My Reminiscences | Page 9

entrance into earth, water and air, and
into the ways of men. Unfathomable was the depth of his gravity. With
head slightly tilted he would mince his carefully selected words in a
deep voice. His literary diction would give food for merriment to our
elders behind his back, some of his high-flown phrases finding a
permanent place in our family repertoire of witticisms. But I doubt
whether the expressions he used would sound as remarkable to-day;
showing how the literary and spoken languages, which used to be as
sky from earth asunder, are now coming nearer each other.
This erstwhile schoolmaster had discovered a way of keeping us quiet
in the evenings. Every evening he would gather us round the cracked
castor-oil lamp and read out to us stories from the Ramayana and
Mahabharata. Some of the other servants would also come and join the
audience. The lamp would be throwing huge shadows right up to the
beams of the roof, the little house lizards catching insects on the walls,
the bats doing a mad dervish dance round and round the verandahs
outside, and we listening in silent open-mouthed wonder.
I still remember, on the evening we came to the story of Kusha and
Lava, and those two valiant lads were threatening to humble to the dust
the renown of their father and uncles, how the tense silence of that

dimly lighted room was bursting with eager anticipation. It was getting
late, our prescribed period of wakefulness was drawing to a close, and
yet the denouement was far off.
At this critical juncture my father's old follower Kishori came to the
rescue, and finished the episode for us, at express speed, to the
quickstep of Dasuraya's jingling verses. The impression of the soft slow
chant of Krittivasa's[7] fourteen-syllabled measure was swept clean
away and we were left overwhelmed by a flood of rhymes and
alliterations.
On some occasions these readings would give rise to shastric
discussions, which would at length be settled by the depth of Iswar's
wise pronouncements. Though, as one of the children's servants, his
rank in our domestic society was below that of many, yet, as with old
Grandfather Bhisma in the Mahabharata, his supremacy would assert
itself from his seat, below his juniors.
Our grave and reverend servitor had one weakness to which, for the
sake of historical accuracy, I feel bound to allude. He used to take
opium. This created a craving for rich food. So that when he brought us
our morning goblets of milk the forces of attraction in his mind would
be greater than those of repulsion. If we gave the least expression to our
natural repugnance for this meal, no sense of responsibility for our
health could prompt him to press it on us a second time.
Iswar also held somewhat narrow views as to our capacity for solid
nourishment. We would sit down to our evening repast and a quantity
of luchis[8] heaped on a thick round wooden tray would be placed
before us. He would begin by gingerly dropping a few on each platter,
from a sufficient height to safeguard himself from
contamination[9]--like unwilling favours, wrested from the gods by
dint of importunity, did they descend, so dexterously inhospitable was
he. Next would come the inquiry whether he should give us any more. I
knew the reply which would be most gratifying, and could not bring
myself to deprive him by asking for another help.
Then again Iswar was entrusted with a daily allowance of money for

procuring our afternoon light refreshment. He would ask us every
morning what we should like to have. We knew that to mention the
cheapest would be accounted best, so sometimes we ordered a light
refection of puffed rice, and at others an indigestible one of boiled gram
or roasted groundnuts. It was evident that Iswar was not as
painstakingly punctilious in regard to our diet as with the shastric
proprieties.

(5) The Normal School
While at the Oriental Seminary I had discovered a way out of the
degradation of being a mere pupil. I had started a class of my own in a
corner of our verandah. The wooden bars of the railing were my pupils,
and I would act the schoolmaster, cane in hand, seated on a chair in
front of them. I had decided which were the good boys and which the
bad--nay, further, I could distinguish clearly the quiet from the naughty,
the clever from the stupid. The bad rails had suffered so much from my
constant caning that they must have longed to give up the ghost had
they been alive. And the more scarred they got with my strokes the
worse they angered me, till I knew not how to punish them enough.
None remain to bear witness