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Bharatvarsha was named after him.
    Bharat avoided Shashibhushan for the next three or four days but the latter was on the lookout and caught him one evening. ‘Go to the king,’ he advised. ‘Tell him who you are and ask him for a favour. Say you want nothing from him except permission to take lessons from me. If he gives it no one will dare stop you.’
    One morning, when the sky was overcast with cloud and rain pelted down in torrents, the Maharaja came into the school room. He could have sent for Shashibhushan but he was an impulsive man and acted upon his whims. He had composed a lyric the night before and he wanted to show it to his resident tutor and seek his opinion on its quality. They conversed for a few minutes, then the king rose to depart. But no sooner had he reached the door than something came hurtling from outside and fell, with a thud, at his feet.
    â€˜Who . . . What’s this?’ Birchandra cried out, startled.
    â€˜I’m your worthless son,
Deota
!’
Bharat raised pleading eyes to his father’s face. ‘My name is Bharat.’
    Birchandra had never seen Bharat before but he took the announcement quite calmly. Smiling down at the handsome face at his feet he asked, ‘What is your mother’s name boy?’ Bharat brought his palms together and touched them to his brow. ‘My mother is in heaven,
Deota
! Her name was Kiron Bala.’ Birchandra knitted his brows, thinking. Kiron Bala! She must have Come from Assam. The Assamese call their fathers
Deota
. Yes, now that he thought of it, the name rang a bell. He wondered why. She wasn’t even a queen. Kiron Bala! She had been a comely girl and had laughed a lot. He remembered her laughter. Yes, he recollected now, she had died after giving birth to a son. The king looked down at Bharat with affection in his eyes. He had a soft corner for his bastards. They were, after all, living proof of his virility.
    â€˜Get up boy,’ he put out a hand and hauled Bharat to his feet. ‘What do you want from me?’
    â€˜He is a very meritorious student Maharaj,’ Shashibhushan answered for the boy. ‘He has learned a lot already. He will go far if given the opportunity to study further.’
    â€˜Well! why not? If that is what he wants. Teach him a bit of English. If he learns enough to be able to converse with the Political Agent he can even earn a salary from me.’
    Bharat’s destiny changed from that day onwards. Not only was he allowed to take lessons without interference, he was moved out of the servants’ quarters and given a room in the house of the king’s secretary. Radharaman Ghosh ordered two sets of clothes befitting his status and arranged to pay him a stipend of ten rupees a month.
    His lessons over, Bharat would spend the rest of the day wandering around the lake. Kamal Dighi was surrounded on all sides by lush greenery which formed an excellent cover for the shy youth who wanted to escape the eyes of the inmates of the palace. Hour after hour he lay among the tall grass and ferns, reading and thinking his own thoughts. Under Shashibhushan’s tutelage he was not only gleaning a lot of information about the outside world, he felt his own inner world to be in a state of flux, changing contours and teeming with possibilities. All these years he had believed that heaven lay somewhere beyond the blue sky and that his unhappy mother had found a place in it. But Master Moshai said that heaven and earth did not exist except in the minds of men. ‘Where is my mother then?’ he had asked. ‘And where do the gods dwell?’ ‘You are receiving an education,’ Shashibhushan had answered grimly, ‘Learn to think for yourself. There is one Supreme Being and one alone. It is He who created the universe and all things in it. He is without form and substance. He permeates everything you see from the sky above your head to the earth beneath your feet.