Stories from Tagore

IV

Knowing that his party had insulted Kalipada almost every day, Sailen felt reluctant to keep him in the lodging house with them. So he rented another suitable house and kept him there. Bhavani came down in haste to Calcutta the moment he received a letter from Sailen informing him of his son's illness. Rashmani parted with all her savings giving instructions to her husband to spare no expense upon her son. It was not considered proper for the daughters of the great Chowdhuri family to leave their home and go to Calcutta unless absolutely obliged, and therefore she had to remain behind offering prayers to all the tutelary gods. When Bhavani Charan arrived he found Kalipada still unconscious and delirious. It nearly broke Bhavani's heart when he heard himself called 'Master Mashai.' Kalipada often called him in his delirium and he tried to make himself recognized by his son, but in vain.

The doctor came again and said the fever was getting less. He thought the case was taking a more favourable turn. For Bhavani, it was an impossibility to imagine that his son would not recover. He must live: it was his destiny to live. Bhavani was much struck with the behaviour of Sailen. It was difficult to believe that he was not of their own kith and kin. He supposed all this kindness to be due to the town training which Sailen had received. Bhavani spoke to Sailen disparagingly of the country habits which village people like himself got into.

Gradually the fever went down and Kalipada recovered consciousness. He was astonished beyond measure when he saw his father sitting in the room beside him. His first anxiety was lest he should discover the miserable state in which he had been living. But what would be harder still to bear was, if his father with his rustic manners became the butt of the people upstairs. He looked round him, but could not recognize his own room and wondered if he had been dreaming. But he found himself too weak to think.

He supposed that it had been his father who had removed him to this better lodging, but he had no power to calculate how he could possibly bear the expense. The only thing that concerned him at that moment was that he felt he must live, and for that he had a claim upon the world.

Once when his father was absent Sailen came in with a plate of grapes in his hand. Kalipada could not understand this at all and wondered if there was some practical joke behind it. He at once became excited and wondered how he could save his father from annoyance. Sailen set the plate down on the table and touched Kalipada's feet humbly and said: "My offence has been great: pray forgive me."

Kalipada started and sat up on his bed. He could see that Sailen's repentance was sincere and he was greatly moved.

When Kalipada had first come to the students' lodging house he had felt strongly drawn towards this handsome youth. He never missed a chance of looking at his face when Sailen passed by his room on his way upstairs. He would have given all the world to be friends with him, but the barrier was too great to overcome. Now to-day when Sailen brought him the grapes and asked his forgiveness, he silently looked at his face and silently accepted the grapes which spoke of his repentance.

It amused Kalipada greatly when he noticed the intimacy that had sprung up between his father and Sailen. Sailen used to call Bhavani Charan "grandfather" and exercised to the full the grandchild's privilege of joking with him. The principal object of the jokes was the absent "grandmother." Sailen made the confession that he had taken the opportunity of Kalipada's illness to steal all the delicious chutnies which his "grandmother" had made with her own hand. The news of his act of "thieving" gave Kalipada very great joy. He found it easy to deprive himself, if he could find any one who could appreciate the good things made by his mother. Thus this time of his convalescence became the happiest period in the whole of Kalipada's life.

There was only one flaw in this unalloyed happiness. Kalipada had a fierce pride in his poverty which prevented him ever speaking about his family's better days. Therefore when his father used to talk of his former prosperity Kalipada winced. Bhavani could not keep to himself the one great event of his life,—the theft of that will which he was absolutely certain that he would some day recover. Kalipada had always regarded this as a kind of mania of his father's, and in collusion with his mother he had often humoured his father concerning this amiable weakness. But he shrank in shame when his father talked about this to Sailen. He noticed particularly that Sailen did not relish such conversation and that he often tried to prove, with a certain amount of feeling, its absurdity. But Bhavani, who was ready to give in to others in matters much more serious, in this matter was adamant. Kalipada tried to pacify him by saying that there was no great need to worry about it, because those who were enjoying its benefit were almost the same as his own children, since they were his nephews.

Such talk Sailen could not bear for long and he used to leave the room. This pained Kalipada, because he thought that Sailen might get quite a wrong conception of his father and imagine him to be a grasping worldly old man. Sailen would have revealed his own relationship to Kalipada and his father long before, but this discussion about the theft of the will prevented him. It was hard for him to believe that his grandfather or father had stolen the will; on the other hand he could not but think that some cruel injustice had been done in depriving Bhavani of his share of the ancestral property. Therefore he gave up arguing when the subject was brought forward and took some occasion to leave as soon as possible.

Though Kalipada still had headaches in the evening, with a slight rise in temperature, he did not take it at all seriously. He became anxious to resume his studies because he felt it would be a calamity to him if he again missed his scholarship. He secretly began to read once more, without taking any notice of the strict orders of the doctor. Kalipada asked his father to return home, assuring him that he was in the best of health. Bhavani had been all his life fed and nourished and cooked for by his wife; he was pining to get back. He did not therefore wait to be pressed.

