THERE had been heavy rain in the night: the roads and ghâts was all muddy and wet: the sky was still overcast, and there were occasional distant rumblings of thunder: frogs croaked everywhere in loud chorus. The shopkeepers in the bazaar had opened out their awnings, and were now engaged in smoking. Owing to the rainy weather very few people were moving about: only a few gariwans passed along the road, singing at the top of their voices, and some coolies bearing loads on their heads, absorbed in their favourite melody, of which the refrain ran:—
A number of barbers lived on the west side of the Vaidyabati Bazar. One of them was sitting in his verandah on account of the rain, and as he sat there, every now and then looking up at the sky or humming softly to himself, his wife brought her infant child to him and said, “I have not yet got through all my house work: just nurse this child for me a bit! the pots and pans have not yet been scoured, and the floor has not been rubbed down with cow-dung; and besides, I have a lot of cooking to do. I am the only woman in the house: how can I possibly do all this myself? — have I four hands or four feet?”
The barber straightway tucked his shaving instruments under his arm and got up to go, saying, “I have no time just now to nurse the child. Baburam Babu is to be married to-morrow: I must be off at once.” His wife started back, saying: “Good heavens! what next? what, that fat unwieldy old man going to marry again! Alas, alas! And such an excellent housewife as he has already, a chaste divinity, as pure as Lakshmi! What, he must go and tie a co-wife to her neck! It is a crying shame! Why, there is a really nothing that men will not do!” The barber was dumbfounded by this eloquent outburst, but taking no notice of what his wife was saying, stuck his hat of plaited leaves on his head and went off.
That day was a very cloudy one, but early next morning the sun shone brightly. The trees and plants seemed all to have received new life, and the joyous sounds of beast and bird, in field and garden, were redoubled. Baburam Babu, Thakchacha, Bakreswar Babu, and Bancharam Babu were just getting into one of the numerous boats at the Vaidyabati Ghât, when suddenly Beni Babu and Becharam Babu appeared. Thakchacha pretended not to see them, and shouted to the boatmen to let the boat loose, while they remonstrated: “But master, the ebb tide is still running! how shall we be able to get along against it even if we punt with poles or haul with ropes?” Baburam Babu received his two friends very courteously, saying: “Your arrival is most opportune: come, let us all be off.” Becharam Babu then remonstrated: “Ah Baburam, who in the world advised you to go and marry at your age?”
Baburam.— Ah Becharam, my dear friend, am I so old as all that? I am a good deal younger than you are: besides, if you say that my hair is quite gray and that I have lost all my teeth, that is the case with a good many others even at an early age: it is not such a very great drawback. I have a good many things to think of; one of my sons has gone to the bad, another has become a lunatic: one of my daughters is no more, another is as good as a widow. If I have children by this marriage, my family will be preserved from extinction: I am, moreover, under an obligation to marry: if I do not do so the girl’s father will lose caste, for they have no other family they can marry her into.
Bakreswar.— That is indeed true: do you suppose that the master has entered upon a matter of this importance without taking everything into consideration? I know no one of a better understanding.
Bancharam.— We are Kulins: we must maintain the traditions of our family at any cost, and where wealth is a recommendation as well, why, there is nothing more to be said!
Becharam.— Confound your family traditions and bad luck to your wealth! Alas, how many persons have combined to overthrow one house! What do you say, friend Beni?
Beni.— What shall I say? our remonstrances are but as idle words, as the tears of one weeping in a wilderness. But really this matter is a cause of great grief to me. To marry again when you already have one wife, is a grievous sin: no man who wished to maintain his virtue could ever do such a thing. There may be a Shástra of an opposite opinion, it is true; but there is never any necessity for following it: that such a Shástra is not a genuine one there can be no reasonable doubt, and should it be taken as a guide in actual practice, the bonds of marriage would thereby become much weakened. The feelings of the wife towards her husband cannot remain as before, and the feelings of the husband towards his wife will also be constantly changing. If such a calamity as this befalls a family, it cannot possibly prosper or be happy. If there is such a rule in the Shástras, that rule should not be regarded as binding. Be that as it may, it is very base of Baburam Baba to marry a second time, considering what a wife he has still living. I know nothing about the details of the matter: it has only just come to my ears.
