Rámdá.
Nagendra Babu was now the wealthiest man in Ratnapur. Puffed up by worldly success, he began to treat his neighbours arrogantly and, with one exception, they did not dare to pay him back in his own coin. Rámdás Ghosal, known far and wide as Rámdá, flattered or feared no one. Having a little rent-free and inherited land, he was quite independent of patronage. Rámdá was “everyone’s grandfather,” a friend of the poor, whose joys and sorrows he shared. He watched by sick-beds, helped to carry dead bodies to the burning-ghát, in short did everything in his power for others, refusing remuneration in any shape. He was consequently loved and respected by all classes. Rámdá was the consistent enemy of hypocrisy and oppression—qualities which became conspicuous in Nagendra Babu’s nature under the deteriorating influence of wealth. He met the great man’s studied insolence with a volley of chaff, which is particularly galling to vain people because they are incapable of understanding it.
Nagendra Babu did not forget the Brahman’s presumption and determined to teach him a lesson. So, one day, he sent him a written notice demanding the immediate payment of arrears of rent due for a few bighas (one-third of an acre) of land which Rámdá held on a heritable lease. As luck would have it the crops had failed miserably, and Rámdá was unable to discharge his debts. On receiving a more peremptory demand seven days later, he called on Nagendra Babu, whom he thus addressed:—
“Why, Nagen, what’s the matter with you? You are plaguing me to death with notices, yet you must be aware that I can’t pay you a pice at present.”
“Thákur,” replied Nagendra Babu in stern accents, “I will listen to none of your excuses. Do you mean to tell me that you decline to discharge your arrears?”
“I never said that,” protested Rámdá; “but you must really wait till the beginning of next year. My cold weather crops are looking well; and—”
“No, that won’t do at all. If you do not pay up in a week, I will certainly have recourse to the civil court.”
“Do so by all means if your sense of religion permits,” rejoined Rámdá, leaving the parlour in smothered wrath.
When the week of grace had expired, Nagendra Babu filed a suit in the local Múnsiffs Court against his defaulter. As soon as the fact was bruited abroad a universal protest was roused against Nagendra Babu’s harshness. Some of the village elders remonstrated with him, but were told to mind their own business; whereon they laid their heads together and subscribed the small sum due from the Brahman. A deputation of five waited on him with entreaties to accept it, but he refused to take the money on any other footing than a loan. So Rámdá paid his arrears and costs into Court, to the plaintiff’s intense annoyance.
Samarendra Babu had left his wife and children in comparatively poor circumstances; for, after discharging his debts, they had barely Rs. 300 a year to live on. The widow declined to seek Nagendra Babu’s help, even if she were reduced to beg in the streets. After her brother’s imprisonment, she had no one to manage her little property which, as a Purdanashin (lit. “one sitting behind the veil”), she was unable to do herself. After mature reflection she sent for Rámdá, who had known her from infancy. He obeyed the summons with alacrity and gave the poor woman sound advice regarding the direction of the Zemindary. By acting on it she was able to increase her income and live in tolerable comfort. Observing that Rámdá was a frequent visitor, Nagendra Babu hinted to his sister-in-law that, if she cared for her reputation, she would not be so thick with him. She flared up instantly. “I will talk to any of my friends I please,” said she, “and you shan’t poke your nose into my affairs!”
“Very well,” replied Nagendra angrily, “but you may rely on my making it hot for that old scoundrel shortly!”
This threat was of course repeated to Rámdá, who merely laughed. As far as he was concerned Nagendra might act as he pleased.
A few days afterwards the bailiff of Nagendra Babu’s estate, known as Lakhimpur, called on Rámdá with a verbal request that he should surrender his ancestral tenure and, meeting with a curt refusal, left the house threatening all sorts of evil consequences. Next day, indeed, Rámdá received a notice from Nagendra Babu, calling on him to show cause against the cancellation of his lease on the ground that, by mismanaging the land, he had rendered it unfit for cultivation. Rámdá called some of his neighbours together, to whom he exhibited the document. They expressed the greatest indignation and assured him that they would spend their last rupee in defending his interests. Rámdá gave them a heartfelt blessing and promised a divine reward for their sympathy.
Calling on Samarendra’s widow the same day, he was distressed to find that she had received a similar notice, which aimed at robbing her of a small estate, on the ground that it had been surrendered by her husband in part payment of his debt to Nagendra Babu. She knew nothing of any such arrangement and assured Rámdá that, if the property was lost, her income would fall to little more than Rs. 100, meaning starvation for herself and little ones. Her trusty counsellor told her not to lose heart, for she might rely on his help.
In due course the suit against Rámdá came on for hearing before the Munsiff. His pleader established by documentary evidence that the tenure was one without any condition whatever; while the neighbours came forward to prove that the land in dispute had been admirably tilled. The plaintiff, therefore, was non-suited, with costs. The very same result attended Nagendra Babu’s action against his sister-in-law, whose case excited universal sympathy. He lost heavily in purse and left the Court with a ruined reputation. It was natural that a man so evil-minded should regard Rámdá as the author of misfortunes due to his own wicked nature. He plotted the poor Brahman’s destruction, but no effectual means of compassing it suggested itself.
