Whoever knows the longing of a mother that a son should be born to her, enters into the world of Bhuvaneshwari, the wife of Vishwanath Datta. Though she had been blessed with motherhood at an early age, her first child, a son, and her second, a daughter, had died in their childhood. Her next three children were all daughters-Haramohini (also called Haramoni), Swarnamayi, and another who also died in child hood. So, she longed for a son to carry on the family tradition, to be the link, forged out of the materials of love and suffering, between the past and the future. It has been the practice of Hindu women down the ages to place their wants and complaints before the household Deity, and to practise austerities while waiting to receive the blessings of the Lord. Thus, as Bhuvaneshwari went about her daily tasks, she prayed silently that her desire might be fulfilled.

Now, it was customary in those days-and still is-for one in dire need, or anxious that some special event should come to pass, to make offerings and sacrifices to Shiva in Varanasi. Those who lived a long distance from that holy city could make their offerings through a relative or friend who might be resident there. Accordingly, Bhuvaneshwari Devi wrote to an old aunt of the Datta family in Varanasi, asking her to make the necessary offerings and prayers to Vireshwar Shiva that a son might be born to her. It was arranged that on Mondays the aunt would offer worship to Vireshwar Shiva, while Bhuvaneshwari would practise special austerities on those same days. It is said that by observing a vow of this sort for one year, one is blessed with a son. Thus Bhuvaneshwari was content to wait in perfect assurance that her prayers would be answered. She spent her days in practising Japa and meditation. She observed fasts and intensified her many other austerities, her whole soul given over to constant recollectedness, her heart fixed in love on the Lord Shiva. Often did her mind go to Varanasi, uniting in thought with the venerable aunt as the latter poured the sacred Ganga water on the symbol of Shiva, or worshipped Him with flowers and Mantras.

One night Bhuvaneshwari had a vivid dream. She had spent the day in the shrine and, as evening deepened into night, she fell asleep. The household was hushed in silence and rest. Then in the highest heavens the hour struck-the time had come for the pious woman to receive the special grace of the Lord. In her dream she saw the Lord Shiva rouse Himself from His meditation and take the form of a male child who was to be her son. She awoke. Could this ocean of light in which she found herself bathed be but a dream? Shiva! Shiva! Thou fulfillest in various ways the prayers of Thy devotees! From the inmost soul of Bhuvaneshwari a joyous prayer welled up, for she was confident that her long months of supplication were over and that the vision was an announcement that her prayers were to be answered. Her faith was justified; for in due course a son was born to her.

Narendranath was a naughty child, subject to fits of restlessness during which he was beyond control. At such times he would wear the family out. Bribes, threats, everything was tried nothing was of any avail. Finally, Bhuvaneshwari found that if she poured cold water on the head of the screaming child, chanting the name of Shiva in his ears at the same time, or if she threatened him with "Shiva will not let you go to Kailas if you do not behave," he would quiet down and become his eager, joyous self again. It was after such scenes that the mother used to say, "I prayed to Shiva for a son and He has sent me one of His demons!"

The household members were surprised at the features of the new-born babe. They believed that they resembled in many ways those of his grandfather, Durgaprasad, who had renounced the world; and they wondered if the monk had been born again. Thus when the time came for a name to be given to the infant, there was much discussion. Some thought it should be Durgaprasad. But when they asked the mother, she looked into the depths of the child's eyes, as if she would see into his very soul. There was a strange stillness for some moments; then she turned to them and with much feeling said: "Let his name be Vireshwar! So shall he be called." Those who heard this were satisfied. They called him Bileh for short. Later he came to be called Narendranath or Naren.

