I Get My University Degree

“You ignore your textbook assignments in philosophy. No doubt you are depending on an unlaborious ‘intuition’ to get you through the examinations. But unless you apply yourself in a more scholarly manner, I shall see to it that you don’t pass this course.”

“You ignore your philosophy textbook assignments. No doubt you’re relying on ‘intuition’ to get you through the exams without any effort. But unless you take your studies more seriously, I’ll make sure you don’t pass this course.”

Professor D. C. Ghoshal of Serampore College was addressing me sternly. If I failed to pass his final written classroom test, I would be ineligible to take the conclusive examinations. These are formulated by the faculty of Calcutta University, which numbers Serampore College among its affiliated branches. A student in Indian universities who is unsuccessful in one subject in the A.B. finals must be examined anew in all his subjects the following year.

Professor D. C. Ghoshal of Serampore College was speaking sternly to me. If I failed his final written classroom test, I would not be allowed to take the final examinations. The faculty of Calcutta University prepares these examinations. Serampore College is affiliated with Calcutta University. A student at an Indian university who fails one subject in the A.B. finals must retake all his subjects the following year.

My instructors at Serampore College usually treated me with kindness, not untinged by an amused tolerance. “Mukunda is a bit over-drunk with religion.” Thus summing me up, they tactfully spared me the embarrassment of answering classroom questions; they trusted the final written tests to eliminate me from the list of A.B. candidates. The judgment passed by my fellow students was expressed in their nickname for me-“Mad Monk.”

My instructors at Serampore College usually treated me kindly, with a touch of amused tolerance. “Mukunda is a little too drunk on religion.” With this view of me, my instructors tactfully spared me the embarrassment of answering questions in class. They trusted the final written exams to remove me from the list of candidates for a bachelor’s degree. My fellow students expressed their opinion of me through their nickname for me: “Mad Monk.”

I took an ingenious step to nullify Professor Ghoshal’s threat to me of failure in philosophy. When the results of the final tests were about to be publicly announced, I asked a classmate to accompany me to the professor’s study.

I took a clever step to counter Professor Ghoshal’s threat to fail me in philosophy. Just before the final test results were publicly announced, I asked a classmate to join me at the professor’s study.

“Come along; I want a witness,” I told my companion. “I shall be very much disappointed if I have not succeeded in outwitting the instructor.”

“Come with me. I want a witness,” I told my companion. “I’ll be very disappointed if I haven’t managed to outsmart the instructor.”

Professor Ghoshal shook his head after I had inquired what rating he had given my paper.

Professor Ghoshal shook his head after I asked what grade he had given my paper.

“You are not among those who have passed,” he said in triumph. He hunted through a large pile on his desk. “Your paper isn’t here at all; you have failed, in any case, through non-appearance at the examination.”

“You’re not among those who passed,” he said triumphantly. He searched through a large pile on his desk. “Your paper isn’t here at all. In any case, you’ve failed because you didn’t show up for the exam.”

I chuckled. “Sir, I was there. May I look through the stack myself?”

I chuckled. “Sir, I was there. Can I look through the stack myself?”

The professor, nonplused, gave his permission; I quickly found my paper, where I had carefully omitted any identification mark except my roll call number. Unwarned by the “red flag” of my name, the instructor had given a high rating to my answers even though they were unembellished by textbook quotations. [^23]

The professor, puzzled, gave his permission. I quickly found my paper, which I had carefully left unmarked except for my roll call number. Without the “red flag” of my name to warn him, the instructor had given my answers a high grade. He had done so even though my answers were not dressed up with textbook quotations. [^23]

Seeing through my trick, he now thundered, “Sheer brazen luck!” He added hopefully, “You are sure to fail in the A.B. finals.”

Seeing through my trick, he shouted, “Nothing but shameless luck!” He added hopefully, “You’re sure to fail your A.B. final exams.”

For the tests in my other subjects, I received some coaching, particularly from my dear friend and cousin, Prabhas Chandra Ghose, [^23] son of my Uncle Sarada. I staggered painfully but successfully-with the lowest possible passing marks-through all my final tests.

For the tests in my other subjects, I received some coaching, especially from my dear friend and cousin, Prabhas Chandra Ghose, [^23] son of my Uncle Sarada. I struggled painfully through all my final tests, but passed with the lowest possible passing marks.

