PERSONS: The Swami Vivekananda and a party of Europeans and disciples, amongst whom were Dhira Mata, the “Steady Mother”; one whose name was Jaya; and Nivedita.
PLACE: The River Jhelum — Baramulla to Srinagar.
TIME: June 20 to June 22.
“It is said that the Lord Himself is the weight on the side of the fortunate!” cried the Swami in high glee, returning to our room at the Dak bungalow and sitting down with his umbrella on his knees. As he had brought no companion, he had himself to perform all the ordinary little masculine offices, and he had gone out to hire Dungas [houseboats] and do what was necessary. But he had immediately fallen in with a man who, on hearing his name, had undertaken the whole business and sent him back free of responsibility.
So we enjoyed the day. We drank Kashmiri tea out of a Samovar and ate the jam of the country, and at about four o’clock we entered into possession of a flotilla of Dungas, three in number, on which presently we set forth for Srinagar. The first evening, however, we were moored by the garden of the Swami’s friend. . . .
We found ourselves next day in the midst of a beautiful valley ringed round with snow mountains. This is known as the Vale of Kashmir, but it might be more accurately described, perhaps, as the Vale of Srinagar. . . .
That first morning, taking a long walk across the fields, we came upon an immense chennaar tree standing in the midst of a wide pasture. It really looked as if the passage through it might shelter the proverbial twenty cows! The Swami fell to architectural visions of how it might be fitted up as a dwelling-place for a hermit. A small cottage might in fact have been built in the hollow of this living tree. And then he talked of meditation, in a way to consecrate every chennaar we should ever see.
We turned with him into the neighbouring farmyard. There we found, seated under a tree, a singularly handsome elderly woman. She wore the crimson coronet and white veil of the Kashmiri wife and sat spinning wool, while round her, helping her, were her two daughters-in-law and their children. The Swami had called at this farm once before in the previous autumn and had often spoken since of the faith and pride of this very woman. He had begged for water, which she had at once given him. Then, before going, he had asked her quietly, “And what, Mother, is your religion?” “I thank God, sir!” had rung out the old voice in pride and triumph. “By the mercy of the Lord, I am a Mussulman!” The whole family received him now as an old friend and were ready to show every courtesy to the friends he had brought.
The journey to Srinagar took two to three days, and one evening, as we walked in the fields before supper, one who had seen the Kalighat complained to the Master of the abandonment of feeling there, which had jarred on her. “Why do they kiss the ground before the image?” she exclaimed. The Swami had been pointing to the crop of Til — which he thought to have been the original of the English dill — and calling it “the oldest oil-bearing seed of the Aryans”. But at this question he dropped the little blue flower from his hands, and a great hush came over his voice as he stood still and said, “Is it not the same thing to kiss the ground before that image as to kiss the ground before these mountains?”
Our master had promised that before the end of the summer he would take us into retreat and teach us to meditate. . . . It was decided that we should first see the country and afterwards make the retreat.
The first evening in Srinagar we dined out with some Bengali officials, and in the course of conversation one of the Western guests maintained that the history of every nation illustrated and evolved certain ideals to which the people of that nation should hold themselves true. It was very curious to see how the Hindus present objected to this. To them it was clearly a bondage to which the mind of man could not permanently submit itself. Indeed, in their revolt against the fetters of the doctrine, they appeared to be unable to do justice to the idea itself. At last the Swami intervened. “I think you must admit”, he said, “that the ultimate unit is psychological. This is much more permanent than the geographical”. And then he spoke of cases known to us all, of one of whom he always thought as the most typical “Christian” he had ever seen, yet she was a Bengali woman, and of another, born in the West, who was “a better Hindu than himself”. And was not this, after all, the ideal state of things, that each should be born in the other’s country to spread the given ideal as far as it could be carried?
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