During these days, the Swami also had an experience of a disquieting nature. He spoke later of it as "a crisis" in his life. A disciple of a Muslim fakir used to come to the Swami occasionally, attracted by his personality. Hearing one day that this man was suffering from fever and severe headache, the Swami, out of compassion, touched him on the head with his fingers. Surprisingly, the man's ailments left him. After that he became very devoted to the Swami, and came to him oftener than before. But the man's guru, the fakir, when he hear o this, became bitterly jealous of the Swami. Afraid lest his disciple forsake him, the fakir spoke ill of the Swami and warned his disciple not to see him. Finding that his words had no effect, he grew angry and abusive. In a spirit of revenge, and perhaps also to convince his disciple of his own greater psychic power, he threatened to use charms against the Swami. He prophesied that the latter would vomit and feel giddy before he left Kashmir. This actually came about, and the Swami was precipitated into great perplexity of mind and fury, not against the fakir but against himself and his Master. He thought: "What good is Shri Ramakrishna to me? What good are all my realizations and my preaching of Vedanta and of the omnipotence of the Soul within, when I myself could not save myself from the diabolical powers of a black magician?" This experience exercised his mind so much that even when he reached Calcutta three weeks later, it continued to agitate him, and he told the Holy Mother, who happened to be there at the time, all about it.

To return to our narrative, preparations were now made to go to the plains. The Swami had already sent a telegram to Swami Saradananda in August, inviting him to come to Kashmir. The idea was that he would accompany the Western disciples, who would be seeing some places of interest, in northern India. In September the Swami had also sent a telegram to Swami Sadananda, asking him to come and meet him at Lahore (now in Pakistan), in order to accompany him wherever he might go from there. Swami Saradananda left Calcutta on September 27. He met the Swami, then very ill, at Srinagar. When the Swami felt better through the care of his brother-disciples, the whole party left by boat for Baramula.

We left Almora on the twentieth [eleventh] of June for Kashmir. By train to Rawalpindi, where we got tongas with three horses abreast to drive us the two hundred miles up into Kashmir. There were relays of horses every five miles, so that we dashed through on top of this beautiful road, as perfect then as any road the Romans ever made. Then to Baramula where we got four native houseboats. These boats called Dungas are about seventy feet long and broad enough to have two single beds in them and a corridor between, covered with a matting house; so wherever we wanted a window we only had to roll up the matting. The whole roof could be lifted in the daytime, and thus we lived in the open, yet knew there was always a roof over our heads. We had four of these Dungas, one for Mrs. Bull and me,. one for Mrs. Patterson and Sister Nivedita, and one for Swami and one of his monks. Then a dining-room boat where we all met to have our meals. We stayed in Kashmir four months, the first three in these simple little boats until after September, when it got so cold, we took an ordinary houseboat with fire-places and there enjoyed the warmth of a real house. Sister Nivedita has written a good deal of the talks we had there. Swami would get up about half past five in the morning, and seeing him smoking and talking with the boatmen, we would get up too. Then there would be those long walks for a couple of hours until the sun came up warm; Swami talking about India, what its purpose in life was, what Mohammedanism had done and what it had not done. He talked, immersed in the history of India and in the architecture and in the, habits of the people, and we walked on through fields of forget-me-nots burning into pink and blue blossoms, way above our heads.

Baramula is something like Venice. So many of the streets are canals. We had our own little private boat in which we went to and from the mainland. But the merchants would come in small crafts all about our boats. We did most of our shopping over the rails of the boat. Each of our boats cost thirty rupees a month, which included the boatmen who fed themselves. The boatmen consisted of father, mother, son, daughter, and tiny children. They had their own little place at the end of the boat, and many a time we begged them for a taste of their food, the aroma being so delicious. The manner of _x000d_ travelling in these boats is that the boat is punted up the river or it is dragged, the boatmen walking along the shore, or it is rowed. There is nothing extra to pay regardless of how one is navigated. When we wanted to move up the Jhelum river to some of the lakes, we would tell our servants the night before; they would get in supplies of food including ducks or chickens, vegetables, eggs, butter, fruits, and milk. In the morning, when we awakened, we would feel the boat moving along, gliding so imperceptibly that we were scarcely conscious of the motion.. Our servant who had walked ahead would then have a delicious meal waiting for us. This he made over a little trough long enough and narrow enough to hold three pans, one containing soup, one meat, and the other rice. The dexterity of these people was a wonder and something we never got over. As a chicken is not considered clean food by the orthodox Hindus, we never told the people we intended to cat the chickens we bought. But when we went up the river, the lower part of the boat held half a dozen clucking chickens. The pandits who could come to visit Swami would hear them and look around for them. Swami, who knew they were hidden underneath, had a twinkle in his eye, but he would never give us away. Then the pandits would say, "But Swami, why do you have to do with these ladies? They are mlechchhas. They are untouchables." Then the Westerners would come to us and say, "But don't you see ? Swami is not treating you with respect. He meets you without his turban." So we had great fun laughing at the idiosyncrasies of each other's civilization.