Naren had a great fancy for wandering monks; whenever a sadhu came to the door, the boy was delighted and rushed towards him. One day a monk came and asked for alms. All that Naren had was a hand-embroidered dhoti wrapped round his waist. He was proud of his new cloth, for it was his first garment marking his passage out of infancy, but straightway he gave it to the sadhu, who tied it round his head and went away blessing the boy. When asked what had become of the cloth, the boy replied, "The sadhu begged for alms and I gave it to him." Many sadhus came to the house, knowing that they were always welcome there. Vishwanath Datta was very hospitable; and there was with him the memory of his own father, who had become a monk. But after the above incident, a dose guard was kept on Naren. Whenever any sadhu put in an appearance, Naren was kept locked up until the wanderer had left. Still, that did not disconcert the child; he would throw out of the window to the caller anything the room contained, as an offering. He would have his way-and then he would dance with glee.

As Bhuvaneshwari would gaze unblinking at the face of the lovely, healthy babe in her lap, her heart would fill with pride and she would shed tears of joy; for she at last held in her arms her much-longed-for darling of many prayers. But this was no ordinary babe; in him was hidden a tremendous power, and she was faced with the difficult problem of containing his irrepressible restlessness. He was hardly three, but already complaints against him for breach of peace were mounting.

What a tease he was! There were his two elder sisters, whom he would tease, and tease, and tease! The sisters would be furious, and there would be a chase. He would fly to the open drain, where they could not follow. And from that refuge he would grin and make faces at them, and would further infuriate them with his triumphant challenge, "Catch me! Catch me!"

Naren had a number of pet animals, whom he loved playing with-a monkey, a goat, a peacock, pigeons, and two or three guinea-pigs. He was also especially fond of the Family cow, and would join his sisters on the festive occasion when they adorned the "mother cow" with garlands, put a vermilion mark on her forehead, and bowed down to her. He would pat her with his little hands and talk to her sweetly.

The first education is always at the knee of the mother, and immense was Bhuvaneshwari's eagerness to educate her son well. It was in her lap that Narendranath first became aware of the glory of the gods and goddesses, the greatness of the sages of India, and that of his ancestors, among whom was his grandfather, the sannyasi Durgaprasad. It was also from his mother that he first heard the tales of the Ramayana and Maha¬bharata. At the Datta home these epics were read every day at noon. One elderly lady sometimes Bhuvaneshwari herself -would read aloud, and the ladies of the family, who for the time being had finished their duties, would sit round her. In this small congregation, turbulent Naren would be found sitting quietly throughout the reading and listening with rapt attention: There can be no doubt that the stories from the epics exerted a great influence on his mind.

Naren also learnt many things from his maternal grand mother and her mother: One of his younger brothers; Mahendranath; later wrote that their maternal grandmother's mother belonged to the Vaishnava sect and knew many teachings and anecdotes. From the epics, the Bhagavatam, and from Vaishnava lore. The maternal grandmother told many anecdotes of the Bhagavatam. Indeed; most of the stories that Swami Vivekananda later told to his Western audiences he had heard in his childhood from these two elderly ladies.

Even the singers in the street contributed to young Naren's education. Fascinating are those singers. Sometimes they come in large parties perhaps as a family in straitened circumstances; but they are always joyous. Some carry with them an image of the Divine Mother; or it may be that a father will coma with his son dressed as Sri Krishna: the boy's silver anklets ringing as he dances, while the father sings in a deep basso, beating time on his tom-tom. From house to house the singers go, joyously singing of the Lord or telling sacred stories in song. Beggars though they are, in the ecstasy they arouse, they are givers, enhancing the spiritual sense of the people. Often they would come to Naren's house, and for her son's sake, his mother always made them welcome, for she realized that the more often and. Intimately a child is exposed to the national culture, the better and truer man does he become.