Thakchacha.— Ah, the man of books picks a hole in everything! he seems to me to have nothing else to do. I am getting an old man now, and my beard is gray. Must I be always arguing with such children? Does the learned Babu know how much wealth this marriage will bring to the family?
Becharam.— Mercenary wretch that you are! do you recognise money only? Have you no regard for anything else? You are a low unprincipled scoundrel, that is all I can say. Ugh! friend Beni, come, let us be off.
Thakchacha.— I will have a talk with you some other day: we cannot waste any more time now. You will have to hurry if you want to reach the house in time.
Thereupon, Becharam caught hold of Beni Babu by the hand and got up, saying: “We will never, as long as we live, go to such a marriage; and if there be such a thing as virtue in the world, may you not return in peace! Only ruin can attend your counsel: you who are now enjoying yourself at Baburam Babu’s expense! I have nothing more to say to you. Ugh!”
THE sun was just setting: gloriously beautiful was the western sky with its many and varied tints. On land and water the sun’s tremulous light seemed gently smiling, while a soft breeze blew: everything was calm and inviting. On such an evening as this, a number of young men were thronging with loud and boisterous shouts down the main street of Vaidyabati. They knocked against the passers-by, smashing the things they were carrying, hustling them, throwing their baskets away and robbing them of their supplies of food. They sang continuously at the top of their voices, imitating the howls of dogs at the same time. On either side of the road people fled, calling for assistance and protection, trembling, and bewildered with fear. Like a storm sweeping down from all four quarters of the compass at once, with the roar of heavy rain, this whirlwind came tearing and raging past. And who are these mighty men? Who indeed but those models of virtue, Matilall and his companions? â King Nala and Yudhishthira over again! They are far too great personages to pay heed to anyone: so full of self-importance and of pride are their heads that they are as unsteady in their gait as men drunk with much wine. They have it all their own way as they come swaggering along.
Just then an old man from the village, one Mozoomdar, his solitary lock waving in the breeze, a stick in one hand and some vegetables in the other, approached them, leaning heavily on his stick. They all surrounded him and began to amuse themselves at his expense. Mozoomdar was a little hard of hearing, and when they said to him: “Come, tell us, how is your wife?” he replied: “I shall have to roast them before I can eat them.” They laughed heartily, and Mozoomdar would have liked to slip away, but there was no escape for him. The young Babus seized him, and making him sit on the bank of the river, gave him a pipe of tobacco, saying to him: ‘Come, Mozoomdar, tell us all about the row at the marriage of the master of Vaidyabati: you are bit of a poet: it is a pleasure to us to listen to you. If you do not tell us, we shall not let you off, and we shall go and tell your wife that you have met with an untimely death.’ Mozoomdar saw that he was in a bad way, and that there was no getting out of it unless he complied; so, making the best of a bad job, he set his stick and vegetables on the ground and commenced his narrative.
“It is a pitiable tale that I have to tell. What an experience has it been to me, accompanying the master! It was close on evening when the boat drew up at the Barnagore Ghât. Some women had come to the riverside to draw water: as soon as they saw the master, they veiled their faces slightly and began to chatter hard to each other, laughing quietly the while. ‘Ha what a lovely bridegroom!’ they cried, ‘what a sweet champac flower for a lucky girl to fondle in her braided hair!’ Said one of them: ‘Old or young, whichever he may be, the girl will have no difficulty in seeing him with her eyes: that of itself is something. May the wretched lot that has befallen me befall no one else: married at the age of six, I have never even set eyes on my husband. I have heard that he has married some fifty wives, and is over eighty years of age; and though he is such a wretched tottering old man, he never makes any objection to marry if he is only well paid for it. Sorely some great crimes must have been committed in former births, or else daughters would never be born into a Kulin’s family!’ ‘My dear,’ said another woman to her, ‘you have finished drawing water now: come along, you ought not to gossip like this when you come to the riverside. Why, your husband is alive, whereas the man I was married to was actually dying, with his feet in the Ganges, when the ceremony of marriage was performed! What possible good will it do to discuss the religious duties of Kulin Brahmans? The secrets of the heart are best kept locked up in the breast.’”
