Becharam.— Ah, how it charms one to hear of a man like that! But now, as it is getting very late, and I have to cross the river, I will, with your permission, return home. Let me see you for a moment at the police court to-morrow.
VERY strange is this world’s course, and past man’s comprehension. How hard it is to determine the causes of things! When we remember for instance the account of the origin of Calcutta, it will appear almost miraculous; for even in a dream none could have imagined that Calcutta as it was could ever have become Calcutta as it is. The East India Company first had a factory at Hooghly, their factor being Mr. Job Charnock. On one occasion he quarrelled with the leading police official of the place; and as the East India Company did not in those days possess the power and dignity which they afterwards acquired, their agent was maltreated and forced to have recourse to flight. Job Charnock had a house and a bazaar of his own at Barrackpur, which in consequence has been known as Chanak, even down to the present time. He had married a woman whom he had rescued from the funeral pile just as she was about to become a suttee; but whether the marriage contributed to the mutual happiness of each, there is no evidence to show. Job Charnock was constantly journeying to and fro between Barrackpur and Uluberia, where he was building a new factory: it was the wish of his heart to have a factory there, but how many undertakings fall just short of completion[14]! As he journeyed to and fro, he used often to pass by Boitakhana, and would halt for a rest and a smoke under a large tree there. This tree was the favourite resort of many men of business, and Job Charnock was so enamoured of the shade of it that he decided upon building his factory there. The three villages of Sutanati, Govindpur and Calcutta, which he had purchased, soon filled up, and it was not long before people of all classes took up their abode there for trade, and so Calcutta soon became a city, and populous. The first beginnings of Calcutta as a city date from the year 1689 of the Christian era. Job Charnock died some three years after that. In those days the great plain where the Fort and Chowringhee now are was all jungle. The Fort itself formerly stood where the Custom House now stands, and Clive Street was the chief business quarter of the city. So fatal to health was Calcutta at one time considered, that the English gentlemen who had escaped with their lives during the year, would annually meet together on the 15th of November and offer their congratulations to each other. One prominent characteristic of Englishmen is to have everything about them scrupulously clean, and disease gradually diminished as sanitary precautions came more and more into vogue. But the people of Bengal do not take this lesson to heart: to the present day there are tanks near the houses of our wealthiest citizens, which smell so bad that one can hardly approach them.
In former days the duties connected with the Revenue and Criminal Courts and the Police Administration of Calcutta devolved upon a single Englishman: he had a Bengali official as his subordinate, and he himself was called the jemadar. Later on, there came to be other Courts; and with the view of checking the high-handedness of the English in the country, the Supreme Court was established. The administration of the Police was made an independent charge, and was very ably conducted. In the year 1798 of the Christian era, Sir John Richardson and others were employed as Justices of the Peace; and afterwards, in the year 1800, Mr. Blaquiere and others were appointed to hold this office. The jurisdiction of the Justices extended to every part of the country. When it became necessary for the jurisdiction of those who were simply Magistrates to extend beyond their head districts, the assistance of the Judge’s Court of the particular district had to be sought, and consequently many Magistrates in the Mofussil have now been made Justices of the Peace. Mr. Blaquiere has been dead some four years; it was currently reported that his father was an Englishman and his mother a Brahman woman, and that he had received his earliest education in India, but had afterwards gone to England and been well educated there. During his tenure of office as head of the Police Department, Calcutta trembled at his stern severity, and all were afraid of him. After some time he gave up the detective part of his work and the apprehension of criminals, to confine his attention to the trial of prisoners brought before him. He made an excellent judge, being well versed in the language of the country, its customs, manners, and all the inner details of the life of the people. He had the Criminal Law too at his fingers’ ends; and having for some time acted as interpreter to the Supreme Court, was thoroughly well acquainted with the proper method of conducting trials.
Time and water run apace. Monday came. Ten o’clock had just struck by the church clock: the police court was crowded with police officers, sergeants, constables, darogahs, naibs, sub-inspectors, chowkidars, and with all sorts and conditions of people. Some of these were keepers of low lodging-houses and women of loose character, who sat about the Court chewing betel and pán: some, as their bloodstained clothes sufficiently showed were victims of assaults: some were thieves, who sat apart dejected and sad: some, conspicuous by their turbans, were engaged in writing out petitions in English. Some were complainants in the different cases, who tramped noisily about the court; others, who were to be witnesses, were busily whispering to each other: the men who make it their business to provide bail were sitting about as thick as crows at a ghât. Here were pleaders’ touts, using all their arts to get clients for theirmasters: there were pleaders engaged in coaching their witnesses: and here the amlahs were writing out cases that had been sent up by the Police. The sergeants of police looked very important as they marched up and down with proud and pompous port. The chief clerks were discussing different English magistrates: this one was declared to be a great fool, that one a very cunning man, a third too mild and easily imposed upon, a fourth too harsh and rough; they pronounced also an unfavourable criticism on the orders passed the previous day in a particular case. The police court was so crowded, indeed, that it seemed the very Hall of Yama, and all looked forward with fear and trembling to their fate.
