For the thousandth time, I felt my burdens lifted in Master’s presence. When we had finished our early lunch, he suggested that I return to the Panthi .
“Does your friend, Romesh Chandra Dutt, still live in your boardinghouse?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get in touch with him; the Lord will inspire him to help you with the examinations.”
“Very well, sir; but Romesh is unusually busy. He is the honor man in our class, and carries a heavier course than the others.”
Master waved aside my objections. “Romesh will find time for you. Now go.”
I bicycled back to the Panthi . The first person I met in the boardinghouse compound was the scholarly Romesh. As though his days were quite free, he obligingly agreed to my diffident request.
“Of course; I am at your service.” He spent several hours of that afternoon and of succeeding days in coaching me in my various subjects.
“I believe many questions in English literature will be centered in the route of Childe Harold,” he told me. “We must get an atlas at once.”
I hastened to the home of my Uncle Sarada and borrowed an atlas. Romesh marked the European map at the places visited by Byron’s romantic traveler.