Publisher's Synopsis
THIS little book is a slender account of my journeys in search of His Footprints. For hours have I stood spell-bound, gazing at the humble dust upon which He once trod, yet I have passed the magnificence of jewelled diadems with indifference, for they had no fragrance in their charmed lustre, there was nothing of Him in them. This is a basketful of musk-dust, gathered from the sacrificial fires that burn in places made sacred by the holy tread of His Footsteps. Ever since I have seen Him, the remembrance of the scent of His presence has been my religion; whatsoever recalls it to my mind is precious; it surpasses all that I have ever valued. I am good only when my eyes half-close in rapture at the contemplation of His God-personality; to me nothing else is of virtue. For I know that when I go from Him into the world, full as it is of learned men with fine clothes and wrinkled faces, I feel no more whole-I am torn asunder, sullied, weighed down and spent; the formless vapours of my intellect dim the mirror of my heart, and I see no more what my eyes have so recently beheld. I come back disappointed and disillusioned, a sadder man. Not in the outer world, only in the heart of God do I find that iridescent lustre, that absolute rapture which makes me immortal in one flash. Every meeting with Him is an advance of centuries over my own self.
