking in hushed tones of the Upanishads, “For a man is supposed to have got the truth before he becomes a sannyasin. He is at peace intellectually. All that remains is to realize it; so all need for discussion has passed away and at Hrishikesh, in the darkest of the mountains, by the blazing fire, they may only talk of the Upanishads. Then by degrees, the voices die — silence! Each man sits bolt upright on his mat, and one by one they steal quietly off to their own huts.” Another time he broke out with: “The great defect in Hinduism has been that it offered salvation only on the basis of renunciation. The house-holder was bound by his consciousness of an inferior lot. His part was karma. Renunciation was nothing to him. But renunciation is the whole law. It is all illusion that anyone has been trying to do anything else. We are all struggling to release this great mass of energy. What does that mean but that we are hurrying towards death as fast as we can? The burly Englishman who thinks he wants to possess the earth is really struggling more than most of us to die. Self-preservation is only a mode of renunciation. The desire for life is one method of the love of death.” Swami talked some time of the Sikhs, and their ten Gurus, and he told us a story of Guru Nanak, from the Granth Sahib: He had gone to Mecca, and lay with his feet towards the Caaba Mosque. Then came angry Mohammedans to waken, and if need be, to kill him, for turning his feet towards the place where God was. He woke up quietly, and said simply, “Show me, then, where God is not, that I may turn my feet that way.” And the gentle answer was enough.

12. America, November 4, 1899: On Thursday evening, Swami came in when two of us were talking earnestly; so he joined in, of course. For the first time he talked of defection and disease and treachery. Amongst other things, he said he found himself still the sannyasin, he minded no loss, but he could be hurt through defection. Treachery cut deep.

The details of this Boer War are terrible to me. Strange how the fate of a nation overshadows a man’s karma, and brings a man like General White to disaster! Not England, but Victoria, says the Hindu, won the empire; and even so today, in a detail like the Boer War, no greater than so many that have gone before, no man can foretell the results, for they will be governed by the fact that a new star has appeared in the sky of destiny. By this, and not by any force of arms or numbers, or any visible factor whatever, even the very greatest of men, seem like blind pawns on the chess-board of time, don’t they? The hand that moves them is unseen; only a prophet’s eye now and then catches a glance of the reason; and he who is dashed to pieces in the game seems the only one who is not befooled.

When Swami was talking of Krishna and Rukmini, he said something of the double strain in us of preference and approval. Of how often we give way to desire, and of how our only guide should be the good. Therefore, the wise man is he who likes nothing, and witnesses all. Men find it easy to play their part of life, but something holds the heart captive, and there they do not play. Let the whole be play; like nothing; act; a part all the time. Again he talked of Uma and Shiva. As be says, “It beats all mythology hollow.” Speaking of Shiva he said, “Young is the guru, old is the disciple,”because in India the man who gives his young life is the true guru, but the time for learning religion is old age. And then he commanded us to offer all we did to Shiva, the only protected soul in the universe. Uma, speaking to the Brahmin, said. “Why should He, the Lord of the Universe, dwelt in a graveyard?”

At lunch time I laughed and said that your letter spoke at your wanting “nothing and nobody”. Swami looked up and: said, “No, she doesn’t, that’s right. It’s the last stage one comes to. The beggar must look for alms and rebuffs; but for him who asks nothing, there are no rebuffs.” He said he had been reciting the hatred of fame and wealth all his life, but he was only now beginning to understand what is really meant.

13. Chicago, December 10, 1899: Somebody asked me, “How is it that Swami is so great, and yet today he says, Spirituality is the only thing for my country; I was wrong to desire material good,’ and tomorrow he will be insisting the material benefits must be India’s and so on?” “And his action remains constant both times,” I said; then I went on, showing part of the great helpfulness of these contradictions to myself, how he dramatized for one absolute renunciation of the fruits of action….How true it is indeed that there is no peace without freedom! Is it not absurd to be touched by trifles? I feel the whole need of the whole Vedanta, for it is so helpful to have a will to serve and help absolutely, than to have to sit encased in one body with one way of throwing oneself at difficulties, and only one little narrow path to walk along. But we are all one: is not your way as much mine as Nivedita’s? If one could only realize it!

Anne Arbor,
January 13,1900

To Swami Vivekananda:

Your birthday-poem reached me here last night. There is nothing I could say about it that would not seem commonplace: except that if your beautiful wish were possible, it would break my heart.

For here I am one with Ramprasad — “I do not want to become sugar; I want to eat sugar!” I do not want even to know God in any way; even to think of such things is ridiculous of course — that would not leave my Father unattainably above.

I know one would not need to think of one’s guru — that he would vanish if one realized the Divine — but even in that moment I cannot conceive of perfect bliss without the assurance that his was greater.

One is trying to say impossible things, to think unthinkable thoughts, but you well know what I would express.

I used to think that I wanted to work for the women of India — I used to have alt kinds of grand impersonal ideas — but I I have steadily gone on climbing down from these heights, and I today I want to do things only because they are my Father’s will.

Even knowledge of God seems too like a return of benefits. One longs to serve for serving’s sake, for ever and ever, dear, Master — not for one miserable little life.

And another thing I am sure of, and need to be sure of in true moments, and that is that you will have thousands of children who will be bigger and worthier and able to love you and serve you infinitely better than I, in days that are close at hand.

Yours, daughter,
Margot.

14. Detroit, January 18, 1900: At present I have not in any way come to grief over my relation to Swami — and I have not told it to the world at all. Of that I am sure.

But experience contradicts theory all the time.

On this journey I have seemed to find my feet and to be led every step by Mother Herself. And as I look back I see that the same thing was true before. When I have been free, everything has gone well, but it has been necessary that people should accept my personality with a certain readiness to love me, and when this is so, I find that I simply sit and tell them, for the present, the things Swami tells us. I don’t will one thing or another but unconsciously I seem to be a channel, and I sit and listen to him talking. When I first discovered this, I kept a tight hold over myself, because the acknowledgement of plagiarism while it would have satisfied myself would have been a jarring note. Now I see that it is all right and I don’t bother. Shall a child not rejoice in speaking its fathers’s message?

15. Chicago, January 26, 1900: I am finding daily that Kali’s ways are not as ours, if one may put it so. She puts one person out of the way, only to discover someone else standing ready where one had no more dreamt of help than of flying.

Did I tell you at the last centre how my most blessed helper was the thorniest of all thorns at the beginning of the week? And here it is just the same; two or three of the strongest workers are the most unspeakably unexpected. I find, too, that the marks of a great Renunciation are very different from those of a small, and I laugh daily at our mutual friend’s blindness about Swami’s. Why, that way he has of finding himself in any company, of holding or withholding light indifferently, of caring nothing about people’s opinions of him, are simply gigantic. I only realized, when, after all the love and warmth I had in one town, I reached another and found myself fuming and chafing against the artificiality of people about me, what Swami’s greatness really was, in this respect. And it was these very people, from whom I would have escaped at once if I could, who proved Mother’s appointed instruments — thus setting the seal on Swami’s ways. That irresponsibility of his is so glorious too. Nothing is more enticing than to put oneself into the attitude of generalissimo of the forces, and make splendid plans, compelling fortune; but Swami just waits, and drifts in on the wave. And so on. I am just beginning to understand his bigness.

16. New York, June 4, 1900: You know to my nature a thing hardly seems true or accomplished till it is somehow uttered and left on record.

Swami has just lectured.

I went early and took the seat at the left end of the second row — always my place in London, though I never thought of it at the time.

Then as we sat and waited for him to come in, a great trembling came over me, for I realized that this was, simple as it seemed, one of the test-moments of my life. Since last I had done this thing, how much had come and gone! My own life — where was it? Lost — thrown away like a cast-off garment that I might kneel at the feet of this man. Would it prove a mistake; an illusion; or was it a triumph of choice; a few minutes would tell.

And then he came; his very entrance and his silence as he stood and waited to begin were like some great hymn. A whole worship in themselves.

At last he spoke — his face broke into fun, and he asked what was to be his subject. Someone suggested the Vedanta philosophy and he began.

Oneness — the Unity of all…. “And so the final essence of things is this Unity. What we see as many — as gold, love, Sorrow, the world — is really God…. We see many, yet there is but One Existence…. These names differ only in the degrees of their expression. The matter of today is the spirit of the future. The worm of today — the God of tomorrow. These distinctions which we so love are all parts of one Infinite fact and that one Infinite fact is the attainment of Freedom….

“All our struggle is for Freedom — we seek neither misery nor happiness but Freedom…. Man’s burning unquenchable thirst — never satisfied — asking always for more and more. You Americans are seeking always for more and more. At bottom this desire is the sign of man’s infinitude. For infinite man can only be satisfied when his desire is infinite and its fulfilment infinite also….”

And so the splendid sentences rolled on and on, and we, lifted into the Eternities, thought of our common selves as of babies stretching out their hands for the moon or the sun — thinking them as baby’s toys. The wonderful voice went on:

“Who can help the Infinite….Even the hand that comes to you through the darkness will have to be your own.”

And then with that lingering, heart-piercing pathos that no pen can even suggest, “We — infinite dreamers, dreaming finite dreams.”

Ah, they are mistaken who say that a voice is nothing — that ideas are all. For this in its rise and fall was the only possible music to the poetry of the words — making the whole hour a pause, retreat, in the market place of life — as well as a song of praise in some dim cathedral aisle.

At last — the whole dying down and away in the thought — “I could not see you or speak to you for a moment — I who stand here seeing and talking — if this Infinite Unity were broken for a moment — if one little atom could be crushed and moved out of its place….Hari Om Tat Sat!”

And for me — I had found the infinitely deep things that life holds for us. To sit there and listen was all that it had ever been. Yet there was no struggle of intellectual unrest now — no tremor of novelty.

This man who stood there held my life in the hollow of his hand — and as he once in a while looked my way, I read in his glance what I too felt my own heart, complete faith and abiding comprehension of purpose — better than any feeling ….Swami says, “All accumulations are for subsequent distribution, this is what the fool thinks.”

17. New York, July 15, 1900: This morning the lesson on the Gita was grand. It began with a long talk on the fact that the highest ideals are not for all. Non-resistance is not for the man who thinks the replacing of the maggot in the wound, by the leprous saint, with “Eat, Brother!” disgusting and horrible. Non-resistance is practised by a mother’s love towards an angry child. It is a travesty in the mouth of a coward, or in the face of a lion.

Let us be true. Nine-tenths of our life’s energy is spent in trying to make people think us that which we are not. That energy would be more rightly spent in becoming that which we would like to be. And so it went — beginning with the salutation to an incarnation:

Salutation to thee — the guru of the universe,
Whose footstool is worshipped by the gods.
Thou one unbroken Soul,
Physician of the world’s diseases.
Guru of even the gods,
To thee our salutation.

Thee we salute. Thee we salute. Thee we salute.

In the Indian tones — by Swami himself.

There was an implication throughout the talk that Christ and Buddha were inferior to Krishna — in the grasp of problems — inasmuch as they preached the highest ethics as a world-path, whereas Krishna saw the right of the whole, in all its parts — to its own differing ideals. But perhaps no one not familiar with his thought would have realized that this lay behind his exclamation, “The Sermon on the Mount has only become another bondage for the soul of man!”