Now, after four years of college, I was eligible to sit for the A.B. examinations. Nevertheless, I hardly expected to avail myself of the privilege. The Serampore College finals were child’s play compared to the stiff ones which would be set by Calcutta University for the A.B. degree. My almost daily visits to Sri Yukteswar had left me little time to enter the college halls. There it was my presence rather than my absence that brought forth ejaculations of amazement from my classmates!

Now, after four years of college, I was eligible to take the A.B. examinations. Still, I hardly expected to take advantage of the opportunity. The Serampore College finals were child’s play compared to Calcutta University’s tough examinations for the A.B. degree. My almost daily visits to Sri Yukteswar had left me little time to attend college. My classmates exclaimed in amazement when I showed up, rather than when I was absent!

My customary routine was to set out on my bicycle about nine-thirty in the morning. In one hand I would carry an offering for my guru-a few flowers from the garden of my Panthi boardinghouse. Greeting me affably, Master would invite me to lunch. I invariably accepted with alacrity, glad to banish the thought of college for the day. After hours with Sri Yukteswar, listening to his incomparable flow of wisdom, or helping with ashram duties, I would reluctantly depart around midnight for the Panthi . Occasionally I stayed all night with my guru, so happily engrossed in his conversation that I scarcely noticed when darkness changed into dawn.

I usually set out on my bicycle around nine-thirty in the morning. In one hand, I carried an offering for my guru: a few flowers from the garden of my Panthi boardinghouse. Master would greet me warmly and invite me to lunch. I always accepted eagerly, happy to put college out of my mind for the day. I would spend hours with Sri Yukteswar, listening to his unmatched wisdom or helping with ashram duties. Then, around midnight, I would reluctantly leave for the Panthi. Sometimes I stayed all night with my guru. I was so happily absorbed in his conversation that I barely noticed when darkness turned to dawn.

One night about eleven o’clock, as I was putting on my shoes [^23] in preparation for the ride to the boardinghouse, Master questioned me gravely.

One night around eleven, I was putting on my shoes [^23] to get ready for the ride to the boardinghouse. As I did, Master questioned me seriously.

“When do your A.B. examinations start?”

“When do your bachelor’s degree exams start?”

“Five days hence, sir.”

“Five days from now, sir.”

“I hope you are in readiness for them.”

“I hope you are ready for them.”

Transfixed with alarm, I held one shoe in the air. “Sir,” I protested, “you know how my days have been passed with you rather than with the professors. How can I enact a farce by appearing for those difficult finals?”

Frozen with alarm, I held one shoe in the air. “Sir,” I protested, “you know I’ve spent my days with you rather than with the professors. How can I make a farce of things by showing up for those difficult final exams?”

Sri Yukteswar’s eyes were turned piercingly on mine. “You must appear.” His tone was coldly peremptory. “We should not give cause for your father and other relatives to criticize your preference for ashram life. Just promise me that you will be present for the examinations; answer them the best way you can.”

Sri Yukteswar looked straight into my eyes with a piercing gaze. “You must attend.” His tone was cold and commanding. “We should not give your father and other relatives a reason to criticize your preference for ashram life. Just promise me that you will attend the examinations. Answer the questions as well as you can.”

Uncontrollable tears were coursing down my face. I felt that Master’s command was unreasonable, and that his interest was, to say the least, belated.

Tears streamed down my face, and I couldn’t stop them. I felt that Master’s command was unreasonable. And I felt his interest came late, to say the least.

“I will appear if you wish it,” I said amidst sobs. “But no time remains for proper preparation.” Under my breath I muttered, “I will fill up the sheets with your teachings in answer to the questions!”

“I will appear if you want me to,” I said between sobs. “But there’s no time left to prepare properly.” Under my breath, I muttered, “I will fill the pages with your teachings to answer the questions!”

When I entered the hermitage the following day at my usual hour, I presented my bouquet with a certain mournful solemnity. Sri Yukteswar laughed at my woebegone air.

The next day, I entered the hermitage at my usual time. I offered my bouquet with a sad, solemn air. Sri Yukteswar laughed at how miserable I looked.

“Mukunda, has the Lord ever failed you, at an examination or elsewhere?”

“Mukunda, has the Lord ever let you down, during an exam or anywhere else?”

“No, sir,” I responded warmly. Grateful memories came in a revivifying flood.

