Teacher real life inspirational stories of success

Teacher real-life inspirational stories of success 

 I had a bit of a special status among my classmates in college. Everyone considered me to be knowledgeable about everything.

The main reason for this was that I had an opinion on everything, right or wrong. Most people can't forcefully say yes and no, I used to say that a lot.

Not only was I taking opinions, I was composing myself; I lectured, wrote poetry, criticized, and was generally the envy and respect of my classmates. In this way, I could finally come out of college with my greatness. But already Saturn in my house of fame appeared in the college in the guise of a new professor.

That young professor of ours then is a well-known man today, so hiding his name in my resume will not do much harm to his brilliant name. Considering his behavior towards me, he will be called Bamacharanbabu in current history.

It is not that he was older than us; A few days ago, he stood first in the M.A. exam and got special praise from Mr. Tony. We neo-Hindus used to call him Brahmadaitya amongst ourselves.

We had an argument. I am the Vikramaditya of that assembly and I am the Navaratna of that assembly. There were thirty-six of us civil, thirty-five of whom it would have done no harm to leave out of the reckoning, and the thirty-five had the same opinion as I had of the merits of the remaining one.

On the occasion of the annual session of this meeting, I wrote a critical essay criticizing Carlyle. I had a firm belief that the audience would be amazed at his excellence - should have been amazed because I had condemned Carlyle in my article up until now.

Bamacharanbabu was the president of that session. When the essay was over, my fellow devotees sat mesmerized and speechless by the audacity of my views and the pure brilliance of the English language. After hearing no one's speech, Bamacharanbabu got up and in a calm and serious tone briefly explained that the part of my essay that was plagiarized from the essay of the well-known American calligrapher Mr. Lowell was very good, and it would have been better if I had left the part that was completely my own.

If he had said that there was a surprising unity of opinion and even language of the young essayist with Lowell, then his words would have been true but not unpopular. After this incident, there was a fissure in the unwavering faith that my classmates had in me. Only in the heart of my eternal devotee Amulyacharan did not the slightest disturbance arise. He kept saying to me, 'Listen to Brahmadaitya, your Vidyapati Natakkhana, and see what the cynic can say about him.'

The poet Vidyapati loved Lachimadevi, the cowherd of King Shivsingh, and he could not write poetry without seeing her. Based on this theme, I wrote a very tragic high-class verse play. Those among my audience who did not want to violate the dignity of antiquity would say that such an event had never happened in history. I would say, he is the misfortune of history! History would have been more juicy and true.

I have already mentioned that Natakkhani is an upper class. Invaluable is the highest class. As much as I thought of you, he thought of me even more. Therefore, I could not remember the great form of me that was reflected in his mind.

Natakkhani Bamacharanbabu's advice to listen was not bad to me; Because I firmly believe that there were no reprehensible holes in the play. Therefore, another day a special session of Tarkasabha was called, I recited my Natakkhani in front of the students and Bamacharanbabu criticized it.

I have no inclination to record that criticism in detail. In short, the criticism has not been favorable to me; According to Bamacharanababu, the characters and attitudes of the characters in the drama have not been given specific characteristics. There is a great general idea, but it is vaguely uncertain, it has not been created, having received form and life in the heart of the writer.

The sting is in the scorpion's tail, the conclusion of Bamacharanababu's criticism contained the strongest venom. Before taking his seat, he said, "Many of the scenes and themes of my play are imitations, even translations, of Tasso's play by Getty."

This was the answer. I could say, let it be an imitation, but that is not a matter of condemnation! Plagiarism is big in the literary realm, even if caught. Literary greats have done this, not even Shakespeare. In literature, the one who has the greatest originality dares to plagiarize because he can make the next thing entirely his own.

There were many other such words, but they were not said that day. Modesty is not the reason. Actually, I don't remember a single word that day. After about five or seven days the answers began to rise in my mind like divine Brahmastras one by one; But not being present in front of the enemy, those weapons pierced me. I thought I would at least tell my class students. But the answers were a little too subtle for the intellect of my fellow donkey. He knows that theft is theft; If they could understand the difference between my theft and the theft of others, they would not have any special differences with me.

