“Come, we had better slip away at once: why should we run any more risk when there is nothing to be gained by it?”
PEOPLE did not think much of Baburam Babu’s shraddha. The rain, as the proverb has it, was out of all proportion to the thunder. Oil fell on a good many heads that were oiled already, while heads that were dry and destitute of oil only got cracked. Their disputation was all the profit that the pandits got. The uneducated city Brahmans had it all their own way. The harsh discipline of all kinds to which pandits subject themselves, creates in them a stubbornness of nature: they follow their own opinions and do not agree with all and everything they find. The Brahmans of a lower order, habitúes of the city, suit their conversation to the minds of the Babus: in the words of the proverb, they adapt their strokes to the quality of the wood. If it suits them to be Gosains, Gosains they can be; and the characters they can assume are as varied as the ingredients of a curry mixture; is it surprising then that they generally get the best of everything? The managers of the shraddha had taken every precaution to fill their own pockets: they were keen chiefly on their own share of the gifts: what did it matter to them whether the pandits or the poor received anything worth mentioning? There was a great flourish of trumpets over things that would be matter of public observation and could not be avoided, but equal consideration was not shown throughout. Management such as that is a mere playing to the gallery.
The stir which the shraddha had caused gradually died away.
Bancharam and Thakchacha took to flattering Matilall to an extraordinary extent, and Matilall, being of a very weak nature, was enthralled by their seductive language, and thought that he had no other friends on earth like them. With a view to increasing his importance they one day said to him:— “Sir, you are now master: it behoves you to take your seat on the guddee of the master now in heaven: how otherwise will his dignity be maintained?” Matilall was highly delighted at the idea. As a child he had heard bits of the Ramayana and Mahabharata[42], and so it occurred to him that he would be seated on the guddee with the same pomp and circumstance with which Yudhishthira and Ram Chandra were anointed to the throne of their ancestors. Bancharam and Thakchacha saw that Matilall’s face shone again with delight at the suggestion they had made, so the next day they settled on a date for the ceremony, and calling together all his kinsmen and friends, seated Matilall upon his father’s guddee. In the village the report got about that Matilall had attained to this honour: The news soon spread: it was told in the market-place, in the bazar, at the ghât, and in the fields. A choleric old Brahman, when he heard it remarked, “Oh, he has attained the guddee, has he? What a fine expression! And whose guddee, pray? That of the great Jagat Sett[43], or of Devi Dass Balmukunda?”
When a man of sound sense attains to a high position or to great wealth, he is not liable to be lightly swayed hither and thither; whereas a man who lacks solidity of character, should he attain to a higher position than he is accustomed to, is as unstable as the waters of a flood. And so it proved with Matilall. Day and night, unceasing as a torrent, arose the hubbub of boisterous amusement. His companions did not diminish; on the contrary, their number daily increased, rapidly as the fabulous Raktabij[44]. Was there anything surprising in this? When rice is scattered there is no lack of crows, and a whole army of ants will come together at the scent of molasses.
Bakreswar Baba visited Matilall one day to try and get something out of him, and used all his arts to fascinate Matilall by his talk. But Matilall had been acquainted from his boyhood with Bakreswar’s crafty cajolery, and so he gave him this answer:— “Sir, you have destroyed all my chances in the next world by the partiality and favour you showed me in the past. I never failed to give you enough presents when I was a boy: why do you keep bothering me now?” Bakreswar went away with his head bent low, muttering to himself. Matilall was now as one inebriated with pleasure: though Bancharam and Thakchacha went occasionally to see him, he would have little to do with them in the way of business. Owing to the power-of-attorney he had given them, they had entire command over everything, and now and again they made the Babu a liberal advance, but nothing in the way of detailed accounts of expenditure was forthcoming from them.
As for the rest of his family, he never took the slightest notice of them: he never even troubled himself to enquire where they were or where they went. The ladies endured much hardship on this account, but Matilall by his riotous living had become so lost to all sense of shame that he paid no heed to the reports that reached him on the subject. To have to mourn for a husband is the greatest affliction that a faithful wife is called on to endure. It is some alleviation to her in her trouble, if she have good children; but if on the contrary they disappoint her it adds intensity to the bitterness of her grief, as melted butter thrown upon fire. Matilall’s evil behaviour was a terrible grief to his mother, but she never spoke openly of it. One day, however, after long deliberation, she approached him and said:— “My child, what was to be my lot, that has been: now, for the few remaining days that I have to live, let me not have to listen to this evil report of you. I cannot lend my ears to people’s abuse of you. Have some little regard for your younger brother, your elder sister, and your stepmother: they are not getting half enough to eat. Ah, my child, I ask nothing for myself: I lay no farther burden upon you.” To these words of his mother, Matilall, his eyes inflamed with passion, replied: “What? will you be always chattering and abusing me? Do you not know that I am now master in my own house? What is this evil report about me?” As he said this, he struck his mother a blow on the face and pushed her down. She got up from the ground after a short interval, and wiping away her tears with the border of her sari, said to her son: “Ah, my son! I never heard of children beating their mothers before, but it has been my destiny for this to happen to me. I have nothing further to say: I only pray that all may be well with you.” Next day, without saying a word to any one, his mother left the house with her daughter.
