The Letter.
It was a mercy that my father, when he died, left behind him a well filled money bag, for otherwise I fail to see how I could have maintained myself in these days of expensive living. I cannot say that I was totally without training or without knowledge of any kind, but what I possessed could scarcely be called the gift of the Muses.
Even in the days of my childhood the crooked path always appealed to me far more strongly than the straight one. My conduct left much to be desired on the score of goodness and obedience. I never was content with the food which was offered me, as the model good boy in our Bengali primer always used to be. Though in one respect I certainly differed from the bad boy, held up to eternal obloquy in the very same book; for I never teased my mother to procure for me the good things which I hankered after; I was quite up to the task of procuring them for myself. Nor can I say that the commandment, "Thou shalt not steal," was very strictly observed by me.
My parents alone can account for the whim which led them to call such a child Sushil, "Well-behaved." And Dame Fate alone can tell why she chose me of all persons to be the hero of a romance, when there were so many well-educated and handsome young men who had read all the eastern and western romances to be had for the mere asking. I was ill-equipped for the part, a ne'er-do-well and a rascal.
Animesh on the contrary really had some accomplishments to his credit. Even before leaving our "Mess," he had already composed an astonishing number of verses, which unfortunately no one had listened to with patience, with the single exception of myself. He nearly went bald in his frantic efforts to make his hair curl, and he never ceased to wonder to the day of his death, why the Creator
