Swami Vivekananda enjoyed the sea voyage back
to India, relaxing from his strenuous activities in the
West. But his mind was full of ideas regarding his future plan
of work in his motherland.
There were on the boat, among other passengers,
two Christian missionaries who, in the course of a
heated discussion with the Swami, lost their tempers and
savagely criticized the Hindu religion. The Swami walked to one
of them, seized him by the collar, and said menacingly, 'If
you abuse my religion again, I will throw you overboard.'
'Let me go, sir,' the frightened missionary
apologized; 'I'll never do it again.'
Later, in the course of a conversation with a
disciple in Calcutta, he asked, 'What would you do if
someone insulted your mother?' The disciple answered, 'I
would fall upon him, sir, and teach him a good lesson.'
'Bravo!' said the Swami. 'Now, if you had the
same positive feeling for your religion, your true mother,
you could never see any Hindu brother converted to
Christianity. Yet you see this occurring every day, and you are
quite indifferent. Where is your faith? Where is your
patriotism? Every day Christian missionaries abuse Hinduism to
your face, and yet how many are there amongst you whose
blood boils with righteous indignation and who will stand up
in its defense?'
When the boat stopped at Aden, the party went
ashore and visited the places of interest. The Swami saw from
a distance a Hindusthani betel-leaf seller smoking
his hookah, or hubble-bubble. He had not enjoyed this
Indian way of smoking for the past three years. Going up to
him, the Swami said, 'Brother, do give me your pipe.' Soon
he was puffing at it with great joy and talking to him as to
an intimate friend.
Mr. Sevier later on said to Swamiji teasingly:
'Now we see! It was this pipe that made you run away from
us so abruptly!' Speaking of this incident, the
Swami's companions said later: 'The shopkeeper could not
have resisted him; for he had such an endearing way about
him, when asking for anything, that he was simply
irresistible. We shall never forget that ingenuous look on his face
when he said to the shopkeeper, with childlike
sweetness, "Brother, do give me your pipe."'
In the early morning of January 15, 1897, the coast
of Ceylon with its majestic coco palms and
gold-coloured beach was seen at a distance. The Swami's heart leapt
with joy; and his disciples caught his excitement as the
boat approached the beautiful harbour of Colombo. But no
one in the party had the slightest idea of what they were
to witness while disembarking.
Since the day of his success at the Parliament
of Religions in Chicago, which had filled with joy and
pride the hearts of his countrymen, especially of his disciples
and brother monks at the Baranagore Math, Swami
Vivekananda had been inspiring his faithful followers to lay
down their lives for the uplift of the masses of India, and
in particular to help the hungry and illiterate. In his heart of
hearts he felt that India would not be able to resist
his appeal. Many months before, while discussing with
some of his disciples in Detroit the great difficulties that he
had encountered in presenting Hinduism to bigoted
Christians in America, he had said: 'But India shall listen to me. I
will shake India to her foundations. I will send an electric
thrill through her veins. Wait! You will see how India
receives me. It is India, my own India, that knows truly how
to appreciate what I have given so freely here, and with
my life's blood. India will receive me in triumph.'
When the news of Swami Vivekananda's
departure from Europe reached India, the hearts of the people
were stirred. The spiritual ambassador of their ancient land
was coming back after fulfilling his mission. They must give
a regal welcome to this great crusader. In big
towns committees were formed for his reception. His
brother disciples and friends were impatient. Swami
Shivananda came ahead of time to Madras and Swami
Niranjanananda to Colombo; so also many of his disciples from Bengal
and the Northern Provinces came to Madras to await his
arrival. The newspapers published articles eulogizing
his personality and work.
A gaily decorated steam launch carried the Swami
and his party from the ship to the harbour. When the
monk with his yellow robe and luminous eyes came ashore,
a mighty shout arose from the human throng crowding
the quays. Thousands flung themselves on the ground to
touch his feet. A deputation of the notables of Ceylon
welcomed him, and he was taken in a huge procession through
many triumphal arches. Flags were unfurled, religious
hymns chanted; an Indian band played. Rosewater and the sacred
water of the Ganga were sprinkled before him, and
flowers were strewn in his path. Incense was burnt before
the houses as he passed. Fruit and other offerings were
brought by hundreds of visitors.
Swami Vivekananda accepted all these
honours without losing his poise. He was not the man to flee
from triumph any more than from battle. He regarded
the tributes paid to him, a penniless beggar, as tributes paid
to the spiritual ideal of India. In the course of his reply to
the address of welcome given in Colombo, he said, 'The
spirituality of the Hindus is revealed by the princely
reception which they have given to a beggar sannyasin.' He
pointed out that though he was not a military general, not a
prince nor a wealthy man, yet men great in the transitory
possessions of the world and much respected by society
had nevertheless come to honour him, a homeless monk.
'This,' he exclaimed, 'is one of the highest expressions of
spirituality.' He disclaimed any personal glory in the welcome
he received, insisting that it was but the recognition of
a principle.
Swami Vivekananda's progress from Colombo
to Madras and the welcomes he received at Kandy,
Anuradhapuram, Jaffna, Pamban, Rameswaram, Ramnad,
Paramakkudi, Madurai, Trichinopoly, and Kumbakonam
demonstrated how deeply he had endeared himself to the men
and women of India. At Anuradhapuram a band of
fanatical Buddhists tried to break up the meeting, but did not
succeed. At Rameswaram the Swami exhorted the people to
'worship Siva in the poor, the diseased, and the weak'.