Since the death of his father, Ramlall had made many efforts to be on good terms with his brother, but had had to suffer many indignities. Matilall was in constant anxiety lest he should have to give up the half of the property, and so be unable to continue his role of the grandee; and as life would be but a sorry farce if he had to give up that role, he must, he considered, take the necessary steps to mulct his brother of his share. Having settled on this plan, by the advice of course of Bancharam and Thakchacha, he forbade Ramlall the house. Thus shut out from the home of his fathers, Ramlall, after long deliberation, without having had an interview with his mother, sister, or any one, proceeded to another part of the country.
MATILALL saw that his mother, his brother, and his sister, had now all gone from the house. “A good riddance!” thought he: his path was at length cleared of thorns; all bother was at an end. This had come about by a slight display of passion on his part,— “Dhananjayas got rid of by a blow[45]!” True it was, a single blow had sufficed to get rid of them all, but his resources were now exhausted. What was to be done? How could he go on living in such style? The small retail shopkeepers would not be put off with excuses any more, and no one would supply him with anything on credit: just too as the great bathing festival of the Snan Jatra was coming off. The expenses of engaging a budgerow had to be provided: earnest money[46] would have to be advanced to the nautch girls: sweetmeats must be ordered: tobacco, ganja, and liquor all had to be procured for the occasion; and for these preliminary arrangements he had no money at his disposal. In such anxious thoughts Matilall was wrapped when Bancharam and Thakchacha arrived. After exchanging a few remarks, they said to Matilall: “Well, sir! why this melancholy? It makes us quite sad to see it. At your age you should be always lively and cheerful. Why this anxiety? Fie! be merry.” Affected almost to tears by this sweet language, Matilall told them all that was in his mind. Bancharam said: “Why be so anxious on that account? Are we mere grass-cutters that we cannot help you out of a difficulty? What brought us to see you today was a splendid idea that has occurred to us. Within a year you will have paid off all your liabilities, and be able to enjoy yourself at your leisure, and your sons and your grandsons in their turn will be able to play the rich man on a grand scale. Is it not written in the shástras?:—”
“There is a fortune to be made in trade: by it people spring to sudden affluence. Why, look at the numbers of people I have known,— many of them of very low origin and blessed with no brains to speak of,— who have sprang to sudden importance by trade! It makes me quite envious to see them. What troubles me is that we are wasting all our energies with only one string to our bow. This is not as it should be! ‘Chandi Charan gathers cow-dung while Ram is riding on horseback[47].’”
Matilall.— Ah, a brilliant notion! I am daily in need of money. Does commerce flourish in the bazar, or does it grow in an office? Is it merely the buying and selling that goes on in a sweetmeat-maker’s shop? My business will lack all importance unless I am to be the chief agent of some English merchant.
Bancharam.— You need only sit at home on the guddee, sir! The burden of business will devolve entirely upon us. A Mr. John, a friend of one Mr. Butler, has but recently arrived from England. You might make some arrangement with him and become his agent: he is a very shrewd business man.
Thakchacha.— I shall be with you to help you, whether it be the courts of law or the Treasury Office, or the police department, or commerce. They none of them have any secrets for me: I know all the ins and outs of them! My Shena also understands all these matters. Ah, sir, it is a grief to me that my great capacity for business has been lying dormant all this time! it has never been roused into action or had full play. I am not the kind of man to sit idle: if I find an enemy in my way, I promptly assault him and put him to the rout. If I once put my hand to business I shall get on like the famous Rustem Jol.
Matilall.— And who is Shena, Thakchacha?
Thakchacha.— Shena is your humble servant’s wife. How can I possibly extol her qualities adequately? Her beauty is as the beauty of Zuleeka, and her understanding as that of an angel of light.