I took the B exam, and I had no doubt that I would pass the exam, But there was no joy. With the impact of those few words of Bamacharan, all my fame and unbroken temple of hope fell into ruins. Only the unfathomable respect for me has not diminished at all; When the yellow sun rose in front of me in the morning, that respect was still under my feet like a very long shadow, and in the evening, when my yellow sun set, that respect did not leave my feet for a long time. But there is no satisfaction in this reverence, it is only an empty shadow, it is the darkness of a foolish devotee's heart, it is not the bright ray of intelligence.

Father called me from the country to give me a marriage. I took some time.

Bamacharanbabu's criticism created a self-contradiction in me, a rebellion against myself. The critical part of me was secretly hurting the writer part of me. My writer part said, I will avenge it; I will write once more and then see if I am big or my critic is big.

I decided in my heart, love of the world, self-sacrifice for others, and mercy to the enemy--using this expression, whether in prose or verse, I will write something very 'sublime'-group; Bengali critics will provide food for great criticism.

I decided, sitting in a beautiful secluded place, that I would solve the creation of this most important feat of my life. I promised, at least for a month, that I would not meet any friends, acquaintances, or strangers.

I called Amulya and told her my plan. He was completely stunned as if he had just then seen the first Arun Jyoti of the distant future glory of my beautiful homeland. Pressing my hand to his solemn face, he fixed his wide eyes on my face and said in a soft voice, 'Go, brother, come to achieve immortal glory and inexhaustible glory.'

My body was thrilled; It seemed as if the soon-to-be-glorious Bhaktibihbal was the representative of Bangladesh and spoke these precious words to me.

Amulya did not sacrifice much; For the sake of the country, he gave up all hope of my companionship for a long month. Sighing deeply, my friend boarded the tram to his Cornwall Street home, I went to the gardens of Farasdanga by the Ganges to earn immortal glory.

I used to fall into a deep sleep in the middle of the day thinking about universal love while lying down in a secluded house by the Ganges, and I woke up at five o'clock in the afternoon. After that, my body and mind were somewhat depressed; For some entertainment and to pass the time, I used to sit on a small stone bench at the back of the garden on the side of the road and quietly watch the bullock carts and people's movements. When it was absolutely unbearable, I would sit at the station, the telegraph forks would rattle, the ticket bell would ring, the crowd would gather, the blood-eyed reptiles would come and go, screaming and leaving, the rush of people, I would feel funny for a while. Returning home, after eating, I used to go to bed early in the morning for lack of company, and in the morning I used to stay in bed until eight or nine because there was no need to get up early in the morning.

The body was ground, I could not find any blind spot even for the love of the world. Unaccustomed to ever being alone, the unaccompanied Ganga began to feel like an empty crematorium; Amulya is also such an ass that he did not break his promise even for a single day.

Previously, I used to sit in Calcutta and think that I would sit with my legs spread under the banyan tree, with the morning stream flowing in my mind. Thoughts flow in different rhythms. But where is nature and where is the poet of nature, where is the world and where is the lover of the world! I did not go out to the garden even for a day. Kanan's flowers bloomed in Kanan, the stars of the sky rose in the sky, and the shadow of the banyan tree fell under the banyan tree, I used to stay at home as a boy of the house.

Being unable to prove his self-importance, anger towards the left started to grow.

At that time, there was a war of words in the educated society of Bengal over child marriage. Bamacharan was against child marriage and it was rumored that he was engaged to a young maiden and expected to marry soon.

The matter seemed very funny to me, and the epic of universal love did not catch on, so I sat down and wrote a farce with Bamacharan as the hero and an imaginary young woman named Kadambaguli Majumdar as the heroine. After giving birth to this immortal feat of writing, I embarked on a journey to Calcutta. At that time the journey was disrupted.

One afternoon I did not go to the station and idly visited the houses in Baganbari. Having never set foot in most of the houses before out of necessity, I had not the slightest curiosity or curiosity about the exterior. That day I was returning hesitantly like a paper flying in the air to pass the time.

As soon as I opened the door of the northern room, I went to a small balcony. In front of the balcony, two large jam trees stand facing each other along the northern boundary wall of the garden. Through the gap between those two trees, another garden's tall bulrush can be seen.

But I witnessed all that later, I didn't have time to see anything else, I only saw a sixteen-year-old girl with a book in her hand and her head bowed, studying to walk.