The first seed of spiritual life was sown during this period of Naren's early education. Again and again he had heard of Rama and Sita. He had listened enrapt to readings from the Ramayana, and had followed the long story of Rama's struggle and conquest with all the thrill of personal romantic adventure. He had, as well, observed the elder members of the family sitting in worship and meditation, and it occurred to him that he, too, should worship Rama. One day, he and a little Brahmin boy named Hari purchased a clay image of Sita-Rama, and when no one was about, they climbed the stairs that led to a room on the roof above the women's quarters. After securely closing the door; they installed the image, and sat down to meditate. Meanwhile parents of both the boys noticed their prolonged absence, and an anxious search for them was begun. The hunt led at last to the little locked room on the roof. The searchers knocked and shouted, but there was no response. At last their strong blows smashed the latch, and the door flew open. Hari, his meditation disturbed at the first ominous signal, fled down the stairs. But Naren had not heard anything. He was seated before the flower-decked image, motionless in deep meditation. When he did not respond on being called by name, he was shaken out of his meditation; but he insisted on being left alone. So they let him remain, knowing not what to make of it all; for it seemed strange at his age.

Shortly after this, the all-knowing syce created a disturbance in Naren's immature mind. One day when the boy was visiting the stable, the talk drifted to marriage, which was something intolerable to this man. With the memory of some bitter per-sonal experience, he forcefully denounced married life, telling his young listener of its difficulties, absurdities, and of the terrible bondage it entails. Naren stood as if terror-struck-as if the spectre of matrimony were already before him. And what of his image of Sita-Rama? He had given all the love and loyalty of his heart to these two very pure personages and worshipped them with all devotion. He had learnt to respect deeply their wonderful characters, had admired their loyalty to one another. But the syce had thrown too dreadful a meaning over the idea of marriage. And Rama and Sita were married -that was enough!

The irreconcilable conflict between the words of the syce and his regard for the image of Sita-Rama caused deep anguish in his heart, which burst forth in tears. One of the golden dreams of childhood was broken. Naren ran to the women's quarters. The mother saw his tears and inquired what made him sad. There was silence-then loud sobbing. "How can I worship Sita-Rama? Was not Sita Rama's wife?" he asked. Intuitively, Bhuvaneshwari understood the anguish of her son. But how to console him? Then, as light bursts upon darkness, the thought of Shiva came to her mind. She addressed her son not as Naren but as Vireshwar, and said, "There is Shiva to worship!" These words of the mother settled deeply in Naren's heart.

Shortly afterwards Naren left the room and climbed the stairs to the roof, unseen in the gloom of the evening. Over-head was the canopy of sparkling stars. He opened the door of the room where he had installed the image of Sita-Rama. He paused for a moment, then clasped the image and went to the edge of the roof. The next moment, the image of Sita-Rama was smashed on the pavement below.

On the following day Naren bought an image of Shiva with the money given by his mother. At once he enthroned it on the very spot from which Rama and Sita had been dethroned; and he was soon seated before Shiva with eyes closed to all outer things, in the depth of meditation.

But what suffering this had entailed! Poorer than a man despoiled of his wealth is the mind of a child bereft of its illusion. And yet this incident not only shows the fearlessness and sincer¬ity of the boy who gave up his cherished ideal when he found it did not match with his conception of the truth; but also makes evident the deep desire of his soul for freedom from the bondage of the senses, which he expressed later in these words: "Ever shall the soul be free! We must have freedom from bondage however sweet."

But aside from these outbursts, he was a sunny-tempered, sweet and loving child, and would scamper to anyone who would take him on his lap. He was one of those children who trust all implicitly, and feel joy each moment of that period during which the world is a constant surprise.

Of the servants, the coachman was his special friend. The ambition of his childhood was to become a syce or groom. To him the syce with his turban, his grand livery, and his whip, which he flourished as the carriage rolled on, was a magnificent person. He was wont to make the stables his headquarters and to watch every turn of men's duties. And how he loved horses !

Nevertheless, his devotion to Sita-Rama was never destroyed, and the Ramayana had still a great fascination for him. Whenever it was read in the neighbourhood he was sure to be there, rapt in the thrilling episodes of Rama's life. Particularly was that matchless devotee, the great hero Hanuman, attractive to him. Once when the reader told of how Hanuman lived in banana-groves, Naren, who was anxious to meet the monkey chief, asked, "Shall I be able to see him if I go there?" "Yes why not go and see!" said the reader rather sarcastically in reply to the boy's naive question. On his way back, the boy remembered a banana-grove near his home and made his way there, sat down under a banana tree, and prayed to Hanuman to show himself. He sat and sat, but Hanuman did not come. He was bitterly disappointed. But they told him at home that Hanuman had more than likely gone forth on some urgent mission of Shri Rama, and that solaced him.

But it was Shiva, the god of renunciation, whom now he worshipped. Even in childhood he had the fancy of becoming a sannyasi. One day he was found moving about nude except for an ochre loin-cloth which he had put on in the manner of sadhus. "What is this?" asked his mother in alarm. "Why Naren, what are you up to?" "I am Shiva! Look, I am Shiva!" cried out Naren in triumph.

The elders of the household had told him, in fun, that if one meditated, one's hair would become as long and matted as the monks', and would gradually enter deep into the earth like the roots of a banyan tree. So the simple child, seated in meditation, would once in a while open his eyes to see if his hair had grown long and matted. But when his expectations were not fulfilled, he ran in bewilderment to his mother, and asked, "I have meditated; but why bas no matted hair grown'?" His mother consoled him: "It is not grown in an hour or a day. It takes many many days, yes, many many months, before matted locks can be grown."

Then the talk drifted to other things. It turned to the Shiva image he had bought a few days before. He said that while he had sat before the image that morning, the thought of his mother's words-that he had been sent away from the real Shiva because he had been naughty had come to him very forcibly. Reincarnation is accepted, unconsciously, as a fact by every Hindu child; so he added, "I think I have been a sadhu once. Will Shiva let me go back to Him if I am good?" The mother answered, "Yes." But her heart sank at the thought that perhaps he, like his grandfather, would renounce the world and return to Shiva. Then she banished the thought, thinking that there were many years yet before he could grow into that discrimination in which he would feel all the joys of the world as an intolerable burden, knowing joy only in the thought of God.

From this time on, the family often found little Naren playing at meditation. Though it was play, it awakened in him deep spiritual emotions. They would see him quietly sitting for a long time, absorbed. So deep was this absorption that some-times he had to be shaken from it back to the normal condition of a child; and it grew more and more difficult sometimes to rouse him on such occasions. The boys of the neighbourhood sometimes joined him in this pastime.

One evening when the crescent moan was in the sky and they had seated themselves in meditation posture in the worship-ball, one of the boys noticed a big cobra gliding along the stone paved floor. With a shout he announced the newcomer. Others sprang to their Feet in terror, but Naren remained lost in meditation. His friends shouted to him, but there was no response; so they ran to his parents, who came in haste. What horror was theirs when they saw a cobra with its hood spread, as if strangely fascinated! They were afraid to call out lest they disturb the snake and provoke it to strike. Then suddenly it glided away; and a moment later it was nowhere to he found. When his parents inquired why he did not run away, Naren said, "I knew nothing of the snake or of anything else; I was feeling inexpressible bliss."

Every night brought some strange vision to Naren. Singular was the manner in which he fell asleep. As soon as he closed his eyes, there would appear between his eyebrows a wonderful spot of light of changing hues, which would expand and burst and bathe his whole body in a flood of white radiance. As his mind became preoccupied with this phenomenon, his body would fall asleep. It was a daily occurrence which he would court by lying down on his chest; as soon as drowsiness overtook him, the light appeared. Thinking it to be a perfectly natural thing which happened to everybody, he did not mention it until long after, when he asked a schoolmate, "Do you see a light between your eyebrows at night when you go to sleep?" The friend said he did not. "I do", said Naren. "Try to remember. Do not fall into sleep as soon as you go to bed & on the alert for a while and you will see it."

In later years, there was to he someone who would put that very question to Naren himself: "Naren, my boy, do you see a light when you go to sleep?" This questioner was his spiritual teacher, Shri Ramakrishna; but of this later. The phenomenon remained with him until the end, although in the latter part of his life it was not so frequent or so intense. It told, assuredly, of a great spiritual past in which the soul had learnt so well to sink itself deep in meditation that the meditative state had become spontaneous with him.

