For a day or two after his arrival my father was busy trying to take the measure of his guest. Soon he came to the conclusion that the guest was not only above the ordinary, but was an extraordinary personality, He gathered a few of his personal friends together, to see what their opinion would be. They agreed that it was worth while to gather together the local leaders and learned men to meet and argue with the Swami. What struck us most in the crowded gatherings which began to be held every day after the presence of the Swami became known in Belgaum, was the unfailing good humour which the Swami preserved even in heated arguments. He was quick enough at retort, but there was never any sting in it: One day we had a rather amusing illustration of the Swami's coolness in debate. There was at that time in Belgaum an Executive Engineer who was the best informed man in our town. He was one of the not uncommon type of Hindu whose external life was most orthodox but who was at heart a sceptic with a strong leaning towards science. He felt that religion or belief in religion was a custom which had gained sanction only through practice through the ages. With these views he found the Swami rather a formidable opponent, armed with larger experience, more philosophy, and more science, than he could muster. Naturally, he lost his temper in argument and was discourteous, if not positively rude, to the Swami. My father protested, but the Swami smilingly intervened, saying that he did not mind. . . . Though the Swami soon got the best of the argument with all, his aim was not so much to be victorious as to create the feeling that the time had come to demonstrate to the country and to the whole world that the Hindu religion was not dying and to preach to the world the priceless truth contained in the Vedanta. . . . He complained that the Vedanta had been treated as the possession of a sect rather than as the perennial source of universal inspiration that it really was.

From the very first day of the Swami's stay occurred little incidents which led us to revise our ideas about him. In the first place, though he wore clothes of the familiar sannyasi's colour, he appeared to be dressed somewhat differently from his brother sannyasis. He used to wear a banyan [thin, sleeveless vest]. Instead of the Danda [sannyasi's staff] he carried a long stick, resembling a walking-stick. His kit con-sisted of the usual gourd [for water), a pocket copy of the Gita and one or two [other] books. . . . We were not accustomed to a sannyasi using the English language as a medium of conversation, wearing a banyan instead of sitting bare-bodied, and showing a versatility of intellect and variety of information which would have done credit to an accomplished man of the world.

The first day after the meal the Swami asked for betel-nut and Pan [betel-leaf]. Then, either the same day or the day after, he wanted some chewing tobacco. One can imagine the horror which such demands from a sannyasi, who is supposed to have gone beyond these small creature comforts, would inspire. From his own admission we learned that he was not a Brahmin and yet he was a sannyasi; that he was a sannyasi and yet craved for things which only householders are supposed to want. This was really very upsetting to our preconceived notions, and yet he succeeded in making us accept the situation and to see that there was really nothing wrong in a sannyasi wanting Pan and Supari [betel¬nut], or chewing tobacco. The explanation he gave of his craving disarmed us completely. He said that he had been a gay young man, a graduate of the Calcutta University, and that his life before he met Ramakrishna Paramahansa had been very worldly. As a result of the teaching of his Guru he had changed his outlook on life, but some things he found impossible to get rid of and he let them remain as being of no great consequence. When he was asked whether he was a vegetarian or meat-eater, he said that as he belonged not to the ordinary order of sannyasis but to the order of the Paramahamsas, he had no option in the matter. The Paramahamsa, by the rules of that order, was bound to eat whatever was offered. When there was no offering he had to go without food. Further a Paramahamsa was not precluded from accepting food from anyone because of that person's religious beliefs. When asked whether he would accept food from non-Hindus, he told us that he had often taken food from Muslims.

The Swami appeared to be very well grounded in the old pandit method of studying Sanskrit. At the time of his arrival, I was learning the Ashtadhyayi (of Panini) by rote, and to my great surprise, his memory, even in quoting from the portions of the Ashtodhyayi which I had been painfully trying to remember, was much superior to mine. If I remember aright, when my father wanted me to repeat the portions that I had been preparing, I made some slips, which to my confusion the Swami, smiling, corrected. The effect of this was almost overwhelming as far as my feelings towards him were concerned. . . .