At that time, I could not observe anything, but after a few days, I thought that Dushyant had come to hunt deer in the forest after shooting a big arrow. He became the best of all. I, too, took up a pencil and notebook and went out into the poetry, the poor world-lover escaped and was saved, and I saw what I could see from behind two jujubes; People do not see this twice in a lifetime.

I have not seen many things in the world. I have never been on a ship, never been in a balloon, never been down a coal mine--but I never suspected before I came to this northern balcony that I was totally mistaken and ignorant of my own mental ideals. Almost passed the age of twenty-one, and I cannot say that I have not already created a meditation image of female beauty in my inner imagination. I have placed that idol in various attires and in various situations, but never in my distant dream would I see shoes on his feet, clothes on him, and books in his hands. But my Lakshmi appeared suddenly in the evening of the last fall, in the trembling thicket of the old youth, on the long-falling shadows and the light-lined flower paths, shoes on, clothes on, books in hand, behind two jump trees -- I didn't say a word either.

It was not seen for more than two minutes. I tried to see through different holes but did not get any results. On that first evening, I sat cross-legged on the banyan tree--before my eyes, the evening stars rose with a peaceful smile on the dense groves beyond, and suddenly Sandhyashri opened the door of his huge, lonely house and stood silently.

The book I saw in his hands became a new mystery to me. I started to think, what book is that? Novel or poetry? What kind of talk is there in it? The page that was open and on which the shadow of the afternoon and the morning light, the marble of Bakulvan, and the curious gaze of those twin eyes fell, exactly on that page some part of the story, some juice of the poem was revealed. At the same time, I began to think, in the dark light of the dense hair net, how strange passion was blooming inside Sukumar Lalatmandap, what wonderful beauty was being created by the new poet in the hidden solitude of the virgin heart - it is impossible to express clearly how much I was thinking like this for half the night.

But she told me that she was a virgin. He was the one who assured my long-ago lover Dushyanta about Shakuntala before they met. He is the desire of the mind; He tells people a lot of truth and lies; One bed, one not, Dushyantar and mine were gone.

It was not difficult for me to find out whether this stranger of mine was a married woman or a virgin or a Brahmin or a Shudra, but I did not do it but only tried to observe it aloud from a distance of thousands of yojanas encircling my lunar sphere like a silent circle.

The next day at noon, I hired a small boat, looked for the shore, and went out with the tide.

My Shakuntala tapobana cottage was on the banks of the Ganges. The cottage was not exactly the same as Kanber's cottage; Steps from the Ganga lead up to the terrace of the large house, shaded by a sloping wooden roof.

When my boat floated quietly in front of the pier, I saw Shakuntala of my new age sitting on the balcony floor; A stool at the back, on the stool are piles of books, on top of which his open hair falls in a pile, he rested his head on the upraised left arm leaning against the stool, his face is invisible from the boat, only a smooth curve of soft voice is visible, open Two feet of padapallava, one at the top of the ghat and one at the bottom of it, stretched out, the black hem of the saree curling up and encircling those two legs. A book falls straight from a careless relaxed right hand. It seemed as if idolatry Midday Lakshmi! A flawlessly beautiful leisure idol in the middle of the day's action. With the Ganges at their feet, the distant horizon in front, and the intense blue above them, they gazed silently with unflinching, silent concentration at that self-image of theirs, those two open legs, that languid left arm, that soaring Bankim voice.

As far as I could see, I took two lotus feet and wiped them with the eyes of two Sajlapallabs. Finally, when the boat went away, an arrowhead came and fell in the middle, then I suddenly remembered what mistake, I was shocked and said to the sailor, 'Sailor, I have not gone to Hooghly today, return home from here.' But on the way back, I had to pull up, and I shuddered at the sound. The sound of that stand seemed to strike one who was aware of the beautiful Sukumar, who was eternally sky-spanning yet timid like a fawn. When the boat approached the wharf, at the sound of the boat, my neighbor first raised her face slowly and looked at my boat with mild curiosity, a moment later, seeing my anxious gaze, she went into the house in shock; I felt as if I hit him, as if where is his bell!

