Excerpt from Siri Ram Revolutionist: A Transcript From Life 1907-1910
When Skene arrived the Swami had begun his address. As he had expected, there was only one other European present, a missionary; but the hall was crammed with natives, among whom he recognised many of his students and professors. Nearly all the Hindus of the college were there and a sprinkling of Sikhs. It took him some seconds to realise that the meeting was different from anything he had imagined. He was in an atmosphere of intense excitement. He saw a thin, fragile little man standing alone on a platform, a palpable ascetic. And out of this weak frame issued a volume of sound which rang true with a genuine message. The Swami was informed with a spirit which seemed to shake him like a gust of wind. Sometimes, when he paused and threw out his arms and held them motionless after some burst of eloquence, you could see his thin, salmon coloured shift vibrate with inward emotion like a dragon-y's wing. The young men were spellbound by it. Not a word would he utter until the quivering was still. The outstretched hand thrust the question home at them as the thunder in which it had been delivered died away. He seemed to be waiting for one of them to answer him, but no answer was possible.
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