Baburam Babu came bustling up to the court, accompanied by his pleader, his counsellor Thakchacha, and some of his relatives. Thakchacha was wearing a conical cap, fine muslin clothes, and the peculiar turned-up shoes of his class. His crystal beads in hand, he was invoking the names of his special guardian genius and his Prophet, and muttering his prayers with repeated shakings of the head; but this was all mere ostentation. A man so full of tricks as Thakchacha is not met with every day. At the police court he spun about hither and thither, for all the world like a peg-top. At one moment he was coaching his witnesses in a whisper; the next, walking about hand in hand with Baburam Babu; the next, consulting with Mr. Butler: in this way he attracted everybody’s attention. Now it is a failing with many people to imagine their fathers and grandfathers (who may have been great rogues in reality) to have been celebrated people, well known to all; and the consequence is that when they have to introduce themselves to others they will do so, saying: “I am the son of so-and-so, and the grandson of so-and-so.” To anybody who came up to converse with Thakchacha, he would introduce himself as the son of Abdul Rahman Gul, and the grandson of Ampak Ghulam Hosain. A sircar in the court, who was fond of his joke, remarked to him: “Come, tell me what is your special business? A few low-class Mahomedans in your own neighbourhood may perhaps know the names of your father and grandfather, but who is likely to know them in this city of Calcutta? perhaps however they carried on the profession of syces.” Thakchacha, his eyes inflamed with passion, replied: “I can say nothing here, as this is the police court: in any other place, I would fall upon you and tear you to pieces.” As he said this, he grasped Baburam Babu’s hand in his, to make the sircar imagine him a man of much importance, held in high honour.
Meanwhile there was a stir near the steps of the police court: a carriage had just driven up: the door was opened, and a withered old gentleman alighted from it. The sergeants of police raised their hats in salute, and called out, “Mr. Blaquiere has arrived.” The magistrate, having taken his seat on the bench, disposed first of some cases of assault. Matilall’s case was then called: The complainants, Kale Khan and Phate Khan, took up their position on one side, while on the other side stood Baburam Babu of Vaidyabati, Beni Babu of Bally, Bakreswar Babu of Batalata, Becharam Babu of Bow Bazar, and Mr. Butler of Boitakhana. Baburam Babu was wearing a fine shawl, and had a gorgeous turban on his head: his sacred caste mark, with the sign of the Hom offering over it, was conspicuous on his forehead. With tears in his eyes, and his hands folded humbly in supplication, he gazed at the magistrate, who, he fondly imagined, would be sure to commiserate him if he saw his tears. Matilall, Haladhar, Gadadhar, and the other accused, were brought before the magistrate: Matilall stood there, with his head bowed low in shame. When Baburam Babu saw the boy’s face pinched from want of food, his heart was pierced. The complainants charged the accused with gambling in a place of ill-fame, and with having effected their escape when arrested by grievously assaulting them; and they stripped and showed the marks of the assault upon their persons. Mr. Butler cross-examined the complainants and their witness at some length, and conclusively showed that there was no case made out against Matilall. This was not at all surprising, considering that for one thing he had all a pleader’s art exercised in his favour, and for another that there was collusion between the complainants and the counsel of the accused. What will not money do? An old proverb[15] runs:—
Mr. Butler afterwards produced his witnesses, who all declared that on the day the assault was said to have been committed, Matilall was at home at Vaidyabati; but on cross-examination by Mr. Blaquiere, they were not so clear. Thakchacha saw that things were not going well: a slight slip might ruin everything. Most people, reduced to the necessity of having recourse to law, give up all ideas of right and wrong: they sever themselves from all connection with truth, once they have to enter the Law Courts: their sole idea must be to win their case somehow or other. Thakchacha then went forward himself, and gave evidence that on the day and at the time mentioned by the prosecution he was engaged teaching Matilall Persian at his home in Vaidyabati. Though the magistrate subjected him to severe cross-examination, Thakchacha was not a man to be easily confused: he was well up in law-suits, and his original evidence was not shaken in any way. Then Mr. Butler addressed the Court, and after some deliberation the magistrate passed orders that Matilall should be released, but that the other accused should be imprisoned for one calendar month, and pay a fine of thirty rupees each.
Loud were the cries of Hori Bol on the passing of this order, and Baburam Babu shouted: “Oh Incarnation of Justice, most acute is your judgment! soon may you be made Governor of the land!”
When they were all in the courtyard of the police court, Haladhar and Gadadhar caught sight of Premnaryan Mozoomdar, and at once commenced singing in his ear with the intention of annoying him;—
Premnarayan only replied: “What wicked boys you are! Here you are going to jail, but you cannot cease your tricks.” While he was still speaking, they were led away to jail. When Beni Babu, who was a very worthy god-fearing man, saw virtue thus defeated and vice triumphant, he was perfectly astounded. Thakchacha, shaking his head and smiling sardonically, said to him: “How now, sir, what does the man of books say now? Why, if we had acted in accordance with your suggestions, it would have been all up with us.” At this moment Bancharam Babu came running up in haste, gesticulating and saying: “Ha! ha! see what comes of trusting me! I told you I was no fool.” Bakreswar too had his say. “Ah, he is no ordinary boy is Matilall! he is a very model of what a boy should be.” “Ugh!” exclaimed Becharam Babu: “It was not I that wished this wrong done: I didn’t want to see this case won, far from it.” Saying this, he took Beni Babu’s hand and went off with him. Baburam Babu having made his offerings at Kali’s shrine at Kalighat, embarked on a boat to return home.