As days and weeks wore on, his despondency became deeper and, one evening, while sitting with the Lakhimpur bailiff, he asked whether there was any remedy which would restore his peace of mind. The cunning rascal said nothing at the time; but at a late hour on the morrow he came to Nagendra Babu’s house with a large bottle hidden under his wrapper. It contained some light brown fluid, which the bailiff poured into a tumbler. Then adding a small quantity of water, he invited his master to swallow the mixture. A few minutes after doing so, the patient was delighted to find that gloomy thoughts disappeared as if by magic. An unwonted elation of spirits succeeded; he broke into snatches of song, to the intense surprise of the household! His amateur physician left the bottle, advising him to take a similar dose every night; and Nagendra Babu followed the prescription punctiliously, with the best effect on his views of life. After finishing the bottle he asked for another, which was brought to him secretly. It had a showy label reading, “Exshaw No. 1 Cognac”. Nagendra Babu’s conscience accused him of disobeying the Shástras; but the die was cast. He could no longer exist without a daily dose of the subtle poison; and gradually increased it to a tumblerful, forgetting to add water.
His faithful wife did her best to wean him from the fatal habit. She even ventured to abstract his brandy bottle and dilute its contents. On being detected, she underwent a personal correction which was not soon forgotten. The poor creature, indeed, underwent every sort of humiliation from her worthless husband, which she bore in silence, hoping that time would bring him to his senses.
Drunken men are proverbially cunning. After brooding long over his supposed grievances Nagendra matured a scheme of revenge. He intercepted Rámdá, one afternoon, on his way to visit Samarendra’s widow, and, affecting sincere penitence for the injury he had endeavoured to work, he invited the unsuspecting Brahman into his sitting-room. Once inside, he suddenly thrust a brass vessel into his visitor’s hand and dragged him into the yard, shouting “Thief! thief!” The Lakhimpur bailiff, who was sitting on the verandah, also laid hands on Rámdá and, with the aid of two up-country servants, he was dragged to the police station, too bewildered to resist. On their way thither they met one of Nagendra’s neighbours named Harish Chandra Pál, who stopped them and asked what was the matter. On learning particulars of the charge, he saw how the land lay, and resolved to defeat an infamous plot. So waiting till the little crowd was out of sight, he ran back to Nagendra’s house and whispered to him that the bailiff had sent for more property, in order that the case against Rámdá might look blacker. Nagendra handed him a fine muslin shawl and loin-cloth, and a set of gold buttons, adding that he would follow in half an hour in order to depose against the thief. On reaching the police station, Harish found the Sub-Inspector recording the statements of the witnesses. He looked on in silence until Nagendra arrived. Then he asked the Sub-Inspector: “Do these people mean to say that the brass vessel belongs to Nagendra Babu?”
“Certainly,” was the reply. “Here are three witnesses who have identified it.”
“Well, that’s strange,” said Harish; then producing the shawl and loin-cloth he said: “These are mine, but if you ask Nagen Babu he will tell you a different story”.
“But they are mine!” roared Nagendra, “and part of the stolen property.”
“Dear me,” said Harish, “perhaps you will say that these buttons are yours too?”
“Of course they are,” was the rejoinder.
“Now, Sub-Inspector Babu,” said Harish, “you must see that Nagendra Babu is subject to strange hallucinations since he has taken to drink. He fancies that he is the god of wealth personified, and that everything belongs to him. I am quite certain that Rámdá has been falsely charged with stealing a brass vessel which is his own property.”
The Sub-Inspector evidently thought so too. He called the prosecutor into an inner room. What passed between them there was never known; but presently the Sub-Inspector returned to the office and ordered the prisoner to be at once released. Rámdá was truly grateful to Harish Pál for having so cleverly saved him from ruin, and the whole story soon became common property. Nagendra overheard his neighbours whispering and pointing to him significantly, and village boys called him ill-natured nicknames in the street. His irritation was increased by recourse to the brandy bottle, and he vented it on his luckless wife. She suffered so terribly that, one morning, Nagendra found her hanging from a rafter in his cowshed. This suicide was the last straw. Nagendra saved himself from prosecution for murder by a heavy bribe, and got leave from the police to burn his wife’s body. But so universally was he execrated that not a man in the village would help him to take her body to the burning-ghát. In dire despair he humbled himself so far as to implore Rámdá’s assistance. The magnanimous Brahman forgot his wrongs and cheerfully consented to bear a hand. Others followed his example, and thus Nagendra was able to fulfil the rites prescribed by religion. The lesson was not altogether lost on him. The scales fell from his eyes; he dismissed the rascally servant, who had led him from the path of duty, and foreswore his brandy bottle.
A Rift in the Lute.
Nalini Chandra Basu worked hard for the B.L. degree, not to fill his pockets by juggling with other people’s interests, but in order to help the poor, who are so often victims of moneyed oppression. After securing the coveted distinction, he was enrolled as a pleader of the Calcutta High Court and began to practise there, making it a rule to accept no fees from an impoverished client. But two years of constant attendance at Court convinced Nalini that Calcutta had far too many lawyers already. He therefore removed to Ghoria, knowing that he would find plenty of wrongs to redress there. About a month after his arrival, a Zemindar of Kadampur, named Debendra Chandra Mitra, sued one of his ryots for ejectment in the local Múnsiff’s Court. Nalini espoused the defendant’s cause and showed so stout a fight that the case was dismissed with costs. Debendra Babu was deeply offended with the young pleader, and determined to do him a bad turn if possible.