“It grieved me to listen to the talk of the women, and the words of Beni Babu, which he spoke at the time of our departure, recurred to my mind. Then on landing at the Barnagore ghât, there was a good deal of trouble in trying to get a palki, but not a single bearer was to be had, and the time for the ceremony was fast slipping away. We had to proceed as best we could. After a good deal of floundering about in the mud, we reached the house of the bride’s father. How can I describe to you the figure that the master presented after he had tumbled down in the road? we had only to put him upon an ox, for him to have appeared a veritable Mahadeva, and we might have presented Thakchacha and Bakreswar as Nandi and Bhringi in attendance upon him. I had heard rumours that there would be a large distribution of presents, but on getting up to the great hall, I saw that there was to be nothing of the sort: it was all a delusion, and another illustration of the old proverb,— ‘Sand has fallen into the goor.’ Thakchacha, seeing his hopes destroyed, was glaring around him everywhere, and strutting insolently about. I could not help smiling to myself, but I thought it would be safer not to express my real sentiments. The bridegroom had meanwhile withdrawn for the ceremonies performed by the women of the family. The women, old and young, all surrounded him, their ornaments jingling as they moved about They were horrified when they saw the bridegroom. During the performance of the ceremony, when bride and bridegroom gaze into each other’s eyes, he was obliged to put his spectacles on: the women all burst out laughing and began to make fun of him. He flew into a passion and called out, ‘Thakchacha! Thakchacha!’ Thakchacha was just on the point of running into the women’s apartments, when the people belonging to the party of the bride’s father got him on the ground. Bancharam Babu was pugnacious, and got well thrashed. Bakreswar Babu was hustled about so that he resembled a pigeon with swollen neck. When I saw the disturbance, I left the bridegroom’s party and joined that of the bride. What became of everybody in the end I cannot say, but Thakchacha had to return home in a dooly. You all know the saying— ‘In avarice is sin, and in sin death.’ Now listen to the poetry I have composed”:—
HAVING just come in from his morning walk, Beni Babu was sitting in his garden-house. He was gazing about him, and had just caught up a refrain of Ram Prasad’s[35]
— when suddenly from a bower of creepers to the west of him, he heard a voice: “Ha! friend Beni! True indeed it is that ‘swift to its goal life ebbs away.’” Starting up from his seat, Beni Babu saw Becharam Babu of Bow Bazar hurrying towards him, and going to meet him, said: “Becharam, my dear friend, what has happened?” Becharam Babu replied: “Throw your shawl over your shoulders and come with me at once: Baburam Babu is very ill: you must see him just once.”
