At the mention of “Barrister Parvateesam,” everyone immediately sprang to their feet with enthusiasm.

We split ourselves into two teams—one for “Chedugudu” and the other for “Uppatti”—and set about playing. Within two minutes, a dozen or fifteen locals from the surrounding area had gathered. In another couple of minutes, another twenty-five or thirty people came running from who knows where. Five minutes later, more than a hundred young men and women, abandoning their romantic pursuits, flocked around us. Seeing such a crowd, our spirits soared, and we played our games with even greater gusto.

By chance, I ended up as the captain of the Chedugudu team. Since I’d been used to this game from my childhood, I played with confidence. The spectators clapped and cheered, shouting “Hurray! Hurray!” and encouraging us. As soon as the game ended, some of them came up to me, praised me, shook my hand, and bombarded me with questions: “How do you play this game? What are its rules?” They wouldn’t let me go until I explained in detail both Chedugudu and Uppatti. “Will you let us play with you tomorrow?” they asked, a little hesitantly.

“Of course! Come, let’s play together tomorrow. After all, games and songs know no barriers of race or religion,” I replied, feeling rather grand. They all left, delighted, each going their own way, and we went ours. I walked on, feeling as though I had imparted something great about our country to them, my gait solemn with pride. Our Raja clapped me on the back and congratulated me heartily.

You must believe me when I say that for the past month, I haven’t had a moment’s peace. You might think I’ve been out on picnics, playing cards with friends, or arguing and debating! Nothing of the sort, my friend—exams! The entrance exam loomed over us like a dark, menacing cloud, threatening to burst at any moment. Terrified, I clung to my books and chair, not knowing whether I had eaten or not, or even what I had eaten—like a newly widowed woman lost in confusion...

Without so much as glancing at the street or even noticing if a cyclone had swept through, I kept my eyes glued to my books and studied with a single-minded intensity.

Our landlady and her daughters, observing my resolve and persistence, grew quite anxious about what might become of me. The landlady herself came to me four or five times, urging me with great affection to take some rest, warning that such excessive dedication was not good, that it might harm my health, and that I might not even be able to appear for the exams if I fell ill.

Her daughters too joined in, especially the second one—a real mischief-maker. She would boldly enter my room at all hours, without so much as a knock, and sit there even if I paid her no attention. She would leaf through this book and that, giggling to herself as if she found something amusing, or