He received a touching welcome there from the
Raja of Ramnad, his disciple, who had encouraged him to go to
America and had helped him materially for that
purpose. At Ramnad the horses were unhitched from the
carriage bearing the Swami, and the people themselves, the
Raja among them, drew it. At Rameswaram the Raja erected,
in the Swami's honour, a victory column forty feet high
with a suitable inscription. He also gave a liberal donation
to the Madras famine-relief fund to commemorate the
home-coming of the Swami.
At a small railroad station near Madras, hundreds
of people gathered for a glimpse of Vivekananda.
The stationmaster did not want to delay the train since no
stop was scheduled. But the crowd of admirers flung
themselves on the track, and the train had to be halted. The
Swami was visibly moved and blessed the multitude.
The enthusiasm of the people reached its peak
in Madras, where extensive preparations had been made
for the Swami's reception. It was Madras that had
first recognized the greatness of Vivekananda and
equipped him for the journey to Chicago. At that time, when he
had first come there, he had been, in effect, only an
obscure individual. He had spent some two months in an
unknown bungalow at San Thome, holding conversations
on Hinduism. Yet even then a few educated young men
of keen foresight had predicted that there was something
in the man, a 'power' that would lift him above all
others and enable him to be a leader of men. These youths,
who had been ridiculed as 'misguided enthusiasts' and
'dreamy revivalists,' now, four years later, had the
supreme satisfaction of seeing 'our Swami,' as they loved to call
him, return to them a famous personage in both Europe
and America.
The streets and thoroughfares of Madras were
profusely decorated; seventeen triumphal arches were erected.
The Swami's name was on everybody's lips. Thousands
jammed the railway station, and as the train steamed in, he
was received with thundering shouts of applause. An
elaborate procession was formed, and he was taken to 'Castle
Kernan,' the palatial home of Billigiri Iyengar, where
arrangements had been made for his stay in the city.
On the third day after his arrival Swami
Vivekananda was honoured in a public meeting on behalf of the
people of Madras. As Victoria Hall, chosen for the purpose,
was too small to hold the large crowd, the people cried for
an open-air gathering. The Swami came out and
addressed them from the top of a coach; it was, as it were, Sri
Krishna, standing in the chariot, exhorting Arjuna to give up
his unmanliness and measure up to his Aryan heritage. In
a brief speech he told the people how India, through her
love of God, had expanded the limited love of the family
into love of country and of humanity. He urged them
to maintain their enthusiasm and to give him all the help
he required to do great things for India.
During his short stay in Madras, Swami
Vivekananda gave four public lectures, his subjects being, 'My Plan
of Campaign,' 'The Sages of India,' 'Vedanta in Its
Application to Indian Life,' and 'The Future of India.' In
these lectures he reminded the Indians of both their
greatness and their weakness, and urged them to be proud of
their past and hopeful for their future.
While speaking on 'My Plan of Campaign,' the
Swami exposed the meanness of some of the Theosophists,
who had tried their utmost to injure his work in America but
later claimed that they had paved the way for his
success in the New World. He told the audience that when,
in desperation, he had cabled to India for money,
the Theosophists had come to know about it and one of
them had written to a member of the Society in India: 'Now
the devil is going to die. God bless us all!' But it must be
said that there were many among the Theosophists,
especially in India, who were his genuine well-wishers.
Swami Vivekananda had hardly a moment's
respite during his nine days in Madras. When asked by a
disciple how he found the strength for such incessant activity,
he answered, 'Spiritual work never tires one in India.' But
he would lose patience if asked about matters that had
no bearing on practical life. One day a pandit asked him
to state clearly whether he was a dualist or a non-dualist.
The Swami said: 'As long as I have this body I am a dualist,
but not otherwise. This incarnation of mine is to help put
an end to useless and mischievous quarrels, which
only distract the mind and make men weary of life, and
even turn them into sceptics and atheists.'
Meanwhile heart-warming letters had been
arriving from America informing the Swami of the progress of
the Vedanta work in the New World under the leadership
of Swami Saradananda, and also in appreciation of his
own achievements. One letter was signed by Lewis G. Janes,
President of the Brooklyn Ethical Association; C. C. Everett,
Dean of the Harvard Divinity School; William James and
Josiah Royce, both professors of philosophy at Harvard
University; Mrs. Sara C. Bull of Boston, and others. It said: 'We
believe that such expositions as have been given by yourself
mere speculative interest and utility — that they are of
great ethical value in cementing the ties of friendship and
brotherhood between distant peoples, and in helping us to
realize that solidarity of human relationship and interests
which has been affirmed by all the great religions of the world.
We earnestly hope that your work in India may be blessed
in further promoting this noble end, and that you may
return to us again with assurances of fraternal regard from
our distant brothers of the great Aryan family, and the
ripe wisdom that comes from reflection and added
experience and further contact with the life and thought of your
people.'
Another letter from Detroit, signed by forty-two
of his friends, said in part: 'We Western Aryans have been
so long separated from our Eastern brothers that we
had almost forgotten our identity of origin, until you came
and with your beautiful presence and matchless
eloquence rekindled within our hearts the knowledge that we
of America and you of India are one.'
Swami Vivekananda, after his strenuous work
in South India, needed rest. On the advice of friends,
he decided to travel to Calcutta by steamer. Monday,
February 15, was the date of his sailing. Several devotees
boarded the steamer to see him off, and one of them,
Professor Sundararama Iyer, asked the Swami if his mission
had achieved lasting good in America and Europe. The
Swami said: 'Not much. I hope that here and there I have sown
a seed which in time may grow and benefit some at least.'
