The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/IV Alasinga
IV
Breezy Meadows,
Metcalf, Mass.,
20th August, 1893.
Dear Alasinga,
Received your letter yesterday. Perhaps you have by this time got my letter
from Japan. From Japan I reached Vancouver. The way was by the Northern
Pacific. It was very cold and I suffered much for want of warm clothing.
However, I reached Vancouver anyhow, and thence went through Canada to
Chicago. I remained about twelve days in Chicago. And almost every day I
used to go to the Fair. It is a tremendous affair. One must take at least
ten days to go through it. The lady to whom Varada Rao introduced me and her
husband belong to the highest Chicago society, and they were so very kind to
me. I took my departure from Chicago and came to Boston. Mr. Lâlubhâi was
with me up to Boston. He was very kind to me. . . .
The expense I am bound to run into here is awful. You remember, you gave me
£170 in notes and £9 in cash. It has come down to £130 in all!! On an
average it costs me £1 every day; a cigar costs eight annas of our money.
The Americans are so rich that they spend money like water, and by forced
legislation keep up the price of everything so high that no other nation on
earth can approach it. Every common coolie earns nine or ten rupees a day
and spends as much. All those rosy ideas we had before starting have melted,
and I have now to fight against impossibilities. A hundred times I had a
mind to go out of the country and go back to India. But I am determined, and
I have a call from Above; I see no way, but His eyes see. And I must stick
to my guns, life or death. . . .
Just now I am living as the guest of an old lady in a village near Boston. I
accidentally made her acquaintance in the railway train, and she invited me
to come over and live with her. I have an advantage in living with her, in
saving for some time my expenditure of £1 per day, and she has the advantage
of inviting her friends over here and showing them a curio from India! And
all this must be borne. Starvation, cold, hooting in the streets on account
of my quaint dress, these are what I have to fight against. But, my dear
boy, no great things were ever done without great labour.
. . . Know, then, that this is the land of Christians, and any other
influence than that is almost zero. Nor do I care a bit for the enmity of
any — ists in the world. I am here amongst the children of the Son of Mary
and the Lord Jesus will help me. They like much the broad views of Hinduism
and my love for the Prophet of Nazareth. I tell them that I preach nothing
against the Great One of Galilee. I only ask the Christians to take in the
Great Ones of Ind along with the Lord Jesus, and they appreciate it.
Winter is approaching and I shall have to get all sorts of warm clothing,
and we require more warm clothing than the natives. . . Look sharp, my boy,
take courage. We are destined by the Lord to do great things in India. Have
faith. We will do. We, the poor and the despised, who really feel, and not
those. . . .
In Chicago, the other day, a funny thing happened The Raja of Kapurthala was
here, and he was being lionised by some portion of Chicago society. I once
met the Raja in the Fair grounds, but he was too big to speak with a poor
Fakir. There was an eccentric Mahratta Brâhmin selling nail-made pictures in
the Fair, dressed in a dhoti. This fellow told the reporters all sorts of
things against the Raja —, that he was a man of low caste, that those Rajas
were nothing but slaves, and that they generally led immoral lives, etc.,
etc. And these truthful (?) editors, for which America is famous, wanted to
give to the boy's stories some weight; and so the next day they wrote huge
columns in their papers about the description of a man of wisdom from India,
meaning me — extolling me to the skies, and putting all sorts of words in my
mouth, which I never even dreamt of, and ascribing to me all those remarks
made by the Mahratta Brahmin about the Raja of Kapurthala. And it was such a
good brushing that Chicago society gave up the Raja in hot haste. . . .
These newspaper editors made capital out of me to give my countryman a
brushing. That shows, however, that in this country intellect carries more
weight than all the pomp of money and title.
