inner garden
had a wonderful charm for me, so different from the broad expanse of the
river-bank in front. It was like the bride of the house, in the
seclusion of her midday siesta, resting on a many-coloured quilt of her
own embroidering, murmuring low the secrets of her heart. Many a midday
hour did I spend alone under that Jambolan tree dreaming of the fearsome
kingdom of the Yakshas[16] within the depths of the tank.

I had a great curiosity to see a Bengal village. Its clusters of
cottages, its thatched pavilions, its lanes and bathing places, its
games and gatherings, its fields and markets, its life as a whole as I
saw it in imagination, greatly attracted me. Just such a village was
right on the other side of our garden wall, but it was forbidden to us.
We had come out, but not into freedom. We had been in a cage, and were
now on a perch, but the chain was still there.

One morning two of our elders went out for a stroll into the village. I
could not restrain my eagerness any longer, and, slipping out
unperceived, followed them for some distance. As I went along the deeply
shaded lane, with its close thorny _seora_ hedges, by the side of the
tank covered with green water weeds, I rapturously took in picture after
picture. I still remember the man with bare body, engaged in a belated
toilet on the edge of the tank, cleaning his teeth with the chewed end
of a twig. Suddenly my elders became aware of my presence behind them.
"Get away, get away, go back at once!" they scolded. They were
scandalised. My feet were bare, I had no scarf or upper-robe over my
tunic, I was not dressed fit to come out; as if it was my fault! I never
owned any socks or superfluous apparel, so not only went back
disappointed for that morning, but had no chance of repairing my
shortcomings and being allowed to come out any other day. However though
the Beyond was thus shut out from behind, in front the Ganges freed me
from all bondage, and my mind, whenever it listed, could embark on the
boats gaily sailing along, and hie away to lands not named in any
geography.

This was forty years ago. Since then I have never set foot again in that
_champak_-shaded villa garden. The same old house and the same old
trees must still be there, but I know it cannot any longer be the
same--for where am I now to get that fresh feeling of wonder which made
it what it was?

We returned to our Jorasanko house in town. And my days were as so many
mouthfuls of