poorest, most degraded form. Only by breaking down the barriers between man and
man can one usher in the kingdom of heaven on earth.
There were moments when Vivekananda felt gloomy. His body was wasting away, and
only a few young men came forward to help him in his work. He wanted more of them
who, fired with indomitable faith in God and in themselves, would renounce
everything for the welfare of others. He used to say that with a dozen such people he
could divert into a new channel the whole thought-current of the country. Disregarding
his physical suffering, he constantly inspired his disciples to cultivate this new faith.
Thus we see him, one day, seated on a canvas cot under the mango tree in the
courtyard of the monastery. Sannyasins and brahmacharins about him were busy doing
their daily duties. One was sweeping the courtyard with a big broom. Swami
Premananda, after his bath, was climbing the steps to the shrine. Suddenly Swami
Vivekananda's eyes became radiant. Shaking with emotion, he said to a disciple:
'Where will you go to seek Brahman? He is immanent in all beings. Here, here is the
visible Brahman! Shame on those who, neglecting the visible Brahman, set their minds
on other things! Here is the visible Brahman before you as tangible as a fruit in one's
hand! Can't you see? Here — here — is Brahman!'
These words struck those around him with a kind of electric shock. For a quarter of an
hour they remained glued to the spot, as if petrified. The broom in the hand of the
sweeper stopped. Premananda fell into a trance. Everyone experienced an
indescribable peace. At last the Swami said to Premananda, 'Now go to worship.'
The brother disciples tried to restrain the Swami's activities, especially instruction to
visitors and seekers. But he was unyielding. 'Look here!' he said to them one day.
'What good is this body? Let it go in helping others. Did not the Master preach until the
very end? And shall I not do the same? I do not care a straw if the body goes. You
cannot imagine how happy I am when I find earnest seekers after truth to talk to. In the
work of waking up Atman in my fellow men I shall gladly die again and again!'
Till the very end the Swami remained the great leader of the monastery, guiding with a
firm hand the details of its daily life, in spite of his own suffering. He insisted upon
thorough cleanliness and examined the beds to see that they were aired and properly
taken care of. He drew up a weekly time-table and saw that it was scrupulously
observed. The classes on the Vedas and the Puranas were held daily, he himself
conducting them when his health permitted. He discouraged too much ritualism in the
chapel. He warned the monks against exaggerated sentimentalism and narrow
sectarianism.
But the leader kept a stern watch on the practice of daily meditation on the part of the
inmates of the monastery. The bell sounded at fixed hours for meals, study, discussion,
and meditation. About three months before his death he made it a rule that at four
o'clock in the morning a hand-bell should be rung from room to room to awaken the
monks. Within half an hour all should be gathered in the chapel to meditate. But he