THE PASSING OF THE SWAMI

Last days in the great life of Swami Vivekananda, as narrated by Sister Nivedita, in the book 'The Master as I saw Him'. Swamiji attained Mahasamadhi on 4th July 1902.

THE PASSING OF THE SWAMI

"... Personal revelation was so rare with him, that these words could never be forgotten. Again, on returning from the cave of Amarnath, in that same summer of 1898, had he not said, laughingly, that he had there received the grace of Amar Nath - not to die till he himself should will to do so? Now this, seeming to promise that death would never take him by surprise, had corresponded so well with the prophecy of Sri Ramakrishna - that when he should know who and what he was, he would refuse to remain a moment longer in the body - that one had banished, from one's mind all anxiety on this score, and even his own grave and significant words at the present time did not suffice to revive it.

Did we not remember, moreover, the story of the great Nirvikalpa Samadhi of his youth, and how, when it was over, his Master had said, "This is your mango, Look! I lock it in my box. You shall taste it once more, when your work in finished."

"- And we may wait for that," said the monk who told me the tale. "We shall know when the time is near. For he will tell us that again he has tasted his mango."

How strange it seems now, looking back on that time, or realise in how many ways the expected hint was given, only to fall on ears that did not hear, to reach minds that could not understand!

It would seem, indeed, that in his withdrawal from all weakness and attachment, there was one exception. That which had ever been dearer to him than life, kept still its power to move him. It was on the last Sunday before the end that he said to one of his disciples, "You know the WORK is always my weak point! When I think that might come to an end, I am all undone!"

On Wednesday of the same week, the day being Ekadasi, and himself keeping the fast in all strictness, he insisted on serving the morning meal to the same disciple. Each dish as it was offered - boiled seeds of the jack-fruit, boiled potatoes, plain rice, and ice-cold milk - formed the subject of playful chat; and finally, to end the meal, he himself poured the water over the hands, and dried them with a towel...

... There was nothing sad or grave about the Swami, during these days. In the midst of anxiety about over-fatiguing him, in spite of conversation deliberately kept as light as possible, touching only upon the animals that surrounded him, his garden, experiments, books, and absent friends, over and beyond all this, one was conscious the while of a luminous presence, of which his bodily form seemed only as a shadow, or symbol.

Never had one felt so strongly as now, before him, that one stood on the threshold of an infinite light. Yet none was prepared, least of all on that last happy Friday, July the 4th, on which he appeared so much stronger and better than he had been for years, to see the end so soon.

He had spent hours of that day in formal meditation. Then he had given a long Sanskrit lesson. Finally he had taken a walk from the monastery gates to the distant highroad.

On his return from this walk, the bell was ringing for evensong, and he went to his own room, and sat down, facing towards the Ganges, to meditate. It was the last time. The moment was come that had been foretold by his Master from the beginning. Half an hour went by, and then, on the wings of that meditation, his spirit soared whence there could be no return, and the body was left, like a folded vesture, on the earth".