Swamiji then sent for Swami Saradananda to come and travel with us, to show us the sights of India — Lahore, Delhi, Agra, Kurukshetra, and so on, Swami going straight down to Calcutta....

The river trip was noteworthy only for the extreme silence of the Swami, who preferred to be almost entirely by himself. He walked alone by the riverside, mornings and evenings. He looked so ill and worn out that his companions feared a breakdown. Sister Nivedita writes: "The physical ebb of the great experience through which he had just passed — for even suffering becomes impossible, when a given point of weariness is reached; and similarly, the body refuses to harbour a certain intensity of the spiritual life for an indefinite period! — was leaving him, doubtless, more exhausted, than he himself suspected. All this contributed, one imagines, to a feeling that none of us knew for how long a time we might now be parting."

Sometimes he would sing, or would translate snatches of devotional poetry always to the Mother. He spoke of the future once, very casually. There was nothing to be desired for him but the life of the wanderer, in silence and nudity, on the banks of the Ganga. He would have nothing. "Swamiji was dead and gone", writes Nivedita, representing the Swami's present mood and attitude: "Who was he that he should feel responsible for teaching the world? It was all fuss and vanity. The Mother had no need of him, but only he of Her. Even work, when one had seen this, was nothing but illusion." An over-mastering love enveloped him. He believed now in nothing but love — love so intense that it would be impossible for even the bitterest of enemies to resist it.

I can give no idea of the vastness of which all this was utterance — as if no blow, to any in the world, could pass and leave our Master's heart untouched; as if no pain, even to that of death, could elicit anything but love and blessing.

He told us the story of Vasishtha and Vishwamitra; of Vasishtha's hundred descendants slain; and the sage left alone, landless and helpless, to live out his life. Then he pictured the hut standing in the moonlight, amongst the trees and Vasishtha and his wife within. He is poring intently over some precious page, written by his great rival, when she draws near and hangs over him for a moment, saying, "Look, how bright is the moon tonight!" And he, without looking up, "But ten thousand times brighter, my love, is the intellect of Vishwamitra!"

All forgotten! the deaths of his hundred children, his own wrongs, and his sufferings, and his heart lost in admiration of the genius of his foe! Such, said the Swami, should he our love also, like that of Vasishtha for Vishwamitra, without the slightest tinge of personal memory.

The party remained in Srinagar till September 30. During this period the Swami frequently went off in his boat by himself and remained for days in solitude. His desire for meditation and reflection became more and more pronounced. Nevertheless, he continued to instruct his disciples about India and his own ideas, dwelling in particular upon "the inclusiveness of his conception of the country and its religions", of his own longing to make Hinduism active and aggressive, a missionary faith, without its present "don't touchism", and of the necessity of blending the highest meditative life with the most active and practice. To be "as deep as the ocean and as broad as the sky", he said, quoting his Master, was the ideal. "Shri Ramakrishna", he continued, "was alive to the depths of his being, yet on the outer plane he was perfectly active and capable."

When a choice had to he made between meditative detachment and active involvement., the Swami expressed himself variously. For instance, at Almora, when asked, "Sir, what should we do when we see the strong oppress the weak?" he had replied: "Why, thrash the strong, of course!" His questioner, says Nivedita, had been "a certain elderly man with a face full of amiable weakness". On another occasion, in a similar context of discussion, he said: "Even forgiveness, if weak and passive, is not good: to fight is better. Forgive when you can bring legions of angels to an easy victory.... The world is a battlefield, fight your way out." Somebody else asked him, "Swamiji, ought one to die in defence of right, or ought one to learn never to react?" "I am for no reaction," replied the Swami slowly, and then after a long pause, added, " — for sannyasis. Self-defence for the householder!"

Though this news temporarily depressed him, he came to see, after much reflection, that for various reasons Kashmir, or for that matter any native State, would not be a suitable place in which to try the experiment of bringing his Indian followers into contact with his Western, and vice versa. He realized that Bengal was far more suitable for any educational work for India than the distant State of Kashmir. Moreover, Calcutta, at that time the metropolis, was the intellectual centre of the country. Besides, so far as. having a monastery in a cool climate was concerned, that project had been taken up in earnest by his disciples, Mr. and Mrs. Sevier, who were on the lookout for a suitable tract of land in the hills of Kumaon. The Swami accepted the obstacles that had come in his path, therefore, as the will of the Mother, and felt that they were for the best.