All through his lectures now, he shows this desire to understand life as it is, and to sympathize with it. He takes less of the “Not this, not this” attitude and more of the “Here comes and now follows” sort of tone. But I fear that people find him even more out of touch at a first hearing than ever used to be the case.

He talked after lunch about Bengali poetry, then about astronomy. He confessed to a whimsical doubt as to whether the stars were not merely an optical delusion, since amongst the million of man-bearing earths that must apparently exist, no beings of higher development than ours yet seemed to have attempted signalling to us.

And he suggested that Hindu painting and sculpture had been rendered grotesque by the national tendency to refuse psychic into physical conceptions. He said that he himself knew of his own experience that most physical or material things had psychic symbols, which were often to the material eye grotesquely unlike their physical counterparts. Yesterday he told me how, as a child, he hardly ever was conscious of going to sleep. A ball of coloured light came towards him and he seemed to play with it all night. Sometimes it touched him and burst into a blaze of light, and he passed off. One of the first questions Shri Ramakrishna put to him was about this, “Do you see a light when you sleep?” “Yes,” he replied, “does not everyone sleep so?”

One of the Swamis says this was a psychic something which showed that concentration was a gift with which he started this life, not to be earned during its course. One thing I am sure of, that gift of Swami’s, of never forgetting any step of his experience, is one of the signs of great souls. It must have been a part of that last vision of Buddha.

When we get to the end. we shall not want to know our past incarnations. Maria Theresa and Petrarch and Laura will have no meaning for us, but the steps of our realization will. This is what he shows. I sit and listen to him now, and all appears to the intellect so obvious, to the will so unattainable; and I say to myself. “What were the clouds of darkness that covered me in the old days? Surely no one was ever so blind or so ignorant!” You must have been right when you thought me hard and cold. I must have been so, and it must have been the result of the long effort to see things by the mind alone, without the feelings.

Swami is all against bhakti and emotion now — determined to banish it, he says. But how tremendous is that unity of mind and heart, from which he starts. He can afford to dispense with either — since both are fully developed, and the rest is merely discipline. I fancy most of us will do well to feel all we can.

18. New York, June 24, 1900: Swami is also a visitor in this house where I am staying.

I have just wound up my stay in America by writing a comforting letter to the Rev. Mother (Dhira Mata – Mrs. Ole Bull) telling the dear soul how all his luck has turned, and he is looking like a god, and leaving her to inter that all earth’s crowns are at his feet.

But indeed his all true! As he is now, nothing can resist him.

This morning at eleven, he is to lecture on Mother-Worship, and you shall have every word of that lecture, it I have to pay ten dollars to get it taken down. It was mentioned by someone yesterday to me, before him, and he turned and said, smiling. “Yes — Mother-Worship — that’s what I am going to lecture on, and that is what I love.”

The other morning I offered him advice that struck him as wrong. I wish you could have seen him! It was worth the offence to catch such a glimpse!

He said, “Remember that I am free — free — born free!” And then he talked of the Mother and of how he wished the work and the world would break to pieces that he might go and sit down in the Himalayas and meditate. That Europeans had never preached a religion, because they had always planned; that a few Catholic Saints alone had come near to this; that it was not he but Mother who did all, and whatever She might do was equally welcome to him. That once Shiva, sitting with Uma in Kailasa, arose to go, and when she asked him why, He said “There, look, that servant of mine is being beaten. I must go to his aid.” A moment later He came back-and again She asked him why. “I am not needed. He is helping himself,” was all the reply.

And then he blessed me, before he went, saying “Well! well! You are Mother’s child.” And I went away much moved, because the moment was somehow so great.

(Prabuddha Bharata, January-December 1935)

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
ERIC HAMMOND

WHEN Swamiji came to London, he created considerable attention. Something of the wonder and admiration which had surrounded him during the Parliament of Religions at Chicago had anticipated his advent. His arresting appearance and even more arresting eloquence called many persons to his presence. London affords full scope for multitudinous experiences. It is a city of a thousand phases. Preachers and pleaders of all opinions from all parts of the world gravitate to London. The metropolis with its teeming millions is the natural lodestone that attracts men whose views are as varied as the countries by which they are sent forth. Every form of doctrine is exploited there. Every day a host of halls are filled by anxious inquirers listening to exponents of theories more or less thrilling. Opinions and theories are weighed in the balance. Religions are reviewed. Creeds are criticized and compared. The notation of human impulse, onward, upward, is sounded by performers of all degrees.

London is indeed a very volcano of eruptions, sometimes pious, sometimes philosophical, sometimes pretentious, but mainly eager and earnest. Here, then, to London came Swamiji to place himself, among many conflicting elements, as the protagonist of Hinduism. No more fitting or outstanding person could have arrived at the centre of British thought. Fortified by his intimate acquaintance of, and his infinite belief in, Shri Ramakrishna, he brought the full force of that great soul to bear upon the minds of his hearers. The bed-rock principle on which Shri Ramakrishna stood, and which Swamiji expounded, is slated by the latter in these few words: “Do not care for doctrines, do not care for dogmas, or sects, or churches, or temples; they count for little compared with the essence of existence in each man which is spirituality; and the more this is developed in each man, the more powerful is he for good. Earn that first, acquire that, and criticize no one, for all doctrines and creeds have some good in them. Show by your lives that religion does not mean words, or names, or sects, but that it means spiritual realization. Only those can understand who have felt. Only those that have attained to spirituality can communicate it to others, can be great teachers of mankind. They alone are powers of light” (My Master) This essential doctrine of spirituality and its realization, preached as only Vivekananda could preach it, drew folks towards him from far and near. London quickly learnt that a striking personality had made his advent. Swamiji started a course of addresses, received visitors — in a word made himself known and felt. Among his earnest admirers was Miss Margaret Noble who was predestined subsequently to become his ardent follower, a nun of the Order of Shri Ramakrishna, a resident in India, a wonderfully vivid speaker and writer in defence of the Vedanta. It was indeed at her persistent urging that this present correspondent journeyed from an outlying district to Swamiji’s lodging. There, on certain specified occasions, he might be seen and conversed with. A very uncomfortable evening, cheerless and dismal, found us at his door, where we were met, at first, by disappointment. Swamiji was not at home. However, a very kindly message awaited us. We were permitted – so the message ran – to follow him to the Sesame Club whither he had gone, at brief notice, to speak in place of a lecturer who was prevented from appearing. Obeying instructions with alacrity we sought the Club. We found ourselves in a big drawing room or hall, filled almost to overflowing by smart people in evening dress. Some courteous and obliging person ushered us close to a platform where one or two chairs were vacant. The position was conspicuous and so, alas! were we. Our overcoats were dripping with rain, nor were we otherwise clothed in fine raiment; not anticipating a summons to so distinguished a gathering. Most of those present were, we discovered, schoolmasters and schoolmistresses, tutors and the like. The subject announced for lecture was “Education”. Soon he, Swamiji, appeared. He had little, if any notice, and his speech could not have been in any wise prepared. Yet, then, as always, he proved himself more than equal to the occasion. Collected, calm, self-possessed, he stood forward. A Hindu, primed in heart and tongue with Hindu lore and Hindu faith, backed by the prestige of an ancient civilization and culture which inspired him! It was a novel sight, a memorable experience. His dark skin, his deep glowing eyes, even his costume, attracted and fascinated. Above all, eloquence acclaimed him. the eloquence of inspiration. Again, his surprising command of the English language delighted and held his audience, an audience it must be remembered which consisted largely, as we have said, of men and women whose profession it was to teach English students their mother-tongue and through the medium of that tongue instruct them in other branches of knowledge. More. Swamiji soon showed that he was equally versed in history and political economy. He stood among these people on their own ground. Without fear, beseeching no favour, he dealt them blow upon blow enforcing the Hindu principle that the teacher who taught for the money-making was a traitor to the highest and deepest truth. “Education is an integral part of religion and neither one nor the other should be bought or sold.” His words, rapier-like, pierced the armour of scholastic convention; yet no bitterness spoilt his speech, This Hindu, cultured, gracious with his notable smile that disarmed unkindly criticism, held his own and made his mark. He had come sent by the spirit of Shri Ramakrishna, to make that mark; and he had succeeded al the first attempt. The idea that teachers should work with their pupils for love, and not for the love of lucre, not even for the love of livelihood

Discussion followed. Climatic and other reasons for charges for teaching were set forth, but Swamiji maintained his position.

Such then was our first meeting with him; a meeting which suited in reverent friendship, in genuine admiration and in most grateful remembrance.

(Vedanta Kesari, May 1922)

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
E. T. STURDY

ALTHOUGH I am not to be present at your gathering in remembrance of your great predecessor, Swami Vivekananda, I think those present may like to have a pen-picture of him from one who was very closely associated with him.

It is now some forty years since Vivekananda left this country, but the impression that he left with me is as vivid now as on the day that I said farewell to him.

I think this is largely accounted for — for I am not strong in reminiscence — by a quality in him which is described by a Sanskrit word ojas: it signifies bodily strength, virility and also vitality and splendour.

In fact he had a magnetic personality, associated with great tranquillity. Whether he was walking in the street or standing in a room, there was always the same dignity.

He had a great sense of humour and as a natural correlative, much pathos and pity for affliction. He was a charming companion and entered with ease into any environment he found. And I found that all classes of educated persons that he was brought in contact with looked up to and admired the innate nobility that was in the man. One felt at all limes that he was, to use a modern expression, “conscious of the presence of God”. In walking, travelling, and leisure times, there constantly came from him some hardly formulated invocation or expression of devotion.

As a teacher he had a great capacity for perceiving the difficulty of an inquirer, and would elucidate it with great simplicity and point to its solution. At the same time he could enter into great intricacies of thought.

I remember well his discussion with Dr. Paul Deussen, the then head of Kiel University. He pointed out where Schopenhauer and Von Hartmann were wrong in founding their philosophy upon the blind will, the Unconscious, as contrasted with Universal Thought, which must precede all desiring or willing. Unfortunately that error continues today and vitiates a great deal of Western psychology by its using a wrong terminology.

I will close this by remarking that, although if we were enlightened we should see Deity in every manifestation, nevertheless it is a great boon when we can perceive it as patent in noble and holy men. One of such was the Swami Vivekananda.

(Vedanta Kesari, February 1937)

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
T. J. DESAI

ABOUT this time (1895) I had an invitation from Miss Muller to attend the two public lectures delivered by Swami Vivekananda. I heard the first lecture at St. James’ Hall with Mrs. Ingall. That was the first time I saw the commanding figure of the great Swami. He looked more like an Indian Prince than a sadhu (holy man). He had a bhagva patka (ochre coloured turban) on his head. He electrified the audience by his grand and powerful oratory. The next day the report appeared in the papers that he was the next Indian after Keshab Chandra Sen, who had surprised the English audience by his magnificent oratory. He spoke on the Vedanta. His large eyes were rolling like anything, and there was such an animation about him that it passeth description. After the meeting was over, the Swami took off his turban and put on a huge and deep Kashmiri cap looking like a big Persian hat.

The next time I heard him was at the Balloon Society. He spoke there for some time but not with his former fire. A clergyman got up after the lecture and attacked the Swami, and said that it would have been better if the Swami had taken the trouble of writing out his lecture at home and of reading it there, etc. The Swami got up to reply, and he was now on his mettle. He made such a fiery speech that the clergyman was nowhere. He said that some people had crude notions that the Vedanta could be learnt in a few days. The Swami further said that he had to devote about twelve long years of his life to the study of the Vedanta. He replied to the objections of the clergyman categorically one by one, recited the sonorous Vedic hymn beginning with “Supurnam” (Taittiriya Aranyaka, III. xi.1.) and ended with a triumphant peroration that still rings in my ears.

