Then they started for Almora, on their way to Badrikashrama. They determined to do the whole distance on foot, without a pice, "eating what chance might bring". While on the way, the Swami asked Akhandananda to go by the foot path, and said that he would go by a short-cut through the forest alone, and meet him later. On the third day they stopped for the night under an old peepul tree, where the Koshi met another mountain river named Suial. This place, known as Kakrighat, is about fourteen and a half miles from Almora by road. The Swami said to his companion, "This place is charming. What a wonderful spot for meditation!" After bathing in the river, the Swami sat under the tree, absorbed in deep meditation for a long time. Later, returning to normal consciousness, he said to Akhandananda: "Oh, Gangadhar! I have just passed through one of the greatest moments of my life. Here under this peepul tree one of the greatest problems of my life has been solved: I have found the oneness of the macrocosm with the microcosm. In this microcosm of the body everything that is there (in the macrocosm), exists. I have seen the whole universe within an atom." For that whole day the Swami was in a high state of mind and discussed his realization with his companion.

The Swami lived for a few days at the house of Lala Badri Sah, and then left his devoted host and beloved fellow monks. Finding a solitary cave above a mountain village, he entered it to perform the most severe forms of spiritual practice day and night. He determined to find Truth. And there in the silence, with no one to disturb his meditation, he had higher and higher spiritual illuminations until his face shone with a celestial fire. And then, at the very climax of all his spiritual exercises, instead of abiding in the ultimate of personal bliss which he expected to do, he felt the impetus to work, and this, as it were, forced him out from his spiritual practice. About this strange period through which the Swami passed.

The fragments he wrote in Bengali in his notebook then, read:_x000d_ In the beginning was the Word etc._x000d_ The microcosm and the macrocosm are built on the same plan. Just as the individual soul is encased in the living body, so is the universal Soul in the Living Prakriti (Nature)-the objective universe. Shiva (i.e. Kali] is embracing Shiva: this is not a fancy. This covering of the one [Soul] by the other [Nature] is analogous to the relation between an idea and the word expressing it: they are one and the same; and it is only by a mental abstraction that one can distinguish them. Thought is impossible without words. Therefore, in the beginning was the Word etc._x000d_ This dual aspect of the Universal Soul is eternal. So what we perceive or feel is this combination of the Eternally Formed and the Eternally Formless._x000d_ This realization of his seems to be reflected in the lectures he later on gave in the West under the title, "Cosmos-the Macrocosm and the Microcosm".

When the monks were about two miles from Almora, having gone for many hours without food, they sat down on the road side opposite a Muslim cemetery. The Swami almost fainted with hunger, and sank to the ground from sheer exhaustion. Akhandananda went to fetch water at a distance. The keeper of the cemetery, a fakir named Zulfikar Ali, lived in a hut near by. Happening to see the plight of the Swami, he offered him a cucumber, which was the only thing in the shape of food that he could provide. The Swami asked the fakir to put the cucumber into his mouth, saying that he was too weak to do so himself. The man remonstrated, saying, "Holy sir, I am a Muslim!" "That does not matter at all," said the Swami with a smile; "are we not all brothers?" After having been fed by the fakir, the Swami felt refreshed. Speaking of this incident, he used to say, "The man really saved my life: I had never felt so exhausted."1

Seven years later, when he visited Almora again as the world famous Swami Vivekananda, he was given a grand reception, and taken in procession through the town. As this was going on, the Swami happened to see the fakir peering at him from the crowd. The fakir had forgotten the Swami, but the latter recognized him at once. Telling those who were with him of the above incident when the man had practically saved his life, the Swami gave him some money in token of his grateful remembrance._x000d_ The long journey from the plains to Almora had been more than interesting. Amid the stillness and beauty of the hills the Swami found a quietude of heart and mind that he had rarely known before. The mountain air invigorated him; and in spite of physical weariness caused by the long trek and the want of food, this first part of his tour in the Himalayas was for him the acme of happiness.

The two monks arrived in Almora just before the end of August 1890. Akhandananda took the Swami to the garden of Amba Dutt, and went to inform Saradananda and Kripananda (Vaikunthanath Sannyal, a lay disciple of the Master) of their arrival. These two brother-disciples had been in the Himalayas for some time, and the Swami had written to them in July from Calcutta. When they learnt of the Swami's arrival, they, along with their host Lala Badri Sah, hastened to Amba Dutt's garden. They were half way to the place when they met the Swami himself coming to see them. Lala Badri Sah welcomed the Swami, and took him to his house.

Here the Swami had a long discussion with one Shri Krishna Joshi, the Sheristadar (a Government official), on the need of becoming a sannyasi. He spoke of the glory of the life of renunciation, which to his mind was the ideal of all religions. He presented his arguments eloquently, backed up by reference to his personal experience. The gentleman was struck with the young monk's learning, and bowed down before him. During this visit, at the persistent request of the local people, the Swami relieved a man possessed by a demi-god.

Akhandananda said in later years: "It seemed as though every time the Swami desired to retire into the life of silence and pure monasticism, he was compelled to give it up by the pressure of circumstances. He had a mission to fulfil, and the very essence of his nature would force him into the realization of this line of work."