On the morning of his intended departure, when he went to say good-bye to Kalipada, he found him very ill indeed, his face red with fever and his whole body burning. He had been committing to memory page after page of his text book of Logic half through the night, and for the remainder he could not sleep at all. The doctor took Sailen aside. "This relapse," he said, "is fatal." Sailen came to Bhavani and said, "The patient requires a mother's nursing: she must be brought to Calcutta."

It was evening when Rashmani came, and she only saw her son alive for a few hours. Not knowing how her husband could survive such a terrible shock she altogether suppressed her own sorrow. Her son was merged in her husband again, and she took up this burden of the dead and the living on her own aching heart. She said to her God,—"It is too much for me to bear." But she did bear it.

V

It was midnight. With the very weariness of her sorrow Rashmani had fallen asleep soon after reaching her own home in the village. But Bhavani had no sleep that night. Tossing on his bed for hours he heaved a deep sigh saying,—"Merciful God!" Then he got up from his bed and went out. He entered the room where Kalipada had been wont to do his lessons in his childhood. The lamp shook as he held it in his hand. On the wooden settle there was still the torn, ink-stained quilt, made long ago by Rashmani herself. On the wall were figures of Euclid and Algebra drawn in charcoal. The remains of a Royal Reader No. III and a few exercise books were lying about; and the one odd slipper of his infancy, which had evaded notice so long, was keeping its place in the dusty obscurity of the corner of the room. To-day it had become so important that nothing in the world, however great, could keep it hidden any longer. Bhavani put the lamp in the niche on the wall and silently sat on the settle; his eyes were dry, but he felt choked as if with want of breath.

Bhavani opened the shutters on the eastern side and stood still, grasping the iron bars, gazing into the darkness. Through the drizzling rain he could see the outline of the clump of trees at the end of the outer wall. At this spot Kalipada had made his own garden. The passion flowers which he had planted with his own hand had grown densely thick. While he gazed at this Bhavani felt his heart come up into his throat with choking pain. There was nobody now to wait for and expect daily. The summer vacation had come, but no one would come back home to fill the vacant room and use its old familiar furniture.

"O Baba mine!" he cried, "O Baba! O Baba mine!"

He sat down. The rain came faster. A sound of footsteps was heard among the grass and withered leaves. Bhavani's heart stood still. He hoped it was ... that which was beyond all hope. He thought it was Kalipada himself come to see his own garden,—and in this downpour of rain how wet he would be! Anxiety about this made him restless. Then somebody stood for a moment in front of the iron window bars. The cloak round his head made it impossible for Bhavani to see his face clearly, but his height was the same as that of Kalipada.

"Darling!" cried Bhavani, "You have come!" and he rushed to open the door.

But when he came outside to the spot where the figure had stood, there was no one to be seen. He walked up and down in the garden through the drenching rain, but no one was there. He stood still for a moment raising his voice and calling,—"Kalipada," but no answer came. The servant, Noto, who was sleeping in the cowshed, heard his cry and came out and coaxed him back to his room.

Next day, in the morning, Noto, while sweeping the room found a bundle just underneath the grated window. He brought it to Bhavani who opened it and found it was an old document. He put on his spectacles and after reading a few lines came rushing in to Rashmani and gave the paper into her hand.

Rashmani asked, "What is it?"

Bhavani replied, "It is the will!"

"Who gave it you?"

"He himself came last night to give it to me."

"What are you going to do with it?"

Bhavani said: "I have no need of it now." And he tore the will to pieces.

When the news reached the village Bagala proudly nodded his head and said: "Didn't I prophesy that the will would be recovered through Kalipada?"

But the grocer Ramcharan replied: "Last night when the ten o'clock train reached the Station a handsome looking young man came to my shop and asked the way to the Chowdhuri's house and I thought he had some kind of bundle in his hand."

"Absurd," said Bagala.

WORDS TO BE STUDIED

detailed. From the French "tailler," to cut. Compare tailor, entail, retail.

patrimony. From the Latin "pater," a father. Compare paternal, patriarch, patriot. The ending -mony is from the Latin -monium. Compare testimony, matrimony, sanctimony.

revert. From the Latin "vertere," to turn. Compare convert, subvert, divert, invert, advert, version, conversion, adverse.

amazement. This word is of doubtful origin. We have the simpler form "maze" but do not know how it has come into English.

preposterous. The Latin word "pre" means "before," and the Latin word "posterus" behind. The literal meaning, therefore, is "before-behind" and so "absurd," "outrageous."

treachery. This comes from the Old French "treacher," to trick. It is to be distinguished from the word "traitor," which comes from the Latin "traditor," one who gives up another. Compare intricate, trickery, trick, intrigue.

parasites. From the Greek word "sitos," food,—one who feeds on another.

property. From the Latin "proprius," meaning "one's own." Compare proper, appropriate, improper.

haggle. This is an Old Norwegian word which has come into English, meaning literally to chop.

good-for-nothing. Such "phrase" words as these are not very common in English. They are more common in French. Compare the English ne'er-do-well, lazybones, out-of-the-way, and the French coup-d'état, nom-de-plume, fin-de-siécle. On the other hand, adjectives made up of two words are quite common in English. Compare simple-hearted, middle-aged.

