Once when we were playing, my sister Bino and I were left on the roof. I was like a boy, and ran and jumped, and I said to Bino, “I shall run down the stairs much faster than you can, and you will be left alone in the middle of the haunted staircase.” Poor Bino looked alarmed, she was slim and delicate; she began to run, but long before she reached the terrace I got there and closed the door, expecting her to cry or try to push the door, but nothing happened, and I got so frightened I flung open the door. There was no Bino to be found. I had a fright. I ran up and down the stairs several times and searched the enormous roof above, but could not find her. I felt something must have happened to Bino, as “the ghost lives in the staircase.” I cried a great deal, and then walked slowly down to the bedroom verandah feeling miserable and most ashamed of myself. There I found Bino looking quite happy, and instead of scolding me she said in her sweet way, “I went downstairs when I found the door closed.” It was a greater punishment than if she had scolded me.
My brothers and sisters have all followed my father’s teachings throughout their lives. I am sure there is not one of that happy band of children who played about “Sen’s House” who has not found the greatest comfort and support from our upbringing. My eldest brother, in particular, was very religious, and carried on my father’s work, helped by his wife, who copied many of my father’s prayers and taught in the Victoria College when it needed teachers.
My second brother, Nirmal, is a most amiable and easy-going man. He is now in the India Office in London and works hard for the welfare of Indian students in London, a subject upon which he has very decided ideas. He is very popular, always ready to help others, and is very happy in his home life. He married a Miss Luddhi.
My third brother, Profullo, was wonderfully gifted. He was a most affectionate little friend to me when I was a bride in the big house in Calcutta, and was almost always with me. On several occasions when I went to England with my children, and my dear husband could not go, Profullo went instead and managed everything. He was my children’s favourite uncle.
A wonderful thing happened to Profullo when he was a few weeks old. He fell ill, and the doctors gave him up; at the time my father was away at Belghuria garden-house, and the sad news had to be sent to him. When at length my father arrived every one was weeping, thinking the boy was gone. My father entered the room with a lovely rose in his hand, and they all saw what a wonderful expression there was upon his face. Father touched Profullo’s face with the flower, and the boy opened his eyes and said, “Father, have you come?” and from that day he rapidly recovered. Profullo had several pet names, Pepery, Peter, and Pip and Peroo.
He married an English girl. He was always a devoted follower of my father’s.
My husband used to say that my father’s great gifts and devoutness were inherited by my fourth brother, Saral. Every one thought he would become a missionary. When he was a small boy, he always said he would carry on my father’s work. He is unselfish, most kind-hearted and simple minded. His pet name is Bhopal.
My youngest brother’s name is Subrata, and his pet name is Bhajan. He was my eldest son’s best friend: the boy was devoted to him and asked for him till the end. Subrata is now a doctor, yet we still regard him as our baby brother, and I do not think he will ever grow up; he behaves like a baby. He married a pretty French girl and did well during the War, although I am sorry to say he did not obtain a permanent post.
My sisters are the dearest of women. The second, Savitri, is quiet and retiring, with many good qualities. Her pet name is Bino. She is a tall, handsome girl, the best of wives, and a very good mother. She married a cousin of my husband’s, and it has been a great happiness and comfort to me to have her with me all these years in Cooch Behar, where we have worked hand in hand.