Though the Bengalees have always great pride of caste, it may sometimes fall out that even a Mahomedan may be regarded as worthy of equal honour with the ancestral deity, and Baburam Babu began now to regard Thakchacha as a veritable Bhishma Deva: he put his arms round his neck and forgot everything else in the joy of victory: food and devotions were alike neglected. Again and again they repeated that Mr. Butler had no equal, that there was no one like Bancharam Babu that Becharam Babu and Beni Babu were utter idiots. Matilall gazed all about him, at one moment standing on the edge of the boat, at another pulling an oar, at another sitting on the roof of the cabin or hard at work with the rudder. “What are you doing, boy?” said Baburam to him, “Do sit quiet for a moment, if you can.” One of Baburam Babu’s gardeners, Shankur Mali, of Kashijora, prepared the Babu’s tobacco for him: his heart expanded with joy, when he saw his master looking so happy, and he asked him: “Will you have many nautches at the Durga Pujah this year, sir? Isn’t that a cotton factory over there? How many cotton factories have these unbelievers set up?”
Change is the order of things in this world. Anger cannot long remain latent in the mind, but must reveal itself sooner or later; and so with a storm in nature, when there is great heat, and a calm atmosphere, a squall[16] may suddenly rise. The sun was just setting, the evening coming on, when suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, a small black cloud rose in the west: in a few minutes deep darkness had overspread the sky, and then with a rushing roar of wind the storm was on them. No one could see his neighbour: the boatmen shouted to each other to look out: the lightning flashed, and all were terrified at the loud and repeated thunder claps: down came the rain like a waterspout, and they were driven to take shelter in the cabin. The waters rose and dashed against the boats, several of which were swamped. Seeing this, the men in the remaining boats struggled hard to get to shore, but the violence of the wind drove them in the opposite direction. Thakchacha’s chattering ceased: frightened out of his senses, and clasping his bead chaplet in his hands, he gabbled aloud his prayers, calling on his Prophet and Patron,— Saint Mahomed Ali, and Satya Pir.
Baburam Babu too was in great anxiety. It seemed to be the beginning of the punishment of his misdeeds: who can remain calm in mind when he is conscious of wrong? Cunning and craft may suffice to conceal a crime from the eye of the world, but nothing can escape the conscience. The sinner is ever at the mercy of its sting: he is always in a state of alarm and dread, never at ease: he may occasionally indulge in laughter, but it is unnatural and forced. Baburam Babu wept from sheer fright, and said to Thakchacha: “Oh, Thakchacha, what is going to happen? I seem to see an untimely death before me! surely this is Nemesis. Alas, alas! to have just effected the release of my son, and yet to be unable to get him safe home and deliver him to his mother: my wife will die of grief if I perish. Ah, now I call to mind the words of my friend Beni Babu: all would have been well had I not turned aside out of the path of rectitude.” Thakchacha too was in a high state of alarm, but the old sinner was a great boaster, and so he answered: “Why be so alarmed, Babu? Even if the boat is swamped, I will take you to shore on my shoulders: it is misfortune that shows what a brave man really is.” The storm increased in violence, and the boat was soon in a sinking condition: all were in an extremity of terror, shouting for help, and Thakchacha’s only thought was his own safety.
MR. Butler had just arrived at his office and was overhauling his books to see what business was doing during the current month: his dog was asleep near him. Every now and again the Saheb would whistle, and take a pinch of snuff; then he would examine his account hook or stand up and stretch his legs. He thought anxiously of the large sums he would have to pay as fees in the different offices of the Court[17]: though by no means possessed of large resources, he knew very well that business would be at a standstill if he did not pay his money down before Term opened. He was thus engaged when the sircar of Mr. Howard, another attorney, entered his office, and put two papers into his hand. The Saheb’s face beamed with delight, and he called out to Bancharam to come to him at once. Bancharam, throwing his shawl over a chair and sticking his pen behind his ear, attended at once to the summons. “Ha, Bancharam!” said Mr. Butler, “I am in luck indeed: there are two cases against Baburam Babu— an action in ejectment for non-payment of revenue, and a suit in equity. Mr. Howard has served me with a notice, and a subpœna to attend.” On hearing this news Bancharam clapped his elbows against his sides with delight and said: “Aha, Saheb, see what a fine headman I am! all sorts of good things will come to us by my introduction of Baburam. Give me the two papers quick and let me go in person to Vaidyabati. These are not matters to be entrusted to another: I shall have to employ a good deal of coaxing and wheedling, and all my arts of persuasion will have to be called into requisition. If I can only once climb to the top of the Tree of Fortune, I will simply shower rupees down: just now we are very short of cash, and we cannot afford that in a business like ours; by a sudden dash like this we may safely reckon on getting something.”
Meanwhile in the Vaidyabati house, propitiatory sacrifices were being offered: musical instruments of all kinds were braying and jangling. The crash of drums, the blare of brass trumpets, the clashing of cymbals, astonished the dawn. In the great hall of worship offerings for Matilall’s welfare were in progress. The Brahmans were variously occupied in reciting the hymn to Durga, working up Ganges clay into representations of Siva, or offering leaves of the sacred basil to the holy shalgram in the centre of the hall. Others, deep in thought, their heads resting on their hands, were saying to each other: “How about our divine Brahmanhood now? so far from having saved Matilall, our master too must now have perished with him. If he was aboard yesterday, the boat must have been lost in the storm last night: there can be no doubt about that. Anyhow the family are ruined: the young Babu will now be proclaimed master, and what kind of man he is likely to turn out no one can say: our prospects of gain appear now to be very remote.” One of the Brahmans present said very quietly: “Why are you so anxious? nobody is depriving us of our gains. Apply to our own case the simile of the saw cutting the shell. The saw will cut chips off the shell whether it moves forward or whether it moves backwards: even if the master be no more, there will have to be a gorgeous shraddha. The master is not a young man, and if the old lady objects to spending much on his shraddha, everybody will abuse her.” Another remarked: “Ah, my friend, that may be all very true, but in case of his death our gains will become very precarious: I prefer the supply to be as constant as the Vasudhara[18]: let us be ever getting, ever eating, say I: one shower will not suffice a long-continued thirst.”
