A True Son of Swamiji

On a crowded road in Calcutta a woman, very poor, is kneeling in the dust and wiping the tears from her eyes. She is picking up a handful of husked rice, grain by grain. Some passerby has jostled it out of the plate in her hand, and how difficult it is, now, to recover it from the dust.

A small, thin boy was looking at this scene from a little distance. He felt a flood of emotion passing over his heart and inwardly he cried, "O God, what are you doing? Why do you not prevent this kind of thing?" He thought of other pitiful tragedies and began to wonder why God was called "good." What was the secret behind this mad, mad world?" He had had serious thoughts before, but today the pity of this event opened his inquiring mind in a new direction.

That was more than a century ago. The boy's name was Ajay, and he and his family were worshipers of Sri Krishna, an incarnation of Lord Vishnu. But now Ajay's mind was groping toward a larger truth than he had ever learned at home.

The boy did well in school, taking a lot of interest in literary things: with the help of a friend he even started a magazine and a school for teaching the Sanskrit language. Like all writers, Ajay loved words and knew their value, and he longed to share his enthusiasm with others. He and his friend had to go around the city, begging -- not for food, but for subscribers to the magazine.

Their monthly journal, --"Dawn" was its name-- played a large role in stirring up the minds of the local people toward national pride and longing for the independence of India. (The country was then still part of the British Empire.)

In 1897 Ajay's life took an abrupt new turn. He met Swami Vivekananda. And this is how it happened: Swamiji was staying in a temporary monastery on the bank of the Ganges river. Every evening he would spin out his fascinating conversation, his large eyes flashing, his reports of his travels in India and in the West, mixed with many laughs and many very deep thoughts. This evening young Ajay has come, curious about the Swami, curious about how a monk can be like this! He stays on, after the crowd has departed, and asks his questions. Swamiji is all smiles, all welcoming; he has taken an interest in this young man, and he fires at him some questions of his own --one burning one:

"Ajay, would you be able to keep the religious vows of sannyasa (total giving up of wife, family, income etc.)?" It started a war in Ajay's heart: the tug between family, social and business duties on the one hand, and on the other a life of total dedication to God. The words were like an electric shock. It was not long, however, before Ajay "took the plunge" and became a spiritual son of Swami Vivekananda, with a new name: Swami Swarupananda.

Fast forward, some years and many miles. We find Swarupananda in the foothills of the Himalayas, in the midst of the poverty and ill health of the hill tribes, recalling that scene in his boyhood: the poor woman, her spilled grains. Filled with distress he began to arrange for teaching the people better farming; established a school which drew children from slopes and forests and villages; started a center for free medicines, which is running still today. Most of all, Swarupananda taught these hill people how to help themselves. And he devoted the rest of his life to the starving and the wretched in many places.

How would you like to beg for funds from door to door? Here was one whom it never disturbed, and he humbled himself continually so that the great vision of Vedanta might become a fact. The Swami was one of those who set the pattern of the future work of the Ramakrishna Order, putting Swami Vivekananda's ideas and ideals into practical form. He was one who truly walked in Swamiji's footsteps.