régime. This word still retains its French form and accent and pronunciation. Little by little such French words become pronounced and spelt in an English form and take a permanent place in the language. For instance, the French word "morale" with accent on the last syllable is now becoming a common English word. In time it will probably be accented on the first syllable like ordinary English words and will drop its final "e."

gap. This is another Old Norwegian word meaning a wide opening. Compare gape. These Norwegian words came into English somewhat plentifully at the time of the Danish Conquest.

sympathy. From the Greek "syn" with, and "pathos" suffering. It should be noted that the word "compassion" from the Latin "cum" with, and "passio" suffering, has the same root meaning, viz. "suffering with another."

law-suit. The English word "suit" comes from the Latin "sequi," to follow, which in French becomes "suivre." We have two English forms, one form directly from the Latin, the other from the French. From the Latin prosecute, persecute, consecutive, execute. From the French pursue, ensue, sue.
A "suit" in a game of cards means the cards that follow one another in a sequence.
A "suit" of clothes means the trousers, coat, waistcoat, following the same pattern. Compare also the French word suite which has now been taken into English, e.g. a suite of rooms, a suite of furniture (pronounced like "sweet").

incoherence. From the Latin "haerere," to stick. Compare adhere, cohere, inherent, coherence.

foreign. From the Old French "forain," out of doors. The letter "g" has become wrongly inserted in this word as also in "sovereign."

bargain. From the late Latin "barca," a boat, because trade was carried on by boats along the rivers. Compare barque, barge, bark.

husky. From the noun husk,—as dry as a husk.

shawl. From the Persian word "shāl." A considerable number of words are coming into use in English now from the East. One of the most curious recent ones is Blighty which is a corruption of wilayati, bilaiti. For words introduced into English compare karma, sanyasi, fakir, brahmin, ghat, puggaree, pyjama, pucca, curry, chutney, chintz, cummerbund, khaki, rupee, durrie, turban, sepoy.

doll. This is a shortened form of the English girl's name Dorothy, Dolly, Doll. Compare poll-parrot from Polly or Poll.

soup. This word still retains its French form, without the final "e" (French soupe), but the English words sup, supper have dropped their French spelling altogether.

ticket. From the Old French "estiquette," meaning something fixed like a bill on the wall. (Compare the English word to "stick" which comes from the same root.)
We have here a case of a French word branching off into two quite distinct English words,—"etiquette" and "ticket," each having its own meaning.

jersey. One of the islands in the English Channel called Jersey first made this special form of woollen vest. Many English words are thus taken from the names of places. Compare currant (Corinth), argosy (Ragusa), calico (Calicut), bronze (Brundusium), gipsy (Egyptian), cashmere (Kashmir).

impertinence. Originally this word means that which is not "pertinent," and so something "out-of-place." Later on it got the present meaning of something insolent.

mosquito. From the Spanish. The word is the diminutive of the Latin "musca," a fly.

scruple. From the Latin "scrupulus," a small sharp stone. This word meant first in English a very small weight of twenty grains; then it came to mean a slight weight on the mind or conscience. In the Trial Scene of Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice we have the original sense used,—"the twentieth part of one poor scruple."

exuberant. From the Latin "uber," udder. Thus it comes to mean "flowing from the udder" and so "overflowing."

handkerchief. "Kerchief" came from two French words "couvre," to cover, and "chef," the head. It meant a head cloth. Then a smaller cloth was used in the hand and this was called a hand-kerchief.

lunacy. From the Latin "luna," the moon. In former times Europeans used to think that madness was due to some influence of the moon. Compare the word moonstruck.

algebra. This is one of the many words from Arabic beginning with "al," the. Compare alkali, albatross, alcohol, alembic, alchemy, alcove.

Euclid. This word was originally the name of a great Greek mathematical writer. His writings were called "Books of Euclid." Now the subject is usually called Geometry.

absurd. From the Latin "surdus," deaf. Deaf people generally appear stupid to those who can hear. So this word has come to mean foolish or ridiculous.

topsy-turvy. This probably is a shortened form of topside-turvy,—"turvy" being a colloquial corruption for "turned" or "turned over."

THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE

X

THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE

Once upon a time the Babus at Nayanjore were famous landholders. They were noted for their princely extravagance. They would tear off the rough border of their Dacca muslin, because it rubbed against their delicate skin. They could spend many thousands of rupees over the wedding of a kitten. And on a certain grand occasion it is alleged that in order to turn night into day they lighted numberless lamps and showered silver threads from the sky to imitate sunlight.

Those were the days before the flood. The flood came. The line of succession among these old-world Babus, with their lordly habits, could not continue for long. Like a lamp with too many wicks burning, the oil flared away quickly, and the light went out.

Kailas Babu, our neighbour, is the last relic of this extinct magnificence. Before he grew up, his family had very nearly reached its lowest ebb. When his father died, there was one dazzling outburst of funeral extravagance, and then insolvency. The property was sold to liquidate the debt. What little ready money was left over was altogether insufficient to keep up the past ancestral splendours.