“No, sir,” I replied warmly. Memories filled with gratitude came flooding back, renewing my spirits.

“Not laziness but burning zeal for God has prevented you from seeking college honors,” my guru said kindly. After a silence, he quoted, “‘Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.’” [^23]

“Your burning devotion to God, not laziness, has kept you from pursuing college honors,” my guru said kindly. After a silence, he quoted, “‘Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you.’” [^23]

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 .

For the thousandth time, I felt my burdens lift in Master’s presence. After we finished our early lunch, he suggested I return to the Panthi.

“Does your friend, Romesh Chandra Dutt, still live in your boardinghouse?”

“Does your friend Romesh Chandra Dutt still live in your boardinghouse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get in touch with him; the Lord will inspire him to help you with the examinations.”

“Get in touch with him. The Lord will inspire him to help you with the exams.”

“Very well, sir; but Romesh is unusually busy. He is the honor man in our class, and carries a heavier course than the others.”

“All right, sir, but Romesh is unusually busy. He is the top student in our class and takes more coursework than the others.”

Master waved aside my objections. “Romesh will find time for you. Now go.”

Master brushed 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.

I rode my bicycle back to the Panthi. The first person I met in the boardinghouse grounds was the scholarly Romesh. As though he had nothing else to do, he kindly agreed to my hesitant 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.

“Of course. I’m here to help.” He spent several hours that afternoon and in the following days tutoring 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 believe many questions in English literature will focus on Childe Harold’s route,” he told me. “We must get an atlas right away.”

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.

I hurried to my Uncle Sarada’s home and borrowed an atlas. Romesh marked the places on the map of Europe that Byron’s romantic traveler had visited.

A few classmates had gathered around to listen to the tutoring. “Romesh is advising you wrongly,” one of them commented to me at the end of a session. “Usually only fifty per cent of the questions are about the books; the other half will involve the authors’ lives.”

A few classmates had gathered around to listen to the tutoring. “Romesh is giving you bad advice,” one of them told me at the end of a session. “Usually only half the questions are about the books. The other half will be about the authors’ lives.”

When I sat for the examination in English literature the following day, my first glance at the questions caused tears of gratitude to pour forth, wetting my paper. The classroom monitor came to my desk and made a sympathetic inquiry.

The next day, I took the English literature exam. My first glance at the questions brought a flood of grateful tears that wet my paper. The classroom monitor came to my desk and asked sympathetically what was wrong.

“My guru foretold that Romesh would help me,” I explained. “Look; the very questions dictated to me by Romesh are here on the examination sheet! Fortunately for me, there are very few questions this year on English authors, whose lives are wrapped in deep mystery so far as I am concerned!”

“My guru predicted that Romesh would help me,” I explained. “Look! The exact questions Romesh dictated to me are here on the exam paper! Luckily for me, there are very few questions this year about English authors. Their lives are a complete mystery to me!”

My boardinghouse was in an uproar when I returned. The boys who had been ridiculing Romesh’s method of coaching looked at me in awe, almost deafening me with congratulations. During the week of the examinations, I spent many hours with Romesh, who formulated questions that he thought were likely to be set by the professors. Day by day, Romesh’s questions appeared in almost the same form on the examination sheets.

My boardinghouse was in an uproar when I returned. The boys who had mocked Romesh’s coaching method looked at me in awe. Their congratulations were almost deafening. During exam week, I spent many hours with Romesh. He came up with questions he thought the professors were likely to ask. Day after day, Romesh’s questions appeared in almost the same form on the exam papers.

The news was widely circulated in the college that something resembling a miracle was occurring, and that success seemed probable for the absent-minded “Mad Monk.” I made no attempt to hide the facts of the case. The local professors were powerless to alter the questions, which had been arranged by Calcutta University.

Word spread widely through the college that something like a miracle was happening. Success seemed likely for the absent-minded “Mad Monk.” I made no effort to hide the facts. The local professors could not change the questions, which Calcutta University had prepared.

Thinking over the examination in English literature, I realized one morning that I had made a serious error. One section of the questions had been divided into two parts of A or B, and C or D. Instead of answering one question from each part, I had carelessly answered both questions in Group I, and had failed to consider anything in Group II. The best mark I could score in that paper would be 33, three less than the passing mark of 36. I rushed to Master and poured out my troubles.