Bancharam.— Enough of this talk for the present: let us get to business. We shall have to advance Mr. John ten or fifteen thousand rupees, but there need be no risk. I have arranged to find this money by mortgaging the Kotalpore Taluk. I will deposit the necessary deeds in Mr. Butler’s office: the expense will not be very great; it will come to between four and five hundred rupees. Besides this, you have to give five hundred rupees to the money-lender’s amlah. Ah, those amlahs! they are our mortal enemies: our enterprise may all come to nought if they put any obstacle in our way. When we have smoothed away all the preliminary difficulties, we shall find the auspices favourable for our success. I am just going off to Calcutta with Thakchacha. I have a variety of commissions to execute, and shall be in a fever till I have finished them. Do you, sir, for your part, ascertain from friend Tarka Siddhanta a propitious day for the commencement of the enterprise, and then come at once; under the auspices of Durga, to my house in Sonagaji. You will have to remain a few days in Calcutta; but only a short time will elapse before, like Chand Sadagar, you will return to Vaidyabati ghât with seven[48] vessels laden with wealth, drums beating, young men and old men, women and children, as they gaze on the splendour of your return, greeting you with blessings. Oh, may the day speedily dawn!
Bancharam then proceeded on his way, and took Thakchacha with him.
Matilall reported the whole of the conversation to his companions. They danced with delight when they heard it. Want of means had almost entirely put an end to their fun. Now there was every chance of the treasury being replenished. Mangovinda at once hurried off to the tol of Tarka Siddhanta; he was puffing and blowing with his exertions when he arrived there. Tarka Siddhanta was a very old man. He was taking snuff, and alternately sneezing and coughing; his pupils were ranged all round him; in front of him lay a Sanscrit work written on a palm leaf. Every now and then he would glance at the manuscript through his spectacles, then give out a passage to his pupils and explain it to them. The cow of the establishment had not had its rack supplied, there being a scarcity of straw, and it lowed continuously. From inside the house the wife of the old pandit was screaming: “The old man is rapidly losing his wits: he does nothing, all day and all night but mind his books: he never once turns his attention to household matters.” His pupils, hearing all this, nudged each other and winked. Tarka Siddhanta flew into a towering rage, and taking hold of a stick, with which to keep the old women quiet, was just getting up very slowly and deliberately, when suddenly Mangovinda caught hold of him, and said: “Oh, Tarka Siddhanta, respected sir! we are all going into trade. Do ascertain for us an auspicious day.” Tarka Siddhanta got up in great wrath, his face distorted with passion. “A curse light upon you and your trade; could you find no other time but when I had just risen from my seat, to call me behind my back[49]? So you will go into trade, eh? May you and your father’s house come to ruin, bad luck to you. You want to know what day will be auspicious, eh? When you cease vexing people as you do, they will have their Ganga Snan in peace. Off, away with you this minute! The day you clear out of this will be the auspicious day.” Somewhat disconcerted by the old man’s abuse, Mangovinda went and told his companions that the next day would be auspicious.
Sounds of preparation straightway arose, and there was all the bustle that attends arrangements for a festival: it was the Udjog Parba over again. While one of the party fixed the wire for playing the sitar on his fore-finger, another tested the baya, tapping it to see whether it had any pitch or not: another examined the tabala: another tightened the rings round the drums: another put resin on a fiddle and tested the strings: another packed up the clothes: another prepared small parcels of tobacco, ganja and other stimulants, along with bundles of firewood: another selected, with great care, balls of opium and sweetmeats: another examined the different purchases to see whether they were of correct weight. All day and all night the bustle and noise of preparation went on without any diminution. It had got about in the village that the young Babus were about to go into trade, and next day, when all the shopkeepers of the place, the poorer sort of people, and the beggars and loafers, were out in the roads looking out for them to pass, they came swaggering down to the ghât, like so many wild elephants. There were a number of pandits at the ghât engaged in their early morning devotions: hearing the stir and bustle, theylooked behind them, and at once shook with fright. Seeing them so terrified, the Babus only jeered at them and laughed. Then they showered upon them Ganges mud and brick-bats, and insulted them generally, and the Brahmans, interrupted in this rude way at their devotions, went their way, calling upon Krishna in their distress. The young men having embarked on board a boat, all caught up a popular love-song, screaming it out at the top of their voices. The boat glided quickly down stream on the ebb. The Babus could not keep still for a moment; one would get on the deck of the cabin; another would work the rudder; one would pull an oar, and another strike a light with a flint. They had not gone very far when they met with Dhanamala. Now Dhanamala never cared what he said to any one: he called out to them: “Having reduced a whole village to ashes, are you now going to set the Ganges on fire?” To which they angrily replied: “Shut up, you idiot! Do you not know that we are all going into business?” Dhanamala’s only answer to this was:— “If you ever become traders, may your business come to grief! may it perish with a halter on its neck!”