In Haripadababu's house three days passed in constant discussion of religious matters with many educated people of the town; and doubts which had obsessed the host's mind for years were dispelled. On the fourth day the Swami said that it was high time for him to be on the move again. "Sannyasis", he remarked, "should not stay more than three days in a city, and one day in a village. If one stays for long in one place, attachment grows. We sannyasis should keep at a distance all the things that bind us to Maya." But the host protested, and the Swami consented to stay a few days more.

One day the Swami related to his host many incidents of his wandering life after he had taken the vow not to touch money. As the tale unfolded Haripadababu thought, "What pain and trouble and hardship have been his!" But the Swami regarded them lightly, as of no importance. He related how in one place he was very hungry and was given some food so hot with chillis that the burning sensation in the mouth and stomach did not subside for a long time; how he had been driven away with the remark that there was no place for sadhus and thieves; how for a time his movements were watched by detectives. To him these were laughing matters-- `the play of the Mother", as he called them.

Haripadababu found the Swami well read not only in religion and philosophy, but in secular matters as well. To his surprise the Swami quoted at considerable length from The Pickwick Papers. Thinking it strange that a sadhu should be so familiar with profane literature, he asked the Swami how often he had read the book, and was astonished to learn that he had read it only twice. When asked how he could have memorized it in only two readings, the Swami answered that when he read anything he concentrated his entire attention upon it. "Power of mind arises from control of the forces of the body. The idea is to conserve and transform the physical energy into mental and spiritual energy. The great danger lies in spending the forces of the body in wanton and reckless pleasures, and thus losing the retentive faculties of the mind." "Whatever you do, devote your whole mind, heart and soul to it. I once met a great sannyasi who would clean his brass cooking vessels, making them shine like gold, with as much care and attention as he bestowed on his worship and meditation."

Swamiji was a real teacher. Sitting before him was not like doing so before an austere schoolmaster. He was often merry in conversation, full of gaiety, fun and laughter, even while imparting the highest instruction. The next moment he would solve abstruse questions with such seriousness and gravity that he filled everyone with awe. Persons of various natures came to see him, some on account of his great intellect, some to test his learning, some from personal motives, others for instruction, still others because he himself was so interesting. Others, again, came because they desired to spend the time free from the troubles and vexations of worldly life. Everyone had free access to him and was cordially received. It was wonderful to see the Swamiji grasp the intentions and fathom the characters of those who came. No one could conceal anything from his penetrating eye. He seemed to read their inmost thoughts. There was a young man who often came to him thinking of becoming a sadhu, so that he might escape the trouble of preparing himself for his university examination. But on seeing the boy, Swamiji at once understood him and said with a smile, "Come for the monastic life after you have got the M.A. degree. It is easier to get an M.A. than to lead the life of the sannyasi." It was simply wonderful how Swamiji charmed our hearts. I shall never forget the lessons which he imparted while sitting under a sandal-tree in the courtyard of my house.

At this time Haripadababu was given to dosing himself with various medicines. The Swami advised him against it, saying that most diseases were purely of a nervous character and could be eradicated by vigorous and radically different states of mind. "And what is the use of thinking of disease always?" added the Swami. "Live a righteous life; think elevating thoughts; be cheerful, but never indulge in pleasures which tax the body or which cause you to repent; then all will be well. And as regards death, what does it matter if people like you and me die? That will not make the earth deviate from its axis! We should never consider ourselves so important as to think that the world cannot go on without us!" From that day Haripadababu gave up the habit.