As I got up hastily, half-ripe guava tumbled from its trunk to the lower step, and all my heart yearned for that marked and unkissed fruit, but I went to inspect it from a distance, ashamed of the middlemen. I saw, with the sloshing sound of the water of the next greedy tide, that Baramba was looking forward to mastering that fruit with his greedy juices, imagining that in half an hour his shameless perseverance would be consumed, I came to the wharf of my house with a heavy heart.

I spread my legs in the shadow of the banyan tree and began to dream all day, the world nature is bowing down under two soft feet - the sky is bright, the sky is pulsating, the air is shallow, two bare feet are still and beautiful in it; They don't even know that the youthfulness of the new spring is getting excited towards the dawn due to the intoxication of their particles.

Earlier, nature was scattered and isolated to me, the river, forest, and sky were all distinct. Today, in the middle of that vast vastness, a beautiful image has appeared and it has become one. Today nature is one and beautiful to me, she is always beseeching me dumbly, 'I am silent, you give me language, you take the unspoken hymn that is rising in my heart and make it sound in your beautiful human language!'

My heart beats with the silent appeal of nature. Baramba only listens to this song, 'O beauty, O beauty, O world-lover, O single flame of soul, O immense life, O eternally sweet death!' Can't finish A-song, can't join; I can't express it in form, I can't express it in rhythm; It seems that an indescribable immeasurable force is flowing within me like a tidal wave, yet I cannot master it, when I can, my voice will suddenly resound with divine music, my forehead will light up with a miraculous glow.

At that time, a boat crossed from the Naihati station on the other side and came to the ghat in my garden. After hanging a folded sheet on two skandhas, he brought the umbrella into the room and Amulya fell down with a smile. The kind of thought that came to my mind when I suddenly saw a friend, I hope that the same should not happen to the enemy. At about two o'clock in the afternoon, seeing me sitting in the shade of that banyan tree like a madman, a heavy hope was transmitted in Amul's mind. Fearing that some part of the future greatest poetry of Bangladesh might slip into the water like a wild swan at his footsteps, he began to slowly come slowly; I was even more angry when I saw it, I was a little impatient and said, 'What is the matter, dear! Do you have thorns on your feet?' Amulya thought, I said something very funny; Approaching with a smile, Tarutal brushed his hair specially, took a handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it, and carefully sat on it. He was about to suffocate with laughter as he recited it from place to place. I felt that even if I uprooted the wooden stick of the tree in which I had written that farce and burned the farce to ashes in a great fire, my regret would not be satisfied.

Amulya asked hesitantly, 'How far is that poem of yours.' Hearing this, my heart began to burn, I said to myself, 'Like my poetry, so is your intellect.' I said, 'That will happen later, brother, don't make me unnecessarily busy.'

The precious man is curious, he cannot stay without observing the surroundings, fearing him, I closed the north door. He asked me, 'What's over there?' I said, 'Nothing!' I have never told such a big lie in my life.

After two days I was pierced and burned in various ways, Amulya left on the evening train on the third day. These two days I did not go to the north side of the garden, I did not even look at it, but I was managing the garden of my northern boundary as the miser hides its jewels. As soon as Amulya left, I opened the door and went out to the north balcony of the second-floor room. Inadequate Jyotsna of the First Krishna Paksha in the open sky above; Below is a deep dark shade of sunbeams with branched branches; It was filled to the brim with the sighs of the mournful Ghanpallab, the intense fragrance of the blossoming flowers and the stunned silence of the dusk. In the midst of it, my maiden neighbor held the right hand of her tear-stained old father, and walked slowly along, listening to what the old man was saying, bowing his head in a loving yet respectful manner. There was nothing to disturb this sacred and sweet repose, the sound of a few feet in the still river of the evening fading away, and in the numerous nests of the endless tussocks, two or three birds awoke to a soft cackle every now and then. My heart felt as if it would be torn with joy or pain. My existence seemed to expand and become one with that shadowy pattern as if I began to feel the slow and scattered footsteps on my chest as if I were close to the rope and heard the sweet humming sound close to my ears. The agony of this great foolish nature seemed to fester in the very bones of my body; I could understand how Dharani was lying under his feet but could not grasp his feet, how the branches of the trees could hear but understand nothing, how they want to wail in all the branches and cry out crazy words. I also started to feel that step, that restlessness, immediately in my whole body and heart, but I couldn't hold it in any way, so I started to die in a hurry.