After spending some days in this manner, the Swami returned to Badri Sah's house, where tragic news awaited him. A tele¬gram had come from his brother telling of the suicide of one of his sisters. A letter which followed gave the details. This caused the Swami great anguish of heart; yet even in this grief he saw other realities. Through this perspective of personal woe he seems to have been rudely awakened to the great problems of Indian womanhood.

They came to know that the road leading to Badrikashrama and Kedarnath had been closed by the Government on account of famine in that part. This made the Swami cancel his plan of going to Badrikashrama, and the party proceeded towards Srinagar in Garhwal State. The water falls, streams, wild forests, and the peace and solitude of these parts, with occasional glimpses of the eternal snows, gladdened the Swami's heart.

At Rudraprayag, on their way, they met a Bengali monk, Purnananda by name, with whom they spent the night. Here the Swami and Akhandananda again had an attack of fever, this time worse than before; but fortunately, they met the Sadar Amin (a Government official), named Badri Dutt Joshi, who was on tour and had camped there. Seeing the suffering of the two monks he gave them some Ayurvedic medicines, and when they were sufficiently improved, sent them by Dandi (a chair-like device carried on the shoulders of coolies) to Srinagar, nine miles off, where they gradually recovered. Begging their food, meditating, having religious discussions, and in spite of recurring illness, they had yet covered the 120 miles from Almora in a little over two weeks.

At Srinagar the monks dismissed the coolies and took up their abode in a lonely hut on the banks of the Alakananda river, in which Swami Turiyananda had once lived. Here they stayed about a month and a half, living on Madhukari (food procured by begging from house to house, rather as a bee collects honey from different flowers). During these travels and specially here, the Swami instructed his brother-disciples in the Upanishads. The days passed happily in prayer, meditation and scriptural study. At Srinagar the Swami met a schoolmaster, a Vaishya by caste, who was a recent convert to Christianity. So eloquently did the Swami speak to him of the glories of Hinduism that he longed to return to the Hindu fold. He became greatly attached to the monks and often entertained them in his house.

At Tehri they found two rooms specially built for wandering monks, in a deserted garden. Here on the bank of the Ganga they lived by begging, and spent most of their time in spiritual practices. They became acquainted with Babu Raghunath Bhattacharya, the Dewan of the Tehri State and an elder brother of Pandit Haraprasad Shastri of Calcutta. At his request the Swami stayed with him for a few days. The Swami was very eager to find a suitable place for meditation on the bank of the Ganga. The Dewan offered to help, and had a hut built for them at Ganeshprayag, at the confluence of the Ganga and Vilangana rivers. But Akhandananda had a severe relapse of bronchitis. The local physician examined him and advised him to go to the plains, since the mountain air was not suiting his health and winter was approaching. Though everything was settled for going to Ganeshprayag, the Swami immediately changed his plans and went at once to the Dewan to explain the reason for the change. He said that he would avail himself of the latter's kindness sometime in the future. The Dewan gave him a letter of introduction to the Civil Surgeon of Dehra Dun, and provided two ponies to take the Swami and Akhandananda to Mussoorie, and money for their expenses on the way. So, for the sake of his brother-disciple, whom Shri Ramakrishna had entrusted to his care, the Swami set out for Dehra Dun with his three brother-disciples, after some 15 or 20 days' stay at Tehri.

Leaving Tehri, the monks went to Rajpur via Mussoorie. Near Rajpur, some six miles from the broad valley, they were surprised to see a sannyasi walking near them. He looked like Turiyananda. When they went closer they cried out together, "Yes, it is Hari." There was great rejoicing at this unexpected meeting with their beloved brother-disciple.

They all went down to Dehra Dun, where Akhandananda was taken to have his chest examined by Dr. Maclaren, the Civil Surgeon, to whom the Swami had brought the letter of introduction. The patient was found to be suffering from a slight attack of bronchitis. The doctor advised him not to return to the hills, but to live in the plains, taking precautions and having medical treatment.

From Srinagar they moved to Tehri. As they went they reached a village when it was quite dark. They were hungry and thoroughly exhausted, since they had not been able to get anything on the way. They took shelter in a dilapidated rest house, and went into the village in search of food; but the villagers did not respond in spite of repeated calls. There is a saying: "There's no giver like a Garhwali (a resident of Garhwal) ; but he does not give anything unless he is threatened with a stick." Akhandananda remembered this; so, waving their staffs and shouting at the top of their voices, they threatened the villagers until food was brought. The monks had begged mildly at first, but that had not worked. Now the villagers meekly came forward with foodstuffs and placed them before the monks.

While they were searching for another place, they fortunately met one Hridaybabu, a class mate of the Swami in the General Assembly's Institution in Calcutta. He was a Christian convert, and employed as a school teacher. He willingly agreed to accommodate Akhandananda in his house; but Akhandananda, so long accustomed to Hindu modes of life, revolted against the Christian ways in this friend's house. He therefore returned to the previous house to live with his brother-monks.

