"
I entered the boy's room with such speed that he looked up in alarm.
I questioned him eagerly.
"Long-haired monk," he said laughingly, "why this sudden interest
in scholastic matters? Why cry in the eleventh hour? But it is true
that the passing mark has just been lowered to 33 points."
A few joyous leaps took me into my own room, where I sank to my
knees and praised the mathematical perfections of my Divine Father.
Every day I thrilled with the consciousness of a spiritual presence
that I clearly felt to be guiding me through Romesh. A significant
incident occurred in connection with the examination in Bengali.
Romesh, who had touched little on that subject, called me back
one morning as I was leaving the boardinghouse on my way to the
examination hall.
"There is Romesh shouting for you," a classmate said to me impatiently.
"Don't return; we shall be late at the hall."
Ignoring the advice, I ran back to the house.
"The Bengali examination is usually easily passed by our Bengali
boys," Romesh told me. "But I have just had a hunch that this
year the professors have planned to massacre the students by asking
questions from our ancient literature." My friend then briefly outlined
two stories from the life of Vidyasagar, a renowned philanthropist.
I thanked Romesh and quickly bicycled to the college hall.
The examination sheet in Bengali proved to contain two parts. The
first instruction was: "Write two instances of the charities of
Vidyasagar.
Pages:
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301