life was a Parliament of Religions — a son whose heart was big enough to embrace the
whole of humanity and to feel for all in its universal compassion?
Soon the Swami adjusted himself to the new life on board the ship — a life completely
different from that of a wandering monk. He found it a great nuisance to look after his
suitcases, trunk, valise, and wardrobe. His orange robe aroused the curiosity of many
fellow passengers, who, however, were soon impressed by his serious nature and deep
scholarship. The vessel ploughed through the blue sea, pausing at various ports on the
way, and the Swami enjoyed the voyage with the happy excitement of a child,
devouring eagerly all he saw.
In Colombo he visited the monasteries of the Hinayana Buddhists. On the way to
Singapore he was shown the favourite haunts of the Malay pirates, whose descendants
now, as the Swami wrote to an Indian friend, under the 'leviathan guns of modern
turreted battleships, have been forced to look about for more peaceful pursuits.' He had
his first glimpse of China in the busy port of Hongkong, where hundreds of junks and
dinghies moved about, each with the wife of its boatman at the helm, for a whole
family lived in each floating craft. The traveller was amused to notice the Chinese
babies, most of whom were tied to the backs of their mothers, while the latter were
busy either pushing heavy loads or jumping with agility from one craft to another. And
there was a rush of boats and steam launches coming in and going out.
'Baby John,' the Swami wrote humorously to the same friend, 'is every moment in
danger of having his little head pulverized, pigtail and all, but he does not care a fig.
The busy life seems to have no charm for him, and he is quite content to learn the
anatomy of a bit of rice-cake given to him by the madly busy mother. The Chinese
child is quite a little philosopher and calmly goes to work at the age when your Indian
boy can hardly crawl on all fours. He has learnt the philosophy of necessity too well,
from his extreme poverty.'
At Canton, in a Buddhist monastery, the Swami was received with respect as a great
yogi from India. He saw in China, and later in Japan, many temples with manuscripts
written in the ancient Bengali script. This made him realize the extent of the influence
of India outside her own borders and strengthened his conviction about the spiritual
unity of Asia.
Next the boat reached Japan, and the Swami visited Yokohama, Osaka, Kyoto, and
Tokyo. The broad streets, the cage-like little houses, the pine-covered hills, and the
gardens with shrubs, grass-plots, artificial pools, and small bridges impressed him with
the innate artistic nature of the Japanese people. On the other hand, the thoroughly
organized Japanese army equipped with guns made in Japan, the expanding navy, the
merchant marine, and the industrial factories revealed to him the scientific skill of a
newly awakened Asiatic nation. But he was told that the Japanese regarded India as the
'dreamland of everything noble and great.'
His thoughts always returned to India and her people. He wrote to a disciple in Madras:
'Come out and be men! India wants the sacrifice of at least a thousand of her young