or my sister-in-law, his
zealous devotee, who stood in the way. She would keep reminding me of a
Sanskrit saying that the unworthy aspirant after poetic fame departs in
jeers! Very possibly she knew that if my vanity was once allowed to get
the upper hand it would be difficult afterwards to bring it under
control. So neither my poetic abilities nor my powers of song readily
received any praise from her; rather would she never let slip an
opportunity of praising somebody else's singing at my expense; with the
result that I gradually became quite convinced of the defects of my
voice. Misgivings about my poetic powers also assailed me; but, as this
was the only field of activity left in which I had any chance of
retaining my self-respect, I could not allow the judgment of another to
deprive me of all hope; moreover, so insistent was the spur within me
that to stop my poetic adventure was a matter of sheer impossibility.

(20) _Publishing_

My writings so far had been confined to the family circle. Then was
started the monthly called the _Gyanankur_, Sprouting Knowledge, and, as
befitted its name it secured an embryo poet as one of its contributors.
It began to publish all my poetic ravings indiscriminately, and to this
day I have, in a corner of my mind, the fear that, when the day of
judgment comes for me, some enthusiastic literary police-agent will
institute a search in the inmost zenana of forgotten literature,
regardless of the claims of privacy, and bring these out before the
pitiless public gaze.

My first prose writing also saw the light in the pages of the
_Gyanankur_. It was a critical essay and had a bit of a history.

A book of poems had been published entitled _Bhubanmohini Pratibha_.[37]
Akshay Babu in the _Sadharani_ and Bhudeb Babu in the _Education
Gazette_ hailed this new poet with effusive acclamation. A friend of
mine, older than myself, whose friendship dates from then, would come
and show me letters he had received signed _Bhubanmohini_. He was one of
those whom the book had captivated and used frequently to send
reverential offerings of books or cloth[38] to the address of the
reputed authoress.

Some of these poems were so wanting in restraint both of thought and
language that I could not bear the idea of their being written by a
woman. The letters that were shown to me made it still less possible for
me to believe in the womanliness of the writer. But my doubts did not
shake my friend