Yesterday Mrs. Johnson, the lady superintendent of the women's prison, was
here. They don't call it prison but reformatory here. It is the grandest
thing I have seen in America. How the inmates are benevolently treated, how
they are reformed and sent back as useful members of society; how grand, how
beautiful, You must see to believe! And, oh, how my heart ached to think of
what we think of the poor, the low, in India. They have no chance, no
escape, no way to climb up. The poor, the low, the sinner in India have no
friends, no help — they cannot rise, try however they may. They sink lower
and lower every day, they feel the blows showered upon them by a cruel
society, and they do not know whence the blow comes. They have forgotten
that they too are men. And the result is slavery. Thoughtful people within
the last few years have seen it, but unfortunately laid it at the door of
the Hindu religion, and to them, the only way of bettering is by crushing
this grandest religion of the world. Hear me, my friend, I have discovered
the secret through the grace of the Lord. Religion is not in fault. On the
other hand, your religion teaches you that every being is only your own self
multiplied. But it was the want of practical application, the want of
sympathy — the want of heart. The Lord once more came to you as Buddha and
taught you how to feel, how to sympathise with the poor, the miserable, the
sinner, but you heard Him not. Your priests invented the horrible story that
the Lord was here for deluding demons with false doctrines! True indeed, but
we are the demons, not those that believed. And just as the Jews denied the
Lord Jesus and are since that day wandering over the world as homeless
beggars, tyrannised over by everybody, so you are bond-slaves to any nation
that thinks it worth while to rule over you. Ah, tyrants! you do not know
that the obverse is tyranny, and the reverse slavery. The slave and the
tyrant are synonymous.
Balaji and G. G. may remember one evening at Pondicherry — we were
discussing the matter of sea-voyage with a Pandit, and I shall always
remember his brutal gestures and his Kadâpi Na (never)! They do not know
that India is a very small part of the world, and the whole world looks down
with contempt upon the three hundred millions of earthworms crawling upon
the fair soil of India and trying to oppress each other. This state of
things must be removed, not by destroying religion but by following the
great teachings of the Hindu faith, and joining with it the wonderful
sympathy of that logical development of Hinduism — Buddhism.
A hundred thousand men and women, fired with the zeal of holiness, fortified
with eternal faith in the Lord, and nerved to lion's courage by their
sympathy for the poor and the fallen and the downtrodden, will go over the
length and breadth of the land, preaching the gospel of salvation, the
gospel of help, the gospel of social raising-up — the gospel of equality.
No religion on earth preaches the dignity of humanity in such a lofty strain
as Hinduism, and no religion on earth treads upon the necks of the poor and
the low in such a fashion as Hinduism. The Lord has shown me that religion
is not in fault, but it is the Pharisees and Sadducees in Hinduism,
hypocrites, who invent all sorts of engines of tyranny in the shape of
doctrines of Pâramârthika and Vyâvahârika.
Despair not; remember the Lord says in the Gita, "To work you have the
right, but not to the result." Gird up your loins, my boy. I am called by
the Lord for this. I have been dragged through a whole life full of crosses
and tortures, I have seen the nearest and dearest die, almost of starvation;
I have been ridiculed, distrusted, and have suffered for my sympathy for the
very men who scoff and scorn. Well, my boy, this is the school of misery,
which is also the school for great souls and prophets for the cultivation of
sympathy, of patience, and, above all, of an indomitable iron will which
quakes not even if the universe be pulverised at our feet. I pity them. It
is not their fault. They are children, yea, veritable children, though they
be great and high in society. Their eyes see nothing beyond their little
horizon of a few yards — the routine-work, eating, drinking, earning, and
begetting, following each other in mathematical precision. They know nothing
beyond — happy little souls! Their sleep is never disturbed, their nice
little brown studies of lives never rudely shocked by the wail of woe, of
misery, of degradation, and poverty, that has filled the Indian atmosphere
— the result of centuries of oppression. They little dream of the ages of
tyranny, mental, moral, and physical, that has reduced the image of God to a
mere beast of burden; the emblem of the Divine Mother, to a slave to bear
children; and life itself, a curse. But there are others who see, feel, and
shed tears of blood in their hearts, who think that there is a remedy for
it, and who are ready to apply this remedy at any cost, even to the giving
up of life. And "of such is the kingdom of Heaven". Is it not then natural,
my friends, that they have no time to look down from their heights to the
vagariese of these contemptible little insects, ready every moment to spit
their little venoms?
Trust not to the so-called rich, they are more dead than alive. The hope
lies in you — in the meek, the lowly, but the faithful. Have faith in the
Lord; no policy, it is nothing. Feel for the miserable and look up for help
— it shall come. I have travelled twelve years with this load in my heart
and this idea in my head. I have gone from door to door of the so-called
rich and great. With a bleeding heart I have crossed half the world to this
strange land, seeking for help. The Lord is great. I know He will help me. I
may perish of cold or hunger in this land, but I bequeath to you, young men,
this sympathy, this struggle for the poor, the ignorant, the oppressed. Go
now this minute to the temple of Pârthasârathi,[1]and before Him who was friend to the poor
and lowly cowherds of Gokula, who never shrank to embrace the Pariah Guhaka,
who accepted the invitation of a prostitute in preference to that of the
nobles and saved her in His incarnation as Buddha — yea, down on your faces
before Him, and make a great sacrifice, the sacrifice of a whole life for
them, for whom He comes from time to time, whom He loves above all, the
poor, the lowly, the oppressed. Vow, then, to devote your whole lives to the
cause of the redemption of these three hundred millions, going down and down
every day.