About a week later Nalini got a telegram from Benares announcing his mother’s death. He promptly donned the customary Kácha (mourning-cloth) and hurried home, only to find his brother, Jadunáth Babu, already in possession of the sad news; and they went to Benares to comfort their stricken father.
After the customary month of mourning Jadu Babu made preparations for celebrating the srádh on a grand scale, by giving presents to distinguished Brahmans, feasting his relatives, and distributing alms to the poor. No money was spared in order to keep his mother’s memory green. The family’s position would have been most enviable, but for a slight unpleasantness which was created by some of the villagers. Debendra Babu, who had been waiting for an opportunity of revenge, went from house to house urging his neighbours not to participate in the srádh, on the score that Nalini had married into a strange clan and was ipso facto an outcast. Jadu Babu was stung to the quick on learning these machinations. He consulted Nalini as to the best method of parrying them, and was consoled by his brother’s assurance that it would be quite easy to win over his opponents except, perhaps, Debendra Babu himself.
When the time for distributing Samájik (gifts) came round, Jadu Babu sent one to every caste-fellow in the village, but all returned them without a word of explanation. Nalini was not so much distressed as he by the rebuff. He advised an attempt to pacify Debendra Babu; which failing, he would put his scheme into execution. The two brothers, therefore, called on their enemy, and falling at his feet, implored him to say how they had offended him.
“You are much better off than I am,” replied Debendra Babu sarcastically; “it would be presumptuous for me to consort with such people. You remember the old fable of the earthen pot and brass vessel?”
“Mahásay,” pleaded Jadu Babu, “we are young enough to be your sons. If we have unwittingly caused you offence, we beg to be forgiven.”
“You have learnt how to talk sweetly enough,” rejoined Debendra Babu. “Nalini fancies himself a Lát (lord) or bádsháh at the very least. What times we live in! The young have no respect whatever for their seniors!”
“Nalini is hardly more than a boy,” said Jadu Babu with folded hands. “I am sure he had not the slightest intention of hurting your feelings.”
“What’s the use of talking nonsense?” growled Debendra Babu. “Go away!” and he pointed to the door.
The brothers did not stir; but Jadu Babu asked, “So you won’t overlook our faults, or even tell us what they are?”
“Well, if you will have it,” replied Debendra Babu in measured accents, “Nalini is an outcast; and no respectable Kayastha can take part in your mother’s srádh.”
Jadu Babu fairly lost his temper. He exclaimed: “If there is a flaw in my sister-in-law’s pedigree, what is to be said of people who visit women of alien religions, take food from their hands, and tipple strong liquor with them?”
This was a home thrust. Debendra Babu was well-known to be carrying on an intrigue with a Mohammadan woman, named Seráji, but as he was well-to-do, no one had dared to propose his excommunication. He started from his feet in an outburst of fury.
“What! you have the audacity to lecture me—a wretched brat like you? Leave my house at once.” So saying he flounced into his inner apartments; while the brothers went away rather crestfallen.
After returning home Nalini disclosed his famous scheme for circumventing the boycott, which Jadu Babu heartily approved. To every Samájik they added an envelope containing a new ten-rupee note and sent them round to their caste-fellows. The sight of money banished prejudices; one and all received the gifts, and some were so shameless as to hint that similar largesse would be acceptable to their uncles or cousins.
Debendra Babu was deeply annoyed by the success of the strategy. He swore a mighty oath not to rest until he had destroyed the Basu family root and branch. After a good deal of thought he matured a plan which was to be executed through a notorious widow belonging to the village. This creature, Hiramani by name, had passed middle life and lived on a little money left by her husband, in a hut close to Debendra’s residence. People used to say that God had created her a female by oversight, for she had every bad quality which a man could possess. She was noted for the fact that misfortune invariably fell on a house which she honoured with her intimacy. People were very shy indeed of inviting her.
One bright afternoon Hiramani called at the Basus and started a conversation with the wives of Jadu and Nalini by inquiring about their household affairs, and offering advice which is generally acceptable if seldom acted on. While they sat talking Jadu Babu’s eldest boy came to his mother, whimpering:—
“Chota Káká (my young uncle) has whipped me because an inkpot of his slipped from my hand, while I was playing with it, and got broken!”
“He served you rightly, naughty boy!” observed his mother administering a sharp slap which sent the child off bellowing loudly.
Hiramani remarked, “You ought not to beat him for so trivial a fault”.
“That’s a terrible boy,” explained the mother. “He is up to all manner of tricks, and if he is not checked, he will grow up a regular Badmásh.”
“God forbid!” remarked Hiramani; “but has he not been too cruelly used by his uncle? You must have noticed the welts on his naked back. I counted five as broad as my forefinger. How could a grown-up man torture a child like that?”—and she looked meaningly at her hostess.
The mother was evidently impressed by these words. She undertook to speak to Nalini about his treatment of her son. Hiramani was delighted to see that the poison was beginning to work. She went straight from the Basus’ house to Debendra Babu and reported her success. He praised her warmly, presented her with a rupee, and offered further instructions.