We are on our way down to Srinagar, and I have a boat to myself, for the Consul's wife [Mrs. Patterson has just left us to join her husband. Over there is Swami's boat, and just behind Mrs. Bull and Miss MacLeod's where we have been lunching (our first meal we have about 6, lunch about 12, and our last at 5 or 6). The river is like glass, and slight breeze meets us in our leisurely progress. It is like heaven. A few weeks hence all this will be over …

And now I must tell you something that will startle you — I have been away up in the Himalayas for a week — 18,000 feet high — I went with the Swami to see the glaciers—so much anyone may know. The rest you may not tell. It was a pilgrimage really to the Caves of Amarnath, where he was anxious to dedicate me to Shiva.... and he did dedicate me to Shiva.

To Maharaja Ajit Singh, the Raja of Khetri_x000d_ Srinagar_x000d_ 10 August 1898_x000d_ Your Highness___x000d_ I have long not heard any news of you. How are things going on with you both bodily and mentally?_x000d_ I have been to see Shri Amarnathji. It was a very enjoyable trip and the Darshana was glorious._x000d_ I will be here about a month more, then I return to the plains. Kindly ask Jagmohan to write to the Dewan Saheb of Kishangarh to get for me the copies of Nimbârka Bhâshya which he promised._x000d_ With all love,_x000d_ Yours,_x000d_ Vivekananda

Kashmir,_x000d_ 25th Aug., 1898_x000d_ Dear Margot {Nivedita},_x000d_ It is a lazy life I am leading for the last two months, floating leisurely in a boat, which is also my home, up and down the beautiful Jhelum, through the most gorgeous scenery God's world can afford, in nature's own park, where the earth, air, land, grass, plants, trees, mountains, snows, and the human form, all express, on the outside at least, the beauty of the Lord--with almost no possessions, scarcely a pen or an inkstand even, snatching up a meal whenever or wherever convenient, the very ideal of a Rip Van Winkle! . . . _x000d_ Do not work yourself out. It is no use; always remember--"Duty is the midday sun whose fierce rays are burning the very vitals of humanity." It is necessary for a time as a discipline; beyond that, it is a morbid dream. Things go on all right whether we lend them our helping hands or not. We in delusion only break ourselves. There is a false sentiment which goes the extreme of unselfishness, only to injure others by its submission to every evil. We have no right to make others selfish by our unselfishness; have we? . . . _x000d_ Yours etc.,_x000d_ Vivekananda

We get glimpses of the Swami's life during the period now being described, from some of his and Sister Nivedita's letters. On August 27 the Swami wrote to Christine Greenstidel:

It is a lazy life I am leading for the last two months floating leisurely in a boat, which is also my home, up and down the beauti-ful Jhelum, through the most gorgeous scenery God's world can afford in nature's own park, where the air, earth, land, grass, plants, trees, mountain, snows, and the human form all express on the outside at least the beauty of the Lord; with almost no possessions — scarcely a pen or an inkstand even, snatching up a meal wherever and whenever convenient: the very ideal of a Rip Van Winkle.... I have been told by one who has been the personal God to me that I am to come once more yet.... Do not work yourself out. It is no use; always remember — "Duty is the midday sun whose fierce rays are burning the very vitals of humanity." It is necessary for a time as a discipline; beyond that it is a morbid disease....

Srinagar, Kashmir_x000d_ 28th August, 1898_x000d_ My Dear Mary {Hale},_x000d_ I could not make an earlier opportunity of writing you, and knowing that you were in no hurry for a letter, I will not make apologies. You are learning all about Kashmir and ourselves from Miss MacLeod's letter to Mrs. Leggett, I hear--therefore needless going into long rigmaroles about it._x000d_ The search for Heinsholdt's Mahatmas in Kashmir will be entirely fruitless; and as the whole thing has first to be established as coming from a creditable source, the attempt will also be a little too early. How are Mother Church and Father Pope and where? How are you ladies, young and old? Going on with the old game with more zest now that one has fallen off the ranks? How is the lady that looks like a certain statue in Florence? (I have forgotten the name) I always bless her arms when I think of the comparison._x000d_ I have been away a few days. Now I am going to join the ladies. The party then goes to a nice quiet spot behind a hill, in a forest, through which a murmuring stream flows, to have meditation deep and long under the deodars (trees of God) cross-legged a la Buddha ._x000d_ This will be for a month or so, when by that time our good work will have spent its powers and we shall fall from this Paradise to earth again; then work out our Karma a few months and then will have to go to hell for bad Karma in China, and our evil deeds will make us sink in bad odours with the world in Canton and other cities. Thence Purgatory in Japan? And regain Paradise once more in the U.S. of America. This is what Pumpkin Swami, brother of the Coomra Swami, foretells (in Bengali Coomra means squash). He is very clever with his hands. In fact his cleverness with his hands has several times brought him into great dangers._x000d_ I wished to send you so many nice things, but alas! the thought of the tariff makes my desires vanish "like youth in women and beggars' dreams"._x000d_ By the by, I am glad now that I am growing grey every day. My head will be a full-blown white lotus by the time you see me next._x000d_ Ah! Mary, if you could see Kashmir--only Kashmir; the marvellous lakes full of lotuses and swans (there are no swans but geese--poetic licence) and the big black bee trying to settle on the wind-shaken lotus (I mean the lotus nods him off refusing a kiss--poetry), then you could have a good conscience on your death-bed. As this is earthly paradise and as logic says one bird in the hand is equal to two in the bush, a glimpse of this is wiser, but economically the other better; no trouble, no labour, no expense, a little namby-pamby dolly life and later, that is all._x000d_ My letter is becoming a bore . . . so I stop. (It is sheer idleness). Good night._x000d_ Ever yours in the Lord,_x000d_ Vivekananda_x000d_ My address always is:_x000d_ Math, Belur,_x000d_ Howrah Dist., Bengal, India