In 1896 I became a member of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland. I came in contact with some of the best scholars of the day. Prof. Rhys Davids was the secretary of the Royal Asiatic Society. He was a reputed Sanskrit scholar. The times of the meetings were notified to the members beforehand. A paper on some subject of general interest was read, and then discussion followed. Refreshments were then served, and we had ample opportunities of exchanging our views in conversation, and of making friendship with some of the greatest literary lights of the day. The proceedings of the meetings were published in the quarterly Journal of the Society. Miss Duff and several ladies were also members of the Roval Asiatic Society and were generally found at the meetings. Miss Duff was a Sanskrit scholar and had translated into English the book called The Elements of Metaphysics by Prof. Deussen of Germany. It was quite a treat to talk with the “Blue Stockings”, as highly educated ladies were nick-named in England by orthodox people. I spoke in some of the meetings of the Royal Asiatic Society.

Once I remember that a paper was read by Prof. Bain on the Upanishads. Swami Vivekananda and Mr. Ramesh Chandra Dutt. C.I.E., were also there. Sir Raymond West had taken the chair. After the paper was finished, I made a vigorous and spirited speech. I made some remarks there on “egoism” in general and love of “individuality” of Europeans, as hindrances in the way of realizing the Impersonal and Infinite Brahman. Prof. Rhys Davids was particularly tickled, and he made a violent speech. I got up again and quietly told him that I meant no offence; and that I had the greatest respect for the European intellect, but when they dabbled in the philosophy of the Upanishads and the Vedanta, they could be safely guided, in some respects, by the Hindus, as it was their forte Just as a common Arabian sailor-boy would know more about the Arabian Sea and would safely lead us to the desired place, rather than the greatest European sailor who was an utter stranger to the shoals and rocks in the Arabian Sea. The effervescence subsided, and we all had a hearty cup of tea together after the temporary storm. This was the first time I saw Mr. Dutt. He also spoke — but in a temperate persuasive manner.

Swami Vivekananda liked my speech very much, and he took me to his place, talking on various subjects on the way. Strange that the Swami had put on a top hat on that day. If I err not, it was on that day that he and some other Swami (Saradananda or Abhedananda) prepared khichudi, etc., at his place, and asked me to partake of the supper with them.

Swami Vivekananda delivered a series of lectures in different places in London on karma-yoga, jnana-yoga, bhakti- yoga, and raja-yoga, during this year (i.e. 1896). He had also been invited to speak al the Btavatsky Lodge. I attended a good many of them. The cream of the English society attended his lectures, and all were mad after him. The Swami used to take walks with me from the lecture-hall to his house, or from his house to some neighbouring places. I very often dined at his place of residence, at his own invitation, or that of my pupil — Miss Muller, and of Mr. Sturdy, who, I believe, paid for the household expenses after the Swami came to live in London from America. Mr. Sturdy was like a real yogi. Mr. Goodwin was another staunch adherent of the Swami, and he took down in shorthand the lectures of the Swami, which were afterwards published.

In July, 1896, a conference of the London Hindu Association was held at the Montague Mansions. The chair was taken by Swami Vivekananda. the Hon. President of the Association, Mr. Dadabhai Naoroji was also present. A lecture was delivered on the “Needs of India” by Mr. Ram Mohan Roy, a gentleman from Madras. I, being the Secretary of the Association, had to arrange for the meeting, refreshments, etc. Swami Vivekananda, as chairman of the conference, rose to speak, and he electrified the audience. Reporters of the press were also present. When he struck his hand on the table during his speech, my watch bounded from the table and fell down on the ground, and created a visible sensation. He had a commanding figure, and my landlady, who had come to the meetings with me, was greatly impressed with his speech and personality. While the Swami had captivated the British public by his oratory, it was placarded, as I was going home, that Prince Ranjit Singhji had saved the honour of England against the Australian team. He had scored 154 runs and was not out. The next day there was a big leading article in the London Times about the “Exploits of Indians in England”. Mr. Chatterji had come first in the Indian Civil Service Examination, and Prince Ranjit Singhji had stood first in the cricket averages in that very year.

Later on in the year, when I was living with the Owens for the second time, Swami Vivekananda had come to my house with another Swami (Saradananda or Abhedananda), as he was invited to take his dinner with us. It seemed from his conversation that he did not object to meat-eating, although he and the other Swami took only the vegetarian dishes prepared for us. The Swami used to smoke cigars. The Owens were generally pleased by Swami Vivekananda’s visit. They admired his personality and powers of conversation.

I came in close contact with the Swami during this year (i.e. 1896). Once he delivered a magnificent speech in a magnificent hall in the West End of London, wherein he narrated the story of a young sannyasin who accidentally happened to go to the palace of a Raja, holding a svayamvara1 for his daughter. The princess, instead of throwing the vara-mala, or the “garland of the choice of a bridegroom”, round the neck of any of the princes present, took a fancy for the young sannyasin, and suddenly dropped it round his head. The sannyasin ran away, and she followed him wherever he went, but to no purpose, as he would not lay down his sannyasa and marry her. After the lecture was over, the Swami was surrounded by the best of the beauty of England, and they put questions after questions to him and asked for explanations. He anyhow managed to extricate himself from them; and when he was alone, he heaved a sigh of relief, and asked me to go with him to his house. On the way, in order to sound the mind of the Swami, I asked him whether it was not wrong on the pan of the you sannyasin to break the heart of that young princess by not marrying her, on which he indignantly cried out, “Why should he desecrate himself?”

On another occasion, when Swami Vivekananda and myself were alone in his house, I put to him several knotty questions on Vedanta, and he explained them to me. One of them was about the unity of the individual soul (i.e. jivatman) with the brahman or paramatman. As I had devoted much of my time to the study and realization of the nature of brahman, I was looking for an answer in speechless silence, and at the same time was trying mentally to indentify myself with the Universal Spirit. The Swami, on finding that at a particular moment at that time I was en rapport with brahman, simply cried out, tat-tvam-asi (Thou art That)! I wanted no further explanation. The Swami returned to India towards the end of this year (i.e. 1896).

I subsequently paid a visit to the learned Swami at his private residence. He kindly received me in a cordial manner. I had a talk with him on religious matters during which he repeated several shiokas (verses) from the Bhagavad-Gita:

(Even in this life they have conquered the round of birih and death, whose minds are firm-fixed on the sameness of everything, for God is pure, and the same to all, and therefore, such are said to be living in God. O Arjuna, you and I have run the cycle of birth and death many times, I know them all, but you are not conscious of them. Know them to be of asurika resolve who, senseless as they are, torture all the organs of the body and Me dwelling within the body. Cast off this mean faint-heanedness and arise, O scorcher of thine enemies.)

Thereupon. I naturally repeated within myself in an audible manner:

(Destroyed is my delusion, and I have gained my memory through thy grace. O Achyuta. I am firm; my doubts are gone. I shall do thy word. Gita, XVIII. 73).

He said that animsa paramo dharmah was a tenet of the Buddhists, and it had gone so far that it had enfeebled the people. He preached a bold and manly religion. He told me that when he had to speak before the Chicago Parliament of Religions for the first time, he fell a little nervous in the beginning, but the mahavakya (great Upanishadic saying), aham brahmasmi (I am Brahman) at once flashed through his brain, and such a tremendous power entered his frame that he outdid himself. He electrified the American audience by his subsequent speeches, and the fact, no doubt, is testified by the reports of the American papers.

He, therefore, advised all men not to belittle themselves, but to realize their brahman-hood, their Divinity.

(Vedanta Kesari, January 1932)

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
SWAMI BODHANANDA

IN 1890 when I was a student in the Ripon College, Calcutta, I had the greatest blessing of my life to know of Shri Ramakrishna. With some of my classmates and friends I attended the anniversary of the dedication of the temple at Kankurgachi (east Calcutta) in the month of August of that year. There we first heard of Shri Ramakrishna from one of his greatest devotees, the late Ramachandra Datta. His devotion to Shri Ramakrishna is indescribable. Only those who knew him personally can appreciate it. We often chant the sacred verse, “Thou art our Mother; Thou art our Father; Thou art our Friend; Thou art our Companion; Thou art our Wisdom; Thou art our Wealth; Thou art our All in all”, but Ram Babu was one of those who realized its true meaning. To him Shri Ramakrishna was really his “All in All”. He worshipped no other God than Shri Ramakrishna; never visited any other temple than the one at Kankurgachi in which Shri Ramakrishna’s ashes were interred; never read or preached any other religious doctrines or discourses than those he had heard from Shri Ramakrishna.

Master Mahashaya (Babu Mahendra Nath Gupta) was our professor. We heard that he was also a disciple of Shri Ramakrishna. One day we approached him and introduced ourselves to him. We had a little talk on Shri Ramakrishna. He recommended us to visit the Math (monastery) at Baranagore where Shri Ramakrishna’s sannyasin disciples were then living. He was naturally a very reserved man, but was most cordial to us and candid in his opinion about a devotee who lives in his family and a disciple who has renounced the world to devote his whole life to the practice of religion. He used this simile: The former is like a sour mango, but quite ripe and the latter (a sannyasin) is like a mango of the highest grade (Fazli or Langra), but not yet ripe. Master Mahashaya’s illustrations were very much to the point. He further said, if we wished to see the living examples of the teachings of Shri Ramakrishna, we must go to the Math.

Shortly afterwards, we visited the Math. Our first visit was on a week day, as we went directly from the college. It was about 3 o’clock in the afternoon when we reached there. We first met Shashi Maharaj (Swami Ramakrishnananda). He was delighted to see us and inquired about us. When he learnt that we were students, he asked us some questions and advised us not to neglect our studies. We stayed until 5 or 6 o’clock. He took us to the chapel (thakur ghar) after the doors were opened at 4 o’clock, gave us some flowers from the altar and prasada (dedicated fruits and sweets) which we valued most. We prostrated ourselves before the picture of Shri Ramakrishna on the bed and the wooden receptacle (kouta) on the altar in which his sacred remains were preserved. There were four or five other Swamis. We saluted them all, one after the other, and they also very kindly spoke to us and blessed us with their well-wishes. When we parted, they invited us to come again. We walked back home, and all the time we talked of the wonderful visit – the renunciation of the Swamis and the peaceful atmosphere of the Math.

Master Mahashaya then lived in Kambuliatolah (Calcutta). On our way home, we stopped at his house and told him of the visit to the Math. He congratulated us and urged us to go there often and render personal services to the Swamis, such as shampooing their feet, preparing tobacco for their smoking, etc. To see them and serve them, to him, was like seeing and serving Shri Ramakrishna himself.

Swamiji (Swami Vivekananda) had just left the Math for a pilgrimage in the North-Western Provinces1 of India. This time he wanted to live so exclusively that he very seldom wrote letters to the brothers at the Math. In fact, for a year or two nobody knew where he was.

Shashi Maharaj, Baburam Maharaj, Mahapurushji, Yogen Maharaj, Kali Maharaj, and Niranjan Maharaj were at the Math then. They all told us about Swamiji and Shri Ramakrishna’s love for him and his love to Shri Ramakrishna. Some of them even then assured us that Swamiji would be pleased to initiate us to sannyasa when he returned to the Math.

