One morning at the beginning of February 1891, the Swami alighted at Alwar railway station. Walking along the road, fringed with gardens and verdant fields, and passing a row of fine houses, he arrived at the State dispensary. A Bengali gentleman, Gurucharan Laskar, was standing there: he proved to be the doctor in charge. The Swami enquired in Bengali whether there was a place where sannyasis could put up. The doctor, impressed by the remarkable appearance of the monk, bowed low before him, and joyfully accompanied him to the bazaar where he showed him a room above one of the shops. "This is for sannyasis, sir," he said: "Will you make yourself comfortable here for the present?". . . "Gladly!" responded the Swami. After seeing to the Swami's immediate needs, the doctor hastened to the house of a Muslim friend, a teacher of Urdu and Persian in the High School, and said, "O Moulavi Sahib! A Bengali dervish [wandering sadhu] has just arrived. Come immediately and see him. I have never seen such a Mahatma [great soul] before! Please talk with him while I finish my work, and I shall join you presently." Both hurried to the bazaar. Taking their shoes off, they entered the bare room in which the Swami had arranged his belongings, consisting of a few books tied up in a blanket, a piece of yellow cloth, a Kamandalu, and a staff. They saluted him with reverence._x000d_ The Swami called the Moulavi Sahib to his side and dis-coursed with much love on religious matters. Of the Koran, he said, "There is one thing very remarkable about the Koran. Even to this day, it exists as it was found eleven hundred years ago. It retains its pristine purity and is free from interpolations."_x000d_ Gurucharan, on returning to his dispensary, spoke to every-one of the "great monk" who had come. The Moulavi likewise informed his Muslim friends. Soon a concourse of people had gathered. The Swami's room and the verandas were crowded. His discourse was interspersed with Urdu songs, Hindi Bha-jana, Bengali Kirtana, and with songs of those great devotees, Vidyapati, Chandidas and Ramprasad. Sometimes he recited from the Vedas and Upanishads, or from the Bible, or from the Puranas. He illustrated his teaching of the scriptures with inspiring stories from the lives of Buddha, Shankara, Ramanuja, Guru Nanak, Chaitanya, Tulsidas, Kabir, Ramakrishna and others.

In a few days the number of devotees and admirers had be-come so great that it was arranged for him to stay at the house of Pandit Shambhunathji, a retired engineer of Alwar State. Here the Swami was able to regulate his life. He remained alone in meditation from early morning until nine, when he emerged from his room to find some twenty or thirty people of all castes, creeds and classes awaiting him. Some were Sunnis and Shahs of the Muslim fold, some were Shaivites and Vaishna¬vites; some were men of wealth and position and learning, while others were illiterate and poor. The Swami treated them all alike and answered their questions until noon. They were free to ask him what they liked. If one of them asked an irrelevant question, such as "Maharaj, to what caste does your body belong?", even while he was explaining a metaphysical point, he would immediately reply without vexation, "It is Kayastha!" Some monks would have evaded a direct reply, hoping to be taken for a Brahmin; but the Swami was above all thought of caste. Or another would ask him, "Sir, why do you wear Gerua [ochre cloth]?" He would reply, "Because it is the garb of beggars. Poor people would ask me for alms if I were to wear white clothes. Being a beggar myself, most times I do not have even a single pice to give them. It causes me pain to have to refuse one who begs of me. But seeing my ochre cloth, they understand that I also am a beggar. They would not think of begging from a beggar." This is an original and touching reason for wearing the sannyasi's robe. The popular explanation is, "Without Bhek [distinguishing garb of renunciation], no Bhiksha [alms] is to be had."

Sometimes, when the talk centred on Mother-worship, he would be so overwhelmed that he could say nothing but "Mother! Mother!" His chanting of the Mother's name, in a voice at first loud and full, would gradually become softer and softer as though it were travelling with his soul far, far off. Finally it would die away, and the Swami with eyes closed would shed tears of joy, showing how close his communion with the Mother was. The devotees would share in his ecstasy and, with tears of joy, would cry out, "Jai Ma Kali! Jai Ma Kali!" Then the Swami would begin to sing, and it seemed as though a spring of divine love were welling up within his heart, carrying the devotees in its flow. In the afternoon, and particularly in the evening, the same transports would attend the song and prayer and conversation. Often many of those present would join the Swami in devotional singing. Sometimes, to ease the strain occasioned by metaphysical discourse and religious fervour, he would speak on the history of different countries, and also on the manners and customs peculiar to them in a way that would send his audience into roars of laughter.