In an interview which a representative of Prabuddha Bharata had recently with the Swami Vivekananda, that great Teacher was asked: "What do you consider the distinguishing feature of your movement, Swamiji?"_x000d_ "Aggression," said the Swami promptly, "aggression in a religious sense only. Other sects and parties have carried spirituality all over India, but since the days of Buddha we have been the first to break bounds and try to flood the world with missionary zeal."_x000d_ And what do you consider to be the function of your movement as regards India?"_x000d_ "To find the common bases of Hinduism and awaken the national consciousness to them. At present there are three parties in India included under the term 'Hindu'--the orthodox, the reforming sects of the Mohammedan period, and the reforming sects of the present time. Hindus from North to South are only agreed on one point, viz. on not eating beef."_x000d_ "Not a common love for the Vedas?"_x000d_ "Certainly not. That is just what we want to re-awaken. India has not yet assimilated the work of Buddha. She is hypnotised by his voice, not made alive by it."_x000d_ "In what way do you see this importance of Buddhism in India today?"_x000d_ "It is obvious and overwhelming. You see India never loses anything; only she takes time to turn everything into bone and muscle. Buddha dealt a blow at animal sacrifice from which India has never recovered; and Buddha said, 'Kill no cows', and cow-killing is an impossibility with us."_x000d_ "With which of the three parties you name do you identify yourself, Swamiji?"_x000d_ "With all of them. We are orthodox Hindus," said the Swami, "but", he added suddenly with great earnestness and emphasis, "we refuse entirely to identify ourselves with 'Don't-touchism'. That is not Hinduism: it is in none of our books; it is an unorthodox superstition which has interfered with national efficiency all along the line."_x000d_ "Then what you really desire is national efficiency?"_x000d_ "Certainly. Can you adduce any reason why India should lie in the ebb-tide of the Aryan nations? Is she inferior in intellect? Is she inferior in dexterity? Can you look at her art, at her mathematics, at her philosophy, and answer 'yes'? All that is needed is that she should de-hypnotise herself and wake up from her age-long sleep to take her true rank in the hierarchy of nations."_x000d_ "But India has always had her deep inner life. Are you not afraid, Swamiji, that in attempting to make her active you may take from her, her one great treasure?"_x000d_ "Not at all. The history of the past has gone to develop the inner life of India and the activity (i.e. the outer life) of the West. Hitherto these have been divergent. The time has now come for them to unite. Ramakrishna Paramahamsa was alive to the depths of being, yet on the outer plane who was more active? This is the secret. Let your life be as deep as the ocean, but let it also be as wide as the sky._x000d_ "It is a curious thing", continued the Swami, "that the inner life is often most profoundly developed where the outer conditions are most cramping and limiting. But this is an accidental--not an essential--association, and if we set ourselves right here in India, the world will be 'rightened'. For are we not all one?"_x000d_ "Your last remarks, Swamiji, raise another question. In what sense is Shri Ramakrishna a part of this awakened Hinduism?"_x000d_ "That is not for me to determine", said the Swami. "I have never preached personalities. My own life is guided by the enthusiasm of this great soul; but others will decide for themselves how far they share in this attitude. Inspiration is not filtered out to the world through one channel, however great. Each generation should be inspired afresh. Are we not all God?"_x000d_ "Thank you. I have only one question more to ask you. You have defined the attitude and function of your movement with regard to your own people. Could you in the same way characterise your methods of action as a whole?"_x000d_ "Our method", said the Swami, "is very easily described. It simply consists in reasserting the national life. Buddha preached renunciation. India heard, and yet in six centuries she reached her greatest height. The secret lies there. The national ideals of India are RENUNCIATION and SERVICE. Intensify her in those channels, and the rest will take care of itself. The banner of the spiritual cannot be raised too high in this country. In it alone is salvation.