One morning, as I thought about the English literature exam, I realized I had made a serious mistake. One section had been divided into two parts: A or B, and C or D. I was supposed to answer one question from each part. Instead, I had carelessly answered both questions in Group I and had not considered any in Group II. The highest score I could get on that paper was 33, three points below the passing score of 36. I rushed to Master and poured out my troubles.

“Sir, I have made an unpardonable blunder. I don’t deserve the divine blessings through Romesh; I am quite unworthy.”

“Sir, I have made an unforgivable mistake. I don’t deserve the divine blessings through Romesh. I am completely unworthy.”

“Cheer up, Mukunda.” Sri Yukteswar’s tones were light and unconcerned. He pointed to the blue vault of the heavens. “It is more possible for the sun and moon to interchange their positions in space than it is for you to fail in getting your degree!”

“Cheer up, Mukunda.” Sri Yukteswar’s voice was light and unconcerned. He pointed to the blue sky. “The sun and moon are more likely to switch places in space than you are to fail to get your degree!”

I left the hermitage in a more tranquil mood, though it seemed mathematically inconceivable that I could pass. I looked once or twice apprehensively into the sky; the Lord of Day appeared to be securely anchored in his customary orbit!

I left the hermitage feeling calmer, though passing still seemed mathematically impossible. I glanced anxiously at the sky once or twice. The Lord of Day seemed firmly anchored in his usual orbit!

As I reached the Panthi , I overheard a classmate’s remark: “I have just learned that this year, for the first time, the required passing mark in English literature has been lowered.”

As I reached the Panthi, I overheard a classmate say: “I just learned that the passing mark in English literature has been lowered this year. This is the first time it has been lowered.”

I entered the boy’s room with such speed that he looked up in alarm. I questioned him eagerly.

I rushed into the boy’s room so quickly that he looked up in alarm. I eagerly asked him questions.

“Long-haired monk,” he said laughingly, “why this sudden interest in scholastic matters? Why cry in the eleventh hour? But it is true that the passing mark has just been lowered to 33 points.”

“Long-haired monk,” he said with a laugh, “why the sudden interest in schoolwork? Why cry at the last minute? But it’s true that the passing score has just been lowered to 33 points.”

A few joyous leaps took me into my own room, where I sank to my knees and praised the mathematical perfections of my Divine Father.

With a few joyful leaps, I was back in my own room. There I dropped to my knees and praised the mathematical perfection of my Divine Father.

Every day I thrilled with the consciousness of a spiritual presence that I clearly felt to be guiding me through Romesh. A significant incident occurred in connection with the examination in Bengali. Romesh, who had touched little on that subject, called me back one morning as I was leaving the boardinghouse on my way to the examination hall.

Every day I felt the thrill of a spiritual presence that I clearly sensed was guiding me through Romesh. Something significant happened in connection with the Bengali examination. Romesh had covered little of that subject. One morning, he called me back as I was leaving the boardinghouse on my way to the examination hall.

“There is Romesh shouting for you,” a classmate said to me impatiently. “Don’t return; we shall be late at the hall.”

“Romesh is shouting for you,” a classmate said to me impatiently. “Don’t go back. We’ll be late at the hall.”

Ignoring the advice, I ran back to the house.

I ignored the advice and ran back to the house.

“The Bengali examination is usually easily passed by our Bengali boys,” Romesh told me. “But I have just had a hunch that this year the professors have planned to massacre the students by asking questions from our ancient literature.” My friend then briefly outlined two stories from the life of Vidyasagar, a renowned philanthropist.

“Our Bengali boys usually pass the Bengali exam easily,” Romesh told me. “But I’ve just had a hunch that this year the professors plan to crush the students with questions about our ancient literature.” My friend then briefly outlined two stories from the life of Vidyasagar, a well-known philanthropist.

I thanked Romesh and quickly bicycled to the college hall. The examination sheet in Bengali proved to contain two parts. The first instruction was: “Write two instances of the charities of Vidyasagar.” As I transferred to the paper the lore that I had so recently acquired, I whispered a few words of thanksgiving that I had heeded Romesh’s last-minute summons. Had I been ignorant of Vidyasagar’s benefactions to mankind (including ultimately myself), I could not have passed the Bengali examination. Failing in one subject, I would have been forced to stand examination anew in all subjects the following year. Such a prospect was understandably abhorrent.