Hiramani soon became a regular visitor of the Basu ladies. She lost no opportunity of poisoning the mind of Jadu Babu’s wife, by retailing Nalini’s iniquities. At the outset her insinuations were disregarded; but in time the elder wife fell so completely under Hiramani’s influence as to accept her stories as gospel truth. One day, indeed, she ventured to ask her husband to separate from his brother and, on meeting with a peremptory refusal, declared that she would take no food while Nalini remained in the house. Ending that she really meant to carry out this awful threat, Jadu Babu apparently yielded, promising to eject his brother. When the villagers saw Hiramani so thick with the Basu ladies, they prophesied ill-luck for the family, and on learning Jadu Babu’s resolve they remarked that the old woman had not belied her reputation. As for Nalini, he knew that something was in the wind, but carefully avoided broaching the subject to his brother, lest he should widen the breach. Like a sacrificial goat, he waited for the stroke to fall on his devoted head. Shortly afterwards, Jadu Babu told his wife to make arrangements for setting up a separate establishment. Her heart leapt for joy. She cooked twice the number of dishes usually prepared for her husband’s midday meal, and anxiously waited for him in her kitchen.
Jadu Babu went about his duties as usual, never mentioning the coming separation to Nalini. After bathing at 11 A.M. he took Nalini into the latter’s kitchen, and asked his sister-in-law to give them something to eat. The pair sat down to a hastily-prepared repast, Jadu Babu chatting and joking with his brother according to his wont. After dinner he took his betel box and adjourned to the parlour for rumination and a siesta. Nalini and his wife were surprised by Jadu Babu’s behaviour. They dared not ask him why he had invited himself to eat with them, but waited anxiously for further developments.
Meanwhile the elder wife was eating her heart with vexation and forming resolutions to give her husband a curtain lecture. But he slept that night in the parlour and on the morrow took both meals with Nalini. When a woman fails to gain her object she is apt to take refuge in tears, which are generally enough to force a mere man to bend to her wishes. Jadu’s wife watched for an opportunity of having it out with her husband. On finding him alone, she burst into lamentations, beating her heart and praying that God would put an end to her wretched life. He calmly asked what was the matter and, on receiving no reply, went to bed. Presently she asked, “What has induced you to put me to shame?” Jadu Babu pretended ignorance, and thus made her only the more angry.
“Oh, you Neka” (buffoon), she groaned, “didn’t you swear to separate from Nalini, and have you not taken all your meals with him ever since? Is that the action of a truthful man?”
“Well, I should like to know how Nalini has injured me?”
“I say that he is your enemy!”
“Tut, tut, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Where could I find a brother so faithful and obedient as he? You wish to live apart from him? Very well; I have made separate arrangements for you.” Then in dispassionate tones Jadu Babu pointed out the treachery of Debendra and his parasite. The woman’s eyes were opened. She fell at her husband’s feet and implored his pardon. Then she suddenly rose, went across the courtyard to Nalini’s room, and knocked at his door. He came out and, seeing his sister-in-law there at an unusual hour, asked anxiously whether Jadu was ill. She reassured him and took him by the hand to his brother, in whose presence she asked him to forgive and forget the offence. Nalini was nothing loth; and harmony was soon restored in the family.
Meanwhile old Hiramani had not failed to report progress to her patron daily. He was delighted to think that the rift in the Basu lute was widening, and promised her a handsome reward when the estrangement should take place.
On learning the failure of the plot, he paid Hiramani a surprise visit, abused her roundly, and, when she retorted in the like strain, he administered a wholesome correction with his shoe. On his departure she ran to Jadu Babu’s house intending to have it out with his wife for her breach of faith. The doorkeeper, however, roughly denied her entrance; and when she threatened to report him to his mistress, he ran her out by the neck. Hiramani went home in a state of impatient anger and despair, and for several days she dared not show her face in the village. The spell cast by her malice was broken.
Debendra Babu in Trouble.
One chilly morning in February a Mohammadan neighbour of Nalini’s named Sadhu Sheikh burst into his parlour crying, “Chota Babu, Chota Babu (lit. ‘little babu,’ used for younger brother, to distinguish him from the elder, styled ‘bara babu’), Siráji is dying!”
“Who is she?” asked Nalini looking up from a law book which he was studying.
“Surely you know my sister, Chota Babu?”
“Yes, of course, what’s the matter with her?”
“She has been ill for three days, with excruciating internal pains; what am I to do, Bábuji?”
“Who is treating her?” asked Nalini.
“Abdullah has been giving her the usual remedies.”
“Why, he is a peasant and knows nothing of medicine. You should not have called him in.”
“Sir, we are poor folk. Abdullah is very clever and his fee is a mere trifle.”
“What drugs has he been administering?”
“Homopotik (homoeopathic), they are called.”
“Now you had better return home at once to find out how she is progressing. Let me know if she grows worse and I will send Hriday Doctor. Don’t trouble about his fees; I will pay them myself. Why did you not come to me earlier?”
Sadhu muttered some words, which Nalini could not distinguish, and left the room hurriedly. After waiting for an hour for news, Nalini threw a wrapper over his shoulders and went to Siráji’s cottage. On nearing it he learnt from Sadhu’s loud lamentations that she was beyond the reach of medicine; so, after a few words of sympathy, he went home.
Presently Sadhu sallied forth to ask the neighbours’ help in carrying the dead body to burial. One and all refused to lay a hand on it because, they said, she had lived with an unbeliever. In dire distress Sadhu again appealed to Nalini, who summoned the chief inhabitants of the Musalmánpára (Mohammadan quarter) to his house and ordered them to take Siraji’s body to the burial ground. They reluctantly agreed to do so, and assembled at Sadhu’s cottage; but at the last moment all of them refused to touch the corpse. Nalini was puzzled by their behaviour. He asked for an explanation, whereon the Mohammadans whispered together and nudged a grey-beard, who became their spokesman.