AT Sonagaji there was a Mahommedan mosque: it had long since become the abode of ghosts, and was everywhere covered with lichen, while jungle crows and mynahs had built their nests in different parts of it. These were now bringing food to their young ones, who were chirping merrily. The mosque had been left unrepaired for many a long day: the only sounds heard there at nightfall were the cries of jackals and the howling of dogs: no one remembered having ever seen a light in any part of it.
Near this ruin a village teacher used to instruct some of the village children, whose necks were generally enveloped in woollen comforters; and whatever the extent of the education they were receiving, they were at least frightened put of their lives by the sound of the cane. It was only necessary for a boy to lift his eyes off his book, or to eat something out of his lap, for the stick to fall at once with a whack on his shoulders. It is a human failing for a man armed with authority in any matter, to think that he must constantly display that authority in various ways lest his dignity should suffer; and so it was that the old village school-master loved to collect a crowd round him, in order to make a display of his sovereignty. When he saw people going by, he would look in their direction and raise his voice to its highest pitch, and then, if a crowd collected, his self-importance increased till there was no limit to it: no wonder therefore that there was a very heavy punishment for any trifling fault on the part of the boys. A village school under such a master pretty nearly resembles the Hall of Yama. Besides the constant sounds of slapping and screaming, and cries of “Oh Guru Mahashay! Guru Mahashay! your pupil is present,” one boy will get his nose tweaked, another his ear pulled, another will have to carry a brick in one hand, another will be caned, another may be strung up by his thumbs, while a stinging nettle will be applied to another: some form of punishment or other is continually in force[50]. The honour and glory of Sonagaji used to be kept up solely by the village school-master whom I have mentioned. Just on the outskirts of the village, a few beggars, who had been at it all day long, used to congregate in the evening, wearied by their day’s labour, and lie down, singing snatches of songs softly to themselves.
Such was Sonagaji. Since Matilall’s auspicious arrival, however, the destiny of the place had undergone a revolution: there was all the stir and bustle attending a great man’s movements: the air was full of the prancing of horses, the loud beating of drums: there was an eternal munching of delicate sweetmeats: feasting and revelry went on unceasingly by night and by day, and the people of the place began to prostrate themselves before the great man.
It is very difficult to know Calcutta people well: to the outer world, many of them appear all that is respectable, like mangoes with a fair outside. They can assume a vast variety of characters. Money is at the bottom of all this: where that is in question, countless are the shifts and turns resorted to. Man’s nature is so frail that he worships wealth out of all proportion to its worth. People make herculean efforts to become recipients of the favour of any man reputed to be wealthy; and whatever may be necessary for them to say or to do to accomplish their object, there are no shortcomings on their part.
People of all grades took to visiting Matilall. Now there are some men, like the Brahmans of Ula, who at once go to the point with unblushing frankness, so that there is no mistaking their meaning. Others, again, like the good people of Krishnaghar, expend much ingenuity in embroidering their remarks, and only after a good deal of beating about the bush will they introduce the real object of their visit, and then very delicately. Others, like our friends of Eastern Bengal, are very careful and deliberate in their procedure: they at first assume an appearance of indifference and disinterestedness, plunging their real object deep in the Dvaipara Lake, and when after a long interval their special intention is revealed, it turns out that the real object of all their coming and going was after all a pecuniary one,— some present or other that might hereafter be exchanged for cash. Matilall had only to sigh, and the visitor with him at the time would snap his fingers, by way of warding off the evil omen: if he but sneezed, his visitor would say: “ May your life be prolonged.” If Matilall called for a servant, the sycophant would scream out: “Ho there! Ho there!” and in answer to every remark of Matilall’s, no matter what it was, he would say: “Whatever your honour says must be right.”
From early dawn till long after midnight people crowded about Matilall: every single moment of the day they were either coming or going: the staircase leading to his reception-room was constantly creaking beneath the heavy tramp of their shoes. Every moment fresh supplies of tobacco were arriving; smoke issued from the room at all times as from the funnel of a steam ship: the servants were so terribly worried, they were at their wits end. Night and day, in one continuous succession, dancing, music and all sorts of boisterous fun were kept up.