Kailas Babu left Nayanjore and came to Calcutta. His son did not remain long in this world of faded glory. He died, leaving behind him an only daughter.

In Calcutta we are Kailas Babu's neighbours. Curiously enough our own family history is just the opposite of his. My father got his money by his own exertions, and prided himself on never spending a penny more than was needed. His clothes were those of a working man, and his hands also. He never had any inclination to earn the title of Babu by extravagant display; and I myself, his only son, owe him gratitude for that. He gave me the very best education, and I was able to make my way in the world. I am not ashamed of the fact that I am a self-made man. Crisp bank-notes in my safe are dearer to me than a long pedigree in an empty family chest.

I believe this was why I disliked seeing Kailas Babu drawing his heavy cheques on the public credit from the bankrupt bank of his ancient Babu reputation. I used to fancy that he looked down on me, because my father had earned money with his own hands.

I ought to have noticed that no one showed any vexation towards Kailas Babu except myself. Indeed it would have been difficult to find an old man who did less harm than he. He was always ready with his kindly little acts of courtesy in times of sorrow and joy. He would join in all the ceremonies and religious observances of his neighbours. His familiar smile would greet young and old alike. His politeness in asking details about domestic affairs was untiring. The friends who met him in the street were perforce ready to be button-holed, while a long string of questions of this kind followed one another from his lips:

"My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Are you quite well? How is Shashi? And Dada—is he all right? Do you know, I've only just heard that Madhu's son has got fever. How is he? Have you heard? And Hari Charan Babu—I have not seen him for a long time—I hope he is not ill. What's the matter with Rakkhal? And er—er, how are the ladies of your family?"

Kailas Babu was spotlessly neat in his dress on all occasions, though his supply of clothes was sorely limited. Every day he used to air his shirts and vests and coats and trousers carefully, and put them out in the sun, along with his bed-quilt, his pillowcase, and the small carpet on which he always sat. After airing them he would shake them, and brush them, and put them carefully away. His little bits of furniture made his small room decent, and hinted that there was more in reserve if needed. Very often, for want of a servant, he would shut up his house for a while. Then he would iron out his shirts and linen with his own hands, and do other little menial tasks. After this he would open his door and receive his friends again.

Though Kailas Babu, as I have said, had lost all his landed property, he had still some family heirlooms left. There was a silver cruet for sprinkling scented water, a filigree box for otto-of-roses, a small gold salver, a costly ancient shawl, and the old-fashioned ceremonial dress and ancestral turban. These he had rescued with the greatest difficulty from the money-lenders' clutches. On every suitable occasion he would bring them out in state, and thus try to save the world-famed dignity of the Babus of Nayanjore. At heart the most modest of men, in his daily speech he regarded it as a sacred duty, owed to his rank, to give free play to his family pride. His friends would encourage this trait in his character with kindly good-humour, and it gave them great amusement.

The neighbourhood soon learnt to call him their Thakur Dada. They would flock to his house and sit with him for hours together. To prevent his incurring any expense, one or other of his friends would bring him tobacco and say: "Thakur Dada, this morning some tobacco was sent to me from Gaya. Do take it and see how you like it."

Thakur Dada would take it and say it was excellent. He would then go on to tell of a certain exquisite tobacco which they once smoked in the old days of Nayanjore at the cost of a guinea an ounce.

"I wonder," he used to say, "if any one would like to try it now. I have some left, and can get it at once."

Every one knew that, if they asked for it, then somehow or other the key of the cupboard would be missing; or else Ganesh, his old family servant, had put it away somewhere.

"You never can be sure," he would add, "where things go to when servants are about. Now, this Ganesh of mine,—I can't tell you what a fool he is, but I haven't the heart to dismiss him."

Ganesh, for the credit of the family, was quite ready to bear all the blame without a word.

One of the company usually said at this point: "Never mind, Thakur Dada. Please don't trouble to look for it. This tobacco we're smoking will do quite well. The other would be too strong."

Then Thakur Dada would be relieved and settle down again, and the talk would go on.

When his guests got up to go away, Thakur Dada would accompany them to the door and say to them on the door-step: "Oh, by the way, when are you all coming to dine with me?"

One or other of us would answer: "Not just yet, Thakur Dada, not just yet. We'll fix a day later."

"Quite right," he would answer. "Quite right. We had much better wait till the rains come. It's too hot now. And a grand rich dinner such as I should want to give you would upset us in weather like this."

But when the rains did come, every one was very careful not to remind him of his promise. If the subject was brought up, some friend would suggest gently that it was very inconvenient to get about when the rains were so severe, and therefore it would be much better to wait till they were over. Thus the game went on.

Thakur Dada's poor lodging was much too small for his position, and we used to condole with him about it. His friends would assure him they quite understood his difficulties: it was next to impossible to get a decent house in Calcutta. Indeed, they had all been looking out for years for a house to suit him. But, I need hardly add, no friend had been foolish enough to find one. Thakur Dada used to say, with a sigh of resignation: "Well, well, I suppose I shall have to put up with this house after all." Then he would add with a genial smile: "But, you know, I could never bear to be away from my friends. I must be near you. That really compensates for everything."