Rajputana! What memories of heroes and chivalry the very name awakens! The Indian heart throbs at the mention of it. In Rajputana, Indian history is condensed, as it were. Here reigned dynasty upon dynasty of those Rajput princes who defied even Akbar; here were women each of whom was as a queen. And Alwar is the pearl of Rajputana: surrounded by hills, and with a back-drop of rugged peaks in the distant west, it is lovely to look on. The palaces are of marble; the land is fertile; and the landscape pleasing.

On some days the Swami would sing of Shri Krishna's Vrindavan life. As he sang, tears would flow down the cheeks of both the Swami and the audience. Some of those present would feel: "Oh, he [the Swami] is enjoying the vision of Shri Krishna! Oh, how his singing carries away our hearts!" Finally the Swami's voice would become choked with intensity of feeling and his body motionless; his face would evince an un-speakable sweetness, radiant with the love of God. Someone present once remarked, "His face looked like that of a Gopi, ecstatic with love for Krishna." Before singing a Bengali song, the Swami would explain its meaning to them, and dictate the words so that these could be taken down in Devanagari script and committed to memory. The Rajasthanis are mostly devo-tees of Shri Krishna; hence his singing of Krishna to them.

Days slipped by in this manner: sense of time was almost lost. Sometimes the meetings would continue until midnight. Everyone became attached to the Swami, and each thought himself the Swami's favourite. He initiated some, giving them Mantras.

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

Some time later Major Ramchandraji, the Dewan to the Maharaja of Alwar, chanced to hear of the Swami's presence in the city, and invited him to his house. On better acquaintance he came to feel that the Swami would be a good influence on the Maharaja, Mangal Singhji, who had become much anglicized in thought and manners. He wrote to the Maharaja, who was at that time living in a palace two or three miles away, saying, "A great sadhu with a stupendous knowledge of English is here." The very next day the Maharaja came to the Dewan's house, where he met the Swami and bowed down before him, at the same time urging him to be seated. This was according to the Hindu tradition, which requires even princes to show respect to the sannyasi.

The Maharaja opened the conversation by saying, "Well, Swamiji Maharaj, I hear that you are a great scholar. You can easily earn a handsome sum of money every month. Why then do you go about begging?" The Swami replied with a home thrust: "Maharaja, tell me why you spend your time constantly in the company of Westerners, go on shooting excursions, and neglect your duties to the State?" Those present were taken aback. "What a bold sadhu! He will repent of this; they thought. But the Maharaja took it calmly; and after a little thought replied, "I cannot say why, but no doubt because I like to." "Well, for the same reason I wander about as a beggar", rejoined the Swami.