The dignity of the village school-master was quite eclipsed by all this stir: till now he had been the turkey-cock; now he had become but the tiny tailor-bird. There would be a good deal of noise at times when he was teaching his boys, and Matilall, hearing this one day, said to his companions:— “Why is that idiot making so much noise? I escaped in boyhood from the annoyance of a school-master: why must have I another near me now? Away with him quickly.” The young Babus taking the hint, very soon brought about the disappearance of the village school-master from the scene by the simple expedient of throwing brickbats at him; and the village school was in consequence broken up. The boys of the school, thinking it a happy release, took up their bundles of palm leaves, and having ridiculed their old school-master to their heart’s content, ran breathlessly home.
Just about this time, Mr. John opened his house of business: the firm was known as John and Company. Matilall was the chief agent of the house, Bancharam and Thakchacha managers. The Saheb showed great attention to his chief agent for the sake of his money, and the chief agent for his part would pay occasional visits to the office with his companions. He generally came about three or four in the afternoon, chewing pán, his eyes red and inflamed, and after walking about and prying into everything, would go home again. The Saheb had not a pice to his name, and depended entirely upon Mr. Butler for his support: but he rented a house in Chowringhee, and filled it with a great variety of furniture and pictures: he also bought splendid carriages, fine horses and dogs, all on credit, and amused himself training and running race-horses. Later on he married, and frequented the best society of the place, wearing a gold chain and a diamond ring. Seeing all this display, many people were firmly persuaded that Mr. John was a wealthy man, and had no hesitation in having monetary transactions with him; but a few persons, of higher intelligence, knowing the real state of his affairs, were more cautious, and would have nothing to say to him. Many of the Calcutta merchants get their living by brokerage: they may be either freight brokers, or they may buy and sell Government paper or goods generally, their commission being several rupees in every hundred. Many others, acquainting themselves with the market prices current in Calcutta and elsewhere, do affairs on their own account; but to manage this, they must have already learned the details of business, as otherwise their business cannot prosper. Mr. John had no capacity for business at all: he was persuaded that he only had to purchase goods to dispose of them at a profit: as a matter of fact, his only object was to enjoy himself and play the rich man at the expense of others. He thought trade a very simple thing: he only had to fire enough bullets, and game was sure to fall to one or other.
The chief agent was even worse in this respect than the Saheb: he was blankly ignorant, without any education to speak of, and understanding nothing whatever of accounts: consequently, to do business with him was so much lost labour. Mahajans, brokers, and shopkeepers were continually going to him with patterns of their goods, informing him of the fluctuations in prices, and giving him the latest market intelligence: all the time they were talking business, he would be gazing vacantly about him, completely at sea. He never answered any of their questions, doubtless for fear that anything he might say would betray his ignorance: he would refer them to Bancharam and Thakchacha.
There were a few clerks in the office, who kept all the accounts in English. Matilall having one day expressed a wish to have a thorough examination of the English cash-book, had it fetched for this purpose by one of the clerks, then having just looked into it casually, shoved it aside. He generally occupied a room below the office: this being rather damp, the cash-book, having been kept there over a month, soon got completely ruined. The young Babus too used to tear leaves out of it and twist them up into spills for daily use; and very soon they were all used up in this way, the cover only remaining. When search was afterwards made for it, it was found to be the mere shadow of its former self: it was reduced to a mere skeleton,— bones and hide, as the saying is, sacrificed in the service of others.
Mr. John bewailed and lamented the loss of his cash-book, but kept his grief locked in his own breast. He exercised no discrimination in the purchases he made, when he began to export largely to England and to other countries, and took no trouble to find out the real cost of the goods, or what would be the margin of profit. Bancharam and Thakchacha saw their opportunity, and made many a successful stroke of business for themselves: they soon waxed fat on their gains[51]. A small draught is never sufficient to relieve great thirst. These two, as they sat together in secret consultation, had only one object in view, and that was to increase their gains by every possible means in their power. They well knew that the opportunity would never recur again. The springtide of their gains would soon pass, and the winter of want might come: no time like the present.