Swami Vivekananda's lectures delivered during
his progress from Colombo to Madras were inspiring
and enthusiastic. He yearned to awaken the masses of
India from the slumber of ages. He had seen the dynamic life of
the West; he now felt more deeply the personality of
India, which only needed his fiery exhortation to assert itself
once more among the nations of the world. Again one
is reminded of Krishna's admonition to Arjuna on
the battlefield of Kurukshetra: 'In this crisis, O Arjuna,
whence comes such lowness of spirit, unbecoming to an
Aryan, dishonourable, and an obstacle to the attaining of
heaven? Do not yield to unmanliness, O Arjuna. It does not
become you. Shake off this base faint-heartedness and arise,
O scorcher of enemies!'
In his famous lecture 'My Plan of
Campaign,' delivered in Madras, he called upon the people to
assert their soul-force:
My India, arise! Where is your vital force? In your Immortal Soul. Each nation, like each individual, has one theme in this life, which is its centre, the principal note round which every other note comes to form the harmony. If any nation attempts to throw off its national vitality, the direction which has become its own through the transmission of centuries, that nation dies....In one nation political power is its vitality, as in England. Artistic life, in another, and so on. In India religious life forms the centre, the keynote of the whole music of the national life. And therefore, if you succeed in the attempt to throw off your religion and take up either politics or society, the result will be that you will become extinct. Social reform and politics have to be preached through the vitality of your religion.... Every man has to make his own choice; so has every nation. We made our choice ages ago. And it is the faith in an Immortal Soul. I challenge anyone to give it up. How can you change your nature?
He asked the Indians to stop complaining. Let
them make use of the power that lay in their hands. That
power was so great that if they only realized it and were
worthy of it, they could revolutionize the world. India was
the Ganga of spirituality. The material conquests of the
Anglo-Saxon races, far from being able to dam its current,
had helped it. England's power had united the nations of
the world; she had opened paths across the seas so that
the waves of the spirit of India might spread until they
had bathed the ends of the earth.
What was this new faith, this word that the world
was awaiting?
The other great idea that the world wants from us today — more perhaps the lower classes than the higher, more the uneducated than the educated, more the weak than the strong — is that eternal, grand idea of the spiritual oneness of the whole universe, the only Infinite Reality, that exists in you and in me and in all, in the self, in the soul. The infinite oneness of the soul — that you and I are not only brothers, but are really one — is the eternal sanction of all morality. Europe wants it today just as much as our downtrodden races do, and this great principle is even now unconsciously forming the basis of all the latest social and political aspirations that are coming up in England, in Germany, in France and in America. (Extracts from the lecture 'The Mission of the Vedanta.')
What Swami Vivekananda preached was the essence of the non-dualistic Vedanta, the deepest and the unique expression of India's spirit.
I heard once the complaint made that I was preaching too much of Advaita, absolute non-dualism, and too little of dualism. Ay, I know what grandeur, what oceans of love, what infinite, ecstatic blessings and joy there are in dualistic religion. I know it all. But this is not the time for us to weep, even in joy; we have had weeping enough; no more is this the time for us to become soft. This softness has been with us till we have become like masses of cotton. What our country now wants is muscles of iron and nerves of steel, gigantic will, which nothing can resist, which will accomplish their purpose in any fashion, even if it means going down to the bottom of the ocean and meeting death face to face. That is what we want, and that can only be created, established, and strengthened by understanding and realizing the ideal of Advaita, that ideal of the oneness of all. Faith, faith, faith in ourselves! … If you have faith in the three hundred and thirty millions of your mythological gods, and in all the gods which foreigners have introduced into your midst, and still have no faith in yourselves, there is no salvation for you. Have faith in yourselves and stand upon that faith. Why is it that we three hundred and thirty millions of people have been ruled for the last thousand years by any and every handful of foreigners? Because they had faith in themselves and we had not. I read in the newspapers how, when one of our poor fellows is murdered or ill-treated by an Englishman, howls go up all over the country; I read and I weep, and the next moment comes to my mind the question of who is responsible for it all. Not the English; it is we who are responsible for all our degradation. Our aristocratic ancestors went on treading the common masses of our country underfoot till they became helpless, till under this torment the poor, poor people nearly forgot that they were human beings. They have been compelled to be merely hewers of wood and drawers of water for centuries, so that they are made to believe that they are born as slaves, born as hewers of wood and drawers of water. (Extracts from 'The Mission of the Vedanta.')
He exhorted the leaders to cultivate the indispensable virtue of feeling for the people:
'Feel, therefore, my
would-be reformers, my would-be patriots! Do you feel? Do
you feel that millions and millions of the descendants of
gods and of sages have become next-door neighbours to
brutes? Do you feel that millions are starving today and
millions have been starving for ages? Do you feel that ignorance
has come over the land as a dark cloud? Does it make you
restless? Does it make you sleepless? Has it made you
almost mad? Are you seized with that one idea of the misery
of ruin, and have you forgotten all about your name, your
fame, your wives, your children, your property, even your
own bodies? If so, that is the first step to becoming a patriot.
For centuries people have been taught theories of
degradation. They have been told that they are nothing. The masses have
been told all over the world that they are not human
beings. They have been so frightened for centuries that they
have nearly become animals. Never were they allowed to hear
of the Atman. Let them hear of the Atman — that even the
lowest of the low have the Atman within, who never dies
and never is born — Him whom the sword cannot pierce, nor
the fire burn, nor the air dry, immortal, without beginning
or end, the all-pure, omnipotent, and omnipresent
Atman. ('Extracts from 'My Plan of Campaign.')
