The Swami's stay this time at the Baranagore Math was a short one, for he was eager to take up again the meditative life of the sannyasi, avoiding society. He soon started on pilgrimage to holy places in northern India. His first halt was at Varanasi, where he met Babu Pramadadas Mitra, the noted Sanskrit scholar, who was acquainted with Akhandananda. Through Akhandananda, Pramadadas had learnt of the Swami. The two became close friends, and the Swami wrote Pramadadas a number of letters asking his advice on the interpretation of the Hindu scriptures.

Next he visited holy Ayodhya, which had at one time been the capital of the divine king Ramachandra. Since childhood the Swami had loved Rama and Sita, and been delighted by the chanting of the Ramayana. Now, in the same Ayodhya, he must have reconstructed, out of the materials of his learning and imagination, the scenes and events of long ago.

From Ayodhya he went to Lucknow, where he was lost in admiration of the splendours bequeathed by the Nawabs of Oudh, and of the city's gardens and mosques.

From Lucknow on to Agra, of Mogul memories and grandeur. The artistry and workmanship of the Indian artisans astounded him; the beauty of the Taj Mahal overpowered him. He visited it many times, seeing it From different angles, in every light, and above all in the perspective of his love for India. He used to say, "Every square inch of this wondrous edifice is worth a whole day's patient observation, and it requires at least six months to make a real study of it!" The magnificent fort of Agra stimulated his historical imagination. Walking through the streets of the city with its palaces and tombs, he saw the whole Mogul era unfold before him.

From Agra he went on to Vrindavan, reaching it during the early part of August 1888. The last thirty miles he did on foot. About two miles from Vrindavan, he saw a man contentedly smoking a pipe (Chillum) by the wayside. The Swami, weary, felt that a smoke would do him good; so he asked the man to allow him to have a pull or two at the pipe. The smoker shrank back and said diffidently, "It would defile you, sir. I am a Bhangi [a sweeper]". The Swami, conditioned by caste-con-sciousness, shrank back too, and went his way, After going a short distance, the thought struck him, "What! I have taken the sannyasi's vow and have given up all ideas of caste, family prestige and so forth: yet I fell back into caste ideas when the man told me that he was a sweeper! And I could not smoke the pipe which he had touched! That was due to ages of habit." The thought made him so restless that he turned back and found the man still seated there. Sitting down beside him, he said, "Brother, do prepare me a Chillum of tobacco." But the man humbly expostulated, "Sir, you are a holy man: I am an outcaste!" But the Swami would not listen to his objections and insisted on having a smoke from that pipe.

Arrived at Vrindavan, the Swami stayed at Kalababu's Kunja, a temple erected by the ancestors of Balaram Bose. Here he felt as though the flood gates of his heart were suddenly opened. The place's association with the lives of Shri Krishna and his divine consort Radha evoked in him intense feelings of devotion. The acts of Krishna came to life for him, and he resolved to visit the environs of Vrindavan, where many of them had taken place.

Next, we find the Swami seated in a secluded corner of Hathras railway station, on his way to Hardwar, evidently rather weary and in need of food. His figure caught the eye of the Assistant Station-master, Sharatchandra Gupta, as the latter was attending to his duties. Now this Sharatchandra was a remarkable person: a Bengali who had grown up among the Muslims of Jaunpur, and spoke Hindi and Urdu more fluently than his mother tongue. His character could be summed up in three words: sweetness, sincerity and manliness. At first sight he was attracted by the appearance of the young monk and could sense the aura of spirituality about him; so Sharat went up to him to find out whether he could be of service. After an ex¬change of greetings, Sharat asked, "Swamiji, are you hungry?" The Swami replied, "Yes, I am." "Then please come to my quarters", said Sharat. The Swami asked, with the simplicity of a boy, "But what will you give me to eat?" Promptly quoting from a Persian poem, Sharat replied, "O beloved, you have come to my house! I shall prepare the most delicious dish for you with the flesh of my heart." The Swami was delighted to hear this reply and accepted the invitation.

Many days later, when Girishchandra Ghosh heard of this incident, he said to the Swami, "You are addicted to hemp. That's why you could not avoid the temptation of smoking even from a sweeper's pipe." The Swami said in reply, "No, G. C., truly, I wanted to test myself. After taking Sannyasa, one should test oneself, whether one has gone beyond the limitations of caste and colour. It is very difficult to observe the vows of Sannyasa strictly: there should be no contradiction between word and deed."

In speaking of Sannyasa to a disciple later on, the Swami cited this incident and said, "Do you think the ideals of San-nyasa are easy to practise in life, my boy? There is no other path of life so arduous and difficult. Let your foot slip ever so little on the edge of a precipice, and you fall to the valley below. If one has taken the sannyasi's vow, one has to examine oneself every moment to see if one is free from the ideas of caste, colour and so forth. That incident taught me the great lesson that I should not despise anyone, but must think of all as children of the Lord."

