We submitted, in a secluded corner
of the station, to a search of our persons. Ananta was quickly
satisfied that we were carrying no hidden hoard; our simple DHOTIS
{FN11-3} concealed nothing more than was necessary.
As faith invaded the serious realms of finance, my friend spoke
protestingly. "Ananta, give me one or two rupees as a safeguard.
Then I can telegraph you in case of misfortune."
"Jitendra!" My ejaculation was sharply reproachful. "I will not
proceed with the test if you take any money as final security."
"There is something reassuring about the clink of coins." Jitendra
said no more as I regarded him sternly.
"Mukunda, I am not heartless." A hint of humility had crept into
Ananta's voice. It may be that his conscience was smiting him;
perhaps for sending two insolvent boys to a strange city; perhaps
for his own religious skepticism. "If by any chance or grace you
pass successfully through the Brindaban ordeal, I shall ask you to
initiate me as your disciple."
This promise had a certain irregularity, in keeping with the
unconventional occasion. The eldest brother in an Indian family
seldom bows before his juniors; he receives respect and obedience
second only to a father. But no time remained for my comment; our
train was at point of departure.
Jitendra maintained a lugubrious silence as our train covered the
miles. Finally he bestirred himself; leaning over, he pinched me
painfully at an awkward spot.
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