“Mahásay,” he said, “the fact is Siráji lived with Debendra Babu and was actually made enceinte by him. In order to save himself from exposure and shame, Debendra Babu got Abdullah to administer powerful drugs to the woman. After taking these she was attacked by violent pains in the abdomen and vomiting, which ended in her death. The Chaukidar (village watchman) knows all the facts, and he is sure to give information to the police. You know, sir, that no one would dare to touch a corpse without their permission, if there is any suspicion of foul play.”
Nalini was greatly surprised; he asked Sádhu whether the old man’s words were true and, getting no reply except a significant silence, said: “You may now go about your business, but mind I shall expect you all to assemble here and carry Siráji to the burial ground as soon as the police give you leave to do so”.
There was a chorus of assent, and the crowd dispersed. Nalini was about to return home too, when the Chaukidar came in and told him that he had reported Siráji’s death to the Sub-Inspector of police, who had ordered him not to permit the corpse to be touched by any one until his arrival.
About three o’clock on the same day Nalini heard that the police had come to investigate the cause of Siráji’s death. He went at once to Sádhu’s house, where the Sub-Inspector was recording the statements of eye-witnesses. When Abdullah’s turn came, the police officer surveyed him from head to foot, saying:—
“I have heard of you before; what is your occupation?”
“Sir, I am a Hakim (doctor).”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, sir, I have a little cultivation and sometimes lend money.”
“Did you attend the deceased woman?”
“Yes, I was called in by Sádhu a week ago, and treated her for fever.”
“A nice mess you have made of the case too! Swear on the Quran that you gave her no poison or drug!”
“Sir, I am ready to declare in the name of God and His Prophet that I gave her nothing but homopotik, only nuxo bomicka (nux vomica) in doses which would not have harmed a baby.”
“Now, remember you are on your oath. Did you administer anything else?”
Abdullah’s shaking limbs proved that he was terribly apprehensive of evil consequences to himself. He muttered, “I gave her a little patal-juice too.”
“So I thought,” said the Sub-Inspector. “Now all present will follow me.” With the assistance of his constable and chaukidars, he led them to Debendra Babu’s house. The latter received them in his parlour. He affected to be surprised and shocked by the news of Siráji’s death.
“That is strange,” retorted the Sub-Inspector. “Abdullah here has sworn that he poisoned her at your request.”
Debendra Babu became ashen pale, but he soon regained self-possession. Turning on Abdullah he shouted:—“How dare you say that I gave you any such orders?”
“Babu,” whined Abdullah, “I never said so. The Darogaji is mistaken.”
The Sub-Inspector perceived that, all the witnesses being tenants of Debendra Babu, there was no hope of getting them to stick to any statement inculpating him. He sulkily told the Mohammadans present that they might bury Siráji’s corpse, and accompanied Debendra Babu to his house, where he was royally entertained till next morning. However, on taking leave, he hinted that enough evidence had been secured to warrant his reporting the case as one of causing abortion by means of drugs, and that the Pulis Saheb (District Superintendent) would probably order further investigation. Debendra Babu was seriously alarmed by the implied threat. Visions of jail—perchance transportation across the dark ocean—floated in his sensorium. He resolved to submit the case to an astrologer.
Gobardhan Chakravarti was an old Brahman neighbour who lived by casting nativities, giving weather and crop forecasts, and prophesying good or evil things in proportion to the fee he received. Debendra Babu paid him a visit next morning and was received with the servile courtesy due to a wealthy client. After beating about the bush for a while he said: “My fate just now seems very unpropitious; when may I expect better times?”
Gobardhan covered a slate with mysterious calculations and, after poring over them for ten or fifteen minutes, he looked up with the remark:—“Your luck is really atrocious and has been so for more than three months.”
“Quite true, but what I want to know is—how long is this going to last?”
“I am afraid that you may expect one misfortune after another; I can’t quite see the end of your evil destiny.”
“Goodness gracious! what shall I do? Are there no means of conjuring it away?”
“Certainly, the Shástras prescribe certain Grahasanti (propitiation of planets) processes, which will enable you to counteract the influence of malign stars.”
The cunning bait was swallowed by Debendra Babu, who asked: “How much would these ceremonies cost?”
After thinking out the maximum amount he could decently demand, the astrologer said: “About one hundred rupees.”
“Oh, that’s far too much,” was the reply. “Do you want to ruin me? Can’t you do it for less?”
“Not a pice less. I could perform a jog (sacrifice) for as little as ten rupees; but such maimed rites are quite contrary to the Shástras.”
“Will you guarantee definite results for Rs. 100?” asked Debendra Babu anxiously.
“I promise nothing; if you have faith in my ceremonies, you must pay me my own price; if not—I leave you to Fate.”
“I have implicit faith in you,” groaned Debendra Babu, who was now terribly alarmed, “and will pay you Rs. 100 to-morrow, but please don’t delay; the matter is very pressing.”