Baburam Babu’s wife was a most devoted partner: ever since her lord’s departure she had been very restless and had neglected her daily food. She had been sitting all night at one of the windows of the house from which the Ganges was visible. As the wind blew in strong gusts every now and again, she shuddered with fright: she kept gazing out into the storm, but her heart trembled as she looked: the continual rumbling of the thunder made her anxious, and she called upon the Almighty in her distress. Time went by: hardly a boat passed up or down the Ganges: whenever she heard a sound she would get up and look: occasionally she saw a light glimmering faintly in the distance and at once concluded it came from some vessel. At last a boat did come in sight, and she waited for it to come and tie up at the ghât; but when it passed on, only skirting the shore without coming to land, the agony of despair pierced her heart like a dart.
The night had almost come to an end and the storm had gradually lulled. How beautiful is the calm of creation that succeeds tumult and confusion! The stars again shone in the sky: the moon’s light seemed to dance sportively on the waters of the river: so still had the earth become that even the rustle of the leaves could be heard.
Baburam Babu’s wife, as she anxiously gazed about her, exclaimed in her impatience: “Oh Lord of Creation! to my knowledge I have done no wrong to any one: I have committed no sin that I am aware of. Must I now after so long a time endure all the pangs of widowhood? Wealth I care nothing for: ornaments I have no use for: to be poor would be no hardship to me, I should not grieve: but this one boon I pray for, that I may be able to look upon the faces of my husband and my son when I die.” Indeed her mental anguish was extreme, but being a cautious woman, as well as naturally reserved, she restrained herself lest her tears should distress her daughters. So the night passed away, and music in the house ushered in the dawn. The sound of melody, ordinarily so attractive, in the case of one afflicted in mind only serves to open the floodgates of grief; and the sorrow of the mistress of the house was but intensified by the sweet sounds.
Just then a fisherman came to the Vaidyabati house to sell fish: in answer to their enquiries, he said: “During the storm there was a boat in a more or less sinking condition on the sandbank known as the Bansberia Chur: I rather think it must have been swamped: there was a stout gentleman in it, a Mahomedan, a young gentleman, and others.” This news was as if a thunderbolt had fallen amongst them: the music at once ceased, and all the members of the household lifted up their voices and wept.
Later in the day, towards evening, Bancharam Babu arrived with his usual bustle at the reception-room of the Vaidyabati house, and enquired for the master: on hearing the news from one of the servants, he fell into deep thought, resting his head on his hand, and then exclaimed: “Alas, alas, a great man has departed!” Having given way for some time to loud lamentation, he finally called for a pipe of tobacco, and thus reflected, as he puffed away:— “Ah! Baburam Babu is now dead, would that I also were so! Where now are all those hopes with which I came? They have vanished, and here am I with the great Durga Festival coming off at home, the image not yet decorated, or even coloured, and without the wherewithal to pay for it: I am quite at a loss to know what to do. A few rupees just now would have been exceedingly serviceable, no matter how they might have been got. I could have given some to my master, some I would have kept for myself: it would have been a very simple thing to cook the accounts by making a false entry or two. Who could have anticipated that the heavens would have burst asunder and fallen upon my head like this?” Then, just for the look of the thing, he shed a few tears before the servants, weeping really for the loss of his dear rupees. The officiating Brahmans, seeing him there, came and sat down by him. The wearers of the sacred thread are, as a rule, a very astute sort of people: it is hard to get at their thoughts. Some began to recount the good qualities of Baburam Babu: others complained that they were now orphans, bereft of their father: others, unable to restrain their greed of gain, remarked: “There is no time now for mourning: we must bestir ourselves to ensure Baburam Babu’s happiness in the next world: he was a man of no ordinary importance.” Without paying much attention to what they were saying, Bancharam Babu smoked away, and nodded his head: he knew the old proverb: “What advantage does the crow get, even if the bael is ripe?” It seemed as if he had got to the end of all things, so thoroughly broken-hearted was he: he could only sigh as he listened to what was being said: he had no plans, nor, alas, could he think of anybody to fleece! The idea once occurred to him that he might make something by informing the family that some fine portions of their property might be lost to them unless they held a very careful enquiry, but then he considered that his words would be only wasted if he spoke when their grief was so fresh. While he was thus musing, a sudden stir arose at the door, where a messenger had just arrived with a letter: the address was in the handwriting of Baburam Babu, but the messenger could give no particulars. The mistress of the house snatched at the letter, carried it into the house, opened it hurriedly, and devoured its contents. The letter was as follows:—
“Last night I was in terrible danger: the boat I was in was carried away in the darkness, at the mercy of the storm, and the boatmen lost all control over it: finally, it capsized with the violence of the waves. I was in extreme terror as it was sinking, but at the next moment I remembered you: I imagined you standing near me and saying: ‘Be not afraid in the time of adversity: call on the Almighty with body, mind, and soul: He is merciful, and will rescue you out of your danger.’ I acted accordingly, and when I fell into the water I found myself upon a sandbank, where the water was only knee deep. The boat was soon dashed to pieces by the violence of the storm. I remained on the sandbank the entire night and reached Bansberia next morning. Matilall fell ill from exposure, but he has been under medical treatment and is now again convalescent. I expect to reach home by nightfall.”