Strangely enough several years before that time (most probably in 1887) when I was a student in the Metropolitan School, Bowbazar Branch, I saw Swamiji, who was then headmaster of that School for a few weeks. I belonged to a lower grade and did not have the privilege and pleasure of hearing him teach our class. But I used to watch him from our class-room window almost every day as he entered the school compound. I still vividly remember the scene. He was clothed in trousers and Alpaka Chapkan with a white scarf (chadar) about six feet long around his shoulders. In one hand he carried an umbrella and in the other a book, most probably the text-book of the Entrance Class. With sparkling eyes and smiling face he looked so indrawn that some would be attracted to him for his charming personality, and some would not dare approach him for his extreme gravity and solemnity. It was not however until I I came to the Baranagore Math that I knew that the great headmaster who impressed me so much was Swamiji himself.

He returned to India in December 1896, from his mission in America and Europe. He landed in Colombo in January, and arrived in Calcutta in February 1897. I was then a teacher in a High School in a village near my home about twenty miles west of Calcutta. The anniversary of the birth of Shri Ramakrishna then used to be celebrated in the compound of the temple gardens at Dakshineswar. The Swamis then lived in the Math at Alambazar about two miles from Dakshineswar temple gardens. That year the anniversary took place as usual either in the last week of February or in the first week of March. The day before I came to the Math, That was a Saturday as the public celebration was held then as it is now on the Sunday following the actual birthday (tithipuja).

Swamiji was then temporarily living in a house on the bank of the Ganga about three miles from the Math. Early in the morning on Sunday I saw him there. It was about six o’clock — still dark — when I arrived at the house, Swamiji was an early riser. He first saw me from the window of his room and came downstairs to open the door. I saluted him and he received me very kindly as if he had known me long before. He talked to me in a familiar way and asked me to fetch him a glass of water. He was then washing his mouth. When he learnt that I was preparing for an examination, he was pleased and gave me his blessing. Mahapurushji was there too. He told Swamiji that I was one of the group of young men who had been coming to the Math for several years and that I was planning to join the Order. On hearing this, Swamiji said he would initiate me to sannyasa in the near future. Those words made the hope of the realization of my dream brighter.

A few days before the public anniversary — most probably on the actual birthday of Shri Ramakrishna — Swamiji initiated four Brahmacharins to sannyasa, and on that day gave mantra-initiation (diksha) to one or two devotees. At about 8 o’clock he arrived at the Math. I came with him, by his permission, in the same carriage. Shortly after arrival, he took his bath and went into the chapel for meditation. We followed him. It was a most inspiring occasion.

At about 11 o’clock he went to the Dakshineswar temple gardens where the public festival was being held. There was a vast concourse of people at the gardens, and Swamiji’s presence was another reason for that great crowd. Many requested him to deliver a lecture near the Panchavati (the cluster of five sacred trees). But the crowd was so enthusiastic and noisy in their expression of joy at his sight that he found it impossible to make a speech. About 1 o’clock he returned to the Math for a rest. I was with him all that day and had the privilege of rendering him a little personal service as an attendant. That was a most glorious day of my life. Its impression is indelible in my memory. As I think of it now I still seem feel the thrill of the joy I felt then.

The next day I had to return to my school duties with great reluctance. The sense of gratitude and exaltation of this unique occasion remained in me several days afterwards. I longed to see Swamiji again and sit at his feet for his further grace and guidance.

(Prabuddha Bharata, October 1934)

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
SWAMI VIMALANANDA

BEFORE I knew Swamiji personally, I had heard much about his greatness from persons who had moved and lived with him on the closest terms of intimacy. Therefore, when it was announced in the year 1893 that he had gone over to America to represent our religion at the Chicago Parliament of Religions, I started following his movements with the closest attention and the greatest interest. I was anxiously waiting to see if his achievements would not confirm me in my very high estimate of him. I need not tell you, people of Madras, that every bit of my expectation was much more than satisfied. But till I saw him with my own eyes, the perfect satisfaction of knowing the man could not come. Till then I could not be quite free from the secret misgivings that I might be after all labouring under a delusion. So you see, gentlemen, that I did not meet Swamiji as one in any way biased against him. The throbbing interest and convincingness which attach to the glowing description of the conquest of opponents of a great man of overmastering personality does not belong to my subject. I may say, I was already a great admirer of his. But I must say at the same time that it was not too late in the day to retrace my steps and give Swamiji up as one unworthy of my love and esteem if facts were found to give the lie. Perhaps, the shock which such a disclosure would have given to my mind would be too painful; perhaps it would have cost a great drenching of the heart. But I can assure you that the instinct of moral self-preservation was yet stronger than my admiration of Swamiji, and cost how much it would, the heart could not long cling round him if reason and moral sense condemned him with one voice.

And what was the nature of the greatness I was expecting to see in Swamiji? It was not the dashing and daring spirit displayed by a heroic warrior on the battlefield, nor the fine ethereal vision and ecstasy of the poet, nor the vast erudition of a scholar, nor the dazzling intellectual flourish of the master controversialist, nor the quick penetration and the wide comprehension of the philosopher, nor the weeping heart of a true lover of humanity. It was not that I had not had enough testimony as to these qualities of head and heart being abundantly present in him, but because my conception of religion was not wide enough to include all these under it. His marvellous achievements in the West were bringing us overwhelming evidences of his wonderful intellectual powers. But either from some constitutional necessity or my extreme poverty in that direction I was always attributing the brightness of his intellect to his highly elevated religious life, and it was this religious life that I expected to see in him. My idea of religion was then confined to purity and meditation. Sitting at the feet of the holy and good disciples of Bhagavan Shri Ramakrishna, I had learnt that these two were the indispensable conditions of acquiring spirituality and are the sure marks by which a religious man can always be known. My debt of gratitude to the blessed Swamis, at whose feet I had learnt these great lessons, is too large to be repaid. Personal contact with Swamiji instead of diminishing the value of purity and meditation in my eyes, has only enhanced it. At the same time it has heightened and intensified my conception of religion by adding new elements to it. Till I came in personal contact with Swamiji my temperament had led me to expect to see in him a man of intense purity and meditative inwardness. And I need not tell you that I was not disappointed. The First sight of Swamiji, the peculiar brightness of his face, his lustrous yet soft and sweet eyes, at once carried into my heart an overwhelming sense of satisfaction that I had come to a man that like of whom I had never seen before. Then when he began to talk to us making personal inquiries and giving us words of hope and encouragement with the cordiality of one truly interested in our welfare, we felt that our hearts were being drawn closer to him. To us who were very insignificant compared with his friends and visitors who were standing or sitting ground him in large numbers, this kindness on his part filed us with great joy and gratitude. Then the wonderfully free and frank way in which he was talking to his visitors revealed to us a heart that knew nothing of guile or fear nor cared a bit for social conventionality. The transparently clear and pointed words that were shooting out of his lips like meteors gave us a peep into the keen penetration of his intellect and the breadth and profundity of his mental vision. We felt ourselves in the presence of an overpowering personality whose immensity it was not possible for us to gauge, but which was drawing us to itself as by a tie of close personal relationship. There arose on the first day of our meeting an excellent opportunity of knowing something of his real humility. I say real humility because it had nothing to do with that sense of self-abasement with its external manifestation of facial contortions which so often pass for humility. It was self-effacement and was not therefore without the charming dignity of self-respect. A question from one of the visitors as to why Swamiji’s lecture on his Master delivered in America had not seen the light of day, brought the bold confession: “I did not allow it to be published as I had done injustice to my Master. My Master never condemned anything or anybody. But while I was speaking of him I criticized the people of America for their dollar-worshipping spirit. That day I learnt the lesson that I am not yet fit to talk of him.” These words were really startling to us for more than one reason. Here was a man who was being idolized, nay actually worshipped by so many, and this man in their very presence confessing his inability to represent his guru! “What an unpretentious man is before us”, said we to ourselves. “What a wonderful man must his guru have been to occupy such a high place in the heart of this great man!”

This, in short, was my impression of Swamiji on the first day of our meeting. As days went and I knew more and more of him, it gained greater and greater strength. I only saw on the first day the few sparks that shot forth into our range of vision from a soul aglow with the fire of divine love and wisdom. It was yet in store for me to see many more sparks from the same source that drew me near to it, gave me a closer view of it, and enabled even my icy cold heart to possess a little of its warmth. I have already told you that I had always thought that Swamiji’s gigantic intellect was the result of his highly elevated life of purity. Greater acquaintance with him was making my belief stronger till one day his own words made it a settled conviction with me. It was a memorable evening in my life, which shall never be effaced from my mind, when a question from one of his would-be disciples brought forth an exhaustive and stirring discourse on brahmacharya or sexual purity. In the course of the discourse he was explaining to us the incalculable value of purity in religious life, how to practise it, how religious fervour, suddenly aroused by working on the emotional side of man to the utter neglect of the moral and intellectual, is apt to produce great reaction on the sexual desires and so forth. Then at last when he came to talk of the infinite powers of strict sexual purity and how the animal propensity is converted into spiritual might, he warmed up to such a high pitch of earnestness that it seemed as if the transparent soul within was flowing out in torrents through his lips, bathing its hearers with its heavenly waters. The picture that was being drawn by his words in our minds saw its own prototype in the figure that stood before us. And I leave it to you, gentlemen, to imagine the effect of these concluding words of the discourse upon us: “My Master had told me that if I could attain to the perfect state of purity I had just described. I will have spiritual insight. I ventured to stand before the world only when I had been satisfied that I had attained to it. I earnestly appeal to you, my boys, to keep to this ideal with adamantine firmness. Pray, do not be unworthy of me. “On another occasion too I heard him speak of his spiritual insight which could at once see the end of a thing hidden in the womb of futurity, of which the beginning is only made. I must not be understood to mean that intellectual brightness is always a sign of spirituality. A man may have a great intellect without being in the least spiritual. On the other hand a man may be spiritual without having his mind stored with informations, vast and varied, or without the power to put his words in a logical form. But truth will always be his and will flash upon his mind of itself. My present idea of Swamiji’s intellect has undergone some modification from what it was before I knew him personally. He combined in him spiritual insight with an intellect of the highest order. Truth came to him by intuition. But he would press his intellect into its service by giving it a logical form and making it convincing by a rich supply of facts and analogies stored in his brain.

And the purity which gave Swamiji this spiritual insight was something extraordinary. It was not the fragile purity that can protect itself by keeping itself away from all corrupting influences. It had long outgrown the need of the citadel of isolation. But that was not all. It became aggressive, taking a sort of delight in encountering its enemies on their own grounds and winning them over to its side. In other words, it could not only keep itself untouched amidst corrupting influences, but could turn them into positive powers for good. Gentlemen, I cannot go into personal details on a subject like this. But my knowledge of Swamiji’s marvellous achievements in this direction compels me to lay at his feet my deepest reverence; this one element of perfection in Swamiji would have been quite enough to compel me to give him the highest place in my heart.

…There was one more prominent feature of Swamiji’s life which speaks to me volumes about his renunciation. I mean his dealing with rich men. Many of you are aware that among his foreign disciples some are very wealthy and a few of them came out to India to help Swamiji in his work. The treatment which he used to give them did not in the least differ from that given to his most insignificant Indian disciples. He was kind and loving by nature to all, but his love did not make him blind to their flaws and defects which needed mending.

