overcome by you. My respect for Chandranath Babu is even greater.'
Well, indulge in your respect by all means! Schoolmasters thrive on it. But not being one of them, I have no use for that empty compliment.
Chandranath Babu began to talk about Swadeshi. I thought I would let him go on with his monologues. There is nothing like letting an old man talk himself out. It makes him feel that he is winding up the world, forgetting all the while how far away the real world is from his wagging tongue.
But even my worst enemy would not accuse me of patience. And when Chandranath Babu went on to say: 'If we expect to gather fruit where we have sown no seed, then we ...' I had to interrupt him.
'Who wants fruit?' I cried. 'We go by the Author of the Gita who says that we are concerned only with the doing, not with the fruit of our deeds.'
'What is it then that you do want?' asked Chandranath Babu.
'Thorns!' I exclaimed, 'which cost nothing to plant.'
'Thorns do not obstruct others only,' he replied. 'They have a way of hurting one's own feet.'
'That is all right for a copy-book,' I retorted. 'But the real thing is that we have this burning at heart. Now we have only to cultivate thorns for other's soles; afterwards when they hurt us we shall find leisure to repent. But why be frightened even