Somehow I felt all this very deeply indeed. I suppose the real reason was, that when a man is young, stupidity appears to him the worst of crimes. Kailas Babu was not really stupid. In ordinary business matters every one was ready to consult him. But with regard to Nayanjore his utterances were certainly void of common sense. Because, out of amused affection for him, no one contradicted his impossible statements, he refused to keep them in bounds. When people recounted in his hearing the glorious history of Nayanjore with absurd exaggerations, he would accept all they said with the utmost gravity, and never doubted, even in his dreams, that any one could disbelieve it.

II

When I sit down and try to analyse the thoughts and feelings that I had towards Kailas Babu, I see that there was a still deeper reason for my dislike. I will now explain.

Though I am the son of a rich man, and might have wasted time at college, my industry was such that I took my M.A. degree in Calcutta University when quite young. My moral character was flawless. In addition, my outward appearance was so handsome, that if I were to call myself beautiful, it might be thought a mark of self-estimation, but could not be considered an untruth.

There could be no question that among the young men of Bengal I was regarded by parents generally as a very eligible match. I was myself quite clear on the point and had determined to obtain my full value in the marriage market. When I pictured my choice, I had before my mind's eye a wealthy father's only daughter, extremely beautiful and highly educated. Proposals came pouring in to me from far and near; large sums in cash were offered. I weighed these offers with rigid impartiality in the delicate scales of my own estimation. But there was no one fit to be my partner. I became convinced, with the poet Bhabavuti, that,

But in this puny modern age, and this contracted space of modern Bengal, it was doubtful if the peerless creature existed as yet.

Meanwhile my praises were sung in many tunes, and in different metres, by designing parents.

Whether I was pleased with their daughters or not, this worship which they offered was never unpleasing. I used to regard it as my proper due, because I was so good. We are told that when the gods withhold their boons from mortals they still expect their worshippers to pay them fervent honour and are angry if it is withheld. I had that divine expectance strongly developed in myself.

I have already mentioned that Thakur Dada had an only grand-daughter. I had seen her many times, but had never mistaken her for beautiful. No thought had ever entered my mind that she would be a possible partner for myself. All the same, it seemed quite certain to me that some day or other Kailas Babu would offer her, with all due worship, as an oblation at my shrine. Indeed—this was the inner secret of my dislike—I was thoroughly annoyed that he had not done so already.

I heard that Thakur Dada had told his friends that the Babus of Nayanjore never craved a boon. Even if the girl remained unmarried, he would not break the family tradition. It was this arrogance of his that made me angry. My indignation smouldered for some time. But I remained perfectly silent and bore it with the utmost patience, because I was so good.

As lightning accompanies thunder, so in my character a flash of humour was mingled with the mutterings of my wrath. It was, of course, impossible for me to punish the old man merely to give vent to my rage; and for a long time I did nothing at all. But suddenly one day such an amusing plan came into my head, that I could not resist the temptation of carrying it into effect.

I have already said that many of Kailas Babu's friends used to flatter the old man's vanity to the full. One, who was a retired Government servant, had told him that whenever he saw the Chota Lât Sahib he always asked for the latest news about the Babus of Nayanjore, and the Chota Lât had been heard to say that in all Bengal the only really respectable families were those of the Maharaja of Cossipore and the Babus of Nayanjore. When this monstrous falsehood was told to Kailas Babu he was extremely gratified and often repeated the story. And wherever after that he met this Government servant in company he would ask, along with other questions:

"Oh! er—by the way, how is the Chota Lât Sahib? Quite well, did you say? Ah, yes, I am so delighted to hear it! And the dear Mem Sahib, is she quite well too? Ah, yes! and the little children—are they quite well also? Ah, yes! that's very good news! Be sure and give them my compliments when you see them."

Kailas Babu would constantly express his intention of going some day and paying a visit to the Lord Sahib. But it may be taken for granted that many Chota Lâts and Burra Lâts also would come and go, and much water would pass down the Hoogly, before the family coach of Nayanjore would be furbished up to pay a visit to Government House.

One day I took Kailas Babu aside and told him in a whisper: "Thakur Dada, I was at the Levee yesterday, and the Chota Lât Sahib happened to mention the Babus of Nayanjore. I told him that Kailas Babu had come to town. Do you know, he was terribly hurt because you hadn't called. He told me he was going to put etiquette on one side and pay you a private visit himself this very afternoon."

Anybody else could have seen through this plot of mine in a moment. And, if it had been directed against another person, Kailas Babu would have understood the joke. But after all that he had heard from his friend the Government servant, and after all his own exaggerations, a visit from the Lieutenant-Governor seemed the most natural thing in the world. He became highly nervous and excited at my news. Each detail of the coming visit exercised him greatly,—most of all his own ignorance of English. How on earth was that difficulty to be met? I told him there was no difficulty at all: it was aristocratic not to know English: and, besides, the Lieutenant-Governor always brought an interpreter with him, and he had expressly mentioned that this visit was to be private.

