The terrible sacrifice offered to Kali in the name of religion enhanced my desire to know Bengali life.

I had read and heard a good deal about the Brahmo Samaj. I knew something about the life of Pratap Chandra Mazumdar.

I had attended some of the meetings addressed by him. I secured his life of Keshav Chandra Sen, read it with great interest, and understood the distinction between Sadharan Brahmo Samaj, and Adi Brahmo Samaj.

I met Pandit Shivanath Shastri and in company with Prof. Kathavate went to see Maharshi Devendranath Tagore, but as no interviews with him were allowed then, we could not see him. We were, however, invited to a celebration of the Brahmo Samaj held at his place, and there we had the privilege of listening to fine Bengali music.

Ever since I have been a lover of Bengali music. Having seen enough of the Brahmo Samaj, it was impossible to be satisfied without seeing Swami Vivekanand. So with great enthusiasm, I went to Belur Math, mostly, or maybe all the way, on foot. I loved the sequestered site of the Math. I was disappointed and sorry to be told that the Swami was at his Calcutta house, lying ill, and could not be seen.

I then ascertained the place of residence of Sister Nivedita and met her in a Chowringhee mansion. I was taken aback by the splendour that surrounded her, and even in our conversation, there was not much meeting ground.

I spoke to Gokhale about this, and he said he did not wonder that there could be no point of contact between me and a volatile person like her. I met her again at MrPestonji Padshah’s place. I happened to come in just as she was talking to his old mother, and so I became an interpreter between the two.

Despite my failure to find an agreement with her, I could not but notice and admire her overflowing love for Hinduism. I came to know of her books later. I used to divide my day between seeing the leading people in Calcutta regarding the work in South Africa, and visiting and studying the religious and public institutions of the city. I once addressed a meeting, presided over by Dr Mullick, on the work of the Indian Ambulance Corps in the Boer War.

My acquaintance with #The Englishman# stood me in good stead on this occasion too. Mr Saunders was ill then but rendered me as much help as in 1896.

Gokhale liked this speech of mine, and he was very glad to hear Dr Ray praising it. Thus my stay under the roof of Gokhale made my work in Calcutta very easy, brought me into touch with the foremost Bengali families, and was the beginning of my intimate contact with Bengal.

I just need to skip over many a reminiscence of this memorable month. Let me simply mention my flying visit to Burma and the #foongis# there. I was pained by their lethargy. I saw the golden pagoda. I did not like the innumerable little candles burning in the temple, and the rats running about the sanctum brought to my mind thoughts of Swami Dayanand’s experience at Morvi.

The freedom and energy of the Burmese women charmed just as the indolence of the men pained me. I also saw, during my brief sojourn, that just as Bombay was not India, Rangoon was not Burma, and that just as we in India have become commission agents of English merchants, even so in Burma have we combined with the English merchants, in making the Burmese people our commission agents.

On my return from Burma, I took leave of Gokhale. The separation was a wrench, but my work in Bengal, or rather Calcutta, was finished, and I had no occasion to stay any longer. Before settling down I had thought of making a tour through India travelling third class, and of acquainting myself with the hardships of third-class passengers.

I spoke to Gokhale about this. To begin with, he ridiculed the idea, but when I explained to him what I hoped to see, he cheerfully approved. I planned to go first to Benares to pay my respects to Mrs Besant, who was then ill.

It was necessary to equip myself anew for the third class tour. Gokhale himself gave me a metal tiffin-box and got it filled with sweet balls and #puris#. I purchased a canvas bag worth twelve annas and a long coat made of Chhaya wool. The bag was to contain this coat, a #dhoti#, a towel and a shirt. I had a blanket as well to cover myself with and a water jug.

Thus equipped I set forth on my travels, Gokhale and Dr Ray came to the station to see me off. I had asked them both not to trouble to come, but they insisted. “I should not have come if you had gone first class, but now I had to,’ said Gokhale.

No-one stopped Gokhale from going on to the platform. He was in his silk turban, jacket and #dhoti#. Dr Ray was in his Bengali dress. He was stopped by the ticket collector, but on Gokhale telling him that he was his friend, he was admitted.

Thus with their good wishes, I started on my journey. ~ A MONTH WITH GOKHALE



Life is like a bunch of roses. Some sparkle like raindrops. Some fade when there's no sun. Some just fade away in time. Some dance in many colors. Some drop with hanging wings. Some make you fall in love. The beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Life you can be sure of, you will not get out ALIVE.(sorry about that)