practice of his own prayer and meditation, devoted himself again to the guidance of his
brother disciples. Some time during this period he conceived the idea of building a
permanent temple to preserve the relics of Sri Ramakrishna.
From his letters and conversations one can gain some idea of the great storm that was
raging in Naren's soul during this period. He clearly saw to what an extent the educated
Hindus had come under the spell of the materialistic ideas of the West. He despised
sterile imitation. But he was also aware of the great ideas that formed the basis of
European civilization. He told his friends that in India the salvation of the individual
was the accepted goal, whereas in the West it was the uplift of the people, without
distinction of caste or creed. Whatever was achieved there was shared by the common
man; freedom of spirit manifested itself in the common good and in the advancement
of all men by the united efforts of all. He wanted to introduce this healthy factor into
the Indian consciousness.
Yet he was consumed by his own soul's hunger to remain absorbed in samadhi. He felt
at this time a spiritual unrest like that which he had experienced at the Cossipore
garden house during the last days of Sri Ramakrishna's earthly existence. The outside
world had no attraction for him. But another factor, perhaps unknown to him, was
working within him. Perfect from his birth, he did not need spiritual disciplines for his
own liberation. Whatever disciplines he practised were for the purpose of removing the
veil that concealed, for the time being, his true divine nature and mission in the world.
Even before his birth, the Lord had chosen him as His instrument to help Him in the
spiritual redemption of humanity.
Now Naren began to be aware that his life was to be quite different from that of a
religious recluse: he was to work for the good of the people. Every time he wanted to
taste for himself the bliss of samadhi, he would hear the piteous moans of the teeming
millions of India, victims of poverty and ignorance. Must they, Naren asked himself,
for ever grovel in the dust and live like brutes? Who would be their saviour?
He began, also, to feel the inner agony of the outwardly happy people of the West,
whose spiritual vitality was being undermined by the mechanistic and materialistic
conception of life encouraged by the sudden development of the physical sciences.
Europe, he saw, was sitting on the crater of a smouldering volcano, and any moment
Western culture might be shattered by its fiery eruption. The suffering of man, whether
in the East or in the West, hurt his tender soul. The message of Vedanta, which
proclaimed the divinity of the soul and the oneness of existence, he began to realize,
could alone bind up and heal the wounds of India and the world. But what could he, a
lad of twenty-five, do? The task was gigantic. He talked about it with his brother
disciples, but received scant encouragement. He was determined to work alone if no
other help was forthcoming.
Narendra felt cramped in the monastery at Baranagore and lost interest in its petty
responsibilities. The whole world now beckoned him to work. Hence, one day in 1890,
he left the monastery again with the same old determination never to return. He would
go to the Himalayas and bury himself in the depths of his own thought. To a brother