But schools are places where one is apt to meet with all sorts of comrades, and within a few days Naren had acquired a vocabulary which quite upset his family's sense of propriety. Never again, determined all the household, should he go to school. Instead, a private tutor was engaged, who conducted classes in the family worship-hall for Naren and other boys¬ some of whom were his cousins, and others the sons of his father's friends.

Soon Naren was noticed for his exceptional intelligence. He learned to read and write while other boys were wrestling with the alphabet. His memory was prodigious. He had a peculiar way of his own of closing his eyes and sitting motion¬less or lying down when attending the classes. The private tutor who had been engaged did not understand his peculiarity in his charge at first; and at last he became quite provoked. He caught hold of his pupil, shaking him rudely, to rouse him from his seeming sleepiness. Naren opened his eyes in wounded surprise. He listened to the angry words of the tutor. Then, in self defence, he recited word-for-word the whole text that had been .read in the preceding hour. Ever afterwards the tutor regarded this pupil with admiration; for in his long acquaintance with boys, never had he found such a remarkable memory.

Though Naren's schooling started in this way, his learning at his mother's knee did not stop. As to book-learning, he learned from his mother the Bengali alphabet and the First Book of English by Pyaricharan Sarkar. It was from his mother again that he learned how to hold aloft his moral standards, even while struggling in the eddies of the world, and how to take refuge at the feet of God, knowing Him to be the best support in life._x000d_ The mother also taught Naren; "Remain pure all your life; guard your own honour and never transgress the honour of others & very tranquil, but when necessary, harden your heart." Throughout his life Narendranath loved his mother with all his heart and remembered her precepts. He used to say, "He who cannot literally worship his mother can never become great." On many occasions he proudly declared, "I am indebted to my mother for the efflorescence of my knowledge."

Other members of the household also contributed to Naren's education. At night he slept under the protecting presence of an old relative-Nrisimha Datta, the father of Ramachandra Datta, who was to become a lay devotee of Shri Ramakrishna. This man, who was very learned in Sanskrit lore, thought that the best way of training a youth in mind and character was to get him to memorize difficult intellectual subjects. At night, therefore, he taught the boy the aphorisms of the Sanskrit grammar Mugdhabodha, the genealogy of his family, hymns to gods and goddesses, as well as passages of great length from the Ramayana and Mahabharata. Thus in a year's time Naren had acquired considerable grounding in Sanskrit, and certainly this training in early boyhood constituted one of the formative elements in that passion for Sanskrit learning which he possessed in later years.

Naren's father also played a significant part in his son's education. It was he who insisted that the boy should study music, for he looked upon it as a source of much innocent joy. Perhaps the deep attraction of his family for music helped turn Narendranath into an accomplished singer.

In his attitude towards his children Vishwanath showed considerable wisdom. He believed in inspiring them to develop self respect and politeness. If any of them misbehaved, he did not reprimand him, but in order to produce the required reform, exposed him to the ridicule of his friends. To cite an instance One day Naren behaved very rudely to his mother. The father, instead of scolding the boy, wrote on the door of the room where Naren received his friends: Naren Babu said these words today to his mother-followed by the words actually said. Every time Naren or his friends entered that room they were confronted with this statement. It was not long before Naren showed signs of repentance.

