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 schedule had been decided for me and that I had no need to think about it, I went to the field without another word.

Thus, two or three months passed by, somewhat sluggishly, but peacefully. I didn’t feel like doing anything, but I wasn’t exactly restless either—just a bit irritable now and then. In the evenings, I would stroll around Narsapur for a while. If nothing else, I’d wander about with my old friends for a bit, then sit on the banks of the Godavari, and as soon as the lamps were lit, I’d return home. But before long, days didn’t continue in this fashion.

Soon, meetings and lectures started increasing day by day in both Narsapur and Palakollu. My old friends and some elders, one morning, arrived at my house in Mogalturru in full force. Luckily for me, my father wasn’t home at the time. Among those who came was a middle-aged pleader, who said, “Well, Parvateesam, you seem to be enjoying yourself! Why have you disappeared altogether? Are you living like a retired official, or perhaps like a newly initiated householder who’s taken up asceticism, keeping away from all of us and from public life? How can that be? There’s so much work to be done by young, enthusiastic people like you. The time has come for future citizens like you to unite, pool your energies and abilities, and step into the field of action. The circumstances are very favorable for us now. The swaraj movement is surging in Bengal and sweeping across the country. Great leaders like Bipin Chandra Pal are coming to us, seeking our support. All our local leaders, starting with Bode Narayana Rao and others, are making every effort to create a suitable atmosphere to honor them and welcome them properly. Meetings are being organized in every town for public awareness. So, without the help of people like you, none of this can happen! Such a great task cannot be accomplished with mere words! All this is for shaping your future, for your...

Lives are meant to be made happy, but not for our sake, oh no! Our days are nearly over; now, your days are coming—days for you, for your happiness, for the fortune of the country. If you four join together, we are eager to stand behind you, to push you forward, to see you lead the way. All the leaders like Narayanarao Garu have come to know your name and how it became known. They have especially pleaded with you to form a voluntary service corps under your leadership, with at least a hundred members, and to give them a month’s training at once. They have sent us word to this effect. Now, there is no room for you to make some excuse and turn away. If I say I have come here solely for your sake, imagine how urgent this matter must be. If you come to Narsapur at four o’clock in the evening, we can meet and discuss how