The two friends soon reached Vaidyabati, and saw that Baburam Babu had a very severe attack of fever: his temperature was very high, and he was suffering from intense thirst, tossing restlessly about on his bed. Some slices of cucumber and a cloth steeped in rose-water lay beside him, but he could retain no nourishment. The villagers all thronged around, loudly discussing the nature of his illness: one of them was saying: “Our pulse is the pulse of vegetarians and fish-eaters: nothing but harm can arise from the use of leeches, purgatives, and blisters. The best kind of treatment for us is that of the old village doctor; and then, if no relief is obtained, and grave symptoms occur, a doctor using the English methods might be called in.” Another remarked: “It would be a good thing to have the opinion of a Mahomedan hakim: they often effect wonderful cures, and their drugs are all as pleasant to take as that delicious sweetmeat the mohanbhog” Another said: “You may say what you will, but doctors who treat on English methods give instantaneous relief in all such cases of sickness, as if by the repetition of a mantra: a cure will be very difficult without proper medical treatment.” The sick man kept repeatedly asking for water. Brojonath Raya, the old kabiraj, who was sitting by him at the time, said: “The case is a very serious one: it is not a good thing to be constantly giving him water: we must give him a little of the juice of the bael. We are none of us his enemies, I should imagine, that we should be giving him just now as much water as he wants.” All this wrangling was going on by Baburam Babu’s bedside. The next room was filled with a number of pandits, who, of course, regarded as of chief importance the performance of sacrifices to Shiva, the worship of the sun, the offering of a million of hibiscus flowers at Kali’s shrine at Kalighat, and all such religious ceremonials. Beni Babu had been standing listening to the discussion going on round Baburam Babu, but everybody was talking at once and nobody listening to anybody else. “Many sages many opinions” says the old proverb, and each man thought his words as infallible as the mystic mantra: possessed by Druva. Though Beni Babu attempted once or twice to express his own opinion, his words were lost almost before he had opened his lips[36], and being unable to get a word in edgewise, he took Becharam Babu outside with him.
Just then Thakchacha approached them, limping painfully along: he was exceedingly anxious on account of Baburam Babu’s illness, reflecting that all his chances of gain had slipped away. Beni Babu, seeing him, said: “Thakchacha, what is the matter with your leg?” Becharam burst in with the remark: “What, my friend, have you never heard of the affair of Barnagore? The pain he is suffering is only the punishment for his evil advice: have you forgotten what I said in the boat?” Thakchacha tried to slip away when he heard this, but Beni Babu caught him by the arm and said: “Never mind that now! is anything being devised for the recovery of the master? There is great confusion in the house.” Thakchacha replied: “When the fever commenced, I took Ekramaddi the hakim with me: by the administration of purgatives and other drugs he reduced the fever, and allowed his patient to eat spiced rice; but the fever returned again the other day, and since then Brojonath the kabiraj has been looking after the case. The fever seems to me to be steadily increasing: I cannot imagine what to do.” Beni Babu said: “Thakchacha, do not be angry at what I am going to say: you should have sent us news of this before. However, that cannot be helped now: we must call in a skilled English doctor at once.”
At this moment, Ramlall and Barada Prasad Babu approached. Ramlall’s face was quite worn from night-watching, from the labour and toil of nursing, and from I anxiety of mind; his daily anxiety was to devise means for restoring his father to convalescence and health. Seeing Beni Babu he said to him: “Sir, I am in grievous trouble: with all this confusion in the house no good advice is to be had from any one. Barada Babu comes every morning and evening to look after my father, but none of the people here will allow me to carry out his instructions. Your arrival is most opportune: please adopt any steps you think necessary.”
Becharam Babu gazed steadily at Barada Babu for some time, and then with tears in his eyes caught hold of his hand and cried: “Ah, Barada Babu, why is it that everybody does you reverence, except on account of the many good qualities you possess? Why, it was Thakchacha here who advised Baburam Babu to have that charge of illegal confinement and assault brought against you, and all kinds of violence and knavery have been practised on you without rhyme or reason, at their instigation; and yet, when Thakchacha fell sick, you cured him, treating him and even nursing him yourself, and now too, when Baburam is ill, you spare no effort to give good advice, and to look after his welfare. Now generally speaking, if one man but speaks harshly against another, enmity at once springs up between them, and though a thousand apologies may be made, the feeling does not pass away; but though you have been grievously insulted and injured, you have no difficulty in forgetting the insult and injuries you have suffered. No feeling towards another but brotherly kindness arises in your mind. Ah, Barada Babu, many may talk of virtue, but never have I found any possessing such as you possess. Men are naturally base and corrupt; how then can they judge of your qualities? But as day and night are true, your qualities will be judged above.”
