Narendra (Swami Vivekananda) was a master story-teller whose words were as magnetic as his personality. When he spoke everyone listened in rapt attention forgetting their work. One day while in school, Narendra was talking animatedly to his friends during a class recess. Meanwhile, the teacher had entered the classroom and had begun to teach his subject. But the students were too absorbed in Narendra's story to pay any attention to the lesson. After some time had passed, the teacher heard the wishpering and understood what was going on! Visibly annoyed, he now asked each student what he had been lecturing on. None could answer. But Narendra was remarkably talented; his mind could work simultaneously on two planes. While he had engaged one part of his mind in talking, he had kept the other half on the lesson. So when the teacher asked him that question, he answered correctly. Quite nonplussed, the teacher inquired who had been talking so long. Everybody pointed at Narendranath, but the teacher refused to believe them. He then asked all the students except Narendra to stand up on the bench. Narendra also joined his friends and stood up. The teacher asked him to sit down. But Narendra replied: 'No sir, I must also stand up because it was I who was talking to them.'

Swami Vivekananda was having a long trek in the Himalayas when he found an old man extremely exhausted standing hopelessly at the foot of an upward slope. The man said to Swamiji in frustration, 'Oh, Sir, how to cross it; I cannot walk any more; my chest will break.'

Swamiji listened to the old man patiently and then said, 'Look down at your feet. The road that is under your feet is the road that you have passed over and is the same road that you see before you; it will soon be under your feet.' These words emboldened the old man to resume his onward trek.

A sannyasin, in the strictest sense of the term, is always a free soul. Like a river, he is always on the move. Sometimes he spends the night at a burning ghat, sometimes he sleeps in the palace of the king, sometimes he rests at a railway station but he is always happy. Such a sannyasin was Swami Vivekananda whom we now find living at a railway station in Rajasthan. People kept coming to him all day long. They had many questions, mostly religious, and Swamiji was tireless in answering them. Three days and three nights passed in this manner. Swamiji was so engrossed in talking about spiritual matters that he did not even stop to eat. The people who flocked to him also did not think of asking him if he had any food to eat!

On the third night of his stay there, when the visitors had all left, a poor man came forward and said to him lovingly, `Swamiji, I have noticed that for three days you have been talking and talking. You have not taken even a drop of water! This has pained me very much.'

Swamiji felt that God had appeared before him in the form of this poor man. He looked at him and said, `Will you please give me something to eat?' The man was a cobbler by profession, so he said with some hesitation, `Swamiji, my heart yearns to give you some bread, but how can I? I have touched it. If you permit, I will bring you some coarse flour and dal and you can prepare them as you please!'

Swamiji said, `No, my child; give me the bread you have baked. I shall be happy to eat it.' The poor man was frightened at first. He feared the king might punish him if he came to know that he, a low caste person, had prepared food for a sannyasin. But the eagerness to serve a monk overpowered his fear. He hurriedly went back home and soon returned with bread freshly baked for Swamiji. The kindness and unselfish love of this penurious man brought tears to Swamiji's eyes. How many persons like this live in the huts of our country unnoticed, he thought. They are materially poor and of so-called humble origin, yet they are so noble and large-hearted.

In the meantime, some gentlemen found that Swamiji was eating food offered by a shoemaker and were annoyed. They came to Swamiji and told him that it was improper for him to accept food from a man of low birth. Swamiji patiently heard them and then said, `You people made me talk without respite for the past three days, but you did not even care to inquire if I had taken any food and rest. You claim you are gentlemen and boast of your high caste; what is more shameful, you condemn this man for being of a low caste. Can you overlook the humanity  he has just shown and despise him without feeling ashamed?'

In Gazipur there was a saint living by the side of the Ganga. A dacoit broke into his house. He had some silver vessels. For many days the dacoit had been watching. A lot of devotees used to give offerings to the saint. The dacoit thought that there must be some treasure. In the first chamber the vessels were kept. When the thief broke in, there was a lot of utensils. He took them and filled his bag. It made noise. The saint who heard it said: “What is this? Some animal is coming.” So he just came out of his meditation and saw a big man. When the thief saw him, the former began to take to his heels. Immediately the saint took the bag of utensils and ran behind the thief asking him to stop. He overtook the thief and said: “Why are you afraid? These are yours. Some more I will give you.” And thus the thief was sent away with all the things he had in his house. Years later, when Swami Vivekananda was going on a pilgrimage to Kedar, Badri, etc., he saw a Sadhu lying on the icy region. In those days the conditions of travelling were quite different altogether. Then there was no proper route and no proper facilities. With great difficulty he was making his pilgrimage. It was on his way somewhere that he saw the Sadhu in the icy region, lying helpless. Vivekananda gave him his own blanket. At that time the Sadhu looked up, and finding that Vivekananda was a spiritual man, began to narrate something of his past life.

“Have you heard of saint Pavahari Baba?”, he asked Swami Vivekananda. Then he told him all about the incident that happened in the life of Pavahari Baba. He continued “I am the thief. From that day when the saint touched me a transformation came into my life. I repented my action bitterly. Since that time I am trying to atone for my sins.” That is the power of the saints. “God is everywhere”—this feeling is a wonderful method of progressing in your attempt to commune with God and ultimately become one with Him.

Once at Varanasi, as Swamiji was coming out of the temple of Mother Durga, he was surrounded by a large number of chattering monkeys. They seemed to  be threatening him. Swamiji did not want them to catch hold of him, so he started to run away. But the monkeys chased him. An old sannyasin was there, watching those monkeys. He called out to Swamiji, 'Stop! Face the brutes!' Swamiji stopped. He turned round and faced the monkeys. At once, they ran away. Many years later, Swamiji said: 'If you ever feel afraid of anything, always turn round and face it. Never think of running away.'

In America, Swamiji was watching some boys. They were standing on the bridge trying to shoot at egg-shells that  were floating on the river, but they always missed the target. Swamiji took the gun and aimed at the shells. He fired twelve times and every time he hit an egg-shell. The boys asked Swamiji: 'Well Mister, how did you do it?' Swamiji said ' Whatever you are doing, put your whole mind on it. If you are shooting, your mind should be only on the target. Then you will never miss. If you are learning your lessons, think only of the lesson. In my country boys are taught to do this.'

Swamiji became well-known in America. Once he was given a rousing reception at a railway station as he got down from the train. A Negro porter went forward to shake hands with him saying: `Congratualations! I am extremly delighted that a man of my race has attained such great honour! The entire Negro community in this country feels proud of you!' Swamiji eagerly shook hands with the porter and said warmly, `Thank you, brother!' He refused to deny he was a Negro.

Swamiji was insulted, humiliated and refused entry into many hotels in the South an suspicion that he was a Negro. But he never protested or explained that he was an Indian. A Western disciple once asked him why he did not tell them he was from India in such situations. `What!', Swamiji replied, `Rise at the expense of another! I did not come to earth for that!'

Before he left London, one of his British friends put this question to him: `Swami, how do you like now your motherland after four years' experience of the luxurious, glorious, powerful West?' Swamiji said: `India I loved before I came away. Now the very dust of India has become holy to me, the very air is now to me holy; it is now the holy land, the place of pilgrimage, the Tirtha!'