The moment that she had read the letter, the heat of her grief was extinguished: she pondered long, and then exclaimed: “Can such a joyful destiny indeed befall so sorrowful a wretch as myself?” Even while she spoke, Baburam Babu arrived with his son and Thakchacha. Everywhere there was a great stir. The minds of all the members of the household had been shrouded in a mist of grief, and now the sun of joy had risen. As she gazed upon her husband and her son, holding her two daughters by the hand, the mistress of the house wept tears of joy. She had been intending to upbraid Matilall for his conduct, but now all was forgotten: the two girls, holding their brother’s hands, fell at their father’s feet and wept. Then the infant boy saw his father, it was as though he had found a treasure: he kept his arms tight round his neck, and for long refused to slacken his embrace: the women of the household too offered loud prayers for the welfare of their master, as though with pán and betel in hand, they were praying for the welfare of a bridegroom. Baburam Babu was for some time like a man in a trance, unable to utter a word. Matilall reflected to himself: “The sinking of the boat has been a piece of good luck for me: it has saved me from a good scolding from my mother.” As soon as the Brahmans in the outer apartments of the house saw Baburam Babu, they greeted him with vociferous blessings, saying in the Sanskrit tongue:— “Supreme over all is the might of the gods,” and adding: “How could any calamity befall you, sir, with your own merits on the one hand, and on the other the divine rites that have been performed on your behalf? If such can befall, then are we no Brahmans.”
Thakchacha rose up in great wrath when he heard this language, and said: “Sir, if it is by the influence of these men that calamity has been averted from you, is all my trouble on your behalf to go for nothing? do my prayers count for nothing?” The Brahmans at once humbly acquiesced saying: “Ah sir, just as the divine Krishna was once Arjuna’s charioteer, so you have been the master’s! all has happened by the might of your intelligence: you are a special incarnation: calamity flies far away from anyplace where you are, as from any place where we are.”
Bancharam Babu had been all this time like a serpent with its crest-jewel lost, depressed and sad. He shed a few sham tears, to show off before Baburam Baba (his eyes were always rather watery), and his breast heaved with emotion. Fish would fall to his bait, he was firmly persuaded, if now he only threw in sufficient. When he heard the Brahmans’ talk, he came up to them and with his favourite gesture, said: “I am no fool I can tell you: calamity could not possibly befall the master with me. Am I merely a Calcutta grasscutter that I could not have helped him?”
WHEN a child is once corrupted, it is hard to effect any improvement. Every means should be tried to instil good principles into the mind from childhood: the character may then ripen for good and the mind become more strongly bent towards the right than towards evil; but if a boy gets hold of bad companions or receives ill advice in his early boyhood, then, such is the unsteadiness natural to his age, all will probably go wrong with him thereafter. So long then as he remains still a boy, with the mind of a boy, he must be assiduously employed in a variety of good pursuits. If boys were to receive an education like this up to the age of twenty-five, there would be no probability of their following evil courses: their minds would by that time have become so elevated that the mere mention of evil would excite anger and loathing. But it is very difficult for children in this country to receive such a training, owing, in the first place, to the lack of good teachers, and in the second to the lack of good books. There is urgent need of works that will promote the growth of high principles and of sound judgment, but ordinary people are persuaded that a solid education consists in teaching the meaning of a number of sounds: then again, very few people seem to have any idea of the methods whereby good principles are implanted in the mind; and finally the nature of the home surroundings of children in this country is strongly against the implanting of such principles. One boy may have a drunkard or a gambler as his father, another may have as his uncles men of immoral life; the mother herself too, being unable to read or write, may not exert herself for her children’s education. A great deal of evil moreover is learnt from association with the different members of the household, the men and women servants; it may be also that from consorting with all kinds of boys in the village or at the village-school, children get to learn their evil ways and vicious habits, and so are ruined for life. Even where but one of the causes mentioned exists, the obstacle in the way of good education is grievous enough, but where they all exist in combination, there the drawbacks are simply terrible. It is like setting fire to straw: let a man only pour ghee where the fire is beginning to blaze, and within a very short space the flame is everywhere, and reduces to ashes whatever it finds in its way.
Many people thought that Matilall would have reformed after the affair of the police court; but the boy who is devoid of good qualities and high principles, and without any regard for honour or dishonour, has no particular feeling of abhorrence for punishments. Evil thoughts and good thoughts alike have their origin in the mind, and are therefore intimately bound up with the character: a mere physical affliction or trouble then cannot be expected to change the wind’s direction. Doubtless, when the sergeant of police was dragging Matilall along through the streets, he may have thought it at the actual time a trouble and a disgrace, but the feeling was only momentary: once in the guard-room, he seemed to have lost ail anxiety or fear or sense of dishonour and he was such a nuisance all that night and the whole of the next day to his neighbours, as he sang and imitated the cries of dogs and jackals, that they put their hands to their ears, and exclaiming “Ram, Ram!” said to each other: “Why, we are far worse off with this boy in our neighbourhood than if he were in prison.” When he stood before the magistrate next day, he kept his head bent down like Shishu Pal, of Mahabharata renown, but it was done to deceive his father. In reality he recked little whether he went to jail and was put in fetters, or what happened to him.
