hen filled with the song of youth, become
aware that the harp of the universe has its variously tuned strings
everywhere stretched, and the nearest may serve as well as any other for
our accompaniment, there is no need to seek afar.

(39) _An Intervening Period_

Between the _Pictures and Songs_ and the _Sharps and Flats_, a child's
magazine called the _Balaka_ sprang up and ended its brief days like an
annual plant. My second sister-in-law felt the want of an illustrated
magazine for children. Her idea was that the young people of the family
would contribute to it, but as she felt that that alone would not be
enough, she took up the editorship herself and asked me to help with
contributions. After one or two numbers of the _Balaka_ had come out I
happened to go on a visit to Rajnarayan Babu at Deoghur. On the return
journey the train was crowded and as there was an unshaded light just
over the only berth I could get, I could not sleep. I thought I might as
well take this opportunity of thinking out a story for the _Balaka_. In
spite of my efforts to get hold of the story it eluded me, but sleep
came to the rescue instead. I saw in a dream the stone steps of a temple
stained with the blood of victims of the sacrifice;--a little girl
standing there with her father asking him in piteous accents: "Father,
what is this, why all this blood?" and the father, inwardly moved,
trying with a show of gruffness to quiet her questioning. As I awoke I
felt I had got my story. I have many more such dream-given stories and
other writings as well. This dream episode I worked into the annals of
King Gobinda Manikya of Tipperah and made out of it a little serial
story, _Rajarshi_, for the _Balaka_.

Those were days of utter freedom from care. Nothing in particular seemed
to be anxious to express itself through my life or writings. I had not
yet joined the throng of travellers on the path of Life, but was a mere
spectator from my roadside window. Many a person hied by on many an
errand as I gazed on, and every now and then Spring or Autumn, or the
Rains would enter unasked and stay with me for a while.

But I had not only to do with the seasons. There were men of all kinds
of curious types who, floating about like boats adrift from their
anchorage, occasionally invaded my little room. Some of them sought to
further their own ends, at the cost of my inexperience, with many an
extraordinary device. But they need not have taken any