But yet the back of his head and the pink ears were visible to Swaminathan.
It was an intolerable sight.
Swaminathan was in acute suspense lest that head should turn and fix its eyes on his;
he felt that he would drop from the desk to the floor, if that happened. The pink ears
three benches off made him incapable of speech. If only somebody would put a
blackboard between his eyes and those pink ears!

He was deaf to the question that the headmaster
was putting to him. A rap on his body from the headmaster’s cane brought him to himself.

Why did you keep away yesterday?’ asked the headmaster, looking up.
Swaminathan’s first impulse was to protest that he had never been absent. But the
attendance register was there. ‘No-no-I was stoned. I tried to come, but they
took away my cap and burnt it. Many strong men held me down when I tried to come....
When a great man is sent to gaol .... I am surprised to see you a slave of the Englishmen....
Didn’t they cut off—Dacca Muslin—Slaves of slaves ....’ These were some of the
disjointed explanations which streamed into his head, and, which, even at that moment,
he was discreet enough not to express. He had wanted to mention a headache, but he
found to his distress that others beside him had one.The headmaster shouted, ‘Won’t you
open your mouth?’ He brought the cane sharply down on Swaminathan’s right shoulder.
Swaminathan kept staring at the headmaster with tearfuleyes, massaging with his
left hand the spot where the cane was laid. ‘I will kill you if youkeep on staring
without answering my question,’ cried the headmaster.