“Just imagine!” I ejaculated. “We shall be initiated by the masters and experience the trance of cosmic consciousness. Our flesh will be charged with such magnetism that wild animals of the Himalayas will come tamely near us. Tigers will be no more than meek house cats awaiting our caresses!” This remark-picturing a prospect I considered entrancing, both metaphorically and literally-brought an enthusiastic smile from Amar. But Jatinda averted his gaze, directing it through the window at the scampering landscape. “Let the money be divided in three portions.” Jatinda broke a long silence with this suggestion. “Each of us should buy his own ticket at Burdwan. Thus no one at the station will surmise that we are running away together.” I unsuspectingly agreed. At dusk our train stopped at Burdwan. Jatinda entered the ticket office; Amar and I sat on the platform. We waited fifteen minutes, then made unavailing inquiries. Searching in all directions, we shouted Jatinda’s name with the urgency of fright. But he had faded into the dark unknown surrounding the little station. I was completely unnerved, shocked to a peculiar numbness. That God would countenance this depressing episode! The romantic occasion of my first carefully-planned flight after Him was cruelly marred. “Amar, we must return home.” I was weeping like a child. “Jatinda’s callous departure is an ill omen. This trip is doomed to failure.” “Is this your love for the Lord? Can’t you stand the little test of a treacherous companion?” Through Amar’s suggestion of a divine test, my heart steadied itself. We refreshed ourselves with famous Burdwan sweetmeats, SITABHOG (food for the goddess) and MOTICHUR (nuggets of sweet pearl). In a few hours, we entrained for Hardwar, via Bareilly. Changing trains at Moghul Serai, we discussed a vital matter as we waited on the platform. “Amar, we may soon be closely questioned by railroad officials. I am not underrating my brother’s ingenuity! No matter what the outcome, I will not speak untruth.” “All I ask of you, Mukunda, is to keep still. Don’t laugh or grin while I am talking.” At this moment, a European station agent accosted me. He waved a telegram whose import I immediately grasped. “Are you running away from home in anger?” “No!” I was glad his choice of words permitted me to make emphatic reply. Not anger but “divinest melancholy” was responsible, I knew, for my unconventional behavior. The official then turned to Amar. The duel of wits that followed hardly permitted me to maintain the counseled stoic gravity. “Where is the third boy?” The man injected a full ring of authority into his voice. “Come on; speak the truth!” “Sir, I notice you are wearing eyeglasses. Can’t you see that we are only two?” Amar smiled impudently. “I am not a magician; I can’t conjure up a third companion.” The official, noticeably disconcerted by this impertinence, sought a new field of attack. “What is your name?”