Phatik said sullenly: "I tell you, I haven't. You ask MAekhan!" But
MAekhan thought it best to stick to his previous statement. He said:
"Yes, mother. Phatik did hit me."
Phatik's patience was already exhausted. He could not bear this
injustice. He rushed at MAekhan and hammered him with blows: "Take
that," he cried, "and that, and that, for telling lies."
His mother took MAekhan's side in a moment, and pulled Phatik away,
beating him with her hands. When Phatik pushed her aside, she shouted
out: "What! you little villain! Would you hit your own mother?"
It was just at this critical juncture that the grey-haired stranger
arrived. He asked what was the matter. Phatik looked sheepish and
ashamed.
But when his mother stepped back and looked at the stranger, her anger
was changed to surprise. For she recognized her brother and cried: "Why,
Dada! Where have you come from?"
As she said these words, she bowed to the ground and touched his feet.
Her brother had gone away soon after she had married; and he had started
business in Bombay. His sister had lost her husband while he was there.
Bishamber had now come back to Calcutta and had at once made enquiries
about his sister. He had then hastened to see her as soon as he found
out where she was.
The next few days were full of rejoicing. The brother asked after the
education of the two boys. He was told by his sister that Phatik was a
perpetual nuisance. He was lazy, disobedient, and wild. But MAekhan was
as good as gold, as quiet as a lamb, and very fond of reading.
Bishamber kindly offered to take Phatik off his sister's hands and
educate him with his own children in Calcutta. The widowed mother
readily agreed. When his uncle asked Phatik if he would like to go to
Calcutta with him, his joy knew no bounds and he said: "Oh, yes, uncle!"
in a way that made it quite clear that he meant it.
It was an immense relief to the mother to get rid of Phatik. She had a
prejudice against the boy, and no love was lost between the two
brothers. She was in daily fear that he would either drown MAekhan some
day in the river, or break his head in a fight, or run him into some
danger. At the same time she was a little distressed to see Phatik's
extreme eagerness to get away.
Phatik, as soon as all was settled, kept asking his uncle every minute
when they were to start. He was on pins and needles all day long with
excitement and lay awake most of the night. He bequeathed to MAekhan, in
perpetuity, his fishing-rod, his big kite, and his marbles. Indeed, at
this time of departure, his generosity towards MAekhan was unbounded.
When they reached Calcutta, Phatik made the acquaintance of his aunt for
the first time. She was by no means pleased with this unnecessary
addition to her family. She found her own three boys quite enough to
manage without taking any one else. And to bring a village lad of
fourteen into their midst was terribly upsetting. Bishamber should
really have thought twice before committing such an indiscretion.
In this world of human affairs there is no worse nuisance than a boy at
the age of fourteen. He is neither ornamental nor useful. It is
impossible to shower affection on him as on a little boy; and he is
always getting in the way. If he talks with a childish lisp he is called
a baby, and if he answers in a grown-up way he is called impertinent. In
fact any talk at all from him is resented. Then he is at the
unattractive, growing age. He grows out of his clothes with indecent
haste; his voice grows hoarse and breaks and quavers; his face grows
suddenly angular and unsightly. It is easy to excuse the shortcomings of
early childhood, but it is hard to tolerate even unavoidable lapses in a
boy of fourteen. The lad himself becomes painfully self-conscious. When
he talks with elderly people he is either unduly forward, or else so
unduly shy that he appears ashamed of his very existence.
Yet it is at this very age when, in his heart of hearts, a young lad
most craves for recognition and love; and he becomes the devoted slave
of any one who shows him consideration. But none dare openly love him,
for that would be regarded as undue indulgence and therefore bad for
the boy. So, what with scolding and chiding, he becomes very much like a
stray dog that has lost his master.
For a boy of fourteen his own home is the only Paradise. To live in a
strange house with strange people is little short of torture, while the
height of bliss is to receive the kind looks of women and never to be
slighted by them.
It was anguish to Phatik to be the unwelcome guest in his aunt's house,
despised by this elderly woman and slighted on every occasion. If ever
she asked him to do anything for her, he would be so overjoyed that he
would overdo it; and then she would tell him not to be so stupid, but to
get on with his lessons.
The cramped atmosphere of neglect oppressed Phatik so much that he felt
that he could hardly breathe. He wanted to go out into the open country
and fill his lungs with fresh air. But there was no open country to go
to. Surrounded on all sides by Calcutta houses and walls, he would dream
night after night of his village home and long to be back there. He
remembered the glorious meadow where he used to fly his kite all day
long; the broad river-banks where he would wander about the live-long
day singing and shouting for joy; the narrow brook where he could go and
dive and swim at any time he liked. He thought of his band of boy
companions over whom he was despot; and, above all, the memory of that
tyrant mother of his, who had such a prejudice against him, occupied him
day and night. A kind of physical love like that of animals, a longing
to be in the presence of the one who is loved, an inexpressible
wistfulness during absence, a silent cry of the inmost heart for the
mother, like the lowing of a calf in the twilight,--this love, which was
almost an animal instinct, agitated the shy, nervous, lean, uncouth and
ugly boy. No one could understand it, but it preyed upon his mind
continually.
There was no more backward boy in the whole school than Phatik. He gaped
and remained silent when the teacher asked him a question, and like an
overladen ass patiently suffered all the blows that came down on his
back. When other boys were out at play, he stood wistfully by the window
and gazed at the roofs of the distant houses. And if by chance he espied
children playing on the open terrace of any roof, his heart would ache
with longing.
One day he summoned up all his courage and asked his uncle: "Uncle, when
can I go home?"