The next question the Maharaja asked was, "Well, Swamiji Maharaj, I have no faith in idol-worship. What is going to be my fate?" He smiled as he spoke. The Swami seemed slightly annoyed and exclaimed, "Surely you are joking." "No, Swamiji, not at all. You see, I really cannot worship wood, earth, stone or metal, like other people. Does this mean that I shall fare worse in the life hereafter?" The Swami answered, "Well, I suppose every man should follow the religious ideal according to his own faith." The devotees of the Swami were perplexed at this reply, for they knew that the Swami sanctioned image worship. But the Swami had not finished; his eyes lighted on a picture of the Maharaja which was hanging on the wall. At his desire it was passed to him. Holding it in his hand he asked, "Whose picture is this?" The Dewan answered, "It is the likeness of our Maharaja." A moment later they trembled with fear when they heard the Swami commanding the Dewan: "Spit on it." He continued: "Any one of you may spit on it. What is it but a piece of paper? What objection can you have against doing so?"_x000d_ The Dewan was thunderstruck, and alt eyes glanced in fear and. awe from Prince to monk, from monk to Prince. But the Swami continued to insist, "Spit on it, I say. Spit on it." _x000d_ The Dewan cried out, "What, Swamiji! What are you asking me to do? This is the likeness of our Maharaja! How can I do such a thing?" "Be it so," said the Swami; "but the Maharaja is not bodily present in this photograph. This is only a piece of paper. It does not contain his bones and flesh and blood. It does not speak or behave or move in any way as the Maharaja does; yet all of you refuse to spit on it, because you see in this photo the shadow of the Maharaja. Indeed, in spitting on the photo, you feel that you insult your master, the Prince himself." Turning to the Maharaja he continued, "See, Your Highness; though this is not you in one sense, in another sense it is you. That was why your devoted servants were so perplexed when I asked them to spit on it. It is a shadow of you; it brings you into their minds. One glance at it makes them see you in it; therefore they look at it with as much respect as they would have in looking at your own person. Thus it also is with the devotees who worship stone and metal images of gods and goddesses. It is because an image brings to their minds their Ishta, or some special form and attributes of the Divinity, and helps them to concentrate, that the devotees worship God in an image. They do not worship the stone or the metal as such. I have travelled in many places, but nowhere have I found a single Hindu worshipping an image, saying, `O Stone, I worship Thee. O Metal, be merciful to me.' Everyone, Maharaja, is worshipping the same one God who is the Supreme Spirit, the Soul of Pure Knowledge. And God appears to all according to their understanding and their representation of Him. Prince, I speak For myself. Of course, I cannot speak for you."_x000d_ Mangal Singh, who had been listening attentively all this time, said, with folded hands, "Swamiji, I must admit that ._x000d_ Looking at image worship in the light you have thrown on it, I have never yet met anyone who worshipped stone, or wood, or metal. Before this I did not understand its meaning. You have opened my eyes. But what will be my fate? Have mercy on me." The Swami answered, "O Prince, none but God can be merciful to anyone; and He is ever merciful! Pray to Him. He will show His mercy to you."

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

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

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

The Swami's personality endeared him to everyone. There was a Brahmin boy who often came to him and who loved him as a disciple loves his master. He was of the age when he should have been invested with the sacred thread, but he lacked the means. When the Swami heard of this he could not rest. He spoke to the well-to-do among his devotees, "I have one thing to beg of you. Here is a Brahmin boy who is too poor to meet the expenses of his Upanayana [sacred thread ceremony]. As householders it is your duty to help him. Try to raise a sub¬scription on his behalf. It is not proper for a Brahmin boy of his age not to know the obligatory religious duties of his caste. Moreover, it will be very good of you if you can provide for his education also." The devotees hastened to raise the necessary money. The Swami left shortly after this, but one can see from the letter which he wrote from Mount Abu on April 30, 1891, to his disciple Govinda Sahay at Alwar, that he did not forget the matter.

One day the Swami asked the devotees whether there were any sadhus (holy men) in the neighbourhood. On being in-formed of an old Brahmachari who lived at some distance, he went to see him in the company of some admirers. But this old man was a Vaishnava with a violent dislike of monks of the Vedantic school; for as soon as the Swami entered, he began, in a fanatical outburst, to criticize the sannyasi life and the wearing of the ochre cloth. The Swami did not react, but simply asked to be taught something about God and religion. The Brahmachari, finding his purpose defeated, said, "Well, let that go. I have no anger against you. Have something to eat." The Swami respectfully declined, saying that he had had his food just before coming. The old man again grew furious and cried out, "Get away." The Swami bowed down before him and took leave. Emerging from the Brahmachari's Ashrama, the Swami laughed, saying, "Oh! what a peculiar saint you have shown me! What a grumpy old man!" He laughed more and more imitating the old man's way of speaking; and the Swami's companions joined in the fun.

Once a disciple invited the Swami to take food at his house. When the Swami went, the disciple was rubbing oil into his body before taking a bath. He welcomed the Swami and asked, `Swamiji, is there any advantage in rubbing in oil before taking a bath?" The Swami replied, Yes, one-sixteenth seer of oil robbed into the body serves the purpose of eating one-fourth seer of ghee."