Somewhat vexed by these remarks of Becharam Babu, Barada Babu bowed his head and said humbly: “Sir, pray do not address me like this. I am but a very insignificant person: what is my knowledge or what my virtue after all?”
“We had better postpone this conversation” Beni Babu said, “tell me now what to devise for the master’s illness.”
Barada Babu replied: “If you gentlemen think the idea a good one, I can go to Calcutta and bring a doctor back with me by the evening: no further confidence, I think, should be placed in Brojonath Raya.”
Premnarayan Mozoomdar, who was standing near, remarked: “Doctors do not properly understand the pulse, and they let their patients die in their houses. We ought not to dismiss the kabiraj altogether: on the contrary, let the kabiraj and the doctor each take up a special feature of the case.”
“We can take that matter into consideration afterwards” Beni Babu said, “go now, Barada Babu, and fetch a doctor.”
Barada Babu started off for Calcutta at once, without taking either his bath or his food, though they all remonstrated: “Sir, you have the whole day before you, take a mouthful of food before you start.” He only replied: “If I stop to do that there will be delay, and all my trouble may go for nought.”
Baburam Babu, as he lay on his bed, kept asking where Matilall was, but it was hard to get a glimpse of even the top tuft of his hair: he was always out on picnics with his boon companions, and paid no heed to his father’s illness. Beni Babu observing this conduct sent a servant out to Matilall in the garden, but he only sent back some feigned excuse; he had a very bad headache, and would come home later on. As the fever left Baburam Babu about two o’clock in the afternoon, his pulse became exceedingly weak: the kabiraj examining it, said: “The master must be removed from the house at once. He is a man of long experience, an old man, and a man highly respected; and we ought certainly to ensure that his end be a happy one.” On hearing this the whole household broke out into loud lamentations, and all his kinsmen and neighbours assisted in carrying him into the great hall of the house. Just then Barada Babu arrived with the English doctor. The latter, observing the state of his pulse, remarked. “You have called me in at the last moment: how can a doctor possibly be of any use if you only summon him just before taking a patient to the Ganges[30]?” With these words he departed.
All the inhabitants of Vaidyabati stood round Baburam Babu, each asking some question or other, such as: “Honoured sir, can you recognise me?” “Come, sir, say who I am?” Beni Babu remonstrated: “Please do not vex the sick man in this way? What is the good of all this questioning[37]?” The officiating priests had now completed their sacrifices, and approached with the sacred flowers of blessing; but they saw at once that their ceremonial had all been in vain. Seeing that Baburam Babu’s breathing was becoming heavier, they all took him to the Vaidyabati Ghât. After tasting of the Ganges water and breathing the fresher air, he revived a little: the crowd too had diminished in numbers. Ramlall sat beside his father while Barada Prasad Babu came and stood in front of him. After a short pause, the latter said very quietly: “Pray meditate for this once with all your mind upon the Supreme God: without His favour we are utterly helpless.” Baburam Babu hearing these words, gazed intently for a few seconds at Barada Prasad Babu, and began to shed tears. Ramlall wiped away his tears and gave him a few drops of milk to drink. Baburam Babu then grew more composed and said in a low tone: “Ah, my friend Barada Babu, I now know that I have no other friend in the world but you! Through the evil counsel of a certain individual, I have committed many and grievous crimes: these are continually recurring to my memory, and my soul seems to be on fire. I am a grievous sinner: how shall I make answer for it? Can you possibly forgive me?” As he uttered these words Baburam Babu took hold of the hand of Barada Babu, and closed his eyes. His friends and neighbours who were near began repeating the name of God. Thus, in full possession of his faculties[38] Baburam Babu passed away.