Gentle speech would not always serve the purpose, and Swamiji would have to be at times hard. And in this apparently unpleasant treatment, his wealthy disciples would have exactly the same fate as his begging sannyasins. At times, this would be too much for persons born and brought up in the lap of luxury and accustomed to hear words of praise and flattery From a worldly point of view, Swamiji paid dear for it. But did he ever regret? Far from it. The perfect unconcern which he showed whether rich people would stick to him or give him up is truly unprecedented.

…Of the few pregnant proverbs and epigrammatical expressions which Swamiji would never be tired of repeating, one was ” — The giver of the head is alone the leader”, that is, he atone can be a leader who is ready to die for others. And Swamiji’s own life determines his place among his fellow beings. I have already told you that Swamiji was not only kind and soft but was very hard also at times. He could not only lay down his life for others, but could take arms against others if needed. Whatever he would think or feel he would do so with wonderful vehemence and intensity. And this whole-souledness was another marked feature of Swamiji’s life. One evening in the course of a talk that Swamiji was giving to one of his disciples, opening his eyes to the fact that the disciple’s inability to manage the servants of the Math (which was one of his duties then) and make them do their respective duties was a weakness and did not proceed from love, he said, “Don’t think that your heart is full of love, because you cannot give them a little scolding now and then. Can you give your life for them? I know, you can’t, because you do not love them. This minute I can die for them; but also I can hang them on this tree this minute if need be. Can you do that? No, my boy, namby-pamby is not love. Remember the words of the poet, —’Harder than the thunderbolt and softer than the flower’, this is the ideal, No, love is not weak sentimentality.”

I have seen no man who could be so soft as Swamiji. The death of a gurubhai or a disciple would rob him of rest and consolation for days and days together. Some time in the year 1898, it pleased the Lord to take away one of his gurubhais. The pang of bereavement was so intense in Swamiji that for week he remained exceedingly heavy and absent-minded keeping as much away from others as possible. On the evening of the seventh or eighth day he came to the temple-room of the Math, and began to talk to those that were present there, like a simple child: “I did not come to the temple these days because I was very angry with my Master for having deprived me of my dear brother. I love them so much because I have lived longer and more intimately with them than even with my own brothers…. But why should I be angry with my Master? Why should I expect that all things will be ordained according to my wishes? And why should I be sad at all? Am I not a hero? My Master used to say laying his arm upon my shoulder: Naren, you are a hero; the very sight of you inspires me with courage.’ Yes, I am a hero. Why should I then give way to grief?”

…Ask each one of his disciples, American or English, Bengali or Madrasi, and you will hear the same thing from all that their hearts were won by Swamiji’s wonderful love and sympathy. Swamiji’s marvellous intellectual powers, no doubt, evoked the awe of all. But this awe would have kept at a distance all unintellectual people like myself and would have proved more a barrier than a help to them to come in direct touch with him and drink from the fountain of his soul. Heaps of instances could be cited to show Swamiji’s wonderful heart.

…And how can universal love be without the ever present consciousness of the closest kinship with the universe, without the realization that whatever is is mine, nay, whatever is is me? And this is brahmajnana (knowledge of Self) as our holy books describe it. This is the very core of Swamiji’s teaching — The Selfhood of all — the Divinity of man. And this is, I am fully convinced, the key to his wonderfully versatile nature. He was a lover of all, because he was a jnani. And here I must tell you that the fatal illusion under which I had long laboured that jnana and bhakti are destructive of each other, dispersed in the presence of Swamiji as darkness before the sun. Swamiji was a tremendous worker because he was a bhakta and jnani. The tremendous energy that shook the whole world and is still at work awakening many a slumbering soul to its innate Divinity, instilling life into dead bones, bringing sunshine in the darkness of despair and love in dry, arid souls –, this tremendous energy owes its origin to his realization of brahman in all. Here too, I must tell you that the fatally-erroneous idea that karma is antagonistic to jnana and bhakti is dispelled at once by the life of Swamiji.

I told you at the outset that before I met Swamiji I did not, on account of my limited religious views, expect to see in him anything of the warrior, the poet, the philosopher, or the philanthropist. But I found that he was all these and more than these. He was as much a poet as a philosopher; as much a sentimental visionary as a man of action. And he was all these, not in spite of his religion but on account of it.

I have learnt that a religion which does not call forth into vigorous activity and chasten and elevate the moral, intellectual, and aesthetic faculties of man, make him humane and self-sacrificing and at the same lime self-absorbed and meditative is an imperfect religion. But I have also learnt that even such imperfect religions have their great purpose to serve in helping the growth of persons less evolved and that our attitude towards them all should he one of extreme sympathy and love. I have learnt that I should hesitate thrice before I condemn any form of religious faith, however repellent it may appear to me. For I have seen forms of worship, generally condemned as superstitious, yield treasurers of infinite beauty and holiness touched by the magic wand of Swamiji. I have learnt that every individual, however degraded he may appear in my eyes, is God involved, and therefore cannot be lost for ever. We should look upon him with respect and if possible give him a lift Godward, not by condemning his perverted ideal and by cruelly tearing it away from his heart but by gently replacing it by a true one suited to his temperament and culture. I have learnt that under peculiar circumstances even hardness and cruelty become a virtue, stubborn resistance. and excellence, and that activity is as much a help to spiritual growth as contemplative calmness. I have learnt that God can be enjoyed both within ourselves and outside of ourselves; within ourselves by effacing completely from our consciousness all impression of the world of senses and making me Spirit touch Spirit. Outside ourselves by seeing God in everything and pouring out our hearts unto His feel in the shape of loving service. I have learnt the incalculable value of great personalities in the scheme of individual, national, and universal redemption. I have also learnt that I have learnt all these only intellectually and am yet far from getting them woven into my nature. And all these I have learnt from the life of Swamiji. One thing more: My conviction that Swamiji’s spiritual realization was of the highest order came to me not only from his intense purity, fearlessness, love of truth, and universal sympathy, but also from those subtler personal manifestations described in our shastras. I have seen him weep like a child and becoming disconsolate at the name of God. I have seen him go into such deep meditation that even the function of the lungs stopped. Last of all came his own words to give the finishing touch to my conception of his spiritual greatness….

(Vedanta Kesari, January-February 1923)

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
SWAMI SHUDDHANANDA

 

(Translated from Swamijir Katha in Bengali)

LONG years have rolled away, it was February 1897, I believe, when Swami Vivekananda set his foot in Bharatavarsha (India) after his triumph in the West. From the moment when in the Parliament of Religions at Chicago Swamiji proved the superiority of the Hindu dharma and left the banner of Hinduism flying victoriously in the West, I had gathered every possible information regarding him from newspapers and read them with great interest. I had left college only two or three years ago, and I had not settled down to earning. So I spent my time, now visiting my friends, now going to the office of the Indian Mirror, devouring the latest news about him and studying the reports of his lectures. Almost all that he had spoken in Ceylon and in Madras from the time he had set foot in India had thus been read by me. Besides this, I used to visit the Alambazar Math and hear from his gurubhais as well as from those of my friends who used to frequent the Math many things about Swamiji. Further, nothing escaped my notice of the comments concerning him that appeared in Bangabasi, Amritabazar, Hope, Theosophist, etc. — some satirical, some admonishing, some patronizing, each according to its own outlook and temperament.

Today that Swami Vivekananda alights at the Sealdah station and comes back to Calcutta, the city of his birth. The idea I had formed of him through hearsay and reports has to be tested today and confirmed by seeing his personality. So, early at break of day many had come to welcome the Swami. I met many of my acquaintances and had many pleasant chats with them concerning him. I noticed that two leaflets printed in English were being distributed freely. These were the farewell addresses which the Americans and Englishmen had presented Swamiji on the eve of his departure from the West, expressing their feelings of gratitude for the services rendered to them by the Swami. By and by the dense crowd eager to see him began to pour in batches. The station platform became a surging mass of humanity. With anxious expectation every one was inquiring of one another. “What more delay for the Swami’s arrival?” We heard then that Swamiji was coming in a special train, and that there was not much delay for his arrival. There it is! The sound of the train is being heard, and with usual puff, the train heaves into the platform. As the carriage stopped, I was fortunately placed on that very spot overlooking the carriage that brought in Swamiji. Swamiji was standing up and making his salutation with folded palms to all assembled to receive him. At that moment I only could get a cursory glance of him. The Reception Committee with Babu Narendra Nath Sen at its head approached Swamiji and brought him down from the train. Many crowded to take the dust of his feet. On this side of him the anxious crowd was spontaneously shouting in exultation of joy — “Jai Swami Vivekanandaji Ki Jai! Jai Ramakrishna Paramahamsa Dev Ki Jai!” My voice too mingled with it and began to ring in tune with theirs. When we came out of the platform, we found that Swamiji’s carriage was already unhorsed and a band of young men were getting ready to draw it up themselves. I also tried to join them, but the crowd prevented my doing so. So giving up this attempt, I began to walk accompanying the carriage from a little distance. In the station a sankirtana party had come to receive him, and along the road a band was playing, ahead of the procession. The roads were decorated with festoons and buntings. The carriage came and drew up in front of Ripon College. This time I was able to get an opportunity to see Swamiji well. I found him with his head projected out of the carriage and talking with some old acquaintance. That face was extraordinarily brilliant, and “seemed as if it was emitting rays of brilliant light; yet it seemed lo he a bit dim because of the fatigue the journey entailed. There were two carriages. In one were Swamiji and Mr. and Mrs. Sevier. The Hon. Babu Charu Chandra Mitra was standing in this carriage and with the movements of his hand was manipulating the crowd. In the other carriage were seated Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Harrison (a European Buddhist monk from Ceylon), G.G., Kidi, and Alasinga (who were three of Swamiji’s Madrasi disciples), and Swami Trigunatita. Because of the earnest entreaties of many, Swamiji got down from the carriage and addressed those present for two or three minutes, and then drove towards the house of Pashupati Babu in Baghbazar. I also tendered my salutations mentally and wended my way back to my house.

After my noonday meal I went to the house of Khagen (Swami Vimalananda) and from there drove together in their cab to the house of Pashupati Babu. Swamiji was at that time resting in an upstairs room. Many people were not allowed to go in. Fortunately for us, we were able to meet with many of Swamiji’s gurubhais, well known to us. Swami Shivananda took us to the presence of Swamiji and introduced us to him with the words: “These young men are your ardent admirers.” Swamiji and Swami Yogananda were sitting side by side on two easy chairs in a well-furnished room in the first floor of the house. The other Swamis were moving hither and thither clad in their gerua robes. We bowed down to Swamiji and occupied the carpet on the floor. Swamiji was then speaking with Swami Yogananda. The topic of conversation was his experiences in America and in Europe. “Well Yogin, do you know what I saw in the West? All over the world I was seeing only the play of the same great shakti (Divine Energy). Our forefathers manifested that power in religion and philosophy, and the West is manifesting the selfsame energy in the modern age through dynamic activity. Truly, through the whole universe there are only different expressions of that same maha-shakti (Great Energy).