Boys absolutely devoid of respect, of fear, and of shame, and addicted to purely evil courses, are afflicted with no ordinary disease: their complaint is really mental, and if only the proper remedies are applied, a cure may in process of time be effected. But Baburam Babu had no ideas on the subject at all: he was firmly convinced that Matilall was a very good boy, and used at first to wax very wrath if he heard him abused. Though all sorts of people were continually telling him about his son, he was as one who heard not; and if afterwards from his own observations a doubt did arise in his mind, he kept his misgivings to himself, and for fear of being mortified before others, refrained from expressing them, but simply gave secret orders to the door-keeper not to let Matilall leave the house. This was no remedy: the disease had obtained too strong a hold upon the boy, and no possible good could result from simply keeping him a prisoner and constantly in his sight. You may put a bar of iron on a mind once corrupted, without making any impression: on the contrary, mere repression may only have the effect of intensifying the evil in the mind. At first Matilall used to get out of the house by jumping over the walk. On the release of his old companions of Bow Bazar from jail, they came to live at Vaidyabati, and some of the boys of the place having joined them, they formed themselves into a band. Matilall’s sense of respect and fear was soon destroyed altogether by his association with these young scamps, and he ended by paying no attention at all to his father.
Boys who have not been accustomed from their childhood to innocent and harmless amusements, are apt to take to diversions of a low kind. The children of Englishmen are instructed by their parents in a variety of innocent pastimes, in order that they may have sound minds and sound bodies: some draw and paint: some cultivate a taste for botany: some learn music: some devote themselves to sport and gymnastics: each takes up the form of harmless enjoyment most congenial to him. Boys in this country follow the example that is set them: their one wish is to be dressed in gorgeous attire, with a profusion of gold embroidery and jewels: to make up picnic parties of their chums and gay companions, and to live luxuriously in all a Babu’s style. Fondness for display and extravagance naturally characterizes the season of youth: if care is not very early exercised in this matter, the desire grows in intensity, and a variety of evils result, by which eventually body and mind alike may be irretrievably ruined.
Matilall gradually threw off all restraint: he became so depraved that continuing to throw dust in his father’s eyes, he now openly spoke of him in the most unfilial and atrocious manner. The constant burden of his talks with his companions was: “Ah, if my old father would but die, I could then enjoy myself to my heart’s content!” Any money he demanded from his parents they gave him: if there was any hesitation on their part, he would at once say: “Very well, then, I will go hang myself, or else take poison.” His parents in their alarm thought: “Ah, what must be, must! Our life is bound up with the boy’s life, he is our Shivratri[19] lamp: let him live and we shall have our libations when we are gone[20].”
Matilall spent his whole time in riotous living: he hardly spent a minute of his day at home: at one time he would be engaged at a picnic, taking part in a theatrical entertainment, or making one of a party of amateur musicians: at another, he would be running about getting up a procession in honour of some local deity, or else absorbed in contemplating a nautch: or again, he would be creating a disturbance, and making unprovoked assaults upon other people. His appetite for stimulants, whether it were ganja, opium or even wine, never failed him, and tobacco of course was in constant demand.
They carried foppery to an extreme, these young Babus, wearing their hair in curls and using powder for their teeth. Their dress was of fine Dacca muslin embroidered with gold lace: on their heads they wore embroidered caps; carried in their hands silk handkerchiefs perfumed with attar of roses, and light canes; and smart English dress shoes with silver buckles adorned their feet. As, moreover, they had no spare time for their regular meals, they carried about with them all sorts of dainty sweetmeats.
Unless an evil disposition is checked at the very outset, it grows worse every day, and in time becomes quite brute-like in its nature: just as when a man has once become enslaved to opium, the quantity he takes tends constantly to increase, so when a man has become addicted to evil habits, the craving for still more grievous courses comes naturally of itself. Matilall and his companions soon began to think the amusements they had hitherto been indulging in too tame: they no longer gave them any special pleasure; so they set to work to devise means for more solid pleasures. They now started sallying forth in a band late in the evenings, setting fire to and plundering houses, setting the thatch of poor people’s huts alight, visiting the houses of loose women and creating a disturbance, pulling their hair about, burning their mosquito curtains, and plundering their dresses and ornaments. Sometimes, they would even insult a respectable girl. The people of the place were terribly annoyed at all this, but the young men only snapped their fingers at them in derision, and consigned them all to perdition.
Baburam Babu had been for some time in Calcutta on business. One day towards evening, a zenana palki was passing the Vaidyabati house. As soon as the young scoundrels saw it, they at once ran out, surrounded it, and commenced beating the palki-bearers, who thereupon set the palki down and ran for their lives. Opening the palki, they saw a beautiful young girl inside. Matilall ran forward, seized the girl’s hand, and dragged her out of the palki trembling all over with confusion and fear. In vain she looked around her for help: she saw only pitiless dark space. Then weeping bitterly she called on the Almighty: “Oh Lord, protect the helpless young orphan! I am content to die, only grant that I may not lose my honour.” As the young Babus were all struggling together to get possession of her, she fell to the ground; they then tried to drag her by main force into the house. Matilall’s mother hastened outside in some trepidation when she heard the sound of the girl’s weeping, and the miscreants thereupon took to their heels. Seeing the mistress of the house, the young girl fell at her feet and said in her distress: “Oh dear lady, protect my honour! You must be a devoted wife yourself.” None but a faithful and virtuous wife can understand the danger of a virtuous woman. Baburam Babu’s wife at once lifted the girl off the ground and wiped away her tears with the border of her sari, saying as she did so: “My dear child, do not weep, you have no further cause for fear; I will cherish you as my own dear child: the Lord Almighty always protects the honour of the woman who is faithful to her vows.” With these words she dispelled the girl’s fears, and when she had soothed and consoled her, accompanied her to her home, and left her there.