About midday, when most of our neighbours are at work, and the rest are asleep, a carriage and pair stopped before the lodging of Kailas Babu. Two flunkeys in livery came up the stairs, and announced in a loud voice, "The Chota Lât Sahib has arrived!" Kailas Babu was ready, waiting for him, in his old-fashioned ceremonial robes and ancestral turban, and Ganesh was by his side, dressed in his master's best suit of clothes for the occasion.

When the Chota Lât Sahib was announced, Kailas Babu ran panting and puffing and trembling to the door, and led in a friend of mine, in disguise, with repeated salaams, bowing low at each step and walking backward as best he could. He had his old family shawl spread over a hard wooden chair and he asked the Lât Sahib to be seated. He then made a high-flown speech in Urdu, the ancient Court language of the Sahibs, and presented on the golden salver a string of gold mohurs, the last relics of his broken fortune. The old family servant Ganesh, with an expression of awe bordering on terror, stood behind with the scent-sprinkler, drenching the Lât Sahib, and touched him gingerly from time to time with the otto-of-roses from the filigree box.

Kailas Babu repeatedly expressed his regret at not being able to receive His Honour Bahadur with all the ancestral magnificence of his own family estate at Nayanjore. There he could have welcomed him properly with due ceremonial. But in Calcutta he was a mere stranger and sojourner,—in fact a fish out of water.

My friend, with his tall silk hat on, very gravely nodded. I need hardly say that according to English custom the hat ought to have been removed inside the room. But my friend did not dare to take it off for fear of detection: and Kailas Babu and his old servant Ganesh were sublimely unconscious of the breach of etiquette.

After a ten minutes' interview, which consisted chiefly of nodding the head, my friend rose to his feet to depart. The two flunkeys in livery, as had been planned beforehand, carried off in state the string of gold mohurs, the gold salver, the old ancestral shawl, the silver scent-sprinkler, and the otto-of-roses filigree box; they placed them ceremoniously in the carriage. Kailas Babu regarded this as the usual habit of Chota Lât Sahibs.

I was watching all the while from the next room. My sides were aching with suppressed laughter. When I could hold myself in no longer, I rushed into a further room, suddenly to discover, in a corner, a young girl sobbing as if her heart would break. When she saw my uproarious laughter she stood upright in passion, flashing the lightning of her big dark eyes in mine, and said with a tear-choked voice: "Tell me! What harm has my grandfather done to you? Why have you come to deceive him? Why have you come here? Why——"

She could say no more. She covered her face with her hands and broke into sobs.

My laughter vanished in a moment. It had never occurred to me that there was anything but a supremely funny joke in this act of mine, and here I discovered that I had given the cruellest pain to this tenderest little heart. All the ugliness of my cruelty rose up to condemn me. I slunk out of the room in silence, like a kicked dog.

Hitherto I had only looked upon Kusum, the grand-daughter of Kailas Babu, as a somewhat worthless commodity in the marriage market, waiting in vain to attract a husband. But now I found, with a shock of surprise, that in the corner of that room a human heart was beating.

The whole night through I had very little sleep. My mind was in a tumult. On the next day, very early in the morning, I took all those stolen goods back to Kailas Babu's lodgings, wishing to hand them over in secret to the servant Ganesh. I waited outside the door, and, not finding any one, went upstairs to Kailas Babu's room. I heard from the passage Kusum asking her grandfather in the most winning voice: "Dada, dearest, do tell me all that the Chota Lât Sahib said to you yesterday. Don't leave out a single word. I am dying to hear it all over again."

And Dada needed no encouragement. His face beamed over with pride as he related all manner of praises which the Lât Sahib had been good enough to utter concerning the ancient families of Nayanjore. The girl was seated before him, looking up into his face, and listening with rapt attention. She was determined, out of love for the old man, to play her part to the full.

My heart was deeply touched, and tears came to my eyes. I stood there in silence in the passage, while Thakur Dada finished all his embellishments of the Chota Lât Sahib's wonderful visit. When he left the room at last, I took the stolen goods and laid them at the feet of the girl and came away without a word.

Later in the day I called again to see Kailas Babu himself. According to our ugly modern custom, I had been in the habit of making no greeting at all to this old man when I came into the room. But on this day I made a low bow and touched his feet. I am convinced the old man thought that the coming of the Chota Lât Sahib to his house was the cause of my new politeness. He was highly gratified by it, and an air of benign serenity shone from his eyes. His friends had looked in, and he had already begun to tell again at full length the story of the Lieutenant-Governor's visit with still further adornments of a most fantastic kind. The interview was already becoming an epic, both in quality and in length.

When the other visitors had taken their leave, I made my proposal to the old man in a humble manner. I told him that, "though I could never for a moment hope to be worthy of marriage connection with such an illustrious family, yet ... etc. etc."

When I made clear my proposal of marriage, the old man embraced me and broke out in a tumult of joy: "I am a poor man, and could never have expected such great good fortune."

That was the first and last time in his life that Kailas Babu confessed to being poor. It was also the first and last time in his life that he forgot, if only for a single moment, the ancestral dignity that belongs to the Babus of Nayanjore.