Looking towards Khagen and seeing his emaciated appearance, Swamiji said. “This boy looks very sickly.” Swami Shivananda. “He has been suffering for a long time from dyspepsia.” Swamiji, “Is not our Bengal a sentimental country? That is why there are so many cases of dyspepsia here.” After a while tendering our obeisance we departed to our homes….

Swamiji and his disciples, Mr. and Mrs. Sevier, were staying in the garden-house of the late Gopal Lal Seal in Cossipore. We had been frequenting this house for some time with our friends and relations to attend the conversations of Swamiji. I shall try to put down here what little is left of my memory of these days.

It was in one of the rooms of this garden-house that I talked directly with Swamiji for the first time. Swamiji was then sitting within and I went and prostrated myself before him. There was nobody else in the room. Suddenly, I do not know why, Swamiji asked me. “Do you smoke?” I replied, “No”, to which Swamiji replied, “Very well, smoking is not good. I am also trying to leave it off.” Another day Swamiji was speaking with a vaishnava who had come to see him. Swamiji was saying, “Babaji,1 once in America I lectured to them on Shri Krishna. Captivated by that lecture, one exquisitely beautiful young lady, the mistress of a great many attainments and heiress to an immense fortune, renounced everything and retired to a solitary island and lost herself in the intoxication of meditation on the Lord. “Afterwards Swamiji began to speak on “Renunciation”. “In all religious sects that do not keep aflame the fire of renunciation, degeneration quickly sets in….”

Another day we found a large gathering sitting before him. His conversation was aimed at a young gentleman, who was staying in the quarters of the Bengal Theosophical Society. The young gentleman was saying. “I went to many a sect and denomination, but I could not yet find out Truth.” Swamiji replied in endearing terms, “Well, my child, once I too was in the same disconsolate state of mind as you are. Why should you be so anxious on this score? Tell me what they advised you to do, and what you have done all along.” The young man replied, “Sir, in our society there is a preacher, Bhavani Shankar by name, who is a profound Sanskrit scholar. He made me understand in a beautiful way the value of image worship in the scheme of spiritual development. Obeying him I began to worship with the proper ceremonials for a time, but this did not give me the peace I was yearning for. At that time one gentleman told me, ‘Try to make your mind void, and if you can succeed in the attempt, you will get peace.’ I also spent some days in following this advice, but to no purpose. Sir, even now I sit in a closed room, and meditate as long as I can. Yet, peace is far, far away from me. How am I to gain peace?”

Swamiji continued to speak to him in endearing terms: “My boy, if you have any respect for my words, the first thing I will advise you to do is to throw open all the doors and windows of your room! In your quarter there are lots of poor people sunk in degradation and misery. You will have to go to them and serve them with all your zeal and enthusiasm. Arrange to distribute medicines to those who are sick, and nurse them with all care, supply food to him who is starving, teach with as much as lies in you the ignorant; and if you begin to serve your brethren in this wise, I tell you, my child, you will surely get peace and consolation.”

The youth: “Sir, weak as I am, if I alone go to serve the poor and thereby break the regularity of my life by keeping awake late at nights, I might fall ill, and then what shall become of me?”

All along Swamiji was speaking with the youth very lovingly, sympathizing with all his mental troubles; but the last words of the youth very much vexed him, and so Swamiji next, talked with him in another strain: “Look here, while volunteering to do service to your brethren, you set a higher price on your own life. I can now understand well — so also those who are present here — that you are not that sort of man who would exert so much in the service of the sick as to affect your own health and convenience.” There was no more talk with that youth.

Another day the talk was with Master Mahashaya, the author of the Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna. Master Mahashaya was asking Swamiji: “You speak of service, charity, and doing good to the world; do not they too belong to the domain of maya? When the goal of Vedanta is mukti (liberation), to cut at the root of all maya, what will be the result of these teachings to the people who are already bound tight in the coils of maya?” Out came a curt reply from Swamiji that startled Master Mahashaya and made him speechless: “Does not the idea of mukti also lie within the realm of maya? Atman (the Self) is nitya-mukta (ever free). Hence what necessity is there for you to attempt for it?” We understood that Master Mahashaya was ready to prescribe dhyana, japa, dharana,2 and other devotional practices to all classes of aspirants setting aside the importance of service, charity, love and benevolence. But according to Swamiji, just as devotional practices are of vital value to a class of aspirants, so there are other classes of aspirants for whom the ideals of karma-yoga are the real incentives of spiritual development. If you belittle the importance of the latter, you have also to set aside the efficacy of the former; but when you accept one course of sadhana (the spiritual practice), necessarily you cannot help accepting the other course too. We were able to grasp from this pointed reply of Swamiji that Master Mahashaya was belittling the ideals of karma-yoga as being a part of maya and was accepting dhyana, japa, dharana, etc., as the only paths to mukti. The generous heart and subtle intellect of Swamiji at once perceived this fallacy, and he could not bear this limited and narrow interpretation of spiritual practices. He showed by his wonderful arguments that even the struggle for liberation is within the domain of maya, and by giving service, charity, etc., the same place as the devotional practices in the development of the spiritual life, he enunciated that the followers of the karma-yoga too have the same claim to recognition as the followers of the other yogas.

Next the conversation was diverted to Thomas à Kempis, and his Imitation of Christ. Many of us know that before Swamiji renounced the world, he was reading this book with special interest, and when the habitation of the Sannyasins shifted to Baranagore, the gurubhais of Swamiji used to read this book and study its teachings as special aids to their sadhana. Swamiji loved this book so much that in those days he had contributed to a contemporary magazine Sahityakalpadruma, an introduction to the book which he named in Bengali as “Ishanusarana” and had freely rendered its teachings into Bengali.

By reading the introduction we can understand with what an attitude of mind Swamiji looked upon this book; so much of awe and reverence he evinced towards its author! And really such innumerable and illuminating counsels the book gives on renunciation, discrimination, humility, dasya bhakti,3 etc., that it cannot but evoke these sentiments in the mind of any one who reads it. One of those present there felt the curiosity to know Swamiji’s opinion on the teachings of the book now. So he read out a teaching in the book about humility and remarked that without considering oneself as the lowest of the low it is impossible to get spiritual development; Hearing this Swamiji said, “What more need for us to consider ourselves low? Where is ignorance again for us? We have enjoyed the bliss of Illumination — we are children of that Illumination.”

From this reply we could easily understand that he had transcended the stages of preliminary sadhanas, as mentioned in that book, and had reached great heights of realization. We especially noted that even trivial everyday occurrences of life did not escape his scrutiny and he transmuted them as aids to popularize high spiritual truths.

Once Shri Ramlal Chattopadhyaya, the nephew of Shri Ramakrishna, known amongst the Ramakrishna Order as Ramlal-Dada, came from Dakshineswar to visit Swamiji. Seeing him, Swamiji got one chair for him and requested him to take his seat while he himself strolled to and fro. “Dada” felt very delicate at this respect shown to him and began to implore Swamiji to take that seat; but Swamiji was not prepared to leave him; with much protestations, “Dada” was made to occupy the chair. Swamiji continued to walk up and down repeating to himself, “guruvat guruputtreshu — One should treat the descendants of the guru with the same honour as one would treat the guru.” Here we noticed that though Swamiji was the recipient of such glory and honour, there was not the least trace of any conceit in him. We learnt, too, that that was the way to showing one’s gurubhakti (devotion to guru).

Many students had come to see him. Swamiji was then sitting in a chair. All were squatting around him eagerly waiting to hear a few words from Swamiji. There were no seats left where the boys could sit and hear him. Hence they had to sit on the floor. Perhaps it struck Swamiji that it was better to have given them seats; but perhaps soon his mind was turned on some other topic and he thought otherwise and said, “Doesn’t matter! you have sat well. To practise a little tapasya (austerity) is good.”

One day we took with us Shri Chandi Charan Vardhan who lived in our quarter of the city. Chandi Babu, was the manager of a small Hindu Boys’ School where education was given up to the third class. From the beginning he was a great lover of God. After reading the lectures of Swamiji he developed an intense faith in him. Formerly he had even thought of renouncing the world for facilitating his devotional practices; but he was not successful in this attempt. For a while he was an amateur actor, in a theatre and he even figured as a playwright. He was very emotional by temperament. He had picked up the acquaintance of Edward Carpenter, the famous democrat. In his book Adam’s Peak to Elephanta, the author has given an account of his meeting with Chandi Babu as well as a picture of him.

Chandi Babu came and with great reverence made his obeisance and asked Swamiji. “Swamiji, whom can we accept as guru?”

Swamiji: “He who can understand and speak to you of your past and future can be recognized as your guru. My guru spoke all about my past and future.”

Chandi Babu: “Well, Swamiji, does wearing kaupina in any way help in controlling lust?”

Swamiji: “A little help might be got thereby. But when the passion gets strong, could it be checked, my child, with a kaupina? Unless and until the mind is completely given to God, no external check can completely obliterate lust. But then, you know, as long as the mind has not reached that stage, it tries to protect itself by external aids. Once in me rose the feeling of lust. I got so disgusted with myself that I sat on a pot of burning cinders, and it took a long time for the wound to heal.”

Chandi Babu put Swamiji many questions regarding brahmacharya (continence) and Swamiji with utter frankness clearly expounded all its secrets to him. Chandi Babu was making severe attempts at sadhana — but being a householder he had not the facility at all times to do this to his entire satisfaction. Fully knowing that brahmacharya was the prime necessity for all sadhanas, he was not yet able to act up to it to his entire satisfaction. And as he was engaging his time in the management and education of young boys. he had occasion to notice how by the absence of any moral and religious education of young boys, and by association in bad company the boys lose their sexual purity even at a tender age; and he was always thinking within himself how to resuscitate the lost sexual purity in the boys. But how can one who himself has not attained a thing give it to others?

Thus unable to gain brahmacharya with regard to himself and plant the same in his boys, he used to get much worried and desperate at times. So now hearing from that ideal brahmacharin, Swamiji, his straightforward counsels and energetic words, it struck him suddenly that this mahapurusha (great soul), if he minds, could revive in him and his boys the ancient ideal of brahmacharya. I have mentioned earlier that Chandi Babu was very emotional by temperament. Suddenly, as it flared up by an uncontrollable enthusiasm, he shouted out in English in great excitement, “Oh Great Teacher, tear up this evil of hypocrisy and teach the world the one thing needful — how to conquer lust”. Swamiji pacified Chandi Babu.

The topic of conversation next was Edward Carpenter. Swamiji said, “At London, he used to call on me on many occasions and sit near me. Many other Socialist Democrats also used to visit me. Finding in the religion of Vedanta a strong support for their ideals, they felt much attracted towards its teachings.”

Swamiji had read his book Adam’s Peak to Elephanta. This brought to his mind the picture of Chandi Babu printed therein, and he told him that he had already been familiar with his appearance. The shadows of evening began to fall, and so Swamiji got up for a little rest. And addressing Chandi Babu, he said, “Chandi Babu, you come across many boys; can you give me some excellent boys?” Chandi Babu was a bit absentminded when Swamiji said this. So, unable to understand the full bearing of Swamiji’s words, when Swamiji retired to his room he followed him and inquired what he had said as regards some beautiful boys. Swamiji replied: “I do not want those whose appearance looks well. I want some strongly built, energetic, serviceable boys of character, I want to train them up so that they may get themselves ready for their own liberation as well as for the good and welfare of this world.”

