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 of taking the dharma of another. All else may be accepted as gifts, but if one’s dharma is not one’s own, it does not save, but kills. I cannot gain my God as alms from anybody else. If I get Him at all, it shall be I who win Him. If I do not, even death is better.’

I am argumentative by nature, and could not give in so easily. ‘A poet,’ said I, ‘may get a poem from within himself. But he who is not a poet needs must take it from another,’

‘I am a poet,’ said Satish, without blenching.

That finished the matter. I came away.

Satish had no regular hours for meals or sleep, There was no knowing where he was to be found next. His body began to take on the unsubstantial keenness of an over-sharpened knife. One felt this could not go on much longer. Yet I could not muster up courage to interfere. Damini, however, was utterly unable to bear it. She was grievously incensed at God’s ways. With those who ignored Him, God was powerless,—was it fair thus to take it out of one who was helplessly prostrate at His feet? When Damini used to wax wroth with Lilananda Swami, she knew how to bring it home to him. Alas, she knew not how to bring her feelings home to God!