s a
characteristic of the times of which I am writing. Our educated men then
kept at arms' length both the language and thought of their native
land. Nevertheless my elder brothers had always cultivated Bengali
literature. When on one occasion some new connection by marriage wrote
my father an English letter it was promptly returned to the writer.

The _Hindu Mela_ was an annual fair which had been instituted with the
assistance of our house. Babu Nabagopal Mitter was appointed its
manager. This was perhaps the first attempt at a reverential realisation
of India as our motherland. My second brother's popular national anthem
"_Bharater Jaya_," was composed, then. The singing of songs glorifying
the motherland, the recitation of poems of the love of country, the
exhibition of indigenous arts and crafts and the encouragement of
national talent and skill were the features of this _Mela_.

On the occasion of Lord Curzon's Delhi durbar I wrote a prose-paper--at
the time of Lord Lytton's it was a poem. The British Government of those
days feared the Russians it is true, but not the pen of a 14-year old
poet. So, though my poem lacked none of the fiery sentiments appropriate
to my age, there were no signs of any consternation in the ranks of the
authorities from Commander-in-chief down to Commissioner of Police. Nor
did any lachrymose letter in the _Times_ predict a speedy downfall of
the Empire for this apathy of its local guardians. I recited my poem
under a tree at the Hindu Mela and one of my hearers was Nabin Sen, the
poet. He reminded me of this after I had grown up.

My fourth brother, Jyotirindra, was responsible for a political
association of which old Rajnarain Bose was the president. It held its
sittings in a tumbledown building in an obscure Calcutta lane. Its
proceedings were enshrouded in mystery. This mystery was its only claim
to be awe-inspiring, for as a matter of fact there was nothing in our
deliberations or doings of which government or people need have been
afraid. The rest of our family had no idea where we were spending our
afternoons. Our front door would be locked, the meeting room in
darkness, the watchword a Vedic _mantra_, our talk in whispers. These
alone provided us with enough of a thrill, and we wanted nothing more.
Mere child as I was, I also was a member. We surrounded ourselves with
such an atmosphere of pure frenzy that we always seemed to be soaring
aloft on the wings of our enthusiasm. O