'Ay, let every man and woman and child,
without respect of caste or birth, weakness or strength, hear
and learn that behind the strong and the weak, behind the
high and the low, behind everyone, there is that Infinite
Soul, assuring all the infinite possibility and the infinite
capacity to become great and good. Let us proclaim to every
soul: Arise, arise, awake! Awake from this hypnotism
of weakness. None is really weak; the soul is
infinite, omnipotent, and omniscient. Stand up, assert
yourself, proclaim the God within you, do not deny
Him!' (Extracts from 'The Mission of the Vedanta.')
'It is a man-making religion that we want. It is a
man-making education all round that we want. It is
man-making theories that we want. And here is the test of truth:
Anything that makes you weak physically, intellectually,
and spiritually, reject as poison; there is no life in it, it cannot
be true. Truth is strengthening. Truth is purity, truth is all
knowledge. Truth must be strengthening, must be
enlightening, must be invigorating. Give up these weakening
mysticisms and be strong. The greatest truths are the simplest things
in the world, simple as your own existence.
'Therefore my plan is to start institutions in India
to train our young men as preachers of the truths of
our scriptures in India and outside India. Men, men — these
are wanted : everything else will be ready; but strong,
vigorous, believing young men, sincere to the backbone, are
wanted. A hundred such and the world becomes
revolutionized. The will is stronger than anything else. Everything
must go down before the will, for that comes from God: a
pure and strong will is omnipotent.'
(Extracts from 'My Plan of Campaign.')
'If the brahmin has more aptitude for learning on
the grounds of heredity than the pariah, spend no more
money on the brahmin's education, but spend all on the
pariah. Give to the weak, for there all the gift is needed. If
the brahmin is born clever, he can educate himself
without help. This is justice and reason as I understand
it.' (From 'The Mission of the Vedanta.')
'For the next fifty years let all other vain
Gods disappear from our minds. This is the only God that
is awake: our own race — everywhere His hands,
everywhere His feet, everywhere His ears, He covers everything.
All other Gods are sleeping. Why should we vainly go
after them, when we can worship the God that we see all
around us, the Virat? The first of all worships is the worship of
the Virat, of those all around us. These are all our
Gods — men and animals; and the first Gods we have to worship
are our own countrymen.' (From 'The Future of India.')
These stirring words did not fall on deaf ears.
The spirit of India vibrated to the Swami's call. India became
aware of the power of the soul — of God sleeping in
man and of His illimitable possibilities. Ramakrishna
and Vivekananda were the first awakeners of India's
national consciousness; they were India's first nationalist
leaders in the true sense of the term. Ramakrishna was the
power and Vivekananda the voice. The movement for
India's liberation started from Dakshineswar. The
subsequent political leaders of the country, consciously or
unconsciously, received their inspiration from
Vivekananda's message, and some of them openly acknowledged it.
The Bengal revolutionaries were ardent readers of
Vivekananda's books, some of which were frowned upon by
the British Government. The uplift of the masses, the
chief plank in Gandhi's platforms was Vivekananda's legacy.
Yet the militant Vivekananda was not a politician.
'Let no political significance ever be attached falsely to
my writings or sayings. What nonsense!' — he had said as
early as September 1894. A year later he wrote: 'I will
have nothing to do with political nonsense. I do not believe
in politics. God and Truth are the only politics in the
world. Everything else is trash.'
Swami Vivekananda longed for India's
political freedom; but he thought of a free India in relation to
her service to humanity. A free India would take her
rightful place in the assembly of nations and make a
vital contribution towards bringing peace and goodwill
to mankind. His message was both national and
international.
While Swami Vivekananda was enjoying the
restful boat trip from Madras to Calcutta, a reception
committee was busy preparing for him a fitting welcome in the
metropolis of India, the city of his birth. The steamer
docked at Budge Budge, and the Swami and his party arrived
by train in Calcutta on February 19, 1897. The reception
was magnificent, with an enthusiastic crowd at the
railroad station, triumphal arches, the unharnessed carriage
drawn by students, and a huge procession with music
and religious songs. A princely residence on the bank of
the Ganga was placed at the Swami's disposal.
On February 28, 1897, he was given a public
reception. Raja Benoy Krishna Deb presided, and five
thousand people jammed the meeting. As usual, the Swami
asked the people to go back to the perennial philosophy of
the Upanishads. He also paid a touching tribute to
Ramakrishna, 'my teacher, my master, my hero, my ideal,
my God in life.' 'If there has been anything achieved by
me,' he said with deep feeling, 'by thoughts or words or
deeds, if from my lips has ever fallen one word that has
ever helped anyone in the world, I lay no claim to it; it was
his. But if there have been curses falling from my lips, if
there has been hatred coming out of me, it is all mine, and
not his. All that has been weak has been mine; all that has
been life-giving, strengthening, pure, and holy has been
his inspiration, his words, and he himself. Yes, my friends,
the world has yet to know that man.' A few days after, he
gave another public lecture on 'Vedanta in All Its Phases.'
Shortly after the Swami's arrival in Calcutta
the anniversary of Sri Ramakrishna's birth was celebrated
at Dakshineswar. Accompanied by his brother disciples,
the Swami joined the festival. He walked barefoot in the
holy grounds. Deep emotions were stirred up as he visited
the temples, the Master's room, the Panchavati, and other spots
associated with the memory of Sri Ramakrishna. The
place was a sea of human heads.
