During the course of his travels, Radhanath Swami had become quite attached to the spiritual books he carried. He had gradually gathered a small library in a cloth bag. Except for this heavy bag of books, his only possession was a begging bowl and a branch used as a walking stick. Many times he considered reducing the weight of this burden, but every time he looked through the books, trying to decide which ones to give away, he found he could not part with a single one.
“Our Little Richie is sweet, but so strange,” Radhanath Swami’s parents would often say when he was small. “Why is he like this?” Radhanath Swami had odd habits. No one had any idea where they came from.
Until Radhanath Swami was eight or nine years old, he refused to sit in chairs while eating and preferred to sit on the floor, which his parents forbade. As a compromise, Radhanath Swami was allowed to stand at the dinner table, even in restaurants. It was a common occurrence for waitresses to ask if they could bring him a chair. “He doesn’t believe in chairs,” Radhanath Swami’s mother would reply with a shrug of her shoulders.
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One night, while in Delhi, Bhikku Vivekananda and Radhanath Swami attended an independent lecture by the world-renowned author and orator J. Krishnamurti. They entered a large tent, or pandal,and took seats in the second row of chairs. As the pandal rapidly filled, a man of about sixty sat beside them. His name was Dilip. “Would you like to hear something about the life of J. Krishnamurti?” he asked. “He’s my teacher.”
“Please,” Bikku and Radhanath Swami responded.
Dilip crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, and began. He told them that Krishnamurti was born in South India in 1895 and