The next day I couldn't stay anymore. I went to meet my neighbor in the morning. Bhavnath Babu kept a big cup of tea beside him and was reading with attention an old model of Hamilton with blue pencil stains on his eyes. When I entered the room, he looked at me absent-mindedly from the top of his glasses, and could not take his mind off the book for a moment. At last, he suddenly straightened up and nervously got ready for hospitality. I briefly introduced myself. He got so busy that he couldn't find his glasses case. Khamka said 'Will you have tea?' Although I don't drink tea, I said, 'No objection.' Bhavnathbabu got busy and started calling 'Kiran' 'Kiran'. I heard a very sweet voice near the door, 'What father.' I came back and saw that Tapaskanduhita immediately ran away like a frightened deer seeing me. Bhavnathbabu called him back; He introduced me and said, 'This is our neighbor Mahindrakumar Babu.' And said to me, 'This is my daughter Kiranbala.' I was not sure what to do, but already Kiran greeted me politely. I quickly corrected the error and paid it off. Bhavnathbabu said, 'Mother, we have to bring a cup of tea for Mahindrababu.' I was tensed but before I could say anything, Kiran left the room. I thought that Sanatan Bholanath in Kailash asked his daughter Lakshmi himself to bring a cup of tea for his guest; He must have been unmixed nectar for the guest, but still, there was no Nandi Bhringi beta present nearby.

I am now a regular guest at Bhavnathbabu's house. I used to be very afraid of tea, but now I am addicted to tea after drinking it in the morning and in the afternoon.

I had just read the New History of Philosophy written by a German scholar for our B.A. examination and pretended that I had only come to discuss philosophy with Bhavnath Babu. He is still engaged in some of the old-fashioned falsifications of Hamilton, in which I consider him gracious, and do not fail to display my new learning with great pomp. Bhavnath Babu is such a good person, so hesitant in all matters, that he would accept everything even from the mouth of a young man like me, he would get restless if he had to protest, he was afraid that I would be offended by something. Kiran used to climb a ladder and leave in the middle of all these observations. It made me angry as well as proud. It is unfortunate for Kiran to radiate the rare erudition of our subject; When he used to measure my education in his mind, how high he had to aspire.

When I used to see Kiran from afar, I knew her by strange names like Shakuntala Damayanti, etc., and strangely, now in the house, I know her as 'Kiran', now she is no longer the shadow of the strange heroine of the world, now she is the only Kiran. Now she has descended from the poetry world of the century, avoiding the dream heaven of the youth of eternity, and is existing as a virgin in a certain Bengali home. She talks to me in my own mother tongue about a very ordinary house, laughs simply at the slightest words, she wears two gold bangles on both hands like a girl of our house, the necklace is not much but big and delicate, the edge of the sari sometimes bends around the top of the Kabir. Or because of the lack of familiarity with the family, it is a great joy for me. That He is unimaginable, that He is true, that He is the ray, that He is not without it and not beyond it, and though He is not mine yet He is ours, my heart is always anointed with rapturous gratitude to Him.

One day I expressed my enthusiasm to Bhavnath Babu with the relativity of knowledge only; As soon as the discussion progressed, Kiran got up and after a while brought a heated stove and cooking utensils to the front porch and scolded Bhavanathbabu and said, 'Father, why are you scolding Mahindrababu with all those harsh words! Come on Mahindra Babu, it will be useful if you join my cooking instead.'

Bhavanathbabu was not at fault, and Kiran knew it. But Bhavnathbabu repented like a criminal and said, 'That's it! Well, that will happen another day.' Thus undisturbed he engaged in his regular studies.

Another day in the afternoon, I was making Bhavnath Babu stunned by saying another serious thing, when Kiran came in the middle and said, 'Mahindra Babu, Abla has to be helped. Climbing the wall, I can't reach you, you'll have to hammer these nails.' I got up excited, Bhavnath Babu also sat down to read happily.

Almost every time I try to talk to Bhavnath Babu, Kiran grabs one or the other piece of work and breaks it. At this I was filled with excitement, I understood that I was caught by Kiran; How did he understand that the discussion with Bhavnathbabu was not the greatest happiness of my life.

When we went to determine the relationship of our senses with external objects, when we had landed in the middle of the mysterious abyss, Kiran came and said, 'Mahindrababu will show you my eggplant field near the kitchen, let's go.'

