May I look through the stack myself?"
The professor, nonplused, gave his permission; I quickly found my
paper, where I had carefully omitted any identification mark except
my roll call number. Unwarned by the "red flag" of my name, the
instructor had given a high rating to my answers even though they
were unembellished by textbook quotations. {FN23-1}
Seeing through my trick, he now thundered, "Sheer brazen luck!" He
added hopefully, "You are sure to fail in the A.B. finals."
For the tests in my other subjects, I received some coaching,
particularly from my dear friend and cousin, Prabhas Chandra
Ghose, {FN23-2} son of my Uncle Sarada. I staggered painfully but
successfully-with the lowest possible passing marks-through all my
final tests.
Now, after four years of college, I was eligible to sit for the
A.B. examinations. Nevertheless, I hardly expected to avail myself
of the privilege. The Serampore College finals were child's play
compared to the stiff ones which would be set by Calcutta University
for the A.B. degree. My almost daily visits to Sri Yukteswar had
left me little time to enter the college halls. There it was my
presence rather than my absence that brought forth ejaculations of
amazement from my classmates!
My customary routine was to set out on my bicycle about nine-thirty
in the morning. In one hand I would carry an offering for my guru-a
few flowers from the garden of my PANTHI boardinghouse.
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