The Swami said to Girish, a beloved disciple of
the Master, 'Well, what a difference between those days
and these!'
'I know,' replied Girish, 'but I have the desire to
see more.'
For a little while the Swami spent his days at
the palatial house on the river; nights, however, he spent
with his spiritual brothers at the Alambazar monastery. He
had hardly any rest. People streamed in at all times to pay
him their respects or to hear his exposition of Vedanta, or
just to see him. There were also people who came to argue
with him on scriptural matters and to test his knowledge.
But the Swami's heart was with the
educated, unmarried youths whom he could train for his future
work. He longed to infuse into their hearts some of his
own burning enthusiasm. He wanted them to become
the preachers of his 'man-making religion.' The
Swami deplored the physical weakness of Indian
youths, denounced their early marriage, and reproached them
for their lack of faith in themselves and in their national ideals.
One day a young man complained to the Swami
that he could not make progress in spiritual life. He
had worshipped images, following the advice of one
teacher, and had tried to make his mind void according to
the instruction of another, but all had been fruitless.
'Sir,' the young man said, 'I sit still in
meditation, shutting the door of my room, and keep my eyes closed
as long as I can, but I do not find peace of mind. Can
you show me the way?'
'My boy,' replied the Swami in a voice full of
loving sympathy, 'if you take my word, you will have first of
all to open the door of your room and look around, instead
of closing your eyes. There are hundreds of poor and
helpless people in your neighbourhood; you have to serve them
to the best of your ability. You will have to nurse and
procure food and medicine for the sick. You will have to feed
those who have nothing to eat. You will have to teach
the ignorant. My advice to you is that if you want peace
of mind, you shall have to serve others to the best of
your ability.'
Another day a well-known college professor, who
was a disciple of Sri Ramakrishna, said to the Swami: 'You
are talking of service, charity, and doing good to the
world; these, after all, belong to the domain of maya. Vedanta
says that the goal of man is the attainment of mukti,
liberation, through breaking the chain of maya. What is the use
of preaching about things which keep one's mind on
mundane matters?'
The Swami replied: 'Is not the idea of mukti in
the domain of maya? Does not Vedanta teach that the
Atman is ever free? Why should It, then, strive for mukti?'
He said on another occasion: 'When I used to
roam about all over India, practising spiritual disciplines.
I passed day after day in caves absorbed in meditation.
Many a time I decided to starve myself to death because I
could not attain mukti. Now I have no desire for mukti. I do
not care for it as long as a single individual in the
universe remains in bondage.'
Swami Vivekananda often used to say that
different forms of spiritual discipline were especially efficacious for
different ages. At one period it was the practice
of austerities, at another period, the cultivation of divine
love; and at a third period, it was philosophical
discrimination accompanied by renunciation. But in modern times,
he emphasized, unselfish service of others,
karma-yoga, would quickly bring spiritual results. Therefore he
advocated the discipline of selfless action. He particularly
advocated this discipline for the Indians because they
were under the spell of tamas, inertia. The Swami realized
that only after cultivating rajas would they be able to
acquire sattva and attain liberations. As regards himself, the
Swami had already known mukti through the realization of
oneness with Brahman in nirvikalpa samadhi. But by the
will of God he had brought himself down to consciousness
of the phenomenal world, and lived like a
bodhisattva, devoting himself to the welfare of humanity.
Swami Vivekananda found it most difficult to
convert some of his own brother disciples to his new conception
of religion and its discipline and method. These
brother disciples were individualists, eager for their
personal salvation. They wanted to practise austerities
and penances, enjoy peaceful meditation, and lead a quiet
life of detachment from the world. To them God was first,
and next the world. At least that was the way they
understood Sri Ramakrishna's teachings. These young monks
thought that for one who had taken the monastic vows the
world was maya; therefore all activities, including the
charitable and philanthropic, ultimately entangled one in worldly life.
But Vivekananda's thought flowed through a
different channel. Sri Ramakrishna had once admonished him
to commune with God with eyes open, that is to say, through
the service of the poor, the sick, the hungry, and
the ignorant. During his days of wandering the Swami
had seen with his own eyes the suffering of the people and
had felt the voiceless appeal of India for his help. In
America and Europe he had witnessed the material prosperity
of the people, the dynamic social life, and the general
progress made through science, technology, and organized
action. Time and again he remembered the words of
Ramakrishna: 'Religion is not for empty stomachs.'
To his brother disciples, therefore, he pointed out
that the idea of personal liberation was unworthy of those
who called themselves disciples of Ramakrishna, an
Incarnation of God. The very fact that they had received the grace of
a Saviour should have convinced them of their sure
salvation. Their duty, he emphasized, was to serve others as the
visible manifestations of God. He said that he wanted to create
a new band of monks, who would take not only the traditional vow of
personal salvation, but also a new vow of service to humanity.
The brother disciples, who respected the
superior spirituality of Vivekananda and bore him great love as
the one especially chosen by the Master to carry on his
work, obeyed him without always agreeing with him
wholeheartedly. Thus at his behest Swami
Ramakrishnananda — who had been the keeper of Sri Ramakrishna's
shrine for twelve long years after the passing away of the
Master, regarding his worship as the supreme spiritual
discipline, and had not been absent even for a single day from
the monasteries at Baranagore and Alambazar — left for
Madras to found a centre for the propagation of Vedanta in
South India. Swami Akhandananda went to Murshidabad to
carry on relief work among the famine-stricken
people there. Swamis Abhedananda and Saradananda had
already gone to America.