Thinking that the sky is infinite is only our guess, nothing is impossible to have its limit somewhere outside of our experience and imagination, I was expressing such a comment, at that time Kiran came and said, 'Mahindrababu, two mangoes are ripe, you have to reach down and catch them.'

What rescue, what liberation! I used to rise from the middle of the cold sea to what a beautiful lake in a moment. No matter how inextricably complex the web of doubt about the eternal sky and the outer world, Kiran had no trace of skepticism or doubt about the Brinjal field or Amtala. It is not remarkable in poetry or novel but in life, it is as lovely as an island surrounded by sea. He who has swum long in the water knows the comfort of having his feet on the ground. If the sea of love I had created in my imagination had been true, I cannot say what I would have done there forever. There the sky is infinite, the sea is also infinite, and from there the limited matter of our daily life is completely exiled, there is no trace of insignificance, there only needs to be expressed in rhythmic music, and there is no bottom to be found anywhere. From there, Kiran grabbed the unfortunate man's hair and pulled him to eat his brinjal. I have seen, sitting on the balcony and cooking khichuri, climbing the ladder and hammering nails into the wall, helping the lemon tree to find green lemons among the thick green leaves, you can get unimaginable joy, but for that joy, you don't have to put in any effort--whatever comes to your mouth, you The smile that rises up, the light that comes from the sky and the shadow that falls from the tree is enough. Besides, a golden rod was my youth, a flint was my love, and an inexhaustible illusion was my unbroken faith in myself; I am victorious, I am Indra, and I see no obstacle in the way of my exaltation. Kiran, my Kiran, I have no doubt about it. I didn't say that clearly for a long time, but from one end of my heart to the other in a moment, it was tearing my heart like lightning and dancing from moment to moment. Ray, my ray.

  I have never been in the company of a non-relative woman before, and I know nothing of the customs of the newly educated women who travel outside the enclosure; Therefore, I do not know where is the limit of decency, where is the right of love in their behavior; But I also don't know why I am not liked, in which part I am inferior.

When Kiran would pass the cup of tea to me, I would accept Kiran's love with the pot full of tea, when I drank the tea, I would think that my acceptance was successful and Kiran's donation was also successful. If Kiran said in a simple tone 'Mahindrababu, will you come tomorrow morning?' Within him, the music was playing rhythmically--

 

          Know what charm, friend, know what charm!

               Nahi Toma-hen to take the life of Abla!

I would simply reply, 'Tomorrow by eight o'clock.' Couldn't you hear Kiran in him--

 

               Paranaputli you are beautiful,

               All the wealth of my family.

All my days and nights were filled with nectar. All my thoughts and all my imaginations, moment by moment, spread new branches and began to surround Kiran with me like a vine. When the auspicious time came, my mind was occupied with numerous resolutions of what to teach Kiran, what to teach, what to listen to, and what to show. I even decided that even in the new history of philosophy written by a German scholar, he would have to be taught in such a way that his mind would be curious, otherwise, he would not be able to understand me at all. I will guide him to the beauty of English poetry. I smiled to myself, and said, 'Kiran, your Amtala eggplant field is a new kingdom for me. I never dreamed in the cosmos that rare nectarines were so easily available there besides brinjals and storm-fallen raw mangoes. But when the time comes I will also take you to a state where brinjal is not a fruit yet you do not have to feel the lack of brinjal for a moment. He is the kingdom of knowledge, the heaven of expression.'

Just as the vermilion evening stars disappearing into the horizon at sunset gradually acquire a clear luster in the gathering evening, the rays too, after a while, blossomed from within in the fullness of femininity joy, and beauty. As if he ascended to the very mid-sky of his home, his world, and started radiating the auspicious light of happiness all around; In that light, a bright glow of sanctity fell on his old father's white hair, and that light imprinted a radiant signature of the sweet name of the ray on every wave of my ardent heart's ocean.

Meanwhile, my vacation was cut short, and my father's affectionate request to come home for the purpose of marriage gradually turned into a stern command, meanwhile, Amulya could no longer be restrained, she would one day snarl like a maddened wild elephant in the middle of this pada ban of mine and throw her enormous hooves. Anxiety also started to grow stronger. I started thinking about how can I immediately express my heart's desire and develop my love.

