Barrister Parvateesam

With a face streaked with tears—though I could not tell whether she was laughing or crying—the old lady came, opened the door, saw me, composed herself, and suddenly embraced me, exclaiming, “Oh! Mr. Sam, Sam!”

The two children, who had been laughing until then, stopped as abruptly as a gramophone record screeching to a halt. They pressed their lips together, stifled their laughter with great effort, and stood up straight.

“So much has happened, Mr. Sam. If only you had told us beforehand that you were going to a party with us, I could have given you some advice! Still, it’s all right, don’t worry about it,” she said, releasing me from her embrace and patting me on the back.

“I’m not thinking anything of it,” I said, and without another word, hurried into my room. I collapsed onto the sofa, realizing that those little imps must have recounted everything I had said, adding their own spices and garnishes. The three of them were laughing together, I thought.

Just then, all three of them came back and said, “Mr. Sam, please forgive our foolish behavior. It was a mistake to laugh like that. Please don’t take it to heart.” They apologized.

“I haven’t taken it to heart at all, so there’s no need for apologies,” I replied.

“Thank you,” they said, bowing their heads and leaving quietly. I thought to myself, “It was a mistake to tell them anything at all. As far as they know, they’ll broadcast it to all their friends. But so what? What’s lost is lost!” I chuckled to myself.

Though at first I had been a bit angry with them, seeing the mother and children pulling such silly faces, looking at me with fear—especially that little one—by the time they apologized, I felt sorry for them. After they left, as I replayed the whole episode in my mind, I realized—what fault is there in them? I was the one who made the mistake. Anyone who heard what happened would laugh. How could they not? Now, with time to spare...

When I think about it quietly, I can’t help but laugh at myself! A lack of intelligence is simply a lack of intelligence. But then, if someone calls you dull-witted, or even just thinks it, what’s the use in feeling hurt or bearing a grudge against them? Isn’t that just another kind of foolishness?

So, from the bottom of my heart, I forgave them. No matter what they say about my lack of brains, when I look at their silly faces, I can’t help but feel a mix of pity and amusement. Isn’t that a curious thing?

Trying to put all that behind me, I resolved to return to my studies. But just as I was about to begin, thoughts of home crept in again. How is my mother doing? How much must she be worrying about me? Even though my father is strict, surely he has a deep affection for me inside. But