Within a year or two, very bad news arrived of the sale of the goods: instead of a profit there would be a loss, which Mr. John, to his confusion and dismay, estimated at a lakh of rupees. He had himself been spending nearly a thousand rupees a month, and was besides heavily in debt to several banks and money-lenders. For some months past, indeed, the firm had only been kept going by a variety of shifts: now the fair bark of outward respectability was altogether swamped. It was impossible to keep up appearances any longer, and it soon became notorious that John and Company had failed. The Saheb went off with his wife to Chandernagore, a place under French rule, to which, even to this day, debtors and criminals betake themselves to escape imprisonment. The money lenders and other creditors thereupon came down upon Matilall. Look where he would, Matilall could see no way out of his difficulties: he had not a single pice he could call his own: he had been living entirely on credit. He could come to no decision one way or the other at this juncture. He was constantly on the look out for a visit from Bancharam Babu or Thakchacha, but “confidence in a dear friend is as a knife in the left hand” says an old proverb: it was idle to look for any aid from them: they had vanished before the smash.
When the creditors were referred to them they only answered that all the accounts were in Mati Babu’s name: they had had no dealings with the others, regarding them as agents only. Owing to all this confusion in his affairs, Matilall fled one night in disguise with his companions to Vaidyabati. The people of that place, when the news reached them of the outcome of Matilall’s trade enterprises, all clapped their hands, and cried: “This is grand news: there is still justice on the earth[52]: what meaning would the terms right and wrong have, if such a fate had not befallen so wicked a man,— a man who has cheated mother, brother, and sister,— a man to whom no sinful action has come amiss?”
It so chanced that Premnarayan Mozoomdar was bathing the next day at the Vaidyabati Ghât: seeing Tarka Siddhanta there, he remarked to him: “Those wretched fellows, after having squandered all their substance, have had to take to flight, to escape a warrant for their apprehension, and have returned here: they are not ashamed to appear in public again. A fine instrument for the ruin of his family has Baburam bequeathed to the world.” Tarka Siddhanta replied: “The village has been tranquil all the time those boys have been away: alas! that they should have returned at all. Had mother Ganga only shown us a little favour, how happy we might have been!” Several other Brahmans were bathing at the ghât at the same time: their teeth began to chatter in terror when they heard the news of the return of the young Babus, and they thought to themselves:— “Henceforth we may expect to have to confide into Sri Krishna’s keeping our daily ablutions and devotions.” Some small shopkeepers, as they looked towards the ghât said:— “Ah sir! we heard that drums would beat when Mati Babu returned with his seven ships laden with treasure: yet we cannot see so much as a fisherman’s dinghy approaching let alone a cargo-boat.” Premnarayan replied:— “Do not be anxious; Mati Babu, like Srimanta Saudagor[53], has obtained a place of temporary retirement, because of the difficulties caused by Kamala Kamini. Is not the Babu a very estimable person? Is he not the chosen son of the fair Lakshmi! His dinghies, his cargo-boats, and his ships will soon appear, and you will hear the sound of the drums, while preparing your parched rice and pulse.”
THE morning breeze was blowing softly: the champac, the sephalika, and the mallika were diffusing sweet odours abroad: birds were chirping merrily. Beni Babu had taken Barada Babu home with him to his house in Ghatak, and was engaged in converse with him, when suddenly to the south of where they were, the dogs began to bark violently, and some boys came laughing loudly along the road. During a temporary lull, they heard the charming accents of a nasal voice, expostulating with the boys, and singing a Vaishnava song:—
Rising from their seats, Beni Babu and Barada Babu saw that it was Becharam Babu of Bow Bazar who had just arrived: he was rapt in his song, and was snapping his fingers by way of accompaniment: dogs were barking about him, and boys laughing derisively, and the man of Bow Bazar had been angrily expostulating with them. Beni Babu and Barada Babu greeted him very courteously and invited him to be seated. When they had enquired after each other’s welfare, Becharam Babu, putting his hand on Barada Babu’s shoulder, said to him:— “My good friend, I have seen a great many people in my day since I was a boy, and many of them possessed of good qualities, but after all I can only regard them as moderately good, their standard little above the average. Be that as it may, I have never seen anyone with modesty, sincerity, moral courage, simplicity and straightforwardness, equal to yours. I am somewhat modest myself; but still there are occasions when my pride manifests itself: the sight of another man’s pride is sufficient to evoke it, and with the manifestation of my pride my anger rises, and my pride is increased still more by my anger. I can never abate a jot of my claims on others. I always say what comes uppermost in my mind, but to tell you the truth, I am never sincere enough to be willing to acknowledge openly any mean action I may have been guilty of, for I always fear that I may have to endure mortification, if I acknowledge the truth. I have a very limited amount of moral courage: I may be convinced in my own mind that I ought to take a particular course, but I lack the moral courage to act uniformly up to my convictions. I find it very difficult, too, to maintain a straightforward attitude in dealing with others. True, I am aware that a man should always exert himself for the welfare of mankind, but I find it very hard to