As for himself, Swami Vivekananda was
constantly talking to people, instructing them in the Upanishads,
and enjoining them to cultivate the inner strength that
comes from the knowledge of God residing in all human
hearts. The strain of work and the heat of the plains soon told
upon his health. At the advice of physicians he went for a
short change to Darjeeling, in the Himalayas, and felt
somewhat refreshed. Returning to Calcutta he again devoted
himself to the work of teaching.
Several young men, inspired by the Swami's
fiery words, joined the Order. Four others, who had
been practising disciplines in the monastery under the
guidance of the older Swamis while Vivekananda was abroad,
were now eager to receive the monastic initiation formally
from their great leader. His brother disciples expressed
hesitation about one of them, because of some incidents of his
past life.
This aroused Swami Vivekananda's emotion.
'What is this?' he said. 'If we shrink from sinners, who else
will save them? Besides, the very fact that someone has
taken refuge at the monastery, in his desire to lead a better
life, shows that his intentions are good, and we must help
him. Suppose a man is bad and perverted; if you cannot
change his character, why then have you put on the ochre robe
of a monk? Why have you assumed the role of teachers?'
All four received their monastic initiation.
On the day previous to this sacred ceremony
the Swami spoke to them only about the glories of renunciation
and service. He said: 'Remember, for the salvation of
his soul and for the good and happiness of many, a
sannyasin is born in the world. To sacrifice his own life for others,
to alleviate the misery of millions rending the air with
their cries, to wipe away tears from the eyes of widows,
to console the hearts of bereaved mothers, to provide
the ignorant and depressed masses with ways and means
for the struggle for existence and make them stand on
their own feet, to broadcast the teachings of the scriptures
to one and all, without distinction, for their spiritual
and material welfare, to rouse the sleeping lion of Brahman
in the hearts of all beings by the knowledge of
Vedanta — a sannyasin is born in the world.' Turning to his
brother disciples the Swami said: 'Remember, it is for
the consummation of this purpose in life that we have
taken birth, and we shall lay down our lives for it. Arise
and awake, arouse and awaken others, fulfil your mission
in life, and you will reach the highest goal.' Then
addressing the aspirants for the monastic life he said: 'You
must renounce everything. You must not seek comfort
or pleasure for yourself. You must look upon gold and
objects of lust as poison, name and fame as the vilest filth,
worldly glory as a terrible hell, pride of birth or of social
position as "sinful as drinking spirituous liquor." In order to
be teachers of your fellow men, and for the good of the
world, you will have to attain freedom through the knowledge
of the Self.'
From the following incident one can learn the
depths of the Swami's compassion. Many inmates of the
Math thought that he was not very discriminating in the choice
of his disciples. Almost anyone could obtain spiritual initiation
from him after a little supplication, and some of them
were found later to indulge in wicked actions. One of his
own monastic disciples, Swami Nirmalananda, spoke to
him about his lack of proper judgement and his inability
to understand human nature. The Swami's face became
red with emotion. He exclaimed: 'What did you say? You
think that I do not understand human nature? About
these unfortunate people I know not only all they have done
in their present lives, but also what they did in their
previous ones. I am fully aware of what they will do in the
future. Then why do I show kindness to them? These hapless
people have knocked at many doors for peace of mind and a
word of encouragement, but everywhere have been repulsed. If
I turn them down they will have no place to go.'
Another incident indicating the tender and
compassionate heart of Swami Vivekananda may be
mentioned here. One day he was engaged in teaching a disciple
the Vedas, with the abstruse commentary of
Sayanacharya, when Girish Chandra Ghosh, the great playwright
of Bengal and an intimate disciple of Sri
Ramakrishna, arrived. By way of teasing him, the Swami said,
addressing him by his familiar name: 'Well, G. C., you have spent
your whole life with Krishna and
Vishnu.1
You are quite innocent of the Vedas and other scriptures.'
Girish Chandra admitted his ignorance of
the scriptures and said, 'Hail Sri Ramakrishna, the
very embodiment of the Vedas!'
An adept in the knowledge of human nature,
Girish was well aware that Swami Vivekananda, in spite of
his preaching the austere philosophy of Vedanta, had a
heart that was tender in the extreme. He wanted to reveal
that side of the Swami's nature before the disciple, and
began to paint, in his usual poetic language, a
heart-rending picture of the afflictions of the Indian
people — the starvation of the masses, the humiliation of Hindu
women, the ill-health and general suffering of the people
everywhere. Suddenly, addressing the Swami, he said,
'Now please tell me, do your Vedas teach us how to remedy
this state of affairs?'
As the Swami listened to his friend's words, he
could hardly suppress his emotion. At last it broke all
bounds and he burst into tears.
Drawing the attention of the Swami's disciple to
the great leader, Girish Chandra said: 'Perhaps you
have always admired your teacher's intellect. Now you see
his great heart.'
On May 1, 1897, Swami Vivekananda called a
meeting of the monastic and lay devotees of Sri Ramakrishna at
the house of the Master's intimate disciple Balaram Bose,
for the purpose of establishing his work on an organized
basis. He told them that by contrasting Hindu society
with American society, he was convinced that lack of
an organizing spirit was one of the great shortcomings of
the Hindu character. Much of the intelligence and energy
of the Hindus was being expended without producing
any fruitful result. He also recalled how Buddhism had
spread both in India and abroad through Buddhist
organizations. Therefore he asked the co-operation of the monastic and
householder disciples of Sri Ramakrishna in order
to organize the educational, philanthropic, and
religious activities which he had already inaugurated, but which
had hitherto been carried out in an unsystematic way.
