A PSEUDONYM
CHAPTER I
AFTER many struggles with the Press, I succeeded in getting out the holiday number of the Light of Bengal before the Durga Puja. I was giving instructions to the manager as to the despatch of the journal when Satish appeared in English costume, smoking a cigarette. He said, "Come to Darjeeling."
Satish was the friend of my boyhood. We studied in the same class, sat together, worked together. The Master used to call us Castor and Pollux.
Having matriculated, we came to the College at Calcutta; but from that time our lives began to diverge. Satish tried in every way to adopt the manners of Europeans; while I became devoted to my mother-tongue. Satish jeered at me for constantly reading and writing Bengali; while I lost no opportunity of having a fling at him for imitating Europeans. Later Satish went to England and returned a barrister, having completely adopted English ways.
We were no longer, as in boyhood, one soul and spirit. Satish had become changed. He no
