LETTERS FROM ABROAD
Just now, I am on the top storey of the skyscraper, to which the tallest of trees dare not send its whisper; but love silently comes to me saying, “When are you coming down to meet me on the green grass under the rustling leaves, where you have the freedom of the sky and of sunlight and the tender touch of life’s simplicity?” I try to say something about money, but it sounds so ludicrous and yet so tragic, that my words grow ashamed of themselves and they stop.
‘Lack of means should not be allowed to mock the majesty of soul, seeking its crown in the foolscap of the bank cheque. The Spirit of India comes to me in the midst of my spurious activities and whispers the immortal mantram to my inner spirit, “What shall I do with that which will not make me immortal?”
NEW YORK, Decenber 17, 1920.
Your letters are like weekly wages to me, which I rightly earn by what I am doing here for your sake. But you must know that the idea which has drawn us round Santiniketan is not a static one. It is growing, and we must keep up with it. When I left you to start for Europe, I was labouring under the delusion that my mission was to build an Indian University in which Indian cultures would be represented in all their variety. But when I came to continental Europe and fully realised that