While going round the Govardhan Hill, the Swami vowed that he would not beg his food from anyone, that he would eat only what was offered to him without asking. During the first day he became exceedingly hungry at noon. To add to his dis-comfort, heavy rain began to fall. He grew faint with hunger and with much walking, out still went on and on, without asking for food. Suddenly he heard someone calling him from behind, but he did not answer. Nearer and nearer came the voice, that of a devotee, calling out that he had brought food for him. The Swami began to run as fast as he could, to test this apparent act of Providence. The man, running after him for nearly a mile, overtook him and insisted that he accept the food. The Swami accepted it, saying nothing. Shortly after, the man disappeared among the trees. Ecstatic with devotion at this miraculous act of the Lord, and with tears streaming from his eyes, the Swami cried out, "Glory to Shri Radha! Glory to Shri Krishna!" In the wilderness the Lord had taken care of His devotee.

From Govardhan the Swami went on to Radhakunda, sacred for its association with Shri Radha. At this time he was wearing only a Kaupin (narrow strip of cloth about the loins). Having no other to wear after his bath, he took it off, washed it, and left it on the side of the tank to dry whilst he was bathing. When he had bathed, he found the Kaupin missing. In his search he chanced to look up in a tree: there he saw a monkey sitting, the Kaupin in its hands. When the monkey refused to surrender it, the Swami was filled with anger against Shri Radha, the presiding deity of the place. He vowed that he would go into the recesses of the forest and starve himself to death. As he advanced into the jungle in pursuance of his plan, a man, who probably had seen the whole incident, came up with a new ochre cloth and some food, which the Swami accepted. The Swami was no doubt astounded; it seemed like a miracle. When he retraced his steps to the tank, to his surprise he found his Kaupin lying just where he had put it to dry. Such incidents convinced him that he was beloved of the Lord and protected by Him wherever he was.

After his pilgrimage to Vrindavan the Swami had a mind to go to Hardwar, and from there to Kedar-Badri in the Hima-layas; but he remained at Vrindavan a few days more, since one of his brother-disciples (Advaitananda) was expected there.

When the tasks of the day were over, Sharat spent the time with the Swami, whose eyes attracted him beyond measure. He begged him to stay in Hathras for some days. Sharat's first words, almost, were, "Sir, teach me wisdom." The Swami answered him with a Bengali song in which the loved one says to her lover, "If you wish to attain knowledge, go and cover your moon face with ashes; otherwise find your own way." Sharat immediately replied, "Swamiji, I am at your service. I am ready to renounce everything and follow you." Saying these words he disappeared, to return divested of his official clothes, with ashes on his face. Sharat's elder brother was already a sannyasi, so this was not something quite new for him.

Soon after his arrival at Hathras, the Swami learnt of one Brajenbabu, an old acquaintance of his. This gentleman lived close by. When the Swami went to his residence, Brajenbabu recognized him at once, greeted him heartily, and insisted on his staying with him for several days at least. The Swami agreed, promising to go and stay with Sharat shortly. Whilst at the house of Brajenbabu, the entire Bengali population of the town poured in to meet the Swami. Prior to his arrival, there had been some differences amongst the resident Bengalis; but these were laid aside in their longing to come and hear the Swami. He spoke to them of religion and of their motherland with such fervour that most of the visitors spent hours in the house of Brajenbabu. During these days the Swami often visited the quarters of Sharat and of his friend, Natakrishna. These two became more and more attached to him and earnestly begged him to be their guest. He consented and went to live with them later.

In a letter recalling those days Natakrishna writes:_x000d_ Thus we with others spent the most blessed days of our life in constant spiritual conversations with him. By the power of his holy company, the sectarian quarrels and ill-feeling amongst the different factions of the Bengalis vanished. Those who entertained pride of age or high position in society, used to come and sit like children before the young monk, forsaking their conceit of knowledge and, position, and asking him questions on religious matters. The evening was generally spent in music, and all the gentlemen who assembled there was simply charmed with his sweet voice, and sat for hours as if spellbound. The more they heard him the more they thirsted in their souls to hear him.

One day Sharat asked the Swami, "Why do you look so sad?" After a pause the Swami replied, "My son, I have a great mission to Fulfil and I am in despair at the smallness of my capacity. I have an injunction from my Guru to carry out this mission. It is nothing less than the regeneration of my motherland. Spirituality has fallen to a low ebb and starvation stalks the land. India must become dynamic and effect the conquest of the world through her spirituality." Sharat, spell-bound at these words, said with all the ardour of his soul, "Here I am, Swamiji; what do you want me to do?" The monk demanded, "Are you prepared to take up the begging bowl and the Kamandalu and work for the great cause? Can you beg from door to door?" "Yes", was the bold reply. The Swami was greatly pleased to see the courage and determination of Sharat. He spent many days at Sharat's house, speaking to groups of devotees and admirers.

