LETTERS FROM ABROAD
not save them from the doom of destruction. I long to leave all this, totally reject this unreality, take the next steamer I can get and run back to my Santiniketan and serve it with my life and love as long asI live. That life, which I dedicate to it, if it is true, will make it live. The true wisdom is there, which can spurn the greed for result and is only concerned with the expression of truth. This wisdom found its utterance in India, But there is imminent danger of this being drowned in the flood of noise which the votaries of success are bellowing forth in the prosperous West. My prayer is growing every day more and more intense, to get away from this dark tower of unreality, from this dance of death trampling sweet flowers of life under its tread.
NEW YORK, December 17, 1920.
When all my thoughts were furiously revolving, like dead leaves, in a whirlwind of desire for raising funds, a picture came to my hand; it was that of Sujata offering a cup of milk to Buddha. Its message went deep into my heart. It said to me—“ The cup of milk comes to you unasked when you have gone through your tapasya. It is offered to you with love, and only love can bring its homage to truth.” Then your figure at once came to my mind. The milk has been sent to me through you. It is infinitely more than anything that can come from the
