It evidently pained him to think of two
half-English boys traveling in the section allotted to natives. After
his polite exit, I lay back on the seat and laughed uncontrollably.
My friend wore an expression of blithe satisfaction at having
outwitted a veteran European official.
On the platform I had contrived to read the telegram. From my brother,
it went thus: "Three Bengali boys in English clothes running away
from home toward Hardwar via Moghul Serai. Please detain them until
my arrival. Ample reward for your services."
"Amar, I told you not to leave marked timetables in your home." My
glance was reproachful. "Brother must have found one there."
My friend sheepishly acknowledged the thrust. We halted briefly
in Bareilly, where Dwarka Prasad awaited us with a telegram from
Ananta. My old friend tried valiantly to detain us; I convinced him
that our flight had not been undertaken lightly. As on a previous
occasion, Dwarka refused my invitation to set forth to the Himalayas.
While our train stood in a station that night, and I was half asleep,
Amar was awakened by another questioning official. He, too, fell a
victim to the hybrid charms of "Thomas" and "Thompson." The train
bore us triumphantly into a dawn arrival at Hardwar. The majestic
mountains loomed invitingly in the distance. We dashed through the
station and entered the freedom of city crowds. Our first act was
to change into native costume, as Ananta had somehow penetrated
our European disguise.
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