to see how he fared, I found on his countenance no sign to show that Calcutta, for him, represented any geographical reality whatsoever. In the mystic world where he dwelt, all this city life meant no more than a mirage.
We two friends took up our quarters, with the Master, in Shivatosh’s house. We had come to be his chief disciples, and he would have us constantly near his person.
With our Master and our fellow-disciples we were absorbed day and night in discussing emotions in general and the philosophy of spiritual emotion in particular. Into the very thick of the abstruse complexities which thus engaged our attention, the ripple of a woman’s laughter would now and again find its way from the inner apartments.[1] Sometimes there would be heard, in a clear, high-toned voice, the call ‘Bami!’—evidently a maid-servant of that name.
These were doubtless but trivial interruptions for minds soaring, almost to vanishing point, into the empyrean of idea. But to me they came as a grateful shower of rain upon a parched and thirsty
- ↑ The women’s part of the house.