One evening in the second week of September he had an experience, which can be compared only perhaps to that which he had had in the Dakshineswar temple-garden years ago, when, at the bidding of Shri Ramakrishna, he had gone to pray to the Mother to be relieved of the great strain of poverty that was upon him then.

He, had gone in his boat to a solitary place. The only person whom he allowed to visit him was a certain Brahmo doctor who had become devotedly attached to him during his sojourn in Kashmir that summer, and who went regularly to inquire about his daily needs. When the doctor found him lost in thought, or in meditation, he would leave quietly without disturbing him. The Swami's consciousness seethed with thought and love of the Mother. His mind was tuned to its highest pitch. Revelation must come.

One evening, as we have said, it came. He had centred "his whole attention on the dark, the painful, and the inscrutable in the world, with the determination to reach, by this particular road, the One behind phenomena" — for such was his conception of the Mother. Outside all was stillness; but within him a world-destroying tempest raged. In the exaltation of his vision he wrote "Kali the Mother", one of his best-known poems. In it a glimpse of his vision of the tumult of the universe is given, pictured as the mad joy of the Mother's Dance. Filled with the sublime experience, he wrote to the last word: the pen fell from his hand.. and he dropped to the floor, losing consciousness, while his soul soared into Bhava-samadi. The man who had swayed thousands in the West, who had roused the consciousness of India, lay as if dead, in a swoon of ecstasy and awe!

The Swami now gave himself to constant explanations of the worship of the Mother, and calling upon Her. He would say, quoting the Psalmist, "Though Thou slay me, yet will I trust in Thee," or "It is a mistake to hold that with all men pleasure is the motive. Quite as many are born to seek pain. There can be bliss in torture, too. Let us worship the Terror for its own sake." Again, "Learn to recognize the Mother as instinctively in evil, terror, sorrow, and annihilation as in that which makes for sweetness and joy!" Or "True, they garland Thee with skulls, but shrink back in fright, and call Thee, '0 All-merciful One'!" "Only by the worship of the Terrible, can the Terrible itself be overcome and immortality gained. Meditate on death! Meditate on death! Worship the Terrible, the Terrible, the Terrible! And the Mother Herself is Brahman! Even Her curse .is a blessing. The heart must become a cremation-ground, pride, selfishness, and desire all burnt into ashes. Then, and then alone, will the Mother come!" She is "Herself time, change, and ceaseless energy".

Following the pilgrimage to Amarnath, the Swami's devotion became concentrated on the Mother. The strength that comes of meditation on the Great God was now replaced by the devotion that a child has for his mother. It was touching to see him worship, as Uma, the four-year-old daughter of his Muslim boatman. The songs of Ramprasad were constantly on his lips. He once told his disciples, during these days, that "wherever he turned, he was conscious of the Presence of the Mother, as if She were a person in the room". He felt that it was She, or his own Master, "whose hands are clasped upon my own and who leads me as though I were a child". And now, through his intensity of devotion, everything in the life of his companions became associated with the Mother, as it had been before with Shiva.

Gradually the Swami's absorption become more and more intense and he bitterly "complained of the malady of thought, which would consume a man, leaving him no time for sleep or rest, and would often become as insistent as a human voice".

And as he spoke, the underlying egoism of worship that is devoted to the kind God, to Providence, the consoling Divinity, without a heart for God in the earthquake, or God in the volcano, overwhelmed the listener. One saw that such worship was at bottom, as the Hindu calls it, merely "shopkeeping", and one realized the infinitely greater boldness and truth of the teaching that God manifests through evil as well as through good. One saw that the true attitude for the mind and will that are not to be baffled by the personal self, was in fact the determination, in the stern words of the Swami Vivekananda, "to seek death not life, to hurl one-self upon the sword's point, to become one with the Terrible for evermore!"

And often, now and later, in moments of severe illness or pain, he would be heard to exclaim, "She is the organ! She is the pain! And She is the giver of pain! Kali! Kali! Kali!" In all of his instructions at this time he would say: "There must be no fear. No begging, but demanding — demanding the Highest! The true devotees of the Mother are as hard as adamant and as fearless as lions. They are not the least upset if the whole universe suddenly crumbles into must at their feet! Make Her listen to you. None of that cringing to Mother! Remember!" "She is all-powerful; She can make heroes even out of stones!"

The Mother is present, he would say, wherever there is no fear, wherever there is renunciation or self-forgetfulness, where-ever there is the vision that "everything that one touches is pain". Again, when the cup of life is bitterest, then, naturally, the child-soul turns to Mother for relief and support. And in the meditation on the skull and cross-bones of the Western mystic, he saw a dim reflection of the universal aspect of Mother-worship. His idea of the Divine Motherhood, the Power behind all manifestation, was as poetic as it was impersonal.

