"I have imported Indian mill-made yarn and kept it for sale in my Suksar market, and also sent bales of it to markets belonging to neighbouring __zamindars__." "But we have been to your market, Maharaja," the same student exclaimed, "and found nobody buying this yarn." "That is neither my fault nor the fault of my market. It only shows the whole country has not taken your vow." "That is not all," my master went on. "It shows that what you have pledged yourselves to do is only to pester others. You want dealers, who have not taken your vow, to buy that yarn; weavers, who have not taken your vow, to make it up; then their wares eventually to be foisted on to consumers who, also, have not taken your vow. The method? Your clamour, and the __zamindars'__ oppression. The result: all righteousness yours, all privations theirs!" "And may we venture to ask, further, what your share of the privation has been?" pursued a science student. "You want to know, do you?" replied my master. "It is Nikhil himself who has to buy up that Indian mill yarn; he has had to start a weaving school to get it woven; and to judge by his past brilliant business exploits, by the time his cotton fabrics leave the loom their cost will be that of cloth-of-gold; so they will only find a use, perhaps, as curtains for his drawing-room, even though their flimsiness may fail to screen him. When you get tired of your vow, you will laugh the loudest at their artistic effect. And if their workmanship is ever truly appreciated at all, it will be by foreigners." I have known my master all my life, but have never seen him so agitated. I could see that the pain had been silently accumulating in his heart for some time, because of his surpassing love for me, and that his habitual self-possession had become secretly undermined to the breaking point. "You are our elders," said the medical student. "It is unseemly that we should bandy words with you. But tell us, pray, finally, are you determined not to oust foreign articles from your market?" "I will not," I said, "because they are not mine." "Because that will cause you a loss!" smiled the M.A. student. "Because he, whose is the loss, is the best judge," retorted my master. With a shout of __Bande Mataram__ they left us. Chapter Six Nikhil's Story VIII A FEW days later, my master brought Panchu round to me. His __zamindar__, it appeared, had fined him a hundred rupees, and was threatening him with ejectment. "For what fault?" I enquired.