No matter how late it got into the night, the bride’s father never showed up. At dawn, we woke up and set off back to our home. They couldn’t say a word to us. Around two in the afternoon, we reached Mogalturru. All along the way, we kept recalling the incident and burst out laughing until our sides ached. My father, upon hearing everything that had happened, became furious and was about to set out to that village to curse them, but we stopped him with great difficulty.

After that, they never wrote us a reply, nor did they ever come to see us. I, relying on the support of my mother and uncles, told my father, “I won’t marry for another four years. Whatever you may think, that’s my decision. If you don’t give up on this marriage business, it’ll be very hard for me.” I said this boldly. Perhaps my father too thought it was for the best, for he didn’t say another word about it. The next day, I went to Narsapur.

This year, the exams gave me a good thrashing. I felt I couldn’t stay here any longer, nor could I bear to sit in the same class again, enduring the teachers’ endless nagging. The very thought of it made me wish I could bid farewell to my studies for good. It seemed my father, without even consulting me, had come to the same conclusion. As soon as the school reopened, I sat there one morning, torn between whether to go or to quit.

Hearing my father call, “Parvateesam, my boy!” I went out to the verandah. “What are you doing?” he asked. “School has reopened, so I was getting my things ready,” I replied.

“Listen, I’ll tell you something. You’ve been studying. I thought you’d rise up and do well through your education. But for some reason, your initial enthusiasm has faded. So, for now, give up this year. If, at some later time, your desire to study becomes strong again, you can start afresh. I say, let it go for this year. But don’t think I’m telling you to loaf around like a donkey! This year, learn two pieces of Sanskrit somehow, and read Telugu well too. After that, we’ll see. Right now, there’s no shame in stopping—after all, unless you pass B.A. and become some kind of master, there’s no real benefit, is there? When you have patience, you can continue.”

Barrister Parvateesam

As I was returning from the fields, my father said, “Come and help me a little, keep an eye on things.” Sensing my reluctance, I stood there hesitating, unable to say a word or make any decision. While I was still wavering, he said in a single breath, “Go to the field. I’m thinking of threshing a heap of grain now. Not our calves, but check the other pen, see if there are two calves there,” he told Venkata. “Go see what he’s doing,” my father said. Realizing that my