About the Book
This book, introduced as Sister Nivedita's work, undergoes minor corrections from the editor. It reveals undiscovered facets of Swami Vivekananda's private life and Sister Nivedita's training. Covering their journey through Nainital, Almora, and the Himalayas, it explores diverse themes. Morning talks at Almora delve into the central ideals of civilizations, historical insights, and the Swami's perspectives on various topics. The narrative extends to Kashmir, highlighting life in Srinagar and visits to temples. Further chapters discuss the Temple of Pandrenthan, walks by the Jhellum, and the pilgrimage to the Shrine of Amarnath. The return journey includes reflections on Indian spirituality, experiences in Srinagar, and the camp under the Chennaars.
About the Author
Sister Nivedita (1867-1911) was an Irish teacher, author, and social activist, known for her association with Swami Vivekananda and dedication to India. After meeting Vivekananda in 1895, she moved to Calcutta in 1898, where she opened a girls' school and played a vital role during the 1899 plague epidemic. Despite her close ties to the Ramakrishna Mission, she distanced herself due to her nationalist activities, avoiding British persecution. Nivedita, who died in 1911, left a significant impact on Indian education and nationalism. Her works, including "The Web of Indian Life" and "Cradle Tales of Hinduism," aimed to dispel Western myths about Indian culture.
Foreword
Beautiful have been the days of this year. In them the Ideal has become the Real. in our river-side cottage at Belur; then in the Himalayas, at Nainital and Almora; after-wards wandering here and there through Kashmir; everywhere have come hours never to be forgotten, words that will echo through our lives for ever, and once at least, a glimpse of the Beatific Vision.
It has been all play.
We have seen a love that would be one with the humblest and most ignorant, seeing the world for the moment through his eyes, as if criticism were not; we have laughed over the colossal caprice of genius; we have warmed ourselves at heroic fires: and we have been present, as it were, at the awakening of the Holy child.
But there has been nothing grim or serious about any of these things. Pain has come close to all of us. Solemn anniversaries have been and gone. But sorrow was lifted into a golden light, where it was made radiant, and did not destroy.
Fain, if I could, would I describe our journeys. Even as I write I see the irises in bloom at Baramulla; the young rice beneath the poplars at Islamabad; starlight scenes in Himalayan forests; and the royal beauties of Delhi and the Taj. One longs to attempt some memorial of these. It would be worse than useless. Not, then, in words, but in the light of memory, they are enshrined for ever, together with the kindly and gentle folk who dwell among them, and whom we trust always to have left the gladder for our coming.
We have learnt something of the mood in which new faiths are born, and of the Persons who inspire such faiths. For we have been with one who drew all men to him, listening.