Another day we went and found Swamiji walking up and down and talking very familiarly with Shri Sharat Chandra Chakravarti (the author of Swami-Shishya-Samvada). We were very eagerly waiting to put Swamiji one question. The problem was this — what is the difference between an avatara and a mukta (liberated soul) or siddha purusha (perfected being)? We especially requested Sharat Babu to place the question before Swamiji, and he did so accordingly. But without giving a direct reply to this question, Swamiji said, “Of all states videha-mukti (freedom after death) is the best — this is my firm belief. During my sadhana period when I was travelling round Bharatavarsha (India), how many days had I spent in caves, how many a time had I even thought of giving up this body since liberation was not achieved, what strenuous efforts had I made for my spiritual practices! But now I have not that thirst for liberation. My present mood is that so long as even one individual lives in this world without gaining liberation, I do not want my own liberation.”

Hearing these words of Swamiji I began to wonder at his infinite kindness of heart, and I thought within myself, “Does he convey to us the nature of the avatara by quoting himself as an example? Is he also then a divine incarnation?” And I thought. “Maybe, he no longer aspired after liberation, because he had already attained it.”

On another day myself and Khagen (Swami Vimalananda) went to him after dusk. In order that we might be specially introduced to Swamiji, Haramohan Babu (a devotee of Shri Ramakrishna) spoke to him, “Swamiji, these are your great admirers and they study Vedanta with great aptitude.” Though the first portion of Haramohan Babu’s words were literally true, the second part was overdone. For although we had studied something of the Gita and a few primers on Vedanta, we could be credited with no more than a superficial knowledge; we had not studied them with the thoroughness of a student nor had we recourse to the original texts and commentaries on the same. Whatever that might be, hearing Vedanta mentioned, Swamiji asked us. “Have you studied the Upanishads?”

I replied, “Yes, a little.”

Swamiji: “Which Upanishad?”

Searching my mind and finding nothing else I replied, “Katha Upanishad.”

Swamiji: “Well, repeat a few lines. Katha Upanishad is very grand, full of poetic beauties.”

What a catastrophe! Perhaps Swamiji understood that I knew Katha Upanishad by heart, and I was asked to repeat a few verses from it. Though I had turned over the pages of this Upanishad, I had cared neither to grasp its meaning nor commit it to memory. So I was in a sad predicament. What should be done! Suddenly I struck upon a plan. A few years back I had made some regular attempts in reading the Gita and as a result I could remember most of the verses. I knew for certain that if I did not repeat from memory some scriptural texts at least, I could hardly show my face before him afterwards. Therefore I said; “I do not know by heart Katha Upanishad; but from the Gita I can repeat a few verses.” Swamiji ordered me to repeat a few verses from the Gita. From the latter part of the eleventh chapter I repeated all the verses which Arjuna sang in praise of the Lord. To inspire us with enthusiasm, Swamiji was punctuating my recitation with his appreciative remarks.

The next day, taking with us our friend Rajendranath, we went to see Swamiji. I told Rajen: “Brother, yesterday I was thrown in a very delicate position before Swamiji with my poor knowledge of the Upanishads. If you have with you any Upanishad, take one with you in your pocket so that if any occasion arises, we can draw it out from our pocket and read out before Swamiji.” Rajen had a pocket edition of the Upanishads by Prasanna Kumar Shastri with a commentary in Bengali. We took this in our pocket. That evening we found Swamiji’s room filled with visitors. What I had thought of came to pass. Somehow or other the topic of conversation turned to Katha Upanishad. Immediately taking out the book from my pocket I began to read the Upanishad from the beginning. And as I read, Swamiji spoke of the faith of Nachiketa, that faith whereby he dared even to go to the house of Yama (Death). When I began to read of the second boon of Nachiketa regarding the attainment of heaven, Swamiji asked me to read a few verses here and there and begin that part dealing with the third boon; Nachiketa asks Yama about the doubts of men, whether man ever survives bodily death. And Yama places temptations before him, but he rejects them all. After reading of these was over Swamiji spoke in praise of his character, in words pregnant with celestial fire. But my weak memory retains but little of that day’s talk.

But by these two days’ talk on the Upanishads Swamiji infused into my mind something of his intense faith and love of the Upanishads. From that day, whenever I got an opportunity, I studied the Upanishads with due reverence and am still doing the same. Even now I seem to hear those Upanishadic mantras which Swamiji used to repeat at different times, in his own peculiarly fiery, clear, and ringing tone. Whenever I, forget the Self, carried away by criticisms and judgement of others, memory brings back to me that familiar Upanishadic text which Swamiji used to repeat often in his own sweet and melodious tone: “Know that atman alone. Give up all other talks. He is the bridge to Immortality.” On any day when the sky is dark and thick set with clouds and lightning flashed I remember his familiar figure pointing to the flash of lightning in the sky and uttering the well-known mantra: “There the sun shines not, nor the moon nor stars. These lightnings also do not shine there; He shining, all shine, after Him; His light illumines them all.” Or whenever my heart gets filled with despondency that realization is far away from me, I seem to hear Swamiji with his face suffused with bliss, repeating in sonorous voice the message of hope from the Upanishads: “Hear, ye children of immortal bliss! Even ye that reside in higher spheres! I have found the Ancient One, who is beyond all darkness, all delusion; knowing Him alone you shall be saved from death over again — there is no other way!”…

It was the end of April 1897. Only five days ago I had left home to live with the sannyasins of the Alambazar Math. Swamis Premananda, Nirmalananda, and Subodhananda were then living there. Swamiji presently came back after his visit to Darjeeling. Along with him there were Swami Brahmananda, Swami Yogananda. and his Madrasi disciples, Alasinga, Kidi, G. G., and others.

Swami Nityananda, only a few days before, took sannyasa from Swamiji. He spoke to Swamiji one day about the need for a systematic training for the Math, as a large number of young men had at that time joined the Math to lead a life of renunciation. Swamiji readily agreed to the suggestion and asked him to gather all the inmates who all assembled in the hall. “Let some one be writing as I dictate,” said Swamiji. No one seemed to be prepared to come forward, and finally the task fell on me. It might be said in passing that at that time, with the inmates of the Math, literary education was out of favour, the prevailing notion being that to realize God by sadhana and bhajana was the goal, while literary knowledge even though it might bring a little fame and name was really useless for a sadhaka (aspirant). Only in the case of those who are chosen by God to carry His mission or message was the need for literary training recognized. When I came forward to take down Swamiji’s dictation, Swamiji casually remarked whether I would stick on, and some one answered that I would. All the while I was getting the writing materials ready; and Swamiji before dictating the rules remarked as follows: “Look here, we are going to make rules, no doubt; but we must remember the main object thereof. Our main object is to transcend all rules and regulations. We have naturally some bad tendencies which are to be changed by observing good rules and regulations; and finally we have to go beyond all these even, just as we remove one thorn by another and throw both of them away.” The course of discipline and routine decided upon was of this kind: Both mornings and evenings should be devoted to meditation, while the afternoons after a short rest should be utilized for individual studies, and in the evenings one particular religious book should be read and expounded. It was also provided that each member would take physical exercise both morning and evening. Another rule was to the effect that no intoxicant save tobacco should be allowed. Having dictated the rules, Swamiji asked me to make a fair copy of the rules and instructed me that I should put all the rules in the positive form.

I found some difficulty in carrying out this last instruction. Swamiji’s central idea was that it does no good to men to point out their various defects and tell them. “You should not do this, or that”, and so on. But he believed that if the proper deal he clearly placed before the aspirants, it would help them to rise up, and the defects would gradually fall off by themselves. I was at every turn reminded of this principle when I tried out his instruction to put the rules in a positive form. Except in the case of the intoxicant all other rules I was able to make positive. Its original form was “that in the Math except tobacco, no other intoxicants shall be allowed”. When I wanted to remove the negative form, I first of all made it thus: “All in the Math shall use tobacco”! But seeing that this seemed to make it obligatory to smoke even for those who are free from that habit, after many futile attempts I finally gave it this form; “That in the Math (of all intoxicants) tobacco alone can be used.” Somehow I now find that we only made an awkward compromise. As a matter of fact in any set of rules and regulations it is not possible to do away with the negative form altogether; but it must be remembered that the more the rules embody the positive aspect of the ideal, the more helpful they become. And this was Swamiji’s main idea….

Another day Swamiji was sitting in the hall, his face radiating an unusual brilliance. A variety of topics were talked about. Amidst the audience was our friend Vijaya Krishna Bose. In those days Vijaya Babu used to ascend many a platform and speak before many associations. He had once even spoken before the Congress in English. Somebody let Swamiji know of his capacity to deliver lectures, and so Swamiji asked Vijaya Babu to deliver a lecture as there was quite a good audience. The subject suggested was atman (Self). But Vijaya Babu exhibited no signs of willingness to act up to Swamiji’s suggestion; and Swamiji and all the rest tried in vain to set him upon his legs. After nearly fifteen minutes of ineffectual persuasion their glance fell upon me. Before coming to the Math I had occasionally delivered a few lectures in Bengali, and in our Debating Society I trained myself to speak in English as well. Some one present referred to this, and I was caught hold of to speak on the same subject. I have never been encumbered much with that inconvenient commodity called modesty. I at once stood up and held forth for nearly half an hour giving out ideas about atman beginning with those contained in the Yajnavalkya-Maitreyi samvada (conversation between Yajnavalkya and Maitreyi) of the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad. I did not pay any heed whether there were grammatical mistakes or any incongruity of ideas in my speech. Our gracious Swamiji also, without caring for any of these, began to cheer me enthusiastically. After me, Swami Prakashananda (who is now in charge of the Hindu Temple, San Francisco, U.S.A.), a new initiate to sannyasa, also spoke for about ten minutes on atman. He modelled his speech on that of Swamiji and in good sonorous voice spoke out what he had to say. Swamiji extolled much his speech also.

Really, Swamiji never looked into man’s failings and weaknesses. On the other hand he used to encourage whatever was good in anyone thereby giving him the proper surroundings and facility to manifest his latent possibilities. But our readers need not be under the impression that Swamiji used to praise one and all in every one of his doings. Far from it, many times we have seen him assuming a severe appearance and pointing out one’s shortcomings, especially of his gurubhais and disciples. But he did that to rid us of our faults, to sound us a note of warning, and never to discourage us in any way. Where could we find another like him to fire us with such enthusiasm, courage, and hope? Where could we find such another to write to his disciples, “I want each one of you, my children, to be a hundred times greater than I could ever be. Every one of you must be a giant — must, that is my word” ….