Further, the Swami declared that in a country like India, in its
then current state of development, it would not be wise to
form an organization on a democratic basis, where each
member had an equal voice and decisions were made according
to the vote of the majority. Democratic principles could
be followed later, when, with the spread of education,
people would learn to sacrifice individual interests and
personal prejudices for the public weal. Therefore, said the
Swami, the organization for the time being should be under
the leadership of a 'dictator,' whose authority everybody
must obey. In the fullness of time, it would come to be guided
by the opinion and consent of others. Moreover, he
himself was only acting in the capacity of a servant of the
common Master, as were they all.2
Swami Vivekananda proposed to the members
present that the Association should 'bear the name of him in
whose name we have become sannyasins, taking whom as
your ideal you are leading the life of householders, and
whose holy name, influence, and teachings have, within
twelve years of his passing away, spread in such an
unthought-of way both in the East and in the West.' All the
members enthusiastically approved of the Swami's proposal, and
the Ramakrishna Mission Association came into existence.
The aim of the Association was to spread the
truths that Ramakrishna, for the good of humanity, had
preached and taught through the example of his own life, and
to help others to put them into practice for their
physical, mental, and spiritual advancement.
The duty of the Association was to direct, in the
right spirit, the activities of the movement inaugurated by
Sri Ramakrishna for the establishment of fellowship
among the followers of different religions, knowing them all to
be so many forms of one undying Eternal Religion.
Its methods of action were to be: (a) to train men so
as to make them competent to teach such knowledge
and sciences as are conducive to the material and
spiritual welfare of the masses; (b) to promote and encourage
arts and industries; (c) to introduce and spread among
the people in general Vedantic and other ideas as
elucidated in the life of Sri Ramakrishna.
The Ramakrishna Mission Association was to
have two departments of action: Indian and foreign. The
former, through retreats and monasteries established in
different parts of India, would train such monks and
householders as might be willing to devote their lives to the teaching
of
others. The latter would send trained members of the
Order to countries outside India to start centres there for
the preaching of Vedanta in order to bring about a
closer relationship and better understanding between India
and foreign countries.
The aims and ideals of the Ramakrishna
Mission Association, being purely spiritual and humanitarian,
were to have no connexion with politics.
Swami Vivekananda must have felt a great
inner satisfaction after the establishment of the Association.
His vision of employing religion, through head, heart,
and hands, for the welfare of man was realized. He found
no essential conflict among science, religion, art, and
industry. All could be used for the worship of God. God could
be served as well through His diverse manifestations
as through the contemplation of His non-dual aspect.
Further, as the great heart of Ramakrishna had embraced all
of mankind with its love, so also the Ramakrishna
Mission was pledged to promote brotherhood among
different faiths, since their harmony constituted the Eternal Religion.
Swami Vivekananda, the General President,
made Brahmananda and Yogananda the President and the
Vice-president of the Calcutta centre. Weekly meetings
were organized at Balaram's house to discuss the
Upanishads, the Bhagavad Gita, the Vedanta scriptures, and
religious subjects in general.3
Even now Swami Vivekananda could not
completely convince some of his brother disciples about his new
conception of religion, namely, the worship of God
through the service of man. They had heard Sri Ramakrishna
speak time and again against preaching, excessive study of
the scriptures, and charitable activities, and exhort aspirants
to intensify their love of God through prayer and meditation
in solitude. Therefore they regarded Vivekananda's activities
in the West as out of harmony with the Master's teachings.
One of them said bluntly to the Swami, 'You did not preach
our Master in America; you only preached yourself.' The
Swami retorted with equal bluntness, 'Let people understand me
first; then they will understand Sri Ramakrishna.'
On one occasion Swami Vivekananda felt that
some of these brother disciples wanted to create a narrow sect
in the name of Ramakrishna and turn the Ramakrishna
Math into a cult of the Temple, where the religious
activities would centre around devotional music, worship, and
prayer alone. His words burst upon them like a
bomb-shell. He asked them how they knew that his ideas were not
in keeping with those of Sri Ramakrishna. 'Do you want,'
he said, 'to shut Sri Ramakrishna, the embodiment of
infinite ideas, within your own limits? I shall break these
limits and scatter his ideas broadcast all over the world. He
never enjoined me to introduce his worship and the like.'
Had it not been demonstrated to Vivekananda
time and again that Sri Ramakrishna was behind him in all
his actions? He knew that through the Master's grace
alone he had come out triumphant from all ordeals, whether
in the wilderness of India or in the busy streets of Chicago.
'Sri Ramakrishna,' the Swami continued, 'is far
greater than the disciples understand him to be. He is
the embodiment of infinite spiritual ideas capable of
development in infinite ways....One glance of his gracious
eyes can create a hundred thousand Vivekanandas at
this instant. If he chooses now, instead, to work through
me, making me his instrument, I can only bow to his will.'
Vivekananda took great care lest sentimentalism
and narrowness in one form or another should creep in, for
he detested these from the bottom of his heart.
But things came to a climax one day at
Balaram's house in Calcutta, when Swami Yogananda, a
brother disciple whom Sri Ramakrishna had pointed out
as belonging to his 'inner circle' of devotees, said that
the Master had emphasized bhakti alone for spiritual
seekers and that philanthropic activities, organizations, homes
of service for the public good, and patriotic work were
the Swami's own peculiar ideas, the result of his
Western education and travel in Europe and America.
