Mother was smiling—“No, this is not an exaggeration—” “Not an exaggeration!” “How can I explain it to you—whatever refuses to end, the joy or sorrow that never exhausts itself—whatever cannot be measured by time, this is its description.” I could not quite understand. I thought about it for a long time—could not recall exactly where in Rabindranath’s songs or poems this idea appears. ‘Lakh lakh jug’—that is, eternity. Is a happiness that is never satisfied good or bad, who knows? Thinking about this eternal dissatisfaction, tears began to fall from my eyes—

Sabi’s illness has worsened. Kabiraj Kaka is treating her. She says all sorts of strange things. Among these, she muttered something while looking at a picture of Rabindranath—then she sings devotional songs. And she will not let Mircea leave her side for a moment. He must sit by her bedside. He must hold her hand. To cool her head, oil is applied to her scalp, parting her hair down the middle—the oil too must be applied by Mircea. It is actually a good thing. Because of this, Mircea often stays upstairs in my room, for Sabi’s sickbed is in that room. Many people come and go in the room, and Mircea sits by Sabi. If I were the one who was ill, it would not have been possible. But since Sabi is a child, it is easier. Yet, my heart is filled to the brim—he has become so much one of us, like a member of the family—this brings me a strange happiness. I remember one day, Kabiraj Kaka was standing by the door, explaining the details of the medicine to Mother—Mircea was listening to Sabi’s words—I was standing quite a distance away, near my bed. Suddenly, he glanced at me and smiled a little—and at that very moment, at that exact moment, a strange wave of sensation swept through my whole body. My spine tingled, and I sat down on the bed. Since I am the ‘eldest aunt’, it is my habit to analyze everything. This strange feeling filled me with questions—what is this? How does it even happen? It is a matter of the body, entirely of the body, there is no doubt—there is nothing of the soul in this—yet the body itself has not even been touched. Can such a thing happen just from a glance? Whom could I ask! It would not be right to ask him, it would only make things worse, besides, how would he know? He is not a doctor. Only doctors or kabirajs know about the body, but of course, one cannot ask them. Suppose I were to ask Kabiraj Kaka, “Kaka, why do I sometimes feel this way when I see Mircea”—what would happen then? Ha ha ha—then I would be laid down on another bed and have Madhumanarayan oil applied to my head. Or else, straight to the lunatic asylum in Berhampore.

We often sit on the roof or the veranda and read or recite little plays. We