_x000d_ The stars are blotted out, _x000d_ The clouds are covering clouds,_x000d_ It is darkness vibrant, sonant._x000d_ In the roaring, whirling wind_x000d_ Are the souls of a million lunatics_x000d_ Just loose from the prison-house,_x000d_ Wrenching trees by the roots,_x000d_ Sweeping all from the path._x000d_ The sea has joined the fray,_x000d_ And swirls up mountain-waves,_x000d_ To reach the pitchy sky._x000d_ The flash of lurid light_x000d_ Reveals on every side_x000d_ A thousand, thousand shades_x000d_ Of Death begrimed and black--_x000d_ Scattering plagues and sorrows,_x000d_ Dancing mad with joy,_x000d_ Come, Mother, come!_x000d_ For Terror is Thy name,_x000d_ Death is in Thy breath,_x000d_ And every shaking step_x000d_ Destroys a world for e'er._x000d_ Thou "Time", the All-Destroyer!_x000d_ Come, O Mother, come!_x000d_ Who dares misery love,_x000d_ And hug the form of Death,_x000d_ Dance in Destruction's dance,_x000d_ To him the Mother comes.

_x000d_ I_x000d_ One bending low with load of life--_x000d_ That meant no joy, but suffering harsh and hard--_x000d_ And wending on his way through dark and dismal paths _x000d_ Without a flash of light from brain or heart _x000d_ To give a moment's cheer, till the line _x000d_ That marks out pain from pleasure, death from life, _x000d_ And good from what is evil was well-nigh wiped from sight, _x000d_ Saw, one blessed night, a faint but beautiful ray of light _x000d_ Descend to him. He knew not what or wherefrom, _x000d_ But called it God and worshipped. _x000d_ Hope, an utter stranger, came to him and spread _x000d_ Through all his parts, and life to him meant more _x000d_ Than he could ever dream and covered all he knew, _x000d_ Nay, peeped beyond his world. The Sages _x000d_ Winked, and smiled, and called it "superstition". _x000d_ But he did feel its power and peace _x000d_ And gently answered back--_x000d_ "O Blessed Superstition! "_x000d_ _x000d_ II_x000d_ One drunk with wine of wealth and power_x000d_ And health to enjoy them both, whirled on_x000d_ His maddening course, till the earth, he thought,_x000d_ Was made for him, his pleasure-garden, and man,_x000d_ The crawling worm, was made to find him sport,_x000d_ Till the thousand lights of joy, with pleasure fed,_x000d_ That flickered day and night before his eyes,_x000d_ # _x000d_ _x000d_ With constant change of colours, began to blur _x000d_ His sight, and cloy his senses; till selfishness, _x000d_ Like a horny growth, had spread all o'er his heart; _x000d_ And pleasure meant to him no more than pain, _x000d_ Bereft of feeling; and life in the sense, _x000d_ So joyful, precious once, a rotting corpse between his arms, _x000d_ Which he forsooth would shun, but more he tried, the more _x000d_ It clung to him; and wished, with frenzied brain, _x000d_ A thousand forms of death, but quailed before the charm, _x000d_ Then sorrow came--and Wealth and Power went--_x000d_ And made him kinship find with all the human race _x000d_ In groans and tears, and though his friends would laugh, _x000d_ His lips would speak in grateful accents--_x000d_ "O Blessed Misery!"_x000d_ _x000d_ III_x000d_ One born with healthy frame--but not of will_x000d_ That can resist emotions deep and strong,_x000d_ Nor impulse throw, surcharged with potent strength--_x000d_ And just the sort that pass as good and kind,_x000d_ Beheld that he was safe, whilst others long_x000d_ And vain did struggle 'gainst the surging waves._x000d_ Till, morbid grown, his mind could see, like flies_x000d_ That seek the putrid part, but what was bad._x000d_ Then Fortune smiled on him, and his foot slipped._x000d_ That ope'd his eyes for e'er, and made him find_x000d_ That stones and trees ne'er break the law,_x000d_ But stones and trees remain; that man alone_x000d_ Is blest with power to fight and conquer Fate,_x000d_ Transcending bounds and laws._x000d_ From him his passive nature fell, and life appeared_x000d_ As broad and new, and broader, newer grew,_x000d_ Till light ahead began to break, and glimpse of That_x000d_ Where Peace Eternal dwells--yet one can only reach_x000d_ By wading through the sea of struggles--courage-giving, came. _x000d_ Then looking back on all that made him kin_x000d_ To stocks and stones, and on to what the world_x000d_ Had shunned him for, his fall, he blessed the fall, _x000d_ And with a joyful heart, declared it--_x000d_ "Blessed Sin!"

