For, however hotly I might profess anti-imperialistic opinions, I was still an heir to Britain’s guilt in her dealings with India. I was well aware of this and of the mixed feelings which guilt caused in me. While condemning the British, I felt an involuntary hostility to Hindus—just because my ancestors had treated them badly and because spokesmen of other nations kept telling the British how badly the Hindus were being treated. Before meeting Prabhavananda, I had known few Hindus and none of them intimately. I could therefore indulge my prejudice without having to admit individual exceptions. I could picture all Hindus as victims, the kind of victims who provoke you to aggression against them. Their weakness shames you while their silent arrogance condemns you as a bully belonging to an inferior culture. It was this imagined combination of weakness and arrogance which repelled and enraged me. Now, feeling strongly drawn to Prabhavananda, I had to get around my prejudice by telling myself that he was indeed an exception and not even a typical Hindu.