ON the death of his father, Matilall succeeded to the guddee, and became the head of the house. His former companions never left his side for a moment, and he grew as proud as a turkey-cock, rejoicing in the thought that at last after so long a time he might give his extravagance its full bent. When Matilall displayed a little grief on his father’s account, his companions said to him: “Why are you so depressed? who expects to live for ever with his father and mother? You are now lord and master.” A fool’s grief is a mere empty name. How can true sorrow possibly affect the mind of the man who has never given any happiness to those whom he should hold most sacred— his father and his mother— but on the contrary untold pain and misery? The feeling, if it does arise, passes away like a shadow, and the natural consequence is that such a man can never have any veneration for the memory of his father, and his mind is never inclined to do anything to keep him in remembrance. Matilall’s eager desire to know the extent of the property which his father had left, very soon overshadowed his grief. Acting on the advice of his companions, he put double locks on the house-door and on the money-chest, and became more easy in his mind when he had done so. He was in a perpetual state of alarm lest his money should somehow or other fall into the hands of his mother, stepmother, brother or sister, and be altogether lost to him in consequence. His companions were continually saying to him: “Money is a very important thing, sir! Where it is in question, no confidence is to be reposed even in one’s own father. Now there is your younger brother always carrying a big bag of virtue about with him wherever he goes, and with truth always on his tongue; yet even his preceptor never shows indulgence to anyone, but whenever he has the opportunity enforces his full claims. We have seen a good many shams of that kind. Anyhow, Barada Babu must know something of witchcraft: he must have lived some time at Kamrup[39]. How otherwise is it possible to account for the great influence he had over Baburam Babu at the time of his death?”
Not very long after this conversation, Matilall proceeded to visit his relatives and kinsmen, to signify his accession to his new position as master of the house. Busybodies are at all times to be found, ready to interfere in other people’s concerns. Like the twists and turns of the jelabhi sweetmeat, their conversation touches on a variety of topics, but never goes straight to the point: like air it wanders where it will, and it is as difficult to get hold of, for it will generally be found on close examination to have double meaning. Some of those he visited said: “The master was a most worthy person: had it not been for his great store of merit, he could not have had the children he did. His death too,— why, it was characteristic of the man! it was marvellous! Ah, sir, all this time you have been under the shelter of a mountain, shielded and protected! You will now have your own discretion to depend upon: the family all look to you: you have the whole number of religious festivals to keep up: you have, moreover, to perpetuate the name of your father and your grandfather. First, of course you must perform the shraddha with due regard to your property: you need not in this matter dance to the tune of the world’s opinion. Why Ram Chandra himself offered a funeral cake of sand to his father’s shade, and if you have to abridge your expenditure in this respect, it is idle to mourn over that: but to do nothing at all is not good. Ah, sir, you must know that your father’s name resounds far and wide! by virtue of his name the tiger and the cow drink at the same pool! can his shraddha then be like the shraddha of a poor and insignificant man? Even those encumbered with debt must avoid the world’s reproach.” Matilall could not comprehend the drift of all this talk. These men, while nominally manifesting their bosom friendship as kinsmen for a kinsman, were really in their inmost hearts eager to have a gorgeous shraddha ceremony, and themselves to get the management of it, so that they might gain importance thereby; but they would never give a plain answer to a plain question. One of them said: “It will never do not to have the shorash, with the usual display of silver and other presents.” Another remarked: “You will find it very hard to keep the world’s respect, if you do not have a dan-sagar, with costly presents of every kind for all comers.” Another said: “It will be a very poor sort of shraddha, if there is no dampati-baran, for poor Brahmans.” And another said: “It will be a great disgrace if pandits are not invited to attend, and a distribution of alms not made to the poor.” There was a good deal of wrangling over the affair. “Who wants your advice?”— “Who told you to argue?”— “Who listens to your conclusions?”— “Nobody respects you in the village: it is only in your own opinion that you are the head man,” such remarks were freely bandied about from one to the other. Each of those present indeed was in his own estimation the most important man there, and each man thought what he had to say the conclusion of the whole matter. Three days after this discussion, Beni Babu, Becharam Babu, Bancharam Babu, and Bakreswar Babu, arrived at Matilall’s house. Thakchacha was sitting near Matilall as melancholy and spiritless as a snake with its jewelled crest lost: with bead-rosary in his hand and with trembling lips, he was muttering his prayers. His attention was not directed to the brisk conversation that was going on around him: his eyes were rolling about, their glance chiefly directed at the wall. When he saw Beni Babu and the others, he rose hurriedly and saluted them. Such humility on Thakchacha’s part had never been witnessed before, but the old proverb has it:— “With the venom, goes the glamour.”
