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 Chakravortis 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 Makban, 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 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 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 By 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."