WORDS TO BE STUDIED

landholder. This method of forming compound words from two original English words should be studied. Compare the following words which have "land" for one of their parts: landlord, landowner, landlady, landslip, landfall. When the second word is not very closely attached to the first word, a hyphen is put between, thus land-grabber, land-shark.

extinct. From the Latin "stinguere," to quench. Compare distinct, instinct, extinguish, distinguish.

cheque. This word is the same as "check,"—only in this case the original French form has been kept. The verb to "check" came into English originally from the game of chess. In Eastern lands when the chess king was in danger the word "Shah!" was called out, and when the chess king could not move, "Shah mata!" These were corrupted into "Check!" and "Checkmate!"

bankrupt. This word is a curious mixture of the old French "banque" (compare bench, banquet) and the Latin "rumpere," to break (compare corrupt, disrupt). It is thus a hybrid word in modern English.

filigree. From two Latin words, "filum," a thread, and "granum," a grain.

otto-of-roses. A corruption of attar. The word is originally Arabic and Persian.

turban. This word has now taken its place in most of the European languages. It has come to Europe from the Turkish "tulbend" and the Persian "dulband."

tobacco. This word came originally from Central America. It was brought to Europe by the Spaniards, who pronounced it "tabaco." It has now travelled all round the world, and has gained a place in all the Indian vernaculars as well as in the Further East.

boon. The Old English word "ben" meant a prayer, and this was the original meaning of "boon." But a new word appeared in English, viz. the adjective "boon" from the French "bon," meaning "good." (Compare boon companion). This influenced the earlier word, which thus gained its present meaning of a "blessing" or "gift."

smoulder. "Smolder" is an Old English word meaning "smoke." Cognate words in English are smother and small, which come from the same root.

gingerly. The origin of this word is very doubtful. Some connect it with "ging" or "gang," meaning "to go." Others with "gent-" meaning "gentle" or "graceful." The word has no relation to "ginger" which is an Eastern word coming originally from the Sanskrit çraga-vera and the Hindustani zunjubil.

fantastic. From the Greek "phainō," to manifest. Compare emphasis, emphatic, fantasy, fancy, phenomenon.

NOTES

NOTES

I.—THE CABULIWALLAH

"The Cabuliwallah" is one of the most famous of the Poet's "Short Stories." It has been often translated. The present translation is by the late Sister Nivedita, and her simple, vivid style should be noticed by the Indian student reader. It is a good example of modern English, with its short sentences, its careful choice of words, and its luminous clearness of meaning.

Cabuliwallah.] A man from Cabul or Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan.

embarked.] Like a ship putting out to sea on a new voyage.

Bhola.] Mini's attendant.

Protap Singh.] Rabindranath Tagore pictures himself as engaged in writing a novel, full of wild adventures. These names are made up to suit the story.

so precarious.] The writer amusingly imagines the hero and heroine actually swinging by the rope until he can get back to his desk and finish writing about how they escaped.

Abdurrahman.] The Amir of Kabul.

Frontier policy.] The question about guarding the North-West of India against invasion.

without demur.] Without making any objection, or asking for more money.

judicious bribery.] He gave her little presents, judging well what she would like best.

new fangled.] The parents had not talked about such things, as old-fashioned people would have certainly done.

euphemism.] This means, in Greek, "fair speech." Here it means a pleasant word used instead of the unpleasant word "jail."

kings went forth.] During the hot weather the kings of ancient India used to stay at home: they would begin to fight again at the beginning of the cold weather.

my heart would go out.] That is to say, he would long to see such places.

fall to weaving.] This is an English idiom, like "set to": it means to begin.

conjure themselves.] Just as the conjurer makes all kinds of things appear before the eyes.

vegetable existence.] Vegetables are rooted to the ground. So Rabindranath is rooted to his desk and cannot make long journeys.

As it was indefinite.] Because there was no actual reason for it. Indefinite here means vague.

forbid the man the house.] This is a brief way of saying forbid the man to enter the house.

bebagged.] This word is made up for the occasion, and means "laden with bags." Compare the words bedewed, besmeared.

just where.] The word "just" has become very commonly used in modern English. It means "exactly," "merely" or "at the very moment." Compare "He had just gone out." "It was just a joke."

Scarcely on speaking terms.] Rabindranath Tagore is here making a joke; "not to be on speaking terms" means usually "to be displeased with." Mini had become so eager to talk with her girl friends that she had almost neglected her father.

Durga.] The Durga Festival in Bengal is supposed to represent the time when Parvati, or Durga, left her father's home in the Himalayas, called Kailas, and went to live with her husband, Siva.

Bhairavi.] One of the musical tunes which denotes separation.

chandeliers.] The glass ornamental hangings on which candles were lighted in great houses at weddings.

better-omened.] It was not considered a good omen, or good fortune, to meet a criminal on a wedding day.

dispersed.] Used up.

Parbati.] Another allusion to the Goddess Durga and her home in the Himalayas.

apparition.] This word comes from the same root as the word to "appear." It means a sudden or strange sight. It often means a ghost. Mini had so changed that when she appeared in her wedding dress she startled him, as if he had seen a ghost.

make friends with her anew.] His own daughter would not know him at first.