Beni Babu took hold of Thakchacha’s hand, and said to him: “Why, what are you doing? How is it that you, a venerable old Moulvi as you are, honour us like this?”
Bancharam Babu said: “We must waste no more time: our leisure is very limited. Nothing is as yet arranged; come, tell us what should be done.”
Becharam.— Baburam’s affairs are in great confusion: some of the property will have to be sold to clear off debts. It would not be right to celebrate the shraddha on a magnificent scale and incur more debt by so doing.
Bancharam.— What is this I hear? Surely the very first requisite is to avoid the censure of the world: the property may be looked after later on. Shall honour and reputation be allowed to float away on the waters of this flood?
Becharam.— That is very bad advice, and I will never assent to it myself. How now, friend Beni, what do you say?
Beni.— To incur debt again in any case where there is already a good deal, and where it is doubtful whether it can be cleared off even by a sale of property, is really a species of theft; for how can the new debt incurred be cleared off?
Bancharam.— Bah! that is only an English idea. As a matter of fact the rich always live on credit: they incur debts here only to pay them off there. A respectable man like you should not be a marplot; or put obstacles in the way of a good action. I have no property to give way myself, but if any one else is prepared to make presents to all the pandits, am I bound to offer any opposition? We all of us have pandits more or less dependent upon us, and they will all want to receive invitations. It is only natural they should: they must live.
Bakreswar.— Very well said, sir! There is an old saying: “Death before dishonour.”
Becharam.— Baburam Babu’s family are in the centre of a conflagration: as far as I can see they will soon be utterly ruined. We must try and find a remedy to prevent this. A curse on this method of purchasing renown at the expense of debt! I do not consider Brahman followers to have such a claim upon me that I should sacrifice others to fill their maws: a pretty business that would be! Come, my friend Beni, let us be off.
As soon as Beni Babu and Becharam Babu had gone, Bancharam said “A good riddance! these two gentlemen understand nothing about the matter: they only talk. How refreshing it is to speak with a man of real intelligence. Thakchacha, come and sit by me: what is your opinion in this matter?”
“It is a great pleasure to me also,” Thakchacha replied, “to have a talk with a man like you: those two gentlemen are daft: I am afraid to go near them. All that you have said is very true: a man’s life is practically thrown away if his honour and power are lost. You and I will look well after the particulars and get rid of all the difficulties. Is there any cause for alarm then?”
Matilall was naturally very extravagant, and fond of display: he had no knowledge of money matters at all, and knew nothing of business. He put full confidence in Bancharam and Thakchacha: for apart from the fact that they were always frequenting the courts and had the law at their fingers’ ends, they had managed to win an influence over him, exactly hitting off his wishes by their clever ingenuity.
“Do you undertake the entire management of this business,” said he, “I will sign my name to anything you require.”
“Let me have the master’s will out of the box,” Bancharam Babu said. “Under the terms of the will, you are the only heir: your brother is a lunatic, consequently his name has been omitted. If you take the will and hand it into court, you will have letters of administration granted you, and the property may then be mortgaged, or sold upon your signature only.” Matilall at once opened the box, and took the will out.
When Bancharam had done all that was necessary in the courts, he made arrangements with a money-lender, and returned to the Vaidyabati house with the papers and the money. Matilall signed the papers the moment he caught sight of the money, and putting his hands on the bag of rupees was on the point of placing it in the box, when Bancharam and Thakchacha said to him, “Ah, sir! if the money remains with you, it will soon be all spent: it will be safer, we think, in our charge. You are so good-natured you know, so tender-hearted, that you cannot deny anything even to a look: we, knowing people better, will be able to drive all suppliants away.”
