received the grace of Siva — not to die till he himself should will to do so. He was
looking death in the face unafraid as it drew near.
Everything about the Swami in these days was deliberate and significant, yet none
could apprehend its true import. People were deceived by his outer cheerfulness. From
the beginning of June he appeared to be regaining his health.
One day, about a week before the end, he bade a disciple bring him the Bengali
almanac. He was seen several times on subsequent days studying the book intently, as
if he was undecided about something he wanted to know. After the passing away, the
brother monks and disciples realized that he had been debating about the day when he
should throw away the mortal body. Ramakrishna, too, had consulted the almanac
before his death.
Three days before the mahasamadhi, Vivekananda pointed out to Swami Premananda a
particular spot on the monastery grounds where he wished his body to be cremated.
On Wednesday the Swami fasted, following the orthodox rule: it was the eleventh day
of the moon. Sister Nivedita came to the monastery to ask him some questions about
her school; but he was not interested and referred her to some other Swamis. He
insisted, however, on serving Nivedita the morning meal. To quote the Sister's words:
Each dish, as it was offered — boiled seeds of the jack-fruit, boiled potatoes, plain rice,
and ice-cold milk — formed the subject of playful chat; and finally, to end the meal, he
himself poured the water over her hands, and dried them with a towel.
'It is I who should do these things for you, Swamiji! Not you for me!' was the protest
naturally offered. But his answer was startling in its solemnity — 'Jesus washed the
feet of his disciples!'
Something checked the answer, 'But that was the last time!' as it rose to the lips, and
the words remained unuttered. This was well. For here also, the time had come.
There was nothing sad or grave about the Swami during these days. Efforts were made
not to tire him. Conversations were kept as light as possible, touching only upon the
pet animals that surrounded him, his garden experiments, books, and absent friends.
But all the while one was conscious of a luminous presence of which the Swami's
bodily form seemed only a shadow or symbol. The members of the monastery had
never felt so strongly as now, before him, that they stood in the presence of an infinite
light; yet none was prepared to see the end so soon, least of all on that Friday, July the
Fourth, on which he appeared so much stronger and healthier than he had been for
years.
On the supreme day, Friday, he rose very early. Going to the chapel, alone, he shut the
windows and bolted the doors, contrary to his habit, and meditated for three hours.
Descending the stairs of the shrine, he sang a beautiful song about Kali: