the fold of my garment,—but it was never there, it was his all the time. Some demon has gained possession of me, and what I am doing to-day is the play of his activity—it has nothing to do with me.
This demon, in the guise of a god, had come with his ruddy torch to call me that day, saying: 'I am your Country. I am your Sandip. I am more to you than anything else of yours. Bande Mataram!' And with folded hands I had responded: 'You are my religion. You are my heaven. Whatever else is mine shall be swept away before my love for you. Bande Mataram!'
Five thousand is it? Five thousand it shall be! You want it to-morrow? To-morrow you shall have it! In this desperate orgy, that gift of five thousand shall be as the foam of wine,—and then for the riotous revel! The immovable world shall sway under our feet, fire shall flash from our eyes, a storm shall roar in our ears, what is or is not in front shall become equally dim. And then with tottering footsteps we shall plunge to our death,—in a moment all fire will be extinguished, the ashes will be scattered, and nothing will remain behind.