Haripadababu had a coveted position and was drawing a handsome salary; but he used to get irritated when repri-manded at the office by his superiors, who were English. When the Swami heard this he said: "You have yourself taken this service for the sake of money and are duly paid for it. Why should you trouble your mind about such small things and add to your miseries by continually thinking, `Oh, in what bondage am I placed!'? No one is keeping you in bondage. You are quite at liberty to resign if you choose. Why should you con¬stantly carp at your superiors? If you feel your present position helpless, do not blame them, blame yourself. Do you think they care a straw whether you resign or not? There are hundreds of others to take your place. Your business is to concern yourself solely with your duties and responsibilities. Be good yourself and the whole world will appear good to you. You will then see only the good in others. We see in the external world the image that we carry in our hearts. Give up the habit of fault finding, and you will be surprised to find how those against whom you have a grudge will gradually change their entire attitude towards you. All our mental states are reflected in the conduct of others towards us." These words of the Swami made an indelible impression on the listener, and he turned over a new leaf.

Haripadababu had been studying the Bhagavad Gita by himself, but had been unable to comprehend its teachings, and so gave up the study, thinking that there was no practical value in it. However, when the Swami read and explained some portions of it to him, he realized what a wonderful book the Gita is. He was now able to grasp its spirit and its relevance to daily life. Under the Swami's instruction he also came to appreciate the works of Thomas Carlyle and the novels of Jules Verne.

Haripadababu's account continues:_x000d_ I had never found in anybody such intense patriotism as his. One evening, reading in a newspaper that a man had died in Calcutta from starvation, the Swami was overcome with sorrow. On asking the cause of his grief, he told me what he had read, and said, "It is not surprising that in Western countries, in spite of their organized charitable institutions and charity funds, many people die every year from the same cause-the neglect of society. But in our country, where righteousness has always been upheld, every beggar receives something, if only a handful of rice; and so we do not often have people dying of starvation, except when there is a famine. This is the first time I ever heard of anyone dying of starvation." "But, Swamiji," I rejoined, "is it not a waste of money to give alms to beggars ? My English education leads me to believe that instead of really benefiting them it only degrades their nature, for with the pice given to them they get the means to indulge in such bad habits as smoking Ganja (hemp] and so on. Instead, it is far better to contribute something towards organized charity." Then the Swami said with great intensity, "Why should you worry your head about what a beggar does with the pice or two you give him? Is it not better for persons like you who can afford it, to give him something than to drive him to steal? Suppose he spends the trifle on hemp, that affects only him; but when he resorts to stealing or something worse it affects the whole of society."

In his talks with Haripada Mitra the Swami anticipated those mature views on life which he expressed publicly later on. Even at that time one finds him advocating reform with regard to early marriage, advising all, especially young men, to take a bold stand against this custom, which was enervating Hindu society._x000d_ Haripadababu writes in his diary:_x000d_ Speaking of the Sannyasa Ashrama [stage and way of life], he re¬marked that it was best for a man to practise the control of his mind during his life as a student or as a householder before taking to the life of a wandering monk. "Otherwise," he said, "when the first glow of enthusiasm fades out, the man is likely to consort with those hem smoking, idle vagabonds who in the guise of sadhus parade the country.". . . I said to him, "Swamiji, if according to your advice I give up anger and pride and look upon all with an equal eye, then my servants and subordinates will be rude and disobedient to me, and even my relatives will not let me live in peace!" He replied, "Be like the snake of Shri Ramakrishna's parable. At first the terror of the village, the snake met a sadhu who spoke to him of his evil ways. The snake repented and the sadhu gave him a certain Mantra to meditate upon and advised him to practise non violence. The snake retired to a solitary nook and did as he was told. It so happened that the sannyasi, in his wanderings, passed through this same village some time later. What was his surprise when he saw the snake half dead, as the result of violent beatings and maltreatment! He asked the snake how he had come to such a pass. He was met with the reply that by following the religious life he [the snake] had become harmless, and that those who had formerly feared him now pelted him with stones and beat him mercilessly. Then the Guru said, `My child, I asked you not to harm anyone, but I did not forbid you to hiss.' So the snake did as he was bid, and ever afterwards, though he injured none, none dared injure him." And applying this parable the Swami told me that, though it is necessary to appear worldly before worldly people, one's heart should always be given over to the Lord and the mind kept under firm control.

