? That was why, with
the weight of worldly life no longer clogging my feet, I could not stick
to the usual course of convention.

Alone on the terrace in the darkness of night I groped all over like a
blind man trying to find upon the black stone gate of death some device
or sign. Then when I woke with the morning light falling on that
unscreened bed of mine, I felt, as I opened my eyes, that my enveloping
haze was becoming transparent; and, as on the clearing of the mist the
hills and rivers and forests of the scene shine forth, so the dew-washed
picture of the world-life, spread out before me, seemed to become
renewed and ever so beautiful.

(43) _The Rains and Autumn_

According to the Hindu calendar, each year is ruled by a particular
planet. So have I found that in each period of life a particular season
assumes a special importance. When I look back to my childhood I can
best recall the rainy days. The wind-driven rain has flooded the
verandah floor. The row of doors leading into the rooms are all closed.
Peari, the old scullery maid, is coming from the market, her basket
laden with vegetables, wading through the slush and drenched with the
rain. And for no rhyme or reason I am careering about the verandah in an
ecstasy of joy.

This also comes back to me:--I am at school, our class is held in a
colonnade with mats as outer screens; cloud upon cloud has come up
during the afternoon, and they are now heaped up, covering the sky; and
as we look on, the rain comes down in close thick showers, the thunder
at intervals rumbling long and loud; some mad woman with nails of
lightning seems to be rending the sky from end to end; the mat walls
tremble under the blasts of wind as if they would be blown in; we can
hardly see to read, for the darkness. The Pandit gives us leave to close
our books. Then leaving the storm to do the romping and roaring for us,
we keep swinging our dangling legs; and my mind goes right away across
the far-off unending moor through which the Prince of the fairy tale
passes.

I remember, moreover, the depth of the _Sravan_[55] nights. The
pattering of the rain finding its way through the gaps of my slumber,
creates within a gladsome restfulness deeper than the deepest sleep. And
in the wakeful intervals I pray that the morning may see the rain
continue, our lane under water, and the bathing platform of the tank
submerged to the last step.

But at the age of which I have just been tel