Phatik Chakravorti was ringleader among the boys of the village. A new mischief got

into his head. There was a heavy log lying on the mud-flat of the river waiting to be

shaped into a mast for a boat. He decided that they should all work together to shift the

log by main force from its place and roll it away. The owner of the log would be angry

and surprised, and they would all enjoy the fun. Every one seconded the proposal, and it

was carried unanimously.

But just as the fun was about to begin, Makhan, Phatik's younger brother, sauntered up,

and sat down on the log in front of them all without a word. The boys were puzzled for

a moment. He was pushed, rather timidly, by one of the boys and told to get up but he

remained quite unconcerned. He appeared like a young philosopher meditating on the

futility of games. Phatik was furious. "Makhan," he cried, "if you don't get down this

minute I'll thrash you!"

Makhan only moved to a more comfortable position.

Now, if Phatik was to keep his regal dignity before the public, it was clear he ought to

carry out his threat. But his courage failed him at the crisis. His fertile brain, however,

rapidly seized upon a new manoeuvre which would discomfit his brother and afford his

followers an added amusement. He gave the word of command to roll the log and

Makhan over together. Makhan heard the order, and made it a point of honour to stick

on. But he overlooked the fact, like those who attempt earthly fame in other matters,

that there was peril in it.

The boys began to heave at the log with all their might, calling out, "One, two, three,

go," At the word "go" the log went; and with it went Makhan's philosophy, glory and

all.

All the other boys shouted themselves hoarse with delight. But Phatik was a little

frightened. He knew what was coming. And, sure enough, Makhan rose from Mother

Earth blind as Fate and screaming like the Furies. He rushed at Phatik and scratched his

face and beat him and kicked him, and then went crying home. The first act of the

drama was over.

Phatik wiped his face, and sat down on the edge of a sunken barge on the river bank,

and began to chew a piece of grass. A boat came up to the landing, and a middle-aged

man, with grey hair and dark moustache, stepped on shore. He saw the boy sitting there

doing nothing, and asked him where the Chakravorti lived. Phatik went on chewing the

grass, and said: "Over there," but it was quite impossible to tell where he pointed. The

stranger asked him again. He swung his legs to and fro on the side of the barge, and

said; "Go and find out," and continued to chew the grass as before. But now a servant came down from the house, and told Phatik his mother wanted him.

Phatik refused to move. But the servant was the master on this occasion. He took Phatik

up roughly, and carried him, kicking and struggling in impotent rage.

When Phatik came into the house, his mother saw him. She called out angrily: "So you

have been hitting Makhan again?"

Phatik answered indignantly: "No, I haven't; who told you that?"

His mother shouted: "Don't tell lies! You have."

Phatik said suddenly: "I tell you, I haven't. You ask Makhan!" But Makhan 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 hear this injustice. He rushed at

Makhan, and hammered him with blows: "Take that" he cried, "and that, and that, for

telling lies."

His mother took Makhan's side in a moment, and pulled Phatik away, beating him with

her hands. When Phatik pushed her aside, she shouted out: "What I 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

the matter was. Phatik looked sheepish and ashamed.

But when his mother stepped back and looked at the stranger, her anger was changed to

surprise. For she recognised 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 in Bombay. 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 Makhan 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 Makhan some day in the river, or break his head in a fight, or run

him into some danger or other. At the same time she was somewhat 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 Makhan, in perpetuity, his fishing-rod, his big kite and his

marbles. Indeed, at this time of departure his generosity towards Makhan 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 she ever 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 in his aunt's house 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 and breathe freely. But there was no open country to go to. Surrounded on all

sides by Calcutta houses and walls, be 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

livelong 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?"

His uncle answered; "Wait till the holidays come." But the holidays would not come till

November, and there was a long time still to wait.

One day Phatik lost his lesson-book. Even with the help of books he had found it very

difficult indeed to prepare his lesson. Now it was impossible. Day after day the teacher

would cane him unmercifully. His condition became so abjectly miserable that even his

cousins were ashamed to own him. They began to jeer and insult him more than the

other boys. He went to his aunt at last, and told her that he bad lost his book.

His aunt pursed her lips in contempt, and said: "You great clumsy, country lout. How

can I afford, with all my family, to buy you new books five times a month?"

That night, on his way back from school, Phatik had a bad headache with a fit of

shivering. He felt he was going to have an attack of malarial fever. His one great fear

was that he would be a nuisance to his aunt.

The next morning Phatik was nowhere to be seen. All searches in the neighbourhood

proved futile. The rain had been pouring in torrents all night, and those who went out in

search of the boy got drenched through to the skin. At last Bisbamber asked help from

the police.

At the end of the day a police van stopped at the door before the house. It was still

raining and the streets were all flooded. Two constables brought out Phatik in their arms

and placed him before Bishamber. He was wet through from head to foot, muddy all

over, his face and eyes flushed red with fever, and his limbs all trembling. Bishamber

carried him in his arms, and took him into the inner apartments. When his wife saw him,

she exclaimed; "What a heap of trouble this boy has given us. Hadn't you better send

him home ?"

Phatik heard her words, and sobbed out loud: "Uncle, I was just going home; but they

dragged me back again,"

The fever rose very high, and all that night the boy was delirious. Bishamber brought in

a doctor. Phatik opened his eyes flushed with fever, and looked up to the ceiling, and

said vacantly: "Uncle, have the holidays come yet? May I go home?"

Bishamber wiped the tears from his own eyes, and took Phatik's lean and burning hands

in his own, and sat by him through the night. The boy began again to mutter. At last his

voice became excited: "Mother," he cried, "don't beat me like that! Mother! I am telling

the truth!"

The next day Phatik became conscious for a short time. He turned his eyes about the

room, as if expecting some one to come. At last, with an air of disappointment, his head

sank back on the pillow. He turned his face to the wall with a deep sigh.

Bishamber knew his thoughts, and, bending down his head, whispered: "Phatik, I have

sent for your mother." The day went by. The doctor said in a troubled voice that the

boy's condition was very critical.

Phatik began to cry out; "By the mark! --three fathoms. By the mark-- four fathoms. By

the mark-." He had heard the sailor on the river- steamer calling out the mark on the

plumb-line. Now he was himself plumbing an unfathomable sea.

Later in the day Phatik's mother burst into the room like a whirlwind, and began to toss

from side to side and moan and cry in a loud voice.

Bishamber tried to calm her agitation, but she flung herself on the bed, and cried:

"Phatik, my darling, my darling."

Phatik stopped his restless movements for a moment. His hands ceased beating up and

down. He said: "Eh?"

The mother cried again: "Phatik, my darling, my darling."

Phatik very slowly turned his head and, without seeing anybody, said: "Mother, the

holidays have come."

-THE END-