At that time in the Math we received from Mr. E.T. Sturdy of London the copies of Swamiji’s jnana-yoga lectures printed in pamphlet form. Swamiji had not then returned from Darjeeling. We were reading with great enthusiasm those soul-entrancing and inspiring interpretations of the Advaita Vedanta contained in those lectures. The old Swami Advaitananda did not know English well. But it was his special desire to hear how “Naren” captivated the heart of the West, what interpretation of the Vedanta brought out their admiration of him. By his request we used to read and explain the substance of those lectures before him. One day Swami Premananda asked the new bramhacharins to translate Swamiji’s lectures into Bengali. So we began to do it. Meanwhile Swamiji returned to the Math, and Swami Premananda spoke of this to Swamiji and asked me to read out the translation before Swamiji. Swamiji also, while expressing his opinion on the translation, remarked that certain words would sound better if put in a particular way and so on. One day I was alone in the presence of Swamiji. Suddenly he spoke to me “Why not you translate my Raja-Yoga?” I wondered why Swamiji ordered such an unfit person like me to do this work. Long ago I had tried to practise raja-yoga. For some time I had such an attraction for this yoga that I even used to look down upon the other paths of jnana, karma and bhakti. I was under the impression that the sadhus (holy men) of the Math knew nothing of yogic practices, and hence they did not encourage them. My reading of the Raja-Yoga revealed to me that Swamiji had not only a thorough grasp of the truths of raja-yoga — for therein I found a masterly exposition of all ideas I had already gathered on the subject — but had also brought out in a beautiful manner their true relations with other yogas as well. Another reason which increased my faith and devotion was this. Was it that in asking me to translate the Raja-Yoga Swamiji meant to help me in my spiritual growth by bringing about thereby my close consideration of the truths of this yoga? Or was it because the raja-yoga practices are not much current in Bengal that he desired that the truth should be sown broadcast there? In a letter to Babu Pramadadas Mitra he writes that the practice of raja-yoga is completely ignored in Bengal and what little there is of it is only such as blowing through the nose and the like.

Whatever that might be, without caring for my own shortcomings, I immediately set at work to carry out Swamiji’s order.

(Vedanta Kesari, Dec. 1922 & Jan-Feb. 1923)

REMINISCENCES OF SWAMI VIVEKANANDA
KAMAKHYA NATH MITRA

IT was in the year 1897, the year of my graduation, that I had the rare privilege of seeing at Calcutta the world-famous Hindu monk, the epoch-making Swami Vivekananda, in the house of the late Babu Balaram Bose, a devout bhakta well known to the disciples of Ramakrishna Paramahamsa. I went to see him because I was profoundly interested in his message, though its significance was not yet quite clear to me. A few words may be necessary to explain my interest.

I was inquisitive from my boyhood and the question of religion had a strange fascination for my mind. Just as in these days the predominant interest of my countrymen is politics, so in my boyhood their predominant interest was religion. It was a time of great religious movements and controversies. There was a constant play of action and reaction. On the one hand, there was the rising tide of Brahmoism with which most enlightened men were in sympathy. On the other, there was the frantic effort of the so-called orthodoxy with its pseudo-scientific and fanciful interpretation of the religion of the Hindus. Then, again, there was Theosophy with its Mahatmas, occultism, and spirit-world to which many educated people were attracted because they did not like the Westernized outlook of the Brahmos, and further because they felt flattered by the uncritical eulogy of everything Hindu by Colonel Olcott of America and Mrs. Annie Besant of England. It must be said at the same time that not an inconsiderable section of university-bred young men were free-thinkers, rationalists or agnostics who swore by Mill, Comte, Spencer, Huxley, and Haeckel and thought that all religions were equally false. Such was my intellectual milieu as a boy and a youth. I listened to the discussion of my elders and sometimes took part in the discussions. Religion to me was not yet a craving of the soul. It was more or less a question of intellectual interest. Though born in an orthodox Hindu family, yet the influence that I felt most was that of the Brahmo Samaj and also that of a near relative who was an out and out agnostic. With the social programme of the Brahmos I had every sympathy, but their theology I could not accept. I was swaying between two forces — Brahmoism and agnosticism.

It is in this state of mind that I finished my school education and entered college. It is in the first year class, if I remember right, that I first heard of Ramakrishna — yet I did not hear of him from any fellow-countryman of mine but from a foreigner — no less a personage than Professor Max Muller himself. I just happened to read two articles from his pen in The Nineteenth Century — one entitled Esoteric Buddhism, a scathing criticism of Madame Blavatsky and her theosophy and the other A Real Mahatman. This Real Mahatman was no other than our Bhagavan Ramakrishna. A new horizon opened before me. A new light flashed forth. And all this happened at a mofussil town.

About a year after this, I read in the papers all about the famous Parliament of Religions at Chicago and the resounding triumph of Swami Vivekananda there. Who was this Vivekananda? I came to know soon after that he was the chief disciple of Ramakrishna, the Real Mahatman of Professor Max Muller. I was eager to know all about the man and his message. Unfortunately I was not present at Calcutta at the time when the whole city turned out to receive him with the tremendous ovation that signalizes the return of a conquering hero. I read, however, glowing accounts of the event and saw that honour such as this had never fallen to the lot of any man on the Indian soil

From this time onward I read the reports of all the speeches he delivered at different places in India. I felt that it was the spirit of India herself that breathed through his utterances. Such force, such fire was beyond the utmost stretch of my imagination. Several speeches of Keshab Chandra Sen I had read before. I had great admiration for his style, eloquence, and religious fervour. But here was a new atmosphere altogether, a new accent, a new emphasis, a new outlook at once national and universal. Here was Hinduism in all its phases, but how different from the Hinduism of the hide-bound Sanatanists, pseudo-revivalists, the Scribes and Pharisees of India! I was under a spell. The two speeches that impressed me most were his Calcutta Town-hall speech and his Lahore address on Vedanta. When I read the Lahore address, I was a B.A. student at Calcutta.

I eagerly waited for an opportunity to see the man. The opportunity came, as I have said, in 1897. I went to see Swami Vivekananda in the Calcutta residence of the late Babu Balaram Bose in company with a class-fellow of mine, Babu Narendra Kumar Bose.

We entered a hall which was full to overflowing. The people assembled there were for the most part students of the Calcutta colleges. They were all seated cross-legged on the floor covered with duree and pharas (floor matting covered with cotton sheets) In the centre was the seat meant for Swamiji. I managed somehow to occupy a place in the hall, and we all eagerly waited for the arrival of Swamiji. Perfect silence prevailed. A few minutes passed and the Swami stepped in. His gait was leonine and the dignity of his bearing simply royal. His frame was athletic and robust. He had a gairic alkhalla (ochre cloak) on, his feet were bare and his head, chin and lips clean shaven — altogether a striking personality. He had the look of a man born to command. He was soon seated, and then he looked at us. His large eyes beamed with genius and spiritual fire. He spoke in Bengali interlarded with English. Words flowed from his lips, and we heard him with rapt attention. Each word of his was like a spark of fire. His manner was impassioned. It was clear to all that here was a man with a message. His awakening power was wonderful. We heard him and felt aroused. A new spirit was breathed into us. Here was a man of faith in an age of doubt, sincere to the backbone, a dynamo of supernal force. To have seen him was education. To have heard him was inspiration. It was the most memorable day in my life, and it is impossible for me ever to lose its recollection.

What did he tell us all? To be strong and self-confident, to renounce and serve. Strength was the burden of all that he said. He poured torrential scorn upon what he called out “negative education” and spoke enthusiastically on man-making. He gave a vivid picture of our country’s degradation and the misery of the masses. How he felt for the poor, the downtrodden and the oppressed! If we had a millionth part of his feeling, the face of the country would change at once. He spoke of the greatness of Hinduism and proudly said. “It is my ambition to conquer the world by Hindu thought — to see Hindus everywhere from the North Pole to the South Pole.” As he uttered these words I saw in him the very Napoleon of Religion. I saw the warrior’s heart throbbing beneath the yellow robe of the sannyasin. Not a mild Hindu at all this Swami Vivekananda but the most aggressive Hindu I have ever seen in my life. He was made of the same stuff of which Alexander and Caesar were made — only his role was different.

Some of his words are still ringing in my ears and they are these: “You must have steel nerves and cast-iron muscles. A moment’s vigorous life is better than years of jelly-fish existence. Cowards die many time before their death. An honest atheist is a thousand times better than a hypocritical theist. Don’t be jealous, for the slaves are jealous. Virtue is heroism — from vir in Latin which means man and which again is the same word as vira in Sanskrit.”

After about two hours the Swami left the hall and we dispersed in different directions. I returned to my lodgings but the words of the Swami filled the air. I could think of nothing but Swami Vivekananda. There stood his heroic figure which-ever way I turned.

I could not resist the temptation of seeing him again, and so on the next day I went once more to the house of the late Babu Balaram. On this day there was no great gathering. Swamiji was seated in the veranda on an asana surrounded by a group of his brother-disciples. The Brahma-Sutras with Shankara’s commentary was being read out by one of them, and Swamiji passed explanatory remarks here and there. Today’s atmosphere was different altogether. It was all very quiet. Soon after the reading was finished, one of the Swami’s brother-disciples spoke of the spirit-world and read an extract from a theosophical book. Swamiji at once came down upon him and extinguished him completely. I saw that the Swami was a hater of spookism. He clearly said that all this was weakening and debilitating and had nothing to do with true religion. After this, many light topics were introduced, and then Swamiji laughed and joked like a child. Here was another mood. I said to myself: Is it the same Swami I saw yesterday — the thundering Swami in dead earnest?

It was about a year after this that I saw the Swami once more — and this time on the platform. Now I was face to face with Vivekananda the orator. The scene was the Star Theatre of Calcutta. The occasion was the introduction of Sister Nivedita to the Calcutta public. The hall was crammed to suffocation. On the dais were seated many distinguished persons. I remember only Sir Jagadish Bose and Sir Ananda Charlu among them. Swami Vivekananda was in his best form. He wore a gairic turban and a long-flowing robe which was also gairic in hue. He introduced Sister Nivedita in a neat little speech. The Sister addressed the meeting in a graceful style. Then rose Swami Vivekananda, and he spoke on his foreign policy. The speech is to be found in the Mayavati Memorial Edition of his Complete Works. He brought forward a scheme of his future missionary work in the West. The speech was full of fire. Such thrilling voice, rich intonation, variation of pitch. strong and sonorous accent with occasional explosion as of the bolt of heaven I have never heard in my life nor am I likely to hear again. Sometimes he paced to and fro on the platform as he spoke and folded his arms across his chest. Sometimes he faced the audience and waved his hand. His expressions flowed free and fast with the rush and impetuously of a mountain torrent. His words were like the roaring of a cataract. Well might The New York Herald say: “He is an orator by divine right.” Altogether a more majestic, striking, and magnetic personality it is hard to conceive. We heard him spell bound. Each word was an arrow that went straight to the heart.

Such is my recollection of Swami Vivekananda. To fully understand his message I read subsequently all his speeches and writings and almost all about his Master. There is not a single problem of our individual, social, and political life, that he has not touched and illuminated. He has given a new impulse to the country. So far as I am concerned, he is growing more and more vivid to me with the lapse of years, and I see his stature dilated today “like Teneriffe or Atlas”. His message is the message of freedom, strength, fearlessness, and self-confidence. It is the eternal truths of our religion that he has preached in a new way, in modem terms, and he has also shown how these truths are to be applied to the present conditions of India and the rest of the world. A more constructive thinker and inspiring teacher I have not seen in my life. I do not know a single self-sacrificing Indian worker of the present century who has not been influenced more or less by his thoughts, words, and example. More than anybody else he has made India respected abroad. Many a child of the West has found in his message the solace of his life and the solace of his death. It is true that at the present moment the predominant interest of our country has become political, but the better minds believe with Swami Vivekananda that spirituality must be the basis of all our activities. It is difficult to say what form our national reconstruction will exactly take, it is difficult to predict anything about the future of the world as a whole, but I sincerely believe that the ideas and ideals of Swami Vivekananda are destined to play a very important part in the history of the human race. May his influence grow from more to more!

(Prabuddha Bharata, February 1930)