All those who heard the Swami speak at Belgaum were struck with his knowledge of the physical sciences. It was that knowledge which he used so as to furnish his discourses with scientific parallels. He also showed that the aim of religion and of science was the same-the attainment of Truth, which is always one. From religion he would go on to discuss social questions, telling, with sorrow in his voice, of the sad condition of the villagers who, not knowing the principles of hygiene, used the same ponds For drinking, bathing and cleaning purposes. "What brains can you expect of such people!" the Swami would exclaim in despair.

During the discussions in Belgaum he often became impatient with those who were fanatical and did not care to follow the drift of his thought. Sometimes they were obstreperous, and then he would blaze away at them. He was like a thunderbolt: he spoke the truth; he spoke boldly; he did not mince matters.Regarding those who held to their own views obstinately and against all reason, the Swami told the following story: "There was once a king who hearing that the prince of a neighbouring territory was advancing upon his capital to lay siege to it, held a council, calling all the people for advice as to how to defend the country from the enemy. The engineers advised the building of a high earthen mound with a huge trench all around the capital; the carpenters proposed the construction of a wooden wall; the shoe-makers suggested that the same wall be built of leather, for `there is nothing like leather', they said. But the blacksmiths shouted out that they were all wrong and that the wall should be built of iron. And then came in the lawyers with the argument that the best way to defend the State was to tell the enemy in a legal way that they were in the wrong and out of court in attempting to confiscate another's property. Finally came the priests, who laughed them all to scorn, saying, `You are all talking like lunatics! First of all the gods must be pro¬pitiated with sacrifices, and then only can we be invincible.' Instead of defending their kingdom they argued and fought among themselves. Meanwhile the enemy advanced, stormed and sacked the city. Even so are men."

One day, when they were alone, the Swami told his host that he intended to sail for America to attend the Parliament of Religions to be held at Chicago. He spoke so fervently that his soul became aglow with the fire of the Rishis, and prophecy was in his words. His host, carried away with enthusiasm, proposed then and there that he raise a subscription in Belgaum for the purpose; but the Swami did not agree to the pro¬posal. He said, "Not yet, my son; not yet. Now I must be off for Rameswaram. I have made a vow to visit that holy place."

Some time before the Swami arrived at Belgaum, Haripada-babu's wife had expressed the desire to be initiated by a Guru. Her husband had replied, "You should choose one whom I can venerate also, otherwise you will neither be happy nor reap any benefit. If we meet any really holy man, both you and I will take initiation from him." The wife had agreed to this. Now Haripadababu asked her whether she would like to be the Swami's disciple. This she had thought of many times, but had been afraid that the Swami would not accept her. She replied that she would consider herself blessed if the Swami would agree. Haripadababu said, "We must try anyway. If we let this opportunity pass, we may never find the like of him again." When Haripadababu spoke about the matter, the Swami protested, "It is very difficult to be a guru. A guru has to take on himself the sins of his disciple. Besides, I am a sannyasi. I want to free myself of all bonds and not to add new ones. Moreover, the disciple should see the guru at least three times before initiation." But Haripadababu was not to be put off. Finding them determined, the Swami finally initiated them.