One morning the Swami decided to leave Hathras. He said to Sharat, "I cannot stay here longer. I am a sannyasi and should never remain long in any one place. Besides, I am feeling a sort of attachment for you all. This is also a bondage in spiritual life." To attempts to dissuade him, he only replied, "Don't press me." Sharat became grief-stricken: he had fallen in love with the Swami. "Swamiji, make me your disciple", was his entreaty. The Swami replied, "Why, do not think that everything in spiritual life will be gained by becoming my disciple. Remember that God is in everything; and then whatever you do will make for your progress. I shall come and be with you now and then. For the present I must be going to the Himalayas." Sharat repeated his entreaty time and again, until at length he spoke out: "Swamiji, say what you will, wherever you go I shall follow you." Seeing his determination and sincerity, the Swami said, "Can you really follow me? Then take my begging-bowl and go and beg our food from the porters of the station." No sooner was the order given than Sharat went to beg from his own subordinates. Having collected some food he brought it to the Swami, who in turn blessed him heartily, and accepted him as his disciple.

Sharat soon found a substitute to take over his duties, and accompanied the Swami to Hrishikesh; but the journey proved too much for the disciple. Accustomed to a good deal of com-fort, he found that the sannyasi's life was one of constant spiritual discipline, and full of uncertainties and hardships. "Once in our wanderings in the outlying districts of the Hima-layas," said Sharat much later, "I fainted with hunger and thirst. The Swami carried me and thus undoubtedly saved me from certain death. On another occasion, like a syce he led the horse, which someone had kindly lent us for the journey, across a mountain river which was very dangerous to ford because of its swiftness and slippery bottom. He risked his life several times for my sake. How can I describe him, friends, except by the word Love, Love, Love! When I was too ill to do anything but stagger along, he carried my personal belongings including my shoes." It is not strange, then, that in later life feeling forlorn once and asking the Swami whether he was going to give him (Sharat) up, the Swami should answer with a sweet severity, "Fool, do you not remember that I have carried even your shoes!"

Still another time, as the Swami and his disciple were moving through the jungle, they came across some bleached human bones, with pieces of rotting ochre cloth lying here and there. "See," said the Swami, "here a tiger has devoured a sannyasi! Are you afraid?" The disciple promptly replied, "Not with you, Swamiji!" Even in those early days when he was an unknown monk, the force of the Swami's character and his power to inspire others could be plainly seen.

At Hrishikesh the Swami and the disciple lived like other monks. The Swami was in his element here, where the very atmosphere breathed the monastic life. The foot-hills were about them, but they longed to ascend the distant peaks of the Himalayas. The murmuring of the sacred Ganga was a delight to hear. They lived there in the company of other sadhus, and passed their time in spiritual disciplines. After a few days' stay at Hrishikesh, the Swami became very eager to go to Kedar-Badri; but because of his disciple's health and his inability to stand the hardships he kept his desire suppressed. But on one occasion, as though the monk in him had become awakened, he said to Sharat, "You have become a sort of chain on my feet. I was wandering alone so long. You came and became a source of botheration to me. Now I am going my own way. I shall stay here no more." Taking his staff and water-pot, the Swami set out alone on pilgrimage. Sharat was then cooking Khichuri for both of them. He became remorseful and sat silently in one place. After three or Four hours, the Swami returned and, standing behind Sharat, said, "O Sharat, can you give me something to eat? I am terribly hungry." Sharat was very happy to see him back, and said, "Yes, I shall give you something just now." The Swami: "Did you not take your meal?" Sharat: "When you were not here, how could I!" The Swami: "You have really become like a chain round my feet. I had gone a long way, but then I remembered that you were alone here and were such a fool. I could not be sure what you might do. Look, it was for you I had to return." Then the disciple served the Khichuri, and they both ate it with joy.

The Swami, as we have seen; was longing to go up into the Himalayas, but now Sharat fell seriously ill, and there was no other course but to take him back to Hathras. Back at Hathras, the Swami himself fell ill, having contracted malaria at Hrishi-kesh. Both master and disciple became very weak and had a difficult time.

Vrindaban_x000d_ 20th Aug., 1888_x000d_ {original in Bengali}_x000d_ Dear Sir {Pramadadas Mitra},_x000d_ An aged brother-disciple of mine who has just come back to Vrindaban after visiting Kedarnath and Badrinath met Gangadhar. Twice did Gangadhar ascend up to Tibet and Bhutan. He is in great happiness and felt overwhelmed and wept at the meeting. He spent the winter at Kankhal. The Karoa (waterpot) you gave him, he still keeps with him. He is coming back and is expected at Vrindaban this very month. So in the hope of meeting him, I postpone my going to Hardwar for some days. Please convey my deepest respects to the Brahmin devotee of Shiva who is with you and accept the same yourself._x000d_ Yours etc.,_x000d_ Vivekananda

Somehow the news of the Swami's illness reached the brothers at the Baranagore Math and they requested him to return to Calcutta. Just at this time, Shivananda, on his way to some holy places in northern India, reached Hathras. Hearing of the illness of his brother-disciple, he gave up his intention and brought the Swami back to the Baranagore Math. Before leaving Hathras, the Swami told Sharat to follow him to Baranagore as soon as he felt all right. In due course Sharat gave up his job and joined the monastery, where he was received with open arms. He was subsequently initiated into Sannyasa and given the name Sadananda.