The leader, whom we expected to arrive by around six o’clock, only came and started the meeting at seven. The estimate that ten thousand people would attend, as predicted by Mr. Ravanarao, was utterly surpassed. It looked as if fifty thousand, or even a hundred thousand, had gathered—the entire field, as far as the eye could see, was packed so densely with people that not even a grain of sand could have found space to fall. Mr. Paul delivered a magnificent speech. Never in my life had I heard such an address! In fact, I doubted I ever would again. I felt that the echoes of that speech would ring in my ears for the rest of my life.

For nearly two hours, Mr. Paul spoke in a language unknown to the crowd, but another Telugu leader translated as he went along. Yet, not a single person stirred, not a whisper was heard, not even a breath seemed to escape—so solemn was the silence with which those thousands listened to the speech. It was an unforgettable, indelible scene in my life. For about ten minutes, the air was rent with applause so thunderous it seemed the very sky had drawn near, and thus the meeting concluded.

By the time I reached home, it was about ten o’clock. My mother was sitting at the entrance of the street, waiting anxiously for me. As I walked home, seeing the crowd following behind me, it felt as though the entire village had attended the meeting. I came home, bathed, and ate my meal in silence, answering none of my mother’s questions, and went straight to bed. My father, who usually stayed awake until then, did not get up to see me. He did not speak a word to me. Deciding that thunder, lightning, and storms would not arrive until morning, I slept peacefully.

Morning came. I woke up, bathed, and finished my breakfast of curd rice. My father, having finished his prayers, was waiting for me. Everything seemed calm, but the gravity on his face was quite terrifying. In his usual slow manner, he asked, “You were nowhere to be seen last night. Where did you go?”

“I went to Narsapuram,” I replied.

“Why?” he asked.

At that point, I realized there was no escaping the explanation, and so, two or three...

For years now, I have briefly described the meetings and events that have been taking place in Narsapur under the guidance of Mr. Ravanarao. I then spoke openly and without any pretense about my acquaintance with him, the affection he had for me, the encouragement he gave, and the work I was doing in these meetings.

My father listened to all this in silence for a moment, then said, “Have you really thought this through, this work you are doing? What benefit is it bringing you? All I can see is loss. Your studies have been neglected. Instead of sitting comfortably at home and minding your own business, you’re spending your time organizing these meetings. It’s high time you realized there’s nothing in it for you. Just because they praise you a little, you get puffed up and start dancing to their tune. After all these years of running after them, you’re only good for arranging tables and chairs—nothing else. If you had thought about this even a little, you would have realized this secret long ago.

So, even now, if you can bring yourself to your senses and reflect on all the work you’ve done in the past three years, you’ll see that every word I’ve said is true. Working for the country, uplifting the nation—

I do not deny that such lofty matters are indeed noble ideals. However, without higher learning, greater intellect, broader imagination, and a certain degree of perseverance, even the smallest task becomes impossible to accomplish.

Whether you wish to take up a job, serve the nation, or even if you simply desire to expand your knowledge for its own sake, never forget that education is absolutely essential. I have always hoped that, sooner or later, you would come to realize this truth on your own. But seeing you still wandering about like this, I am now telling you plainly: if you continue in this manner, you will never understand it. Even now, awaken yourself, decide for yourself what kind of education you desire, and make an earnest effort to pursue it.

You are an intelligent young man. There is no need for me to say more than this.” So saying, my father, without another word, without even asking for my opinion, quietly went off to the fields. I abandoned my intention to go outside, sat at home, and, lost in thought, could not bring myself to read any book. I did not see my father again. Thus, sitting and pondering, on the fourth evening I went to visit Ravana Rao garu in Narsapuram.

“Well, Parvateesam, what news? The other day, the meeting was such a grand success—don’t think I’m praising you to your face, but I have been watching all your efforts. You worked yourself to exhaustion, got entangled, and were nearly cut in half,” he said. “So, what else is new? Why are you so silent? Say something!” he added with a laugh.

I told him everything that had happened at home and asked for his advice. He paused for a moment and said, “Everything your father said is true—how can I deny it? Without education, how will knowledge come? I have long intended to explain these matters to you calmly and kindly one day. Your father has relieved me of that duty. He is an elder, a scholar, and knowledgeable in many matters. That education is essential is beyond dispute. The only question is: what kind of education? In my opinion, it would not be good for you to rejoin high school. Instead, study some Sanskrit and Telugu at home; afterwards, I will give you some books on social and political subjects. You