Gobardhan agreed to the proposal; but seeing that his client was loth to go and evidently had something on his mind, he remarked:—
“When a wise man consults a physician, he always discloses his symptoms. You must be quite frank and tell me how your affairs have been progressing lately, in order that I may address my incantations to the proper quarter. Be sure that I will divulge nothing.”
Thus encouraged Debendra Babu revealed his relations with Siráji, confessed that he had bribed Abdullah to administer a powerful drug to her, and expatiated on the very awkward predicament in which her sudden death had placed him.
Gobardhan listened with breathless attention and then remarked: “You have acted rightly in telling me the whole truth. I will perform a homa (burnt sacrifice) and verily believe that it will have the desired effect. Let me have Rs. 200 and I will set about it at once.”
Debendra Babu groaned inwardly at the thought of so heavy an expenditure; but after all, the prospect of escaping deadly peril was well worth Rs. 200. So he returned home and thence despatched the amount in currency notes to Gobardhan.
The astrologer spent about Rs. 5 on ghi (clarified butter), rice, and plantains for his homa sacrifice, and completed it in three days. Then he called on the police Sub-Inspector, who received him cordially. After the usual compliments had been, exchanged, Grobardhan asked how his host was faring.
“Things are not going well with me,” was the reply. “Most of the people in those parts are miserably poor; and what I can extract from the well-to-do hardly suffices for my horse-keep. Thákurji (a term used in addressing Brahmans), I want you to examine my palm and say when good times are coming for me.”
After poring over the proffered hand for fully a minute, muttering and shaking his head the while, Gobardhan said: “I am delighted to tell you that your good star is in the ascendant. Very soon you will make something handsome.”
“I wish I could think so!” observed the policeman, “but it is impossible. I have only one likely case on my file, and prospects are not brilliant even in that quarter.”
Then, in answer to leading questions from Gobardhan, he told the story of Siráji’s death—adding that he had decided to send Debendra Babu and Abdullah up for trial, but doubted whether he could adduce sufficient evidence to convict them of murder or anything like it.
Gobardhan asked: “Now, why should you lose such a splendid opportunity of making money?” and seeing the policeman’s eyes twinkle, he went on, “Oh, you need not appear in this transaction yourself. I will do the needful. Tell me frankly—how much money would satisfy you?”
“I could not run the risk of reporting the case as false for less than Rs. 100.”
“That is too much,” was the wily astrologer’s reply. “Mention a reasonable sum, and I will see what can be done.”
“Well, I will take Rs. 75, and not a pice less; and understand, if the money is not paid before this evening, I will send Debendra Babu up for trial.”
“Very good; I will call on him at once and frighten him into paying up; but I must have something for myself.”
“Certainly, if you can get Rs. 75 from the defendant you may keep Rs. 15 as commission.”
Gobardhan returned home, took the required amount from the Rs. 200 paid him by Debendra Babu, and handed it privately to the Sub-Inspector, who swore by all the gods that he would take no further steps against the inculpated men.
Knowing well that the policeman would keep faith with a Brahman, Gobardhan went straight to Debendra Babu with the glad news that the homa sacrifice had been completely successful, and not a hair of his head would be injured. Debendra felt as though a mountain was lifted from his heart; he stooped to wipe the dust from Gobardhan’s feet.
On learning a few days later that the case had been reported to headquarters as false, he was firmly convinced that Gobardhan’s magical rites had saved him from ruin, and presented him with a bonus of Rs. 50. Nalini Babu was not long in ascertaining how the land lay. He was exasperated by the sordid wrong-doing which reached his ears and resolved to report it to the District Magistrate. But in the end he kept silent, because Sadhu came to him with tearful eyes, saying that he had already suffered deep humiliation; and if old scandals were raked up, the community would certainly excommunicate him.
True to His Salt.
Hiramani did not forget the thrashing given her by Debendra Babu for failing to cause a rupture between the Basu brothers. She took a vow of vengeance and laid in wait for an opportunity of fulfilling it. Meeting him one day in the village street, she asked with an air of mystery:—
“Have you heard the news?”
“What’s that?” replied Debendra Babu carelessly.
“It concerns the woman Siráji,” she whispered.
All Debendra Babu’s fears revived; he exclaimed: “Speak plainly, what is the matter?”
“The matter stands thus. You know that her case was hushed up by the police? Well, I hear on good authority that the District Magistrate has received an anonymous letter relating the real cause of her death and has ordered a fresh investigation. So I am afraid you will soon be in hot water again. As I am your well-wisher in spite of the cruel treatment I have received, I think it my duty to warn you of this new danger.”
Hiramani spoke in faltering accents and wiped away an imaginary tear with the corner of her cloth.
“How did yon learn all this?” asked Debendra Babu in deep anxiety.
“I got the news only last night from the wife of the new Sub-Inspector who has come here on transfer. On paying my respects to her, I was told in confidence that her husband had orders to make a searching inquiry into the cause of Siráji’s death.”
Debendra Babu saw that his secret was at the woman’s discretion. He answered in an apologetic tone: “It was certainly foolish of me to lose my temper with you, but I had some provocation. Forgive me, and let bye-gones be bye-gones. Whom do you suspect of sending the anonymous letter?”
Hiramani bit her lips; she knew the author, who was none other than herself, and replied: “It might have been written by Jadu Babu; but I suspect his brother Nalini, who is as venomous as a snake and hates you mortally”.
Debendra Babu stamped his foot in annoyance and, after musing awhile, asked, “What would you advise me to do?”