THE waving of lamps and the loud clanging of bells showed the worship of the goddess Nistarini[21] to be in full swing in Sheoraphuli. Becharam Babu looked into the shrine of the goddess as he went by on foot: lining both sides of the road were shops: in some of them heaps of potatoes, grown at Bandipore and Gopalpore, were exposed for sale: in others, the shopkeepers were hard at work selling parched rice and sweetmeats, grain and dál. Here in one part were oil-merchants sitting near their mills, (which were simply the hollowed out trunks of trees,) and reading the Ramayana in the vulgar tongue: now and then they would urge on their cattle, as they went circling round, with a click of the tongue, and when the circle was completed, would shriek out the passage: “Oh Ram! we are monkeys, Ram, we are monkeys!” Women were busily engaged in cutting up fish for sale by the light of their lamps, and calling out: “Buy our fish, buy our fish!” while cloth merchants, reciting some passage from the Mahabharata were murdering its unhappy author[22]. All this, as he passed through the Bazaar,Becharam Babu was closely observing. When a man is taking a solitary walk, anything that has recently occupied his attention keeps recurring to his mind. Now, Becharam Babu was very fond in those days of processional singing; and as he went along an unfrequented path, after leaving his dwelling, one of his favourite songs came into his mind. The night was dark and there was hardly a soul about: only a few bullock-carts, their wheels creaking as they lumbered along, were on their way home: dogs were barking here and there. So Becharam Babu began to put all his lung-power into the song he was chanting in the monotone peculiar to processional music. The village women hearing his nasal twang, screamed aloud in their terror, for it is the rooted conviction of the country folk that only ghosts adopt this peculiar vocal style. Hearing the commotion Becharam was somewhat disconcerted, so he took to his heels and soon reached the Vaidyabati house.
Baburam Babu had a big gathering. Beni Babu of Bally, Bakreswar Babu of Batalata, Bancharam Babu of Outer Simla and many others were present. Thakchacha sat on a chair near the master. Several pandits were there discussing the Shástras; some had taken up passages of the treatises concerning logic and metaphysics for discussion: others were hotly discussing the dates that would be auspicious or otherwise for the annual festivals: others were giving their interpretation of the slokas out of a particular portion of the Bhagavad Gita: others were holding a great argument on grammatical niceties. One of the pandits, a man with an Assamese designation and a resident of Kamikhya, who was sitting near the master, said to him as he pulled away at his pipe: “You are a very fortunate man, sir, to possess two sons and two daughters. This year is a somewhat unpropitious one, but if you offer up a sacrifice, the stars may all be favourable again, and you can use their influence on your behalf.” In the midst of the discussion Becharam Babu arrived, and the whole company rose to their feet as he entered, and welcomed him most cordially. The visitor had been more or less in a bad temper since the affair of the police court, but a courteous and kind address has a great effect in turning a man’s wrath away; and Becharam Babu, mollified by the courteous welcome so unanimously accorded him, sat down with a smile close to Beni Babu. Baburam Babu thereupon said to him: “Sir, the seat you have taken is not a good one: come and sit with me on my couch.” Men after each other’s hearts are as inseparable as cranes, and notwithstanding the pressing invitation of Baburam Babu, Becharam Babu would not give up his seat near Beni Babu.
After some time spent in conversation on different topics, Becharam Babu asked: “What about Matilall’s marriage contract? Where has it been arranged?”
Baburam.— A good many proposals for a contract of marriage have come in: Haridas Babu of Guptipara, Shyma Charan Babu of Nakashipur, Ram Hari Babu of Kanchrapara, and many others belonging to different districts have sent in proposals. These have all been passed over, and a marriage has been arranged with the daughter of Madhav Babu of Manirampur. He is a man possessed of considerable property; we shall, moreover, make a good deal out of the connection.
Becharam.— Beni, my friend, what do you think about this? Come, tell me plainly and openly your opinion.
Beni.— Becharam, my dear friend, it is no easy matter to tell you plainly: you know the proverb: “A dumb man makes no enemies.” Besides what is the use of discussing, a thing that has been settled?
Becharam.— Oh, but you must tell me: I like to know the ins and outs of every marriage.
Beni.— Listen then: Madhav Babu of Manirampur is a very quarrelsome sort of person,— has not even the manners of a gentleman. He has a reputation amongst Brahmans for orthodoxy, only gained by making presents to them, but he is an utterly unscrupulous man. True, he may be able to make handsome presents of money and other things on the occasion of his daughter’s marriage; but is money the only thing worth taking into consideration when a marriage is in question? Surely the first requisite is a respectable family, and the next a good girl; and then if there is wealth as well, so much the better, but it does not very much matter. Now Ram Hari Babu of Kanchrapara is a very excellent person: he lives cheerfully and contentedly on the income he derives from his own exertions, and never casts a longing eye on another man’s wealth. He may not be in very good circumstances, I allow, but he has always been very careful to have his children well educated, and the one object of his thoughts has been the happiness and moral well-being of his family. To be connected with such a man as this would be a source of entire happiness.
Becharam.— Baburam Babu, who is the intelligent person who has recommended this match to you? Avarice will be your ruin yet. But what right have I to speak? It is after all our social system that is at fault: whenever the topic of marriage comes to the front, people always say: “How sir! will you give me a pot of silver? will you give me a necklace of pearls?” It is only an idiot who would think of saying; “Look first to see whether your proposed relation be respectable or not: enquire whether the girl be a good girl or otherwise.” This is a mere trifle: if only wealth is to be got, that is everything.
