The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 8/Epistles - Fourth Series/XXI Dear—
XXI
To a Madras disciple
541 DEARBORN AVE.,
CHICAGO,
28 June, 1894.
DEAR__ ,
The other day I received a letter from G. G., Mysore. G. G. unfortunately thinks that I am all-knowing, else he would have written his Canarese address on the top of the letter more legibly. Then again it is a great mistake to address me letters to any other place but Chicago. It was my mistake of course at first, because I ought to have thought of the fine Buddhi (intellect) of our friends who are throwing letters at me anywhere they find an address at the top. But tell our Madras Brihaspatis (i.e. wise fellows) that they already knew full well that before their letters reach, I may be 1000 miles away from that particular place, for I am continuously travelling. In Chicago there is a friend whose house is my headquarters.
Now as to my prospects here — it is well-nigh zero. Why, because although I
had the best purpose, it has been made null and void by these causes. All
that I get about India is from Madras letters. Your letters say again and
again how I am being praised in India. But that is between you and me, for I
never saw a single Indian paper writing about me, except the three square
inches sent to me by Alasinga. On the other hand, everything that is said by
Christians in India is sedulously gathered by the missionaries and regularly
published, and they go from door to door to make my friends give me up. They
have succeeded only too well, for there is not one word for me from India.
Indian Hindu papers may laud me to the skies, but not a word of that ever
came to America, so that many people in this country think me a fraud. In
the face of the missionaries and with the jealousy of the Hindus here to
back them, I have not a word to say.
I now think it was foolish of me to go to the Parliament on the strength of
the urging of the Madras boys. They are boys after all. Of course, I am
eternally obliged to them, but they are after all enthusiastic young men
without any executive abilities. I came here without credentials. How else
to show that I am not a fraud in the face of the missionaries and the Brahmo
Samaj? Now I thought nothing so easy as to spend a few words; I thought
nothing would be so easy as to hold a meeting of some respectable persons in
Madras and Calcutta and pass a resolution thanking me and the American
people for being kind to me and sending it over officially, i.e. through the
Secretary of the function, to America, for instance, sending one to Dr.
Barrows and asking him to publish it in the papers and so on, to different
papers of Boston, New York, and Chicago. Now after all, I found that it is
too terrible a task for India to undertake. There has not been one voice for
me in one year and every one against me, for whatever you may say of me in
your homes, who knows anything of it here? More than two months ago I wrote
to Alasinga about this. He did not even answer my letter. I am afraid his
heart has grown lukewarm. So you must first think of that and then show this
letter to the Madras people. On the other hand, my brethren foolishly talk
nonsense about Keshab Sen; and the Madrasis, telling the Theosophists
anything I write about them, are creating only enemies. . . . Oh! If only I
had one man of some true abilities and brains to back me in India! But His
will be done. I stand a fraud in this country. It was my foolishness to go
to the Parliament without any credentials, hoping that there would be many
for me. I have got to work it out slowly.
On the whole, the Americans are a million times nobler than the Hindus, and
I can work more good here than in the country of the ingrate and the
heartless. After all, I must work my Karma out. So far as pecuniary
circumstances go I am all right and will be all right. The number of
Theosophists in all America is only 625 by the last census. Mixing up with
them will smash me in a minute rather than help me in any way. What nonsense
does Alasinga mean by my going to London to see Mr. Old etc. Fool! the boys
there don't know what they are talking. And this pack of Madras babies
cannot even keep a counsel in their blessed noodles! Talk nonsense all day,
and when it comes to the least business, they are nowhere! Boobies, who
cannot get up a few meetings of 50 men each and send up a few empty words
only to help me, talk big about influencing the world. I have written to you
about the phonograph. Now there is here an electric fan costing $20 and
working beautifully. The battery works 100 hours and then can be replenished
at any electric plant. Good-bye, I have had enough of the Hindus. Now His
will be done, I obey and bow down to my Karma. However, do not think me
ungrateful. . . . The Madras people have done for me more than I deserved
and more than was in their power. It was my foolishness — the forgetting for
a moment that we Hindus have not yet become human beings and giving up for a
moment my self-reliance and relying upon the Hindus — that I came to grief.
Every moment I expected something from India. No, it never came. Last two
months especially I was in torture at every moment. No, not even a newspaper
from India! My friends waited — waited month after month; nothing came, not
a voice. Many consequently grew cold and at last gave me up. But it is the
punishment for relying upon man and upon brutes, for our countrymen are not
men as yet. They are ready to be praised, but when their turn comes even to
say a word, they are nowhere.
My thanks eternal to the Madras young men. May the Lord bless them for ever.
America is the best field in the world to carry on my idea; so I do not
think of leaving America soon. And why? Here I have food and drink and
clothes, and everybody so kind, and all this for a few good words! Why
should I give up such a noble nation to go to the land of brutes and
ingrates and the brainless boobies held in eternal thraldom of
superstitious, merciless, pitiless wretches? So good-bye again. You may show
this letter to the people with discretion, even Alasinga upon whom I built
so much. By the by, will you kindly send up a few copies of the sketch of
Ramakrishna Paramahamsa's life written by Mazumdar to Chicago? They have
lots in Calcutta. Don't forget the address 541 Dearborn Avenue (not Street),
Chicago, or c/o Thomas Cook, Chicago. Any other address would cause much
delay and confusion, as I am continually travelling, and Chicago is my
headquarters, although even this much did not come to the brains of our
Madras friends. Kindly give G. G., Alasinga, Secretary, and all others my
eternal blessings. I am always praying for their welfare, and I am not in
the least displeased with them, but I am not pleased with myself. I
committed a terrible error — of calculating upon others' help — once in my
life — and I have paid for it. It was my fault and not theirs. Lord bless
all the Madras people. They are at least far superior to the Bengalis, who
are simply fools and have no souls, no stamina at all. Good-bye, good-bye. I
have launched my boat in the waves, come what may. Regarding my brutal
criticisms, I have really no right to make them. You have done for me
infinitely more than I deserve. I must bear my own Karma, and that without a
murmur. Lord bless you all.
Yours truly,
VIVEKANANDA.
PS. I am afraid Alasinga's college has closed, but I have no intimation of
it, and he never gave me his home address. Kidi has dropped out, I am
afraid.
V.