their village homes when once they taste the pleasures of the capital. But for me, who had to spend most of his time shut up in a stuffy little hole of a room, with a book propped up in front of me, it was not so easy. I constantly hankered after the free and easy life of my poor home. So though I passed a number of years in Calcutta, still in many respects I remained provincial to the last. My mind could seldom fix itself upon its immediate surroundings.
So passed a few years. At last one day I started for Howrah station, tired and hot, with a small bag containing all my worldly wealth. I had finished my examination. I got into a train. My mother's ornaments had carried me up to this, but now my pockets were absolutely empty. I thought of entering into service if I could pass and I hoped to study privately for the M.A. All the while I sat in the train I constantly went on trying to calculate how many marks I could possibly secure. If I could pass well, then perhaps I should secure a scholarship.
I reached my village in the evening. There was only a field between the railway station and my home. It was already too dark to see so far, but I saw my home clearly in my mind's eye. By this time, my mother would be bowing down before the sacred Tulsi plant with the lighted lamp in her hand. Her hair had escaped through her veil and was streaming on the ground. My little brother and sister would have begun to tease and coax grandmother into telling them a story. The thatched roof of the kitchen could be seen dimly reflected against the dark evening sky. Perhaps my aunt would be pacing to and fro on the verandah, as she could not stay in the hot kitchen, and my second brother Probodh would already have sat down for his evening study.
Everyone ran out to welcome me. My mother always smiled whenever she saw me but this time her joy was even greater. The family seemed to be unusually excited about something, and I soon perceived that the secret was a
