That was a great hour indeed, when he spoke of Buddha; for, catching a word that seemed to identify him with its anti-Brahminical spirit, an uncomprehending listener said, "Why, Swami, I did not know that you were a Buddhist!" "Madam," he said rounding on her, his whole face aglow with the inspiration of that name: "I am the servant of the servants of the servants of Buddha. Who was there ever like Him? — the Lord — who never performed one action for Himself — with a heart that embraced the whole world! So full of pity that He — prince and monk — would give His life to save a little goat! So loving that He sacrificed Himself to the hunger of a tigress! — to the hospitality of a pariah and blessed him l And He came into my room when I was a boy and I fell at His feet! For I knew it was the Lord Himself!"
Many times he spoke of Buddha in this fashion, sometimes at Belur and sometimes afterwards. And once he told us the story of Ambapali, the beautiful courtesan who feasted Him, in words that recalled the revolt of Rossetti's great half-sonnet of Mary Magdalene: _x000d_
0 loose me! Seest thou not my Bridegroom's face,_x000d_
That draws me to Him? For His feet my kiss, _x000d_
My hair, my tears, He craves today: — And oh! _x000d_
What words can tell what other day and place _x000d_
Shall see me clasp those blood-stained feet of His? _x000d_
He needs me, calls me, loves me, let me go