Bancharam.— We want family, we want beauty, and we want wealth as well: how can a family possibly get on if it professes to despise wealth?
Bakreswar.— True enough: we must keep up a proper respect for wealth. What do we get by intercourse with a poor man? Are our stomachs filled by it?
Thakchacha [bending down from his chair].— All this talk is a reflection upon me: it was I that counselled this match. I would have been ashamed to show my face in the world if I had not succeeded in getting a girl of noble parentage. I took immense pains to ascertain that Madhav Babu of Manirampur was a good man. Why, he is a man at whose name the tiger and cow might drink at the same pool together! besides, look at the advantage of being able to get his lathials, whenever we need them in cases of dispute. Then too everybody connected with the Law-Courts is under his thumb: there are a thousand ways in which he can be of assistance to us in any strait. Ram Hari Babu of Kanchrapara on the other hand, is a feeble sort of person: he makes a very precarious living: what would have been the good of an arrangement with him?
Becharam.— A fine counsellor you have got Baburam! If you listen to all such a counsellor has to advise, you are bound to get to heaven, body and all. And what a son, too, you have! And so he is actually about to be married? What do you think about it all, Beni Babu!
Beni.— I think that the man who will first thoroughly educate his son, and who will take special pains that he shall grow up thoroughly moral, will be best able to be of assistance to his son when the time comes that he should marry. Many evils are likely to arise if a boy is married at an unreasonable age.
On hearing all this, Baburam Babu rose in much irritation and hurriedly retreated into the inner apartments of the house, where his wife was engaged in discussing the match with some of the women of the village. Going up to her, he informed her of all that had been said outside, and as he stood there in some perplexity, inquired: “Cannot we put off Matilall’s marriage for a few days?” His wife replied: “What is this that you are saying? Plague take our enemies! By divine favour Matilall is now sixteen: would it look well not to marry him now? If you upset the arrangements now, the proper season for marriage will slip away. You surely do not know what you are doing: is the caste of a good man to be destroyed in this way? Go at once, and take the bridegroom off with you.”
At this advice from his wife, all the master’s indecision disappeared. He at once went outside and gave the order for the lamps to be lit: the musical instruments all struck up at the same time, and the English bands began to play. Baburam lifted the bridegroom into his palanquin, and taking Thakchacha by the hand, walked by the side, with heavy gait, accompanied by his kinsmen and near friends. From the roof of the house the boy’s mother gazed down upon her son’s face, and the women of the household called out, “Ah, mother of Mati! Ah, how beautiful is your child!” The friends of the bridegroom were all with him: they amused themselves by taking torches to the rear of the crowd and setting people alight, and by letting off squibs and fireworks near the houses and in the thick of the crowd. None of the poor people ventured to remonstrate, though they were sadly annoyed.
The bridegroom soon reached Manirampur, and got down from the palanquin. Both sides of the road were crowded with people gazing at the bridegroom. The women chattered away to each other about him. “The boy has a certain amount of beauty,” said one, “but if his nose were a bit straighter, he would look better.” Another remarked, “His complexion, fair as it is, would look better even fairer.”
The marriage was to take place at a late hour, but it had not struck ten when Madhav Babu, taking a durwan with a lantern, came out to meet the bridegroom and his guests. After he had joined the marriage procession in the street, nearly half an hour was wasted in the exchange of compliments, each man wishing to give precedence to the other. While one said: “Pray sir! precede me!” the other politely declined: “Nay sir! do you please go first.” At last, Beni Babu of Bally went forward and said: “Please one of you gentlemen go on ahead. I cannot stand here in the street and catch cold.” An amicable arrangement being at last come to, the whole company arrived at the house of the bride’s father and entered.
The bridegroom took his seat in the assembly. Numbers of roughs were standing about, ripe for mischief. The distribution of money to the village, and other subjects, then came up for discussion. Thakchacha was doing his best, but apparently without avail, to effect some arrangement for his own profit. A rough blustering sort of fellow came up to him and said: “Who is this low Mahomedan? Get out of this! what has a Mahomedan to do with Hindu concerns?” Thakchacha was furious, and shaking his head fiercely, his eyes inflamed with passion, abused the man roundly.
This was the very opportunity Matilall’s young friends, Haladhar, Gadadhar, and the other young Babus, had been longing for. They saw from the clouds that were gathering that a storm was imminent. One set to work to tear the carpet into pieces, another to extinguish the lamps: some set the chandeliers clashing and jingling, while others threw missiles among the assembled company[23]. Some of the people of the bride’s father, seeing the confusion they were creating, began to abuse them and strike them with their fists, and Matilall seeing the quarrel in progress; thought to himself: “I fancy I am not destined to get married. I may have to return home after all, with the thread only on my wrist[24].”
THE pandits of Agarpara were enjoying their usual evening lounge beneath their favourite tree: they were all either taking snuff or smoking, coughing and sneezing, chaffing each other and joking. One of them asked: “How is Vidyaratna? The good Brahman, in his zeal for gain, has lamed himself going to Manirampur in response to an invitation. I was concerned to see him leaping on a stick yesterday as he went to bathe.” Vidyabhushan replied: “Oh! Vidyaratna is all right again: the pain in his foot has been considerably alleviated, what with warm lime and turmeric, and dry fomentations. Come, gentlemen, listen to the poetry which our friend the great poet Kankan[25] has composed with special reference to the Manirampur entertainment.”