Even at an early age Naren asserted himself as leader among his fellows. Whenever occasion offered, he put himself at their head. One such occasion came on the Makara Sankranti day, the last day of poush (the Bengali month corresponding to December-January), and a holiday when boys worship Mother Ganga, and everyone thinks it most auspicious to bathe in the sacred waters. Naren had insisted that this festival should be celebrated, and obtained permission from his father, together with the necessary expenses. Then he gathered together a group of boys, and the father instructed the private tutor, or the Guru Mahashaya, as he was called, to teach them songs to Mother Ganga. On the appointed day the procession of little fellows headed by Naren set out from the Datta home. Marching with flying flags and garlands of flowers in their hands, they went through the streets to the Ganga, singing all the while. When they reached the river, they burst into that song which all Hindu children in Bengal know so well-"Worship the Mother Ganga"-and they then threw their garlands upon the flowing waters. That evening they again repaired to the river, and after improvising toy boats out of sheaths of banana stems, they fastened at their prows the lights of reverence. What a pretty sight! All along the river floated these toy boats. Naren's party was only one of many; for miles the Mother Ganga's waters were lighted by the love of the children.

Acknowledged as leader wherever he went in the course of his life, peerless among his contemporaries, in early manhood the prince of the disciples who sat at the feet of his Master, unmatched in intellect, East or West, Naren was also king among his playmates. He was the all-in-all of their world. "I am the Samrat, the King of kings", Naren would shout as he scampered up the stairs that led from the ground floor of the courtyard to the veranda of the Puja-hall, and would sit himself down as the lord of men. Pointing to the steps below, he would tell two of his fellows to stand before him as prime minister and commander-in-chief. Lower on the stairs he bade five others stand as tributary princes. To his courtiers he gave the privilege of sitting one step lower than the princes. He would then formally open his durbar. One by one the princes, the higher officials of state and the courtiers would prostrate themselves in proper oriental fashion before the Imperial Presence; addressing him as Son of Solar Splendours, the Lord of Lands and Seas, and the Protector of Dharma. The ceremony over, the king would ask about the welfare of his realm and listen to the grievances of his subjects. A criminal was perhaps then brought before him, and the grave accusations against him being proved, His Majesty would exclaim, "Off with his head! Ho, guards!" and then ten guards would spring upon the offender. So went Naren's favourite game of "King and the Court", in which he administered justice with royal dignity and put down the slightest insubordination by a disapproving frown.

There used to come to Naren's house many of his father's clients. They would sit together chatting until their turn for consultation came. They were of various castes; there was even a Mohammedan, with whom Naren was particularly friendly, and each was provided with his own hookah. Caste was a mystery to the boy. Why should not a member of one caste eat with a member of another or smoke his hookah? What would happen if one did? Would the roof fall in on him? Would he suddenly die? He decided to see for himself. Boldly he went round the hookahs and took a whiff from each and every one. No, he was not dead! Just then his father entered. "What are you doing, my boy?" he questioned. "Oh, father! Why, I was trying to see what would happen if I broke caste! Nothing has happened!" The father laughed heartily and with a knowing look on his face walked into his private study.

Naren's boyish exuberance expressed itself in all sorts of ways, naughty and otherwise. One day while romping with his comrades, he fell from the veranda of the worship-hall, striking his head against a stone. To his death he carried the scar of this on his forehead just above his right eye. The Sage who was his teacher in his later life once said: "Had Naren's powers not been checked by this accident, he would have shattered the world!" As it was, he raised the world.

We have already mentioned that Naren was the leader among his fellows. Indeed, leadership was innate in him, and very early in life he demonstrated the truth that leadership means self sacrifice. One day when he was about six years old, he went with a younger relative to a Charhak fair at which Lord Shiva is worshipped. He purchased some doll-images of Shiva at the fair, and as the two boys were returning home in the dusk, they became slightly separated in the crowd. At that moment a carriage came dashing along. Naren, who thought his companion was immediately behind him, turned at the noise and to his horror saw that it was a question of life or death for the little lad, who stood terrified in the middle of the road about to be run over. Putting his dolls underneath his left arm Naren rushed to the lad's help, heedless of his own safety, and grabbing him with his right hand, pulled him almost from under the horses' hoofs. Those close by were wonder struck. The danger had appeared so suddenly that there was little chance for another to have run to the small boy's assistance. Some patted Naren on the back, while others blessed him; and when, on his return home, his mother heard the story, she wept for happiness and said, "Always be a man, my son!"