Hiramani wagged her head sententiously. “Babuji, I am afraid you are in a serious scrape. The matter has gone too far to be hushed up a second time. You cannot do anything directly without increasing the suspicion which attaches to you; but I will watch events and keep you informed of all that happens at the police station. You know I have friends there.”
Debendra Babu was profuse in his thanks. He pressed a couple of rupees into the old woman’s willing palm, saying: “Hiramani, I see that you are really my well-wisher. Come to my house as often as you like; and if you have anything particular to say to me, I shall always be glad to hear it—and grateful too.”
Then the pair separated, and Hiramani took advantage of the Babu’s invitation by visiting his daughter Kamini that very evening.
She was made welcome in the inner apartment and sat down for a long chat, in the course of which she asked after Kamini’s husband.
“He has gone out for a stroll,” her hostess replied, “but I expect him back every minute.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth ere a young man came in hurriedly and, not noticing Hiramani who sat in the shade, asked for a drink of water. Hiramani doubted not that he was Debendra Babu’s son-in-law, Pulin by name, who had lately come to live with his wife’s family. She introduced herself as a friend of his father-in-law’s and, being very witty when she chose to exert herself, soon managed to make a favourable impression on the young man, He asked her to come again whenever she pleased, adding that he was generally at home after sunset.
Hiramani had prepared the ground for a further attack. She left the house with a certainty that she had made a good impression.
Thenceforward hardly a day passed without at least one visit to Debendra Babu’s. Hiramani wormed all Kamini’s little harmless secrets out of her and obtained enough knowledge of the girl’s tastes and habits to serve her own designs.
One day, finding herself alone with Pulin, she threw out dark hints against his wife’s character. The young man’s suspicion was excited. He pressed for more explicit information, but Hiramani shook her head mysteriously without replying. Pulin insisted on being told the truth, whereon Hiramani poured out a whispered story of Kamini’s intrigues, mentioning names of male relatives who were known to frequent the house. Pulin was stung to the quick. Regardless of a stranger’s presence, he called Kamini into the room, abused her roundly, and declared that he would never live with her again. Then gathering up a few belongings in a bundle, he quitted the house, leaving his wife in a flood of tears. Hiramani was overjoyed by the results of her machinations. She affected sympathy with the deserted wife, who was too young and innocent to suspect her of having caused the quarrel.
Debendra Babu had a servant, Rám Harak by name, who had been in the family for nearly forty years and was treated as one of them. He had watched the growing intimacy between Hiramani and the young couple and, knowing the old woman’s character well, endeavoured to counteract her evil influence. Finding this impossible he sought Debendra Babu in the parlour, salámed profoundly, and stood erect, without uttering a word. His master asked, with some surprise, what he wanted.
“Mahásay,” replied Rám Harak, “have I not served you for two-score years with obedience and fidelity? Have you ever found me untrue to my salt?”
“Certainly not; I know you are a good and faithful servant.”
“Then, Mahásay, you ought to protect me against enemies of your house. That odious hag, Hiramani, has abused me foully.”
“Now, Rám Harak, it is you who are abusive. What have you done to offend her?”
“You are my father and mother,” replied Rám Harak with his eyes full of tears. “Let me explain fully. I have long since suspected Hiramani of making mischief in this house, and have kept a close watch on her movements. The very day of Pulin Babu’s departure I overheard her whispering all manner of false insinuations against my young mistress. Then came the quarrel between husband and wife, which ended in Pulin Babu’s leaving your house. After he had gone I ventured to remonstrate with Hiramani for poisoning jamai (son-in-law) Babu’s mind against his wife; whereon she overwhelmed me with abuse and actually threatened to get me dismissed! I want to know whether this woman is mistress of the family? Am I to have no redress?”
“Leave all this to me, Rám Harak, and go to your work. I’ll speak to Hiramani myself.”
“Babuji, you are treading the matter far too lightly. I would never have complained on my own account, but I cannot bear to see her plotting against your daughter’s happiness, which she has, perhaps, destroyed for ever!”
Debendra Babu went into his inner apartments and, seeing Hiramani engaged in close conversation with his daughter, he asked her why she had used bad language to Rám Harak. The old woman beckoned him to come outside; and after making sure that no one was listening, she poured into his ears a long tale of Rám Harak’s misdoings. He was robbing his master, she declared, taking dasturi (commission on purchases) at twice the customary rates. What was far worse, the “faithful servant” had spoken freely of Debendra Babu’s relations with Siráji in the village, and it was he who instigated the anonymous letter which was about to bring the police down on his master. Though all this was the purest fiction, Debendra Babu swallowed it greedily. He shouted for Rám Harak and, on the man’s appearance, charged him with fraud and unfaithfulness to his salt. Rám Harak stood silent with folded hands, not deigning to exculpate himself, which so enraged Debendra Babu that he gave the poor old man a sharp blow on the head with his shoe, bidding him begone and never to cross his threshold again. Rám Harak went to his hut, collected his possessions in a bundle, and left the house where forty years of his life had been spent. Hiramani’s plans of vengeance were prospering.