I thanked Romesh and quickly rode my bicycle to the college hall. The Bengali exam paper had two parts. The first instruction was: “Give two examples of Vidyasagar’s charitable acts.” As I wrote down what I had just learned, I whispered thanks for having answered Romesh’s last-minute call. Without knowing about Vidyasagar’s generosity toward others, I could not have passed the Bengali exam. His generosity had ultimately benefited even me. If I failed one subject, I would have to take the exams in all subjects again the following year. Understandably, I dreaded the thought.

The second instruction on the sheet read: “Write an essay in Bengali on the life of the man who has most inspired you.” Gentle reader, I need not inform you what man I chose for my theme. As I covered page after page with praise of my guru, I smiled to realize that my muttered prediction was coming true: “I will fill up the sheets with your teachings!”

The second instruction on the sheet read: “Write an essay in Bengali on the life of the man who has inspired you most.” Dear reader, I hardly need to tell you whom I chose to write about. As I filled page after page with praise for my guru, I smiled. The prediction I had muttered was coming true: “I will fill the sheets with your teachings!”

I had not felt inclined to question Romesh about my course in philosophy. Trusting my long training under Sri Yukteswar, I safely disregarded the textbook explanations. The highest mark given to any of my papers was the one in philosophy. My score in all other subjects was just barely within the passing mark.

I had not felt the need to ask Romesh about my philosophy course. Trusting my long training under Sri Yukteswar, I could safely ignore the textbook explanations. My philosophy paper received the highest mark of all my papers. In all other subjects, I barely passed.

It is a pleasure to record that my unselfish friend Romesh received his own degree cum laude.

I’m happy to note that my selfless friend Romesh earned his own degree with honors.

Father was wreathed in smiles at my graduation. “I hardly thought you would pass, Mukunda,” he confessed. “You spend so much time with your guru.” Master had indeed correctly detected the unspoken criticism of my father.

Father was beaming at my graduation. “I hardly thought you would pass, Mukunda,” he admitted. “You spend so much time with your guru.” Master had indeed correctly sensed my father’s unspoken criticism.

For years I had been uncertain that I would ever see the day when an A.B. would follow my name. I seldom use the title without reflecting that it was a divine gift, conferred on me for reasons somewhat obscure. Occasionally I hear college men remark that very little of their crammed knowledge remained with them after graduation. That admission consoles me a bit for my undoubted academic deficiencies.

For years I was unsure I would ever see an A.B. degree after my name. I rarely use the title without remembering that the degree was a divine gift, given for somewhat unclear reasons. Sometimes I hear college men say they remember very little of the knowledge they crammed in before graduation. Their admission gives me some comfort about my own undeniable academic shortcomings.

On the day I received my degree from Calcutta University, I knelt at my guru’s feet and thanked him for all the blessings flowing from his life into mine.

On the day I received my degree from Calcutta University, I knelt at my guru’s feet. I thanked him for all the blessings that flowed from his life into mine.

“Get up, Mukunda,” he said indulgently. “The Lord simply found it more convenient to make you a graduate than to rearrange the sun and moon!”

“Get up, Mukunda,” he said with gentle patience. “The Lord simply found making you a graduate more convenient than rearranging the sun and moon!”

23-1: I must do Professor Ghoshal the justice of admitting that the strained relationship between us was not due to any fault of his, but solely to my absences from classes and inattention in them. Professor Ghoshal was, and is, a remarkable orator with vast philosophical knowledge. In later years we came to a cordial understanding..

23-1: To be fair to Professor Ghoshal, I must admit that our strained relationship was not his fault. It was entirely due to my absences from class and my lack of attention when I attended. Professor Ghoshal was, and still is, a remarkable speaker with vast knowledge of philosophy. In later years, we reached a friendly understanding.

23-2: Although my cousin and I have the same family name of Ghosh, Prabhas has accustomed himself to transliterating his name in English as Ghose; therefore I follow his own spelling here.

23-2: Although my cousin and I share the family name Ghosh, Prabhas usually spells his name in English as Ghose. So I use his spelling here.

23-3: A disciple always removes his shoes in an Indian hermitage.

23-3: A disciple always takes off his shoes in an Indian hermitage.

23-4: Matthew 6:33.

23-4: Matthew 6:33.