Barrister Parvateesam

A certain boy, thinking himself clever, decided to play a prank on the professor. He went up to the notice board and, in the word “Classes,” neatly erased the first letter, “C.” What remained was “Lasses,” which, as everyone knows, means “girls.”

The next day, the professor saw this, and without the slightest anger, without uttering a single word of reproach to anyone, simply erased the second letter, “L,” and went on with his lesson as usual, unperturbed.

Many students, not having glanced at the notice board, were anxiously whispering among themselves, “Did the professor see it or not? If he saw, didn’t he get angry?” As soon as class was over, everyone rushed in a single file to the notice board. Now, with the “L” gone, only “Asses” remained.

To the professor’s clever move, we had no counter; we hung our heads in shame and quietly slunk away. We were all amazed at how deftly and wittily the professor handled such childish mischief. We went away, inwardly applauding his presence of mind.

Recently, one day, my friend pulled off a prank none of us had ever imagined or expected. He had already made a name for himself in another incident before. Among all the Andhras here, he is the most lively and talkative. Not only that, he is fond of humor and possesses a sharp wit.

He was a man of many talents. He could charm and captivate everyone with his words. A lover of the Andhra language, and something of a poet. He possessed a melodious voice that could sing enchantingly. Yet, he was a thorough mischief-maker. All day long, he would pick on someone or the other, making them cry one moment and laugh the next. With this penchant for pranks, he would keep us all on edge, making us laugh till we were nearly dead. This great man was Duggirala Gopalakrishnayya. He would often come to my room, chat for a while, and then leave. From the very first day he saw me, he held me in great affection and regard. When Sri Ananda Coomaraswamy visited and I unexpectedly recited some verses from the Bhagavatam at the gathering, his fondness for me increased tenfold.

One night, around ten o’clock, as I was studying with great concentration and dedication, Gopalakrishnayya burst in, flustered and anxious, with a most grave expression on his face, and knocked on my door. Who could be coming at this hour? Wondering, I got up and opened the door, and he immediately stepped inside.

“Babu, quickly get dressed! Our Rao has suddenly fallen terribly ill. He’s suffering a lot and doesn’t even know what’s happening to him. You must run there at once. I’ll go and rouse another ten of our friends, and bring the doctor too,” he said, not waiting for any response from me, and dashed out into the street.

I, who had been standing there, collapsed into my chair, utterly bewildered. This Rao was our friend, also studying to become a barrister, and was to finish his studies in a few months and return to our homeland. He was a man of five and a half feet, somewhat stout, and among us all, he appeared the most robust. What could have happened to this thunderbolt of a man, I wondered anxiously. Hastily, I put on my suit and rushed out into the street. I was determined to get there quickly, but I couldn’t go as fast as I’d hoped. Somehow, I reached Rao’s room, and, just as Gopalakrishnayya had done, knocked on the door in a panic. Inside, I could hear voices speaking softly. Someone opened the door. I stepped inside, frozen in place, utterly dumbfounded. There was Rao, sitting and laughing like a black diamond.

Barrister Parvateesam

Meanwhile, he was playing cards with a few others. Around them, seven or eight people stood watching the spectacle. At first, they pretended not to notice, but then someone raised his head and exclaimed, “Hey! What’s this? Isn’t that our Parvateesam? And look at him—so relaxed, as if he’s at home!”

At that moment, Mr. Rao threw down his cards, sprang up, strode over to me, and gave me such a slap on the back that I nearly toppled forward. “Well, Parvateesam bhai! What brings you here at this hour, looking so battered? At your age, when all sensible young men should be immersed in their studies, you seem to have wandered off to some den of pleasure, as if you’ve just come back from a movie! If this is how you carry on, my boy, it won’t do at all. We elders are here precisely to keep an eye on youngsters like you. Your people sent you here with the confidence that we’d watch over you. From the beginning, we’d hoped you’d act responsibly and focus on your studies, so we relaxed our supervision a bit. But now, you’ve taken advantage of our leniency and plunged into these romantic escapades! You’ve given us no choice but to keep a closer watch on you again,” he said, motioning for me to sit down.

I didn’t know what to think, seeing all this. Just then, another young man opened the door and said, “What’s the matter, Mr. Parvateesam? You’ve come in such a rush! Seeing your anxious face, I was quite frightened myself, I must say!”

No sooner had he finished speaking than there was another knock at the door—just as I’d feared. Four or five more people entered, greeted me, and then, as Mr. Rao and the others greeted them in turn, they all turned pale and stood speechless. By then, I’d recovered from my anxiety and asked, “So, gentlemen, have you all come here for the same reason as I have?”

One of them replied, “Yes, sir, it seems so. In fact—” he began, but before he could finish, another chimed in, “Mr. Rao, are you fully recovered now? Poor fellow, you rushed off on your journey, only to