“No, sir, let us alone. You are very kind; but you are mistaken in judging us to be truants from home.” No further conversation ensued; the train came to a halt. As Jitendra and I descended to the platform, our chance companions linked arms with us and summoned a horse cab. We alit before a stately hermitage, set amidst the evergreen trees of well-kept grounds. Our benefactors were evidently known here; a smiling lad led us without comment to a parlor. We were soon joined by an elderly woman of dignified bearing. “Gauri Ma, the princes could not come.” One of the men addressed the ashram hostess. “At the last moment their plans went awry; they send deep regrets. But we have brought two other guests. As soon as we met on the train, I felt drawn to them as devotees of Lord Krishna.” “Good-by, young friends.” Our two acquaintances walked to the door. “We shall meet again, if God be willing.” “You are welcome here.” Gauri Ma smiled in motherly fashion on her two unexpected charges. “You could not have come on a better day. I was expecting two royal patrons of this hermitage. What a shame if my cooking had found none to appreciate it!” These appetizing words had disastrous effect on Jitendra: he burst into tears. The “prospect” he had feared in Brindaban was turning out as royal entertainment; his sudden mental adjustment proved too much for him. Our hostess looked at him with curiosity, but without remark; perhaps she was familiar with adolescent quirks. Lunch was announced; Gauri Ma led the way to a dining patio, spicy with savory odors. She vanished into an adjoining kitchen. I had been premeditating this moment. Selecting the appropriate spot on Jitendra’s anatomy, I administered a pinch as resounding as the one he had given me on the train. “Doubting Thomas, the Lord works-in a hurry, too!” The hostess reentered with a PUNKHA. She steadily fanned us in the Oriental fashion as we squatted on ornate blanket-seats. Ashram disciples passed to and fro with some thirty courses. Rather than “meal,” the description can only be “sumptuous repast.” Since arriving on this planet, Jitendra and I had never before tasted such delicacies. “Dishes fit for princes indeed, Honored Mother! What your royal patrons could have found more urgent than attending this banquet, I cannot imagine! You have given us a memory for a lifetime!” Silenced as we were by Ananta’s requirement, we could not explain to the gracious lady that our thanks held a double significance. Our sincerity at least was patent. We departed with her blessing and an attractive invitation to revisit the hermitage. The heat outdoors was merciless. My friend and I made for the shelter of a lordly cadamba tree at the ashram gate. Sharp words followed; once again Jitendra was beset with misgivings.