We are camping here on a piece of ground that the Maharajah wants to give the Swami for a Sanskrit School. Well, the missionaries have been stirring up such attacks on the King that it is very very doubtful that the Resident will consent to the disposal of the land … _x000d_ He has been away again on one of his lonely journeys. He always comes back from them so gentle and kind and yet witty and so glad to be with us all again! It is most delightful. You see, this summer has meant three months of perfect peace. And friendship, and he will always remember it, so I hope…. When I reach Calcutta, I am to stay with Sarada [the Holy Mother] till I find a house….

From Nivedita's diary it is known that on September 3, the Swami left for Achabal again, via Islamabad (Anantnag).

Srinagar, Kashmir_x000d_ 17th September, 1898_x000d_ Dear Haripada {Mitra},_x000d_ I got all news from your letter and wire. That you may easily pass your examination in Sindhi is my prayer to the Lord._x000d_ Recently my health was very bad, and so I have been delayed, otherwise I had intended to leave for the Punjab this week. The doctor had advised me not to go to the plains at the present time, as it is very hot there. Perhaps I may reach Karachi by about the last week of October. Now I am doing somewhat well. There is nobody else with me now excepting two American friends--ladies. Probably I shall part from them at Lahore. They will wait for me in Calcutta or in Rajputana. I shall probably visit Cutch, Bhuj, Junagad, Bhavnagar, Limbdi, and Baroda and then proceed to Calcutta. My present plan is to go to America via China and Japan in November or December, but it is all in the hands of the Lord. The above-mentioned American friends bear all my expenses, and I shall take from them all my expenses including railway fare up to Karachi. But if it is convenient to you, send me Rs. 50/- by wire C/o Rishibar Mukhopadhyaya, Chief Justice, Kashmir State, Srinagar. It will be a great help to me, for I have incurred much extra expense of late owing to illness, and I feel a little ashamed to have to depend always on my foreign devotees. With best wishes,_x000d_ Yours affectionately,_x000d_ Vivekananda

c/o Risibar Mookerjee,_x000d_ Chief Judge,_x000d_ Kashmir,_x000d_ 17th September, 1898_x000d_ Your Highness {Majaraja of Khetri},_x000d_ I have been very ill here for two weeks. Now getting better. I am in want of funds. Though the American friends are doing everything they can to help me, I feel shame to beg from them all the time, especially as illness makes one incur contingent expenses. I have no shame to beg of one person in the world and that is yourself. Whether you give or refuse, it is the same to me. If possible send some money kindly. How are you? I am going down by the middle of October._x000d_ Very glad to learn from Jagamohan the complete recovery of the Kumar (Prince) Saheb. Things are going on well with me; hoping it is the same with you._x000d_ Ever yours in the Lord,_x000d_ Vivekananda

Following the experience related above, the Swami retired abruptly on September 30 to the Coloured Springs of Kshir- Bhavani (or Kheer Bhawani), leaving strict instructions that no one was to follow him. It was not until October 6 that he returned. Before this famous shrine of the Mother he daily per-formed Homa, and worshipped Her with offerings of Kshira or Kheer (thickened milk) made from one maund of milk, rice, and almonds. He told his beads like any humble pilgrim; and, as a special Sadhana, every morning he worshipped a Brahmin pandit's little daughter as Uma Kumari, the Divine Virgin. He began to practise the sternest austerities. It seemed as though he would tear off all the veils that had come upon his soul through years of work and thought, and again be a child before the Divine Mother. Even though Her caresses might give pain to the body they would give illumination and freedom to the soul. All thought of Leader, Worker, or Teacher was gone. He was now only the monk, in all the nakedness of pure Sannyasa.

I have been very wrong. Mother said to me: 'What, even if unbelievers should enter my temples, and defile My images! What is that to you ? Do you protect Me ? Or do I protect you ?' So there is no more patriotism. I am only a little child!"

Though he was again with his disciples, they saw little of him. For hours he would walk in the woods beside the river, absorbed within himself, so much so that he would not even notice his companions on the roof of their houseboat. One day he appeared before them with shaven head, dressed as the simplest sannyasi, and with a look of unapproachable austereness on his face'. Reciting from his own poem "Kali the Mother", he interrupted himself to say, "It all came true, every word of it; and I have proved it, for I have hugged the Form of Death!" And here . and there, the details of the austerity, fasting, and self-renunciation that he had practised at Kshir-Bhavani, and the revelations that had come to him, were touched upon in his remarks. In his meditation on the Terrible, in the dark hours of the nights at Kshir-Bhavani, there were other visions that he confided only to one or two of his brother-disciples. They were too sacred to make known to anyone else.

At this same shrine, in the course of worship one day, the Swami was brooding with pain on the dilapidated condition of the temple. He wished in his heart that he were able to build a new one there in its place, just as he wished to build monasteries and temples elsewhere, especially a temple to Shri Ramakrishna in the new Math at Belur. He was startled in his ruminations by the voice of the Mother Herself, saying to him, "My child! If I so wish I can have innumerable temples and magnificent monastic centres. I can even this moment raise a seven-storeyed golden temple on this very spot." "Since I heard that Divine Voice," said the Swami to a disciple in Calcutta much later, "I have ceased making any more plans. Let these things be as Mother wills!"

