VI
WHEN, without any fault on my part, I found myself forsaken by Indra, alone on the bank of the Ganges in that still, solemn night, I could not restrain my tears. So this was all the value he attached to my affection for him! I had followed him, unmindful of the strict restraints of our house: but what was that to him? He had not hesitated to call me unlucky and useless, and certainly when he left me he thought it a good riddance.
I cannot tell how much Indra's cruel indifference pained me. After this he did not seek me nor I him. If I met him accidentally in the streets, I would look away from him, pretending that I had not seen him. This pretence of mine was as gall and wormwood to me: but how much did it affect him? He was a leading spirit in our boys' world; he was captain of the football and cricket teams, the best gymnast in the gymnasium. What a number of disciples, admirers, and followers he had! And what was I? A mere nobody in comparison. But why had he called me his friend for a short time and then shut me out of his acquaintance, in the chilly world outside? Finding myself shut out, I took no special pains to get in again. How well I remember when our common friends would tell wonderful stories about Indra and I would hear them in perfect silence. Not by a single word did I ever hint that he knew me or that I knew anything about him. How well I had learned, even at
63