It is not the work of a day, and the path is full of the most deadly thorns.
But Parthasarathi is ready to be our Sârathi — we know that. And in His name
and with eternal faith in Him, set fire to the mountain of misery that has
been heaped upon India for ages — and it shall be burned down. Come then,
look it in the face, brethren, it is a grand task, and we are so low. But we
are the sons of Light and children of God. Glory unto the Lord, we will
succeed. Hundreds will fall in the struggle, hundreds will be ready to take
it up. I may die here unsuccessful, another will take up the task. You know
the disease, you know the remedy, only have faith. Do not look up to the
so-called rich and great; do not care for the heartless intellectual
writers, and their cold-blooded newspaper articles. Faith, sympathy — fiery
faith and fiery sympathy! Life is nothing, death is nothing, hunger nothing,
cold nothing. Glory unto the Lord — march on, the Lord is our General. Do
not look back to see who falls — forward — onward! Thus and thus we shall go
on, brethren. One falls, and another takes up the work.
From this village I am going to Boston tomorrow. I am going to speak at a
big Ladies' Club here, which is helping Ramâbâi. I must first go and buy
some clothing in Boston. If I am to live longer here, my quaint dress will
not do. People gather by hundreds in the streets to see me. So what I want
is to dress myself in a long black coat, and keep a red robe and turban to
wear when I lecture. This is what the ladies advise me to do, and they are
the rulers here, and I must have their sympathy. Before you get this letter
my money would come down to somewhat about £70 of £60. So try your best to
send some money. It is necessary to remain here for some time to have any
influence here. I could not see the phonograph for Mr. Bhattacharya as I got
his letter here. If I go to Chicago again, I will look for them. I do not
know whether I shall go back to Chicago or not. My friends there write me to
represent India. And the gentleman, to whom Varada Rao introduced me, is one
of the directors of the Fair; but then I refused as I would have to spend
all any little stock of money in remaining more than a month in Chicago.
In America, there are no classes in the railway except in Canada. So I have
to travel first-class, as that is the only class; but I do not venture in
the Pullmans. They are very comfortable — you sleep, eat, drink, even bathe
in them, just as if you were in a hotel — but they are too expensive.
It is very hard work getting into society and making yourself heard. Now
nobody is in the towns, they are all away in summer places. They will all
come back in winter. Therefore I must wait. After such a struggle, I am not
going to give up easily. Only try your best to help me as much as you can;
and even if you cannot, I must try to the end. And even if I die of cold or
disease or hunger here, you take up the task. Holiness sincerity, and faith.
I have left instructions with Cooks to forward any letter or money to me
wherever I am. Rome was not built in a day. If you can keep me here for six
months at least, I hope everything will come right. In the meantime I am
trying my best to find any plank I can float upon. And if I find out any
means to support myself, I shall wire to you immediately.
First I will try in America; and if I fail, try in England; if I fail, go
back to India and wait for further commands from High. Ramdas's father has
gone to England. He is in a hurry to gone home. He is a very good man at
heart, only the Baniya roughness on the surface. It would take more than
twenty days for the letter to reach. Even now it is so cold in New England
that every day we have fires night and morning. Canada is still colder. I
never saw snow on such low hills as there.
Gradually I can make my way; but that means a longer residence in this
horribly expensive country. Just now the raising of the Rupee in India has
created a panic in this country, and lots of mills have been stopped. So I
cannot hope for anything just now, but I must wait.
Just now I have been to the tailor and ordered some winter clothings, and
that would cost at least Rs. 300 and up. And still it would not be good
clothes, only decent. Ladies here are very particular about a man's dress,
and they are the power in this country. They. . . never fail the
missionaries. They are helping our Ramabai every year. If you fail in
keeping me here, send some money to get me out of the country. In the
meantime if anything turns out in my favour, I will write or wire. A word
costs Rs. 4 in cable!!
Yours,
Vivekananda.
- Notes
- ↑ Shri Krishna as Sârathi, charioteer, of Pârtha or Arjuna.