Matilall thought to himself: “This is very excellent advice: besides, how am I to get any money to spend after the shraddha! have no father now to get money from by a mere look.” So he agreed to their proposal.
Great were the preparations for the shraddha ceremony of Baburam Babu. What with the noise of arranging the shorash and the silver presents to be given to the pandits, the smell of the sweetmeats, the buzzing of hornets, the pungent smoke from wet wood, and the continual stream of things arriving for use on the occasion, the whole house was full of confusion and bustle. Brahmans of the poorer classes, whether connected with family worship, or with shop or bazar accounts, all wearing silk clothes, and with Ganges clay on their foreheads, were continually crowding in for invitations to the shraddha ceremony. Of the Tarkavagishas, Vidyaratnas, Nyayalankars, Bachaspatis, and Vidyasagars, all learned and celebrated pandits, there was no end. Sages and gurus were continually arriving. It was like the festival of the village leather-seller, on the death of a cow.
The day of the ceremony arrived. Pandits from all parts of the country had come for the assembly usual on such occasions[40], and seated near them were their relatives, kinsmen and friends. Before them were arranged presents of every description and for all comers; horses, palkis, brass dishes, broadcloth, oil vessels, and hard cash. On one side of them the processional singing was in progress, and in the midst of the singers was Becharam Babu enthusiastically absorbed in the music. Outside the house were collected together Brahmans of lesser degree, pedigree reciters, mendicants, sannyasis and beggars. Thakchacha, not having sufficient effrontery to sit down in the assembly, was roaming about in the crowd.
The venerable Pandits were taking snuff and conversing together on subjects connected with the shástras. One of their characteristics is the difficulty they find in carrying on a discussion at their great meetings calmly and composedly: some element of discord is always sure to arise. One of the pandits introduced a portion of the Nyaya shástras for discussion:— “Smoke is the effect of fire, and this is a different substance from a water-jar.” A pandit from Orissa thereupon remarked, “The water-jar is itself distinct from a mountain.” “What is this, my friend, that you are saying?” asked a pandit from Kashigoya, “you surely have not paid proper attention to the sentence: he who regards a water-jar, clothes, and a mountain as the same as smoke from a fire, simply murders the famous Siromani.” A pandit from Eastern Bengal said: “Smoke is an entirely different substance from a water-jar: smoke is the effect of fire: how then can there be smoke when there is no fire[41]?” And so the dispute went on, and at last, from simply glaring at each other, they got to a hand-to-hand scrimmage.
Thakchacha thought matters were looking serious and that he had better calm things down before they went any further; so going quietly up to them, he said: “I say, gentlemen, why are you making such minute enquiries about such trifles as a water-pot or a lamp? I will make you a much more valuable present; I will give you two water-pots apiece,” A very sharp Brahman amongst the pandits at once got up and said, “Who are you, you low fellow? An infidel outcast present at the shraddha of a Hindu? This is not the shraddha of a she-ghost, that an apparition like you should be the superintendent of it.” As he said this, everybody present began abusing Thakchacha, thumping him with their fists, pushing him about and beating him with sticks. Thereupon Bancharam Babu hurried up and said: “If you make a disturbance and interfere with the shraddha in this way, I will know the reason why: I will get a summons out against you at once from the High Court. I am not a man to be trifled with I can tell you.” Bakreswar Babu too had his say. “That is right: besides, the boy who is performing the shraddha is no common boy, he is the very model of a boy.” Becharam Baba observed: “It is becoming a matter of notoriety that nothing ever goes right where Thakchacha and Bancharam have the management. Ugh! Ugh.” The disturbance did not cease. The rowdy vagrants who were present, and others, kept adding to the confusion, and as blows from the canes continually rained on them, they shouted out, “A fine shraddha indeed you have celebrated.” At length all the respectable gentlemen present, seeing the state of affairs, exclaimed:—