瓦拉纳西罗摩克里希那服务院：呼吁书
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中文
罗摩克里希纳服务之家，瓦拉纳西：一封呼吁书
（此信由斯瓦米吉所写，随罗摩克里希纳服务之家瓦拉纳西分部首份年度报告一同寄出，一九〇二年二月。）
亲爱的——
我们恳请您查收罗摩克里希纳服务之家瓦拉纳西分部过去一年的工作报告，其中简要陈述了我们为改善众多同胞——多为年迈男女——在此城中所遭受的悲惨境遇而做出的微薄努力。
在这个思想觉醒、舆论日益彰显的时代，印度教徒的圣地、其现状及运作方式未能逃脱批评的锐利目光；而这座城市，作为全体印度教徒心中至圣至尊之地，自然也招致了相当的责难。
在其他圣地，人们前去净化罪业，与这些地方的联系是偶然的，不过数日之短。而在这座最古老、至今仍充满活力的雅利安宗教活动中心，来的却是那些——通常年迈体衰——等待着通过一切圣化中最伟大的圣化——在宇宙之主神殿的荫庇下辞世——而步入永恒自由的男男女女。
还有那些为了世间之善而舍弃一切的人，他们永远失去了自己血亲和童年旧友的援助之手。
他们同样逃不脱人类共同的命运——以疾病形式出现的肉体之苦。
或许管理方面确实存在某些过失。或许祭司们确实承受了人们对他们施以的大量笼统批评中应得的部分；然而，我们切不可忘记一个伟大的真理——有什么样的民众，就有什么样的祭司。如果人们袖手旁观，眼看苦难的急流从家门前汹涌而过，将男男女女、老老少少、游方僧（Sannyasin）与在家人一同卷入无助苦痛的漩涡，却不做丝毫拯救的努力，只知对圣地祭司的过失大加挞伐——那么，苦难便不会减少一分一毫，也不会有一个人因此得到帮助。
我们是否愿意维护祖先对湿婆（Shiva）圣城救度功德的信仰？
如果愿意，我们就应当欣喜地看到每年前来此地等待辞世之人越来越多。
赞美主的圣名，穷苦之人对解脱（Moksha）的热切渴望一如既往。
前来此地等待辞世的穷人，已自愿切断了他们在出生之地所能获得的一切帮助，而当疾病降临之时，他们的境况——我们留给您去想象，留给您作为一名印度教徒的良知去感受和去纠正。
兄弟，这难道不令你驻足深思——这座奇妙的最终安息预备之地所拥有的神奇吸引力吗？这条亘古不息、从未终断的朝圣者之流——通过死亡而走向解脱——难道不令你感到一种神秘的敬畏吗？
如果是——那就来助我们一臂之力吧。
莫要介意你的捐助不过是一文小钱，你的帮助不过是微薄之力；如古谚所云——草叶合成绳索，亦能缚住最狂暴的大象。
永远在宇宙之主中与你同在，
辨喜（Vivekananda）。
English
THE RAMAKRISHNA HOME OF SERVICE VARANASI: AN APPEAL
(Letter written by Swamiji, to accompany the First Report of the Ramakrishna Home of Service, Varanasi, February, 1902.)
Dear—
We beg your acceptance of the past year's Report of the Ramakrishna Home of Service, Varanasi, embodying a short statement of our humble efforts towards the amelioration, however little, of the miserable state into which a good many of our fellow-beings, generally old men and women, are cast in this city.
In these days of intellectual awakening and steadily asserting public opinion, the holy places of the Hindus, their condition, and method of work have not escaped tile keen eye of criticism; and this city, being the holy of holies to all Hindus, has not failed to attract its full share of censure.
In other sacred places people go to purify themselves from sin, and their connection with these places is casual, and of a few day's duration. In this, the nicest ancient and living centre of Aryan religious activity, there come men and women, and as a rule, old and decrepit, waiting to pass unto Eternal Freedom, through the greatest of all sanctifications, death under the shadow of the temple of the Lord of the universe.
And then there are those who have renounced everything for the good of the world and have for ever lost the helping hands of their own flesh and blood and childhood's associations.
They too are overtaken by the common lot of humanity, physical evil in the form of disease.
It may be true that some blame attaches to the management of the place. It may be true that the priests deserve a good part of the sweeping criticism generally heaped upon them; yet we must not forget the great truth—like people, like priests. If the people stand be with folded hands and watch the swift current of misery rushing past their doors, dragging men, women and children, the Sannyâsin and the householder into one common whirlpool of helpless suffering, and make not the least effort to save any from the current, only waxing eloquent at the misdoings of the priests of the holy places not one particle of suffering can ever be lessened, not one ever be helped.
Do we want to keep up the faith of our forefathers in the efficacy of the Eternal City of Shiva towards salvation?
If we do, we ought to be glad to see the number of those increase from year to year who come here to die.
And blessed be the name of the Lord that the poor have this eager desire for salvation, the same as ever.
The poor who come here to die have voluntarily cut themselves off from any help they could have received in the places of their birth, and when disease overtakes them, their condition we leave to your imagination and to your conscience as a Hindu to feel and to rectify.
Brother, does it not make you pause and think of the marvellous attraction of this wonderful place of preparation for final rest? Does it not strike you with a mysterious sense of awe—this age-old and never-ending stream of pilgrims marching to salvation through death?
If it does—come and lend us a helping hand.
Never mind if your contribution is only a mite, your help only a little; blades of grass united into a rope will hold in confinement the maddest of elephants—says the old proverb.
Ever yours in the Lord of the universe,
Vivekananda.
文本来自Wikisource公共领域。原版由阿德瓦伊塔修道院出版。