The Swami again went about the town in search of a suitable place, enquiring at many houses and saying, "My brother-disciple is ill. Can you give him a little space in your house and arrange for suitable diet for him?" He received cold replies and excuses. At last Pandit Ananda Narayan, a Kashmiri Brahmin and a pleader of the town, took charge of the sick monk. He rented a small house for him and provided suitable diet and warm clothing.

At Hridaybabu's house, the Swami once had a hot discussion with some Christian preachers. The Swami spoke to them of the higher criticism of the Bible, something they had never heard of. The Christian missionaries could not withstand the force of his arguments and left the place. The Swami afterwards begged his Christian friend to excuse him for conducting such a discussion in his house against the Christian faith.

The Swami was much impressed with Badri Sah's devotion and hospitality, and remarked that he had rarely seen a devotee like him. After staying at his house for a few days, the Swami longed to go into Garhwal, which would be wilder country and further into the Himalayas, in order to practise spiritual disciplines. His inner predicament was a peculiar one: a mingling of the domestic and the monastic consciousness: but the latter prevailed. He left Almora for Garhwal on September 5, with Saradananda, Akhandananda, Kripananda and a coolie to carry their load. On the way to Badrikashrama the party reached Karnaprayag, where they were nicely entertained by a doctor of the Government hospital. Saradananda and Kripananda had severe stomach trouble, but fortunately it was soon put right with the help of the doctor.

The Swami remained in Dehra Dun for about three weeks, and then, advising Akhandananda to go to a friend's house at Allahabad, and leaving Kripananda to look after him, left for Hrishikesh with the others. Kripananda joined them later, when Akhandananda left for Saharanpur on his way to Allaha-bad. At Saharanpur Akhandananda's host Bankubihari Chat-terjee, a pleader, advised him to go to Meerut instead of Allahabad, to the house of his friend, Dr: Trailokyanath Ghosh, the Assistant Civil Surgeon. Akhandananda accordingly went with a letter of introduction to Meerut and was under this doctor's treatment for a month and a half.

Hrishikesh, where the Swami now found himself again, is a place hallowed by Hindu legend and story. It is a picturesque spot-and was then a secluded one, situated at the foot of the Himalayas, in a valley surrounded by hills and half circled by the Ganga. The whole place is monastic; the very air is pure and holy. Thousands of Yogis and sannyasis of diverse sects assemble there every year to spend the winter in reading the scriptures and practising Yoga and meditation. In those days it was almost a jungle. Here and there were thatched cottages put up by the sadhus to live in. The Swami and his brother-disciples lived for some time in a hut erected by themselves, near the temple of Chandeshwar Mahadev. They lived by begging. Again the Swami wanted to engage in severe spiritual practices, but before he could plunge into them he fell ill.

One day his brother-disciples had gone into the jungle to cut bamboo, in order to enlarge their hut. When they returned they found that the Swami had high fever and diphtheria. He grew worse and worse until his brethren became extremely fearful. His pulse sank low as time went on, and his body became cold. Then his pulse seemed to have stopped: it appeared that his last moments had come. He lay unconscious on a couple of rough blankets laid on the ground. His brothers; overwhelmed with grief and anxiety, did not know what to do. They lost all hope and started to weep. In those days no medical attention could be had there. Turiyananda chanted some hymns. While they were in this predicament, a sadhu, clad in a woollen blanket, came from somewhere near and said, "Why are you all weeping?" He took from his wallet some honey and some powdered peepu(, and mixing them together, forced the medicine into the Swami's mouth. This seemed to be the one remedy, a godsend to be sure. Soon after, the Swami regained consciousness and his body became warm._x000d_ _x000d_ After a while he opened his eyes and attempted to speak. One of the brother-disciples put his ear near the Swami's mouth and heard the words: "Cheer up, my boys. I shall not die." Gradually he recovered: Later he told them that, during that apparently unconscious state, he had seen that he had a particular mission in the world to fulfil, and that until he had accomplished that mission, he would have no rest. Indeed, his brother-disciples noticed such a superabundant spiritual energy welling up in him that it seemed that he could hardly contain it. He was restless to find a proper field for its expression._x000d_ _x000d_ The experience that the brother-disciples went through on this occasion made them realize what the Swami was to them. The Master had left them: if he also should die, what would become of the Order? Where would they be? Without him, they would be alone in the world, and the world would be a wilderness.

In the meantime, Babu Raghunath Bhattacharya, the Dewan of Tehri State, along with the Maharaja of Tehri, passed through Hrishikesh on his way to Ajmer. He learnt of the illness of a Bengali Swami. Guessing that this must be the sadhu who had recently been his guest at Tehri, the Dewan went to see him. He advised the Swami to go to a particular Hakim (Mohammedan doctor) in Delhi, and gave him a letter of introduction. He also gave the party some money for the repair of their hut.

From Hrishikesh the Swami went alone to Hardwar for hard spiritual practice. Brahmananda was at this time engaged in spiritual practices at Kankhal Hearing of the arrival of the Swami, he came to see him at Hardwar. Later on the other brother-disciples at Hrishikesh joined them at Hardwar. Then they went together to Saharanpur, and stayed at the house of Bankubihari Chatterjee. Here they learnt that Akhandananda had gone to Meerut; so they immediately set out for that place.

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