The Swami at first retorted to his brother with a
sort of rough humour. He said: 'What do you know? You
are an ignorant man....What do you understand of
religion? You are only good at praying with folded hands: "O
Lord! how beautiful is Your nose! How sweet are Your eyes!"
and all such nonsense....And you think your salvation
is secured and Sri Ramakrishna will come at the final
hour and take you by the hand to the highest heaven!
Study, public preaching, and doing humanitarian works
are, according to you, maya, because he said to someone,
"Seek and find God first; doing good to the world is a
presumption!" As if God is such an easy thing to be achieved! As
if He is such a fool as to make Himself a plaything in
the hands of an imbecile!
'You think you have understood Sri
Ramakrishna better than myself! You think jnana is dry knowledge to
be attained by a desert path, killing out the tenderest
faculties of the heart! Your bhakti is sentimental nonsense
which makes one impotent. You want to preach Sri
Ramakrishna as you have understood him, which is mighty little!
Hands off! Who cares for your Ramakrishna? Who cares for
your bhakti and mukti? Who cares what your scriptures say?
I will go into a thousand hells cheerfully if I can rouse
my countrymen, immersed in tamas, to stand on their own
feet and be men inspired with the spirit of
karma-yoga. I
am not a follower of Ramakrishna or anyone, but of him
only who serves and helps others without caring for his
own bhakti and mukti!'
The Swami's voice was choked with emotion, his
body shook, and his eyes flashed fire. Quickly he went to
the next room. A few moments later some of his brother
disciples entered the room and found him absorbed
in meditation, tears flowing from his half-closed eyes.
After nearly an hour the Swami got up, washed his face,
and joined his spiritual brothers in the drawing-room.
His features still showed traces of the violent storm
through which he had just passed; but he had recovered
his calmness. He said to them softly:
'When a man attains bhakti, his heart and
nerves become so soft and delicate that he cannot bear even
the touch of a flower!...I cannot think or talk of Sri
Ramakrishna long without being overwhelmed. So I am
always trying to bind myself with the iron chains of jnana, for
still my work for my motherland is unfinished and my
message to the world not fully delivered. So as soon as I find
that those feelings of bhakti are trying to come up and
sweep me off my feet, I give a hard knock to them and make
myself firm and adamant by bringing up austere jnana. Oh, I
have work to do! I am a slave of Ramakrishna, who left his
work to be done by me and will not give me rest till I
have finished it. And oh, how shall I speak of him? Oh, his
love for me!'
He was again about to enter into an ecstatic
mood, when Swami Yogananda and the others changed
the conversation, took him on the roof for a stroll, and tried
to divert his mind by small talk. They felt that
Vivekananda's inmost soul had been aroused, and they remembered
the Master's saying that the day Naren knew who he was,
he would not live in this body. So from that day the
brother disciples did not again criticize the Swami's
method, knowing fully well that the Master alone was
working through him.
From this incident one sees how Vivekananda, in
his inmost heart, relished bhakti, the love of God. But in
his public utterances he urged the Indians to keep
their emotionalism under control; he emphasized the study
of Vedanta, because he saw in it a sovereign tonic to
revivify them. He further prescribed for his countrymen
both manual and spiritual work, scientific research, and
service to men. Vivekananda's mission was to infuse energy
and faith into a nation of 'dyspeptics' held under the spell
of their own sentimentality. He wished in all fields of
activity to awaken that austere elevation of spirit which
arouses heroism.
As with his Master, the natural tendency of
Vivekananda's mind was to be absorbed in contemplation of
the Absolute. Again, like Sri Ramakrishna, he had to
bring down his mind forcibly to the consciousness of the
world in order to render service to men. Thus he kept a
balance between the burning love of the Absolute and
the irresistible appeal of suffering humanity. And what
makes Swami Vivekananda the patriot saint of modern India
and at the same time endears him so much to the West is that
at the times when he had to make a choice between the
two, it was always the appeal of suffering humanity that
won the day. He cheerfully sacrificed the bliss of samadhi
to the amelioration of the suffering of men. The Swami's
spirit acted like a contagion upon his brother disciples. One
of them, Akhandananda, as stated before, fed and nursed
the sufferers from famine at Murshidabad, in Bengal;
another, Trigunatita, in 1897 opened a famine-relief centre
at Dinajpur. Other centres were established at
Deoghar, Dakshineswar and Calcutta.
Swami Vivekananda was overjoyed to see the
happy beginning of his work in India. To Mary Hale he wrote
on July 9, 1897:
Only one idea was burning in my brain — to
start the machine for elevating the Indian masses, and
that I have succeeded in doing to a certain extent.
It would have made your heart glad to see
how my boys are working in the midst of famine and disease and
misery — nursing by the mat-bed of
the cholera-stricken pariah and feeding the
starving chandala, and the Lord sends help to me, to them,
to all....He is with me, the Beloved, and He was when
I was in America, in England, when I was roaming about unknown from
place to place in India. What
do I care about what they say?4
The babies — they do
not know any better. What? I, who have realized the
Spirit, and the vanity of all earthly nonsense, to be
swerved from my path by babies' prattle? Do I look like
that?...I feel my task is done — at most three or four years
more of life are left....I have lost all wish for my salvation.
I never wanted earthly enjoyments. I must see my machine in strong
working
order, and then,
knowing for sure that I have put in a lever for the good
of humanity, in India at least which no power can
drive back, I will sleep without caring what will be next.
And may I be born again and again, and
suffer thousands of miseries, so that I may worship the only
God that exists, the only God I believe in, the
sum total of all souls. And above all, my God the
wicked, my God the miserable, my God the poor of all
races, of all species, is the especial object of my worship.