There were those who saw marks of Naren's future greatness even at this time. In the year 1869, Kaliprasad, Naren's grand uncle and once the head of the Datta house, lay on his death bed. When he found that he was to live but a few hours more, he called in his whole family, and then asked any one of the children to read to him passages from the Mahabharata, so that his soul could pass on to another sphere with the thoughts contained in that great epic. All except Naren and one of his sisters felt too shy to read aloud to the dying elder. So Naren took up the heavy volume and placing it on his lap, turned page after page, while his voice, loud and clear, rang with the glories of the heroes and the Lord. As he was reading that particular portion where Garuda few off with his mother Vinata on his shoulders, which symbolizes the soul's rising on the wings of knowledge to blessedness, the breathing of Kaliprasad became slower and slower. Then he spoke in an under-tone-yet with all the burning certainty of vision that the dying sometimes show-"Child, you have a great future before you." Having uttered these words his soul passed out into higher spheres.

There is a saying, morning shows the day. Likewise by observing the sum total of qualities manifested in a child one can have a preview of the life that is yet to be. About Naren one can say that the morning of his life was auspicious indeed! With his well-shaped graceful form, fair complexion, large bright eyes, and face bearing the impress of budding genius, he naturally attracted everyone's love. His mind filled with a hundred soaring visions, heart soaked in affection, intellect razor-sharp, courage boundless, inventive genius astounding, working capacity un reckoned, and enthusiasm irrepressible Naren was peerless even from childhood. Above all was his spontaneous inclination towards God. From his very childhood he was an adept in meditation, and had delight in worship, prayer, and search for God. When we have deeply studied his life, we shall find ourselves having to admit that the foregoing account of Narendranath is not only not exaggerated, but is rather a pale representation of the truth._x000d_ Those who are to change the thought of the world as did Plato and Aristotle, or alter its destinies as did Alexander and Caesar, are from their childhood conscious of their power; they are instinctively aware of the greatness which is to come._x000d_ Narendranath, too, felt the spirit of greatness within him; he saw things to which others of his age were blind, and he felt already, in the feeble and yet certain way of a child, the struggle which was to be his in giving expression to his vision.

The light of the world dawned for the first time upon the future Swami Vivekananda on Monday, January 12, 1863. It was the holy morning hour-33 minutes and 33 seconds after six, a few minutes before sunrise. At the time of his birth the constellation Sagittarius was rising in the east, the moon was in the constellation Virgo, the planet Jupiter was in the eleventh house, and Saturn was in the tenth from that of his birth. It was the seventh day of the new moon (Krishna Saptami) and, as chance would have it, the last day of the ninth Bengali month Poush, known as Makara Sankranti day-a great Hindu festival. The millions of men and women who were observing the festival unknowingly greeted the new-born babe with prayers and worship. They little knew that he had just been born, who was to usher in a new age of glory for his country, who was to reorganize the spiritual and national consciousness of India, and who was to become a great apostle-a St. Paul preaching unto the world another gospel of redemption, namely the message of Vedanta. And only a few miles north of Calcutta, in the garden of Dakshineshwar, a great seer was waiting for the coming of this babe, who was to grow into manhood to carry on his great work.

At the age of six, Naren went to the pathshala, the traditional type Indian school. He was in a brand new dhoti. He carried a mat under his arm, for each child had to bring his own to sit on; and from his waist dangled a little reed-pen held fast by a long string. He felt himself very superior; as do all boys on their first day of school._x000d_ Indeed, that day was an important one for him. Early in the morning, the priest of the family had called him for the ceremony that is performed when a boy first goes to school. All the family were present. After the recitation of a few prayers, and the dedication of the lad to Saraswati, the presiding goddess of learning, the priest took Naren's right hand, putting into it a kind of red-tinged writing chalk called Ramkhadi, and then, guiding it, wrote on the ground the Bengali alphabet saying, "This is Ka, this is Kha"; and Naren repeated after him, "This is Ka, this is Kha."