Did not the Swami thus explain his own individuality? Before his present embodiment,
he had remained absorbed in communion with the Absolute. Then he accepted the
form of an individual to help humanity in its spiritual struggle. A giant soul like his is
not content to remain eternally absorbed in the Absolute. Such also was the thought of
Buddha.
In the company of great men and women, the Swami revealed his intellectual and
spiritual power. But one sees his human side especially in his contact with humble
people. In America he was often taken to be a negro. One day, as he alighted from a
train in a town where he was to deliver a lecture, he was given a welcome by the
reception committee. The most prominent townspeople were all there. A negro porter
came up to him and said that he had heard how one of his own people had become
great and asked the privilege of shaking hands with him. Warmly the Swami shook his
hand, saying 'Thank you! Thank you, brother!' He never resented being mistaken for a
negro. It happened many times, especially in the South, that he was refused admittance
to a hotel, a barber shop, or a restaurant, because of his dark skin. When the Swami
related these incidents to a Western disciple, he was promptly asked why he did not tell
people that he was not a negro but a Hindu. 'What!' the Swami replied indignantly.
'Rise at the expense of another? I did not come to earth for that.'
Swami Vivekananda was proud of his race and his dark complexion. 'He was scornful,'
wrote Sister Nivedita, 'in his repudiation of the pseudo-ethnology of privileged races.
"If I am grateful to my white-skinned Aryan ancestors," he said, "I am far more so to
my yellow-skinned Mongolian ancestors, and most of all to the black-skinned
negroids." He was immensely proud of his physiognomy, especially of what he called
his "Mongolian jaw," regarding it as a sign of "bulldog tenacity of purpose." Referring
to this particular racial characteristic, which is believed to be behind every Aryan
people, he one day exclaimed: "Don't you see? The Tartar is the wine of the race! He
gives energy and power to every blood."'
The Swami had a strange experience in a small American town, where he was
confronted by a number of college boys who had been living there on a ranch as
cowboys. They heard him describe the power of concentration, through which a man
could become completely oblivious of the outside world. So they decided to put him to
test and invited him to lecture to them. A wooden tub was placed, with bottom up, to
serve as a platform. The Swami commenced his address and soon appeared to be lost
in his subject. Suddenly shots were fired in his direction, and bullets went whizzing
past his ears. But the Swami continued his lecture as though nothing was happening.
When he had finished, the young men flocked about him and congratulated him as a
good fellow.
In his lectures and conversations the Swami showed a wonderful sense of humour. It
was a saving feature in his strenuous life, and without it he might have broken down
under the pressure of his intense thinking. Once, in one of his classes in Minneapolis,
the Swami was asked by a student if Hindu mothers threw their children to the
crocodiles in the river. Immediately came the reply: 'Yes, Madam! They threw me in,
but like your fabled Jonah, I got out again!' Another time, a lady became rather