country. The New York Herald said: 'He is undoubtedly the greatest figure in the
Parliament of Religions. After hearing him we feel how foolish it is to send
missionaries to this learned nation.' The Boston Evening Post said: 'He is a great
favourite at the Parliament from the grandeur of his sentiments and his appearance as
well. If he merely crosses the platform he is applauded; and this marked approval of
thousands he accepts in a childlike spirit of gratification without a trace of conceit....At
the Parliament of Religions they used to keep Vivekananda until the end of the
programme to make people stay till the end of the session....The four thousand fanning
people in the Hall of Columbus would sit smiling and expectant, waiting for an hour or
two to listen to Vivekananda for fifteen minutes. The chairman knew the old rule of
keeping the best until the last.'
It is one of the outstanding traits of Americans to draw out the latent greatness of other
people. America discovered Vivekananda and made a gift of him to India and the
world.
The reports of the Parliament of Religions were published in the Indian magazines and
newspapers. The Swami's vindication of the Hindu faith filled with pride the hearts of
his countrymen from Colombo to Almora, from Calcutta to Bombay. The brother
monks at the Baranagore monastery were not, at first, clear about the identity of
Vivekananda. A letter from the Swami, six months after the Parliament, removed all
doubts, however, and how proud they felt at the achievement of their beloved Naren!
But how did Vivekananda himself react to this triumph, which had been the fulfilment
of his long cherished desire? He knew that his solitary life as a monk in constant
communion with God was at an end; he could no longer live in obscurity with his
dreams and visions. Instead of dwelling in peace and serenity, he was thrown into the
vortex of a public career with its ceaseless turmoil and demands. When he returned to
his hotel the night after the first meeting of the Parliament, he wept like a child.
After he had delivered his message in the Parliament, the Swami suffered no longer
from material wants. The doors of the wealthy were thrown open. Their lavish
hospitality made him sick at heart when he remembered the crushing poverty of his
own people. His anguish became so intense one night that he rolled on the floor,
groaning: 'O Mother, what do I care for name and fame when my motherland remains
sunk in utmost poverty? To what a sad pass have we poor Indians come when millions
of us die for want of a handful of rice, and here they spend millions of rupees upon
their personal comfort! Who will raise the masses of India? Who will give them bread?
Show me, O Mother, how I can help them.' While addressing one session of the
Parliament, the Swami had said that what India needed was not religion, but bread.
Now he began to study American life in its various aspects, especially the secret of the
country's high standard of living and he communicated to his disciples in India his
views on the promotion of her material welfare.
Swami Vivekananda was invited by a lecture bureau to tour the United States, and he
accepted the offer. He wanted money in order to free himself from obligation to his
wealthy friends and also to help his various philanthropic and religious projects in