Distressed at heart he thought: "How could the people have permitted such sacrilege without offering strenuous resistance! If I were here then, I would never have allowed such things. I would have laid down my life to protect the Mother." It was then that he had heard the Mother speaking as above. The disciples sat silent, awe-inspired. They could not speak, "so tense was the spot with something that stilled thought". "I may not tell you more now; it is not in order", he said gently, adding, before he left, " — but spiritually, spiritually, I was not bound down!"

And so he went. We all—.servants and boat-people, friends and disciples, parents and children — accompanied him to the tonga on the roadside to say goodbye. One sturdy little. figure, the four-year-old daughter of his chief boatman, whose devotion to him we had long noted, trotted determinedly at his side with a tray of fruit for his journey on her black head and stood smiling farewell as he drove away. And we, not less deeply touched than this little child, but infinitely less unselfish in our grown-up complexity of thought and emotion, knew not when we should look upon his face again, yet failed not to realize that we had that day lived through hours, within whose radiance all our future would be passed.

When he returned to Srinagar, he appeared before his disciples a transfigured presence, writes Nivedita. He entered their houseboat, his hands raised in benediction; then he placed some marigolds that he had offered to the Mother, on the head of each of them. "No more 'Hari Om!' It is all 'Mother' now!" he said, sitting down. "All my patriotism is gone. Everything is gone. Now it is only 'Mother! Mother!' I have been very wrong. Mother said to me: 'What, even if unbelievers should enter my temples, and defile My images! What is that to you ? Do you protect Me ? Or do I protect you ?' So there is no more patriotism. I am only a little child!"

The party reached Baramula on October I 1. The Western disciples planned to wait there for some days, and then go sightseeing to such places as Lahore, Delhi, Agra, and so on.

He [the Swami] left us yesterday, and we may see him again at Lahore, or not till we reach Calcutta. A fortnight ago he went away, alone, and it is about eight days since he came back, like one transfigured and inspired. I cannot tell you about it. It is too great for words. My pen would have to learn to whisper.

He simply talks, like a child, of "the Mother — but his soul and his voice are those of a God. The mingled solemnity and exhilaration of his presence have made me retire to the farthest corner, and just worship in silence all the time. "We have seen the birth Of stars, we have learnt one of the meanings." It has just been the nearness of one who had seen God, and whose eyes even now are full of the vision.

To him at this moment "doing good" seems horrible. "Only the Mother" does anything. "Patriotism is a mistake. Everything is a mistake" — he said when he came home. "It is all Mother ... All men are good. Only we cannot reach all.... I am never going to teach any more. Who am 1, that I should teach anyone?".. .

We have been living and breathing in the sunshine of the great religious ideals all these months, and GOD has been more real to us than common men. And in those last hours of yesterday morning, we held our breath and did not dare to stir, while he sang to the Mother and talked to us. He is all love now. There is not an impatient word, even for the wrongdoer or the oppressor; it is all peace and self-sacrifice and rapture. "Swamiji is dead and gone" were the last words I heard him say....

Lahore,_x000d_ 16th October, 1898_x000d_ {original in Bengali}_x000d_ My Dear Haripada {Mitra},_x000d_ In Kashmir my health has completely broken down, and I have not witnessed the Durga-Puja for the last nine years; so I am starting for Calcutta. I have for the present given up the plan of going to America. I think I shall have plenty of time to go to Karachi during the winter. _x000d_ My brother-disciple Saradananda will send Rs. 50/- from Lahore to Karachi. Don't yield to sorrow--everything is in God's hands. Certainly I won't go anywhere this year without meeting all of you. My blessings to all._x000d_ Yours affectionately,_x000d_ Vivekananda

Lahore,_x000d_ 16th October, 1898_x000d_ Your Highness {Maharaja of Khetri},_x000d_ The letter that followed my wire gave the desired information; therefore I did not wire back about my health in reply to yours._x000d_ This year I suffered much in Kashmir and am now recovered and going to Calcutta direct today. For the last ten years or so I have not seen the Puja of Shri Durga in Bengal which is the great affair there. I hope this year to be present. _x000d_ The Western friends will come to see Jaipur in a week or two. If Jagamohan be there, kindly instruct him to pay some attention to them and show them over the city and the old arts._x000d_ I leave instructions with my brother Saradananda to write to Munshiji before they start for Jaipur._x000d_ How are you and the Prince? Ever as usual praying for your welfare,_x000d_ I remain yours affectionately,_x000d_ Vivekananda_x000d_ PS. My future address is Math, Belur, Howrah Dist., Bengal .