The letters from India this week have not reached me though long overdue. There was a squall in the Mediterranean Sea, and the mail bags have been damaged by the sea water. So there is a chance of my letters not coming at all, and it may become a Lent week for me. Your letters have been a never-failing source of sustenance for my mind all through my days of exile—and you have been so generously lavish in your supply.
To-morrow I am going to start on a tour in Switzerland, Germany, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. I feel sure of the welcome awaiting me in those countries. I cannot imagine how I could have merited so great a reward. I feel that I am being greatly overpaid for my service, and one day I shall be called upon to refund the excess, and a great deal more!
There was a proposal made by some friend of mine in England to form a Board of Trustees to help me in my work of Visvabharati. But it is needless to assure you that I am not going to allow my Institution to be tied to the tow-boat of any official body. I know it would have saved me from a great deal of trouble and opposition. But when, by some artificial protection, we save ourselves from trouble in the beginning, it crops up in a worse form in the end.
My letters will grow more and more irregular till they meet their Nirvana in our meeting at Santiniketan.