One day we had a rather amusing illustration of the Swami's coolness in debate. There was at that time in Belgaum an Executive Engineer who was the best informed man in our town. He was one of the not uncommon type of Hindu whose external life was most orthodox but who was at heart a sceptic with a strong leaning towards science. He felt that religion or One day we had a rather amusing illustration of the Swami's coolness in debate. There was at that time in Belgaum an Executive Engineer who was the best informed man in our town. He was one of the not uncommon type of Hindu whose external life was most orthodox but who was at heart a sceptic with a strong leaning towards science. He felt that religion or belief in religion was a custom which had gained sanction only through practice through the ages. With these views he found the Swami rather a formidable opponent, armed with larger experience, more philosophy, and more science, than he could muster. Naturally, he lost his temper in argument and was discourteous, if not positively rude, to the Swami. My father protested, but the Swami smilingly intervened, saying that he did not mind. . . . Though the Swami soon got the best of the argument with all, his aim was not so much to be victorious as to create the feeling that the time had come to demonstrate to the country and to the whole world that the Hindu religion was not dying and to preach to the world the priceless truth contained in the Vedanta. . . . He complained that the Vedanta had been treated as the possession of a sect rather than as the perennial source of universal inspiration that it really was.was a custom which had gained sanction only through practice through the ages. With these views he found the Swami rather a formidable opponent, armed with larger experience, more philosophy, and more science, than he could muster. Naturally, he lost his temper in argument and was discourteous, if not positively rude, to the Swami. My father protested, but the Swami smilingly intervened, saying that he did not mind. . . . Though the Swami soon got the best of the argument with all, his aim was not so much to be victorious as to create the feeling that the time had come to demonstrate to the country and to the whole world that the Hindu religion was not dying and to preach to the world the priceless truth contained in the Vedanta. . . . He complained that the Vedanta had been treated as the possession of a sect rather than as the perennial source of universal inspiration that it really was.

Here he was the guest of a Maharashtrian gentleman, whose son, Prof. G. S. Bhate, has left a record of those days. It reads in part:_x000d_ The Swami came to Belgaum from Kolhapur with a note from Mr. Golvalkar, the Khajgi Karbhari [Private Secretary] of the Maharaja. . . . I remember him appearing one morning about six o'clock with a note from Mr. Golvalkar, who was a great friend of my father's. The Swami was rather striking in appearance and appeared to be even at first sight somewhat out of the common run of men. But neither my father nor anyone else in the family or even in our small town was prepared to find in our guest the remarkable man that he turned out to be.

The diary of the Sub-divisional Forest Officer, Haripada Mitra, with whom, for nine days, the Swami also stayed at Belgaum, has these impressions:_x000d_ It is the late evening of Tuesday, the l8th of October 1892. A stout young sannyasi of cheerful countenance came to see me with a friend of mine, a lawyer. Looking at him, I saw a calm figure, with eyes flashing like lightning, clean-shaven, garbed in a Gerua Alkhalla [a kind of ochre-dyed garment], with an ochre turban on the head, and Mahratta sandals on the feet. He was most prepossessing. I was at once attracted to him. At that time I believed every sannyasi to be a cheat, and was a sceptic in matters of religion and God. My first thought was that this man must have come to beg something or to ask me to take him into my house because it did not suit him to live with a Maharashtrian. When I entered into conversation with him, I was surprised to find that he was a thousand times superior to me in every respect, and that he asked for nothing! I begged him to come to live with me, but he said, "I am quite happy with the Maharashtrian; if I should leave after seeing a Bengali, he might be hurt. Besides, the whole family treats me with great love. But I will think about it and let you know later on." However, he promised to take breakfast with me the next morning.

Next morning Haripadababu waited for a long time. Eventually, since the Swami did not come, he went to Mr. Bhate's house to bring him. There he was surprised to find a large gathering of pleaders, pandits and prominent citizens asking the Swami questions. Saluting the Swami, Haripadababu took his seat among them. He was amazed at the ready replies which the Swami gave, without pausing, in English, Hindi, Bengali, or Sanskrit._x000d_ When the visitors left, the Swami said to Haripadababu, "I hope you will excuse me for not keeping the appointment. You see, I could not go without hurting many people's feelings." On again being pressed to go and live in Haripadababu's house, the Swami said, "I shall go if you can make my host agree to your proposal." After much persuasion Mr. Bhate agreed. Among the Swami's few belongings at this time was a book on French music which he was studying.

On October 27, the Swami said to his host, "Now my son, I must be going. I must go to Rameswaram. If I proceed in this way I shall never reach there." Haripadababu entreated him to remain for a few more days, but the Swami was resolved to leave; so he prevailed on him to travel by train, and bought a ticket for him. On putting his guru into a railway compartment, the disciple fell at his feet and said, "Never before have I saluted anyone with heartfelt devotion and veneration. By saluting you I feel myself more than blessed." The Swami stretched out his hands and blessed his disciple.