One day at noon I went to Bhavanathbabu's house and found him sleeping in the heat of the summer on the porch and sitting on the terrace of the Ganges river in front of him reading Kiran Key's book. Silently I went back and saw a new anthology, the page open to a poem by Shelley and a clean line drawn in red ink beside it. After reading that poem, Kiran Ishath took a long breath and looked towards the farthest edge of the sky with dreamy eyes; It felt as if Kiran had read that one poem ten times in an hour today and sent it to the distant starry world with a single hot sigh in the eternal blue sky. I don't know for whom Shelley wrote this poem; There is no doubt that no Bengali named Mahindranath wrote for the youth, but today I can forcefully say that no one has the right to this hymn except me. Next to this poem, Kiran has drawn a bright blood mark with his innermost heart-pencil, under the enchantment of that magic, the poem is his today, and so is mine. I remembered the excited heart and said in a simple tone, 'What are you reading?' The Playa boat was suddenly stopped. Kiran got up startled and quickly closed the book and covered it in the blanket. I smiled and said, 'I can see the book once.' What struck Kiran, he eagerly said, 'No, keep that book.'

I sat a step-down and brought up the English poetry literature, I spoke in such a way that Kiran also got literary education and my thoughts were also expressed in the words of an English poet. In the deep silence of the scorching heat, the small sounds of the water's surface became very soft and gentle like a mother's lullaby.

Kiran became impatient and said, 'Father is sitting alone, won't you finish your argument about the eternal sky?' I thought to myself, the eternal sky will last forever and the arguments about it will never end, but life is short, and happy leisure is rare and fleeting. Without answering Kiran's words, I said, 'I have some poems, I will listen to you.' Kiran said, 'I will hear tomorrow.' He got up and looked towards the house and said, 'Father, Mahindra Babu has come.' Bhavnath Babu opened his simple eyes like a sleepy boy and got busy. I felt a heavy blow in my chest. I went to Bhavnathbabu's house and started arguing about the eternal sky. Kiran took the book in hand and went to his deserted bedroom on the second floor to read undisturbed.

In the next morning's call, a Statesman paper marked with a red pencil was found, in which the result of the B. A. examination was published. First, a name caught the eye of Kiranbala Banerjee in the first division; My own name is not in any category first second third.

Along with the pain of failing the exam, there was a doubt like Brajagni that Kiranbala Banerjee might be our Kiranbala. Although he didn't tell me that he had studied in college or taken the exam, the suspicion started to grow. For, I thought, the old father and his daughter had never spoken a word about themselves, and I had always been so busy telling my own stories and spreading my knowledge that I had not asked them properly.

Arguments about the history of philosophy I had recently read by a German scholar came to mind, and I remembered saying to Kiran one day, 'If I get a chance to teach you a few books for a few days, I can give you a clear idea of English poetry.'

Kiranbala took Honors in Philosophy and passed First Class in Literature. If this is the ray!

Finally, with a strong thrust, I stirred up my pride and said, 'So be it - my essay is my pillar of joy.' Saying that, I stepped forward with my book in my hand raised my head higher than before, and went to Bhavnathbabu's garden.

No one was in his house then. I began to peruse the old man's books carefully. I saw that in a corner my history of philosophy written by a new German scholar is lying in disrepute; I opened it and saw that its margins were full of Bhavnathbabu's handwritten notes. The old man himself taught his daughter. I had no more doubts.

Bhavnath Babu entered the house with a brighter face than the other day, as if he had just had a shower of good news. I suddenly laughed and said, 'Bhabnathbabu, I have failed the exam.' Of all the great people who failed the school exam and passed the first class of the life exam, today I am counted among them. A sign of success in the middle class, the lower and upper classes have a remarkable ability to fail. Bhavnathbabu's face became affectionate, he could no longer give me the news of his daughter's examination, But he was somewhat surprised at my incoherent ferocity. His simple mind could not understand the reason for my pride.

At that time, Kiran Salj entered the room with a bright face like a rain-washed vine along with the new professor of our college, Bamacharanbabu. I had nothing left to understand. When I came home at night, I burnt my writing book and went to the country and got married.

The great poem that was supposed to be written on the banks of the Ganges was not written, but I got it in my life.