Soon after these unpleasant events the new Sub-Inspector of police arrived at Debendra Babu’s house with a warrant for his arrest, and took him to the station despite loud protests of innocence. There he applied for bail, which was of course refused, and he spent the night in the lock-up. Knowing well that he had a very bad case, he humbled himself so far as to send for Nalini, whom he implored with folded hands to save him from destruction. Nalini was deeply moved by his appeal. He heartily despised the fellow’s unutterable baseness, but reflected that he had been an old friend of his father’s. He undertook the prisoner’s defence.
In due course Debendra Babu, with Abdullah, was brought before the Deputy Magistrate of Ghoria on various grave charges. The evidence established a strong prima facie case against both, and Nalini Babu reserved his defence. They were committed for trial. When the case came before the Sessions Judge the Government Pleader (public prosecutor) adduced many witnesses proving the prisoner’s guilt, the last of whom was Hiramani, who admitted on cross-examination that she had caused the anonymous letter to be sent to headquarters, which led to the charge being reopened. She protested that she had done so from a feeling that so great a crime should not be hushed up. Nalini Babu, in his turn, put forward some witnesses for the defence; but their statements were not of material advantage to the prisoner. It was, in fact, a losing game, but he played it manfully. After all evidence had been recorded, the Government Pleader was about to sum up for the prosecution, when the Court rose suddenly, as it was past five o’clock.
Nalini was going homewards in the dusk, when he felt a hand laid timidly on his shoulder. Turning sharply round, he saw an old man standing by his side. On being asked his name and business, the newcomer whispered some information which must have interested Nalini greatly for he rubbed his hands, smiled, and nodded several times. After a few minutes’ talk the pair went together to a spot where a palanquin with bearers was waiting. Into it got Nalini and was carried off at a smart trot, while his companion hobbled behind.
When the Court assembled next day Nalini thus addressed the judge: “May it please your honour, I have, by the greatest good luck, obtained certain evidence which will, I think, place this case in a new light”. On getting leave to adduce an additional witness, he beckoned to an old man, standing at the back of the Court, who entered the witness-box and declared that his name was Rám Harak and that he was a dismissed servant of the prisoner. This was a curious opening for a witness for the defence, and dead silence fell on the Court while Rám Harak proceeded to swear that it was he, and not Debendra Babu, who had been intimate with the deceased, and that she had poisoned herself to avoid excommunication.
“Did she tell you so herself?” asked the judge sharply.
“No, your highness; I learnt this only yesterday from Maina Bibi, Karim’s own sister; Piyari Bibi, Sádhu’s daughter; and Nasiban Bibi, his sister-in-law, who all lived with the deceased.”
The Government Pleader at once objected to this statement being recorded, as it was hearsay. Nalini, however, assured the judge that the eye-witnesses were in attendance, and called them, one by one, to give evidence. Passing strange was their story. On the evening of Siráji’s death they found her writhing in agony on the floor and, on being questioned, she gasped out that she could bear her kinsfolks’ tyranny no longer. They had just told her that she was to be excommunicated for intriguing with an infidel. So she had got some yellow arsenic from the domes (low-caste leather-dressers) and swallowed several tolas weight of the poison in milk. The other women were thunderstruck. They sat down beside her and mingled their lamentations until Siráji’s sufferings ended for ever. They afterwards agreed to say nothing about the cause of her death for fear of the police. But Rám Harak had come to them privately and frightened them into promising to tell the whole truth, by pointing out the awful consequences of an innocent man’s conviction. Their evidence was not shaken by the Government Pleader’s cross-examination, and it was corroborated by a dome, who swore that Siráji had got some arsenic from him a few days before her death, on the pretext that it was wanted in order to poison some troublesome village dogs. After consulting with the jury for a few minutes, the judge informed Nalini that his client was acquitted, and Debendra Babu left the Court, as the newspapers say, “without a stain on his character”. Seeing Rám Harak standing near the door with folded hands, he clasped the good old man to his bosom, with many protestations of gratitude, and begged him to forgive the injustice with which he had been treated.
When Rám Harak found himself alone with his master at the close of this exciting day, he repeated the vile insinuations which Hiramani had made regarding the daughter’s character. Debendra Babu was highly indignant and vowed that the scandal-monger should never cross his threshold again. He then implored Rám Harak to trace his son-in-law, authorising him to offer any reparation he might ask. The old man smiled, and left the house, but returned a quarter of an hour later with a Sanyási (religious mendicant) who revealed himself as the missing Pulin. Debendra Babu received him with warm embraces and many entreaties for pardon; while Pulin said modestly that he alone was to blame, for he ought not to have believed the aspersions cast on his wife by Hiramani, which led him to quit the house in disgust. He added that Rám Harak had found him telling his beads near a temple, and persuaded him to wait close at hand until he had opened Debendra Babu’s eyes.
Meanwhile the whole house echoed with songs and laughter. Debendra Babu rewarded Rám Harak’s fidelity with a grant of rent-free land, and publicly placed a magnificent turban on his head. He resolved to celebrate his own escape from jail by feasting the neighbours. The entire arrangements were left in the hands of the two Basus, who managed matters so admirably that every one was more than satisfied and Debendra Babu’s fame was spread far and wide. When things resumed their normal aspect, he held a confab with the brothers as to the punishment which should be meted out to Hiramani, and it was unanimously resolved to send her to Coventry. They, therefore, forbade the villagers to admit her into their houses, and the shopkeepers to supply her wants. Hiramani soon found Kadampur too hot to hold her and took her departure for ever, to every one’s intense relief.