Saw before him the barren mountains.] His memory was so strong that it made him forget the crowded Calcutta street and think of his home in the mountains.

II.—THE HOME-COMING

every one seconded the proposal.] All were so eagerly in favour that they wanted to speak at once in support of it.

regal dignity.] His position as a king of the other boys.

fertile brain.] Full of inventions and plans.

manoeuvre.] A French word meaning a plan of battle.

point of honour.] He would feel himself disgraced if he gave way.

Mother Earth.] Earth is here pictured as a person. There is a well-known story of a giant who gained fresh power every time his body touched the earth, which was his Mother.

Furies.] These were supposed to be certain demons, who pursued guilty men with loud cries.

the servant was master.] Notice the play of words here. The "servant" and "master" change places.

critical juncture.] At this exact moment when things were so dangerous.

Dada.] The usual Bengal word for "Brother."

no love was lost.] This is a mild way of saying that they disliked one another.

on pins and needles.] Exceedingly restless; like some one standing on sharp points.

in perpetuity.] The phrase is a mock legal one, meaning "for all time."

by no means pleased.] She was very displeased, because she had already children of her own. In English a phrase is often put in a negative way to imply a very strong positive statement. Thus "by no means happy" may mean "very unhappy."

committing such an indiscretion.] Doing such an unwise thing.

indecent haste.] A mock humorous expression, meaning "very quickly."

craves for recognition.] Wishes to be noticed and loved.

physical love.] Just as a young animal clings to its mother for protection.

animal instinct.] The phrase repeats in another form what was said before, in the words "a kind of physical love."

pursed her lips.] Drew her lips tight like the mouth of a purse which is tightened by pulling the string.

as if expecting some one.] He was looking for his mother.

very critical.] Very dangerous. The danger point of the illness might be reached at any moment and death might come.

By the mark.] When a shallow place comes at sea, or on a great river, one of the sailors throws a piece of lead, with a string tied to it, into the water, and then looks at the mark on the string. He calls out that the depth is "three" or "four" fathoms according to the mark.

plumb-line.] The line with a lead weight.

plumbing.] To plumb is to get to the bottom of a piece of water. Here Phatik is pictured as himself going deeper and deeper into the sea of death, which none can fathom.

the holidays.] The Bengali word for "holiday" means also "release." It is as though he were saying, "My release has come." This cannot be represented in the English.

III.—ONCE THERE WAS A KING

In this story Rabindranath Tagore begins with some amusing sentences about the dull, matter of fact character of modern scientific people, who cannot enjoy a fairy story without asking "Is it true?" The Poet implies that there are deeper truths than modern science has yet discovered. The ending of the present story will show this more clearly.

sovereign truth.] There is a play upon the word "sovereign" which can mean "kingly" and also "supreme."

exacting.] There is further play here with the words "exact" and "exacting." "Exact" means precise and "exacting" means making others precise.

legendary haze.] The ancient legends are very obscure, just like an object seen through a mist.

knowledge.] Mere book knowledge,—knowledge of outside things.

truth.] Inner truth such as comes from the heart of man and cannot be reasoned or disputed.

half past seven.] The time when his tutor was due.

no other need.] As if God would continue the rain merely to keep his tutor away!

If not.] Though it might not have been caused by his prayers, still for some reason the rain did continue.

nor did my teacher.] Supply the words "give up."

punishment to fit the crime.] An amusing reference to the doctrine of karma, which states that each deed will have its due reward or punishment.

as me.] Strictly speaking it should be "I" not "me" but he is writing not too strictly.

I hope no child.] The author here amusingly pretends that the child's way of getting out of his lessons was too shocking for young boys in the junior school to read about.

I will marry my daughter to him.] The verb to "marry" in English can be used in two senses:—
(1) To wed some one: to take in marriage.
(2) To get some one wedded: to give in marriage.
The later sense is used here.

in the dawn of some indefinite time.] In some past existence long ago.

If my grandmother were an author.] Here Rabindranath returns to his mocking humour. A modern author, he says, would be obliged to explain all sorts of details in the story.

hue and cry.] This is a phrase used for the noise and bustle that is made when people are searching for a thief.

Her readers.] Referring back to the Grandmother.

in an underhand way.] Under the disguise of a fairy story.

grandmother again.] That is, in the old conditions when people were not too exacting about accuracy.

luckless grandson.] A humorous way of referring to himself. The author had the misfortune to be born in the modern age of science.

Seven wings.] The word "wings" is here used, not for "wings" like those of birds, but for the sides of a large building, projecting out at an angle from the main building.

But what is the use....] The author here breaks off the story, as though it were useless to go on any further in these modern days when every thing has to be scientifically proved.

Some "what then?"] Some future existence about which explanations might be asked.

no grandmother of a grandmother.] No one, however old.

never admits defeat.] Refuses to believe in death.

teacherless evening.] Evening on which the teacher did not come.

chamber of the great end.] Death itself is referred to; it is the end of human life on earth and what is beyond death is shut out from us.

incantation.] Sacred verses or mantras.