After finishing food the disciple said, "Swamiji, you teach us about truthfulness, honesty, courage, purity, selfless work and so on; but it is not possible for one who is in service to follow these teachings strictly. Since we are working in order to earn money, how can we call it selfless service? Service is after all a sort of slavery. Moreover, business life, these days, is such that truth and simplicity are almost impossible for a businessman. Swamiji, it is not possible to keep the moral side sound, if W e have to work in this world."

The Swami said: "I, too, have thought about this matter a lot, and have at last come to the conclusion that no one really wants to earn money by keeping his character intact. No one even cares to think about the matter or feels it to be a problem, as you do. It is the fault of our present system of education. Personally, I feel that there is no harm if anyone makes agri-culture his profession; but if you advise anyone to do so, he retorts, `Then why have I gone in for so much education? Is it necessary for everyone in the country to be farmers? The nation is already full of them; that is why it has come to such ruin.' But this is not so. Read the Mahabharata. The sage Janaka held the plough in one hand and studied the Vedas using the other. Our sages of old were farmers. Not only that: look how America has become so advanced by developing agriculture. I do not mean that we should follow this profession as the ignorant farmers of our country do. We have to learn the science of it, and apply that knowledge to the development of our agri¬culture. We have to work like intelligent people, after acquiring the necessary knowledge. But these days, no sooner do the village boys read a book or two of English than they run to the cities. In the village they may have plenty of land, but they do not feel satisfied. They want to enjoy city-life and enter service. That is why the Hindus have not progressed like other races. Our death-rate is very high; and if it continues the same, our nation is bound to meet its doom in no time. The main cause of all this is that our agricultural production is not enough. The inclination to go to the cities is noticeable among the villagers. A farmer's son, after getting a little education, leaves his an¬cestral profession, goes to the city, and takes a job under the white men. Longevity increases by staying in the villages; and disease is almost unknown there. If educated men go to live in the villages, even small villages will become developed; and if agriculture u carried on scientifically; then the yield will be more. In that way the farmers will be awakened to their duty; their intellectual faculties will develop; they will be able to learn more and better things; and that, which is very necessary for our nation, will be achieved.".

The disciple asked, "What is that, Swamiji?"_x000d_ _x000d_ The Swami replied, "What else but a sort of brotherly feeling developing between the higher and the lower castes. If educated men like you go to the villages, take up agriculture, mix with the village folk and treat them as your own, without hostility, then you will see, they will be so overwhelmed that they will sacrifice even their lives for you. And what is essential for us today-the education of the masses, the teaching of higher truths to people of the lower castes, and mutual sympathy and love-that also will be achieved."

The disciple asked, "How will that happen, Swamiji?"_x000d_ The Swami replied, "Why! Don't you see? If anyone mixes with the villagers, how eager they are for the company of the educated! Thirst for knowledge is in everybody. That is why, when they get the company of an educated man, they sit round him and listen with rapt attention to whatever he says. If edu-cated people take advantage of this tendency of the villagers, invite a group of them to their homes each evening, and teach them with the help of stories and parables, then by means of such a national movement we shall be able to achieve a hundred times more in ten years than we could otherwise achieve in a thousand years."

So days grew into weeks. When seven weeks had passed in this manner, the Swami again felt the urge for the wandering life. In Alwar he had stayed so long because he had been pressed to do so by his disciples and admirers; but now he said to them, "I must be going. A sannyasi must always be on the move." So on March 28, 1891, he left, bidding them farewell. They could not bear the thought of parting from him. He also was affected, especially when they fell at his feet with tears in their eyes while he was taking leave of them. But he, the Teacher, had always to be wandering- teaching, preaching and helping mankind everywhere, with the Spirit of the Lord in his heart. His friends insisted that he travel by covered bullock-cart at least as far as Pandupol, some eighteen miles from Alwar, so as to avoid the heat and traverse the uninhabited areas. Several of his disciples begged to be allowed to accompany him for the first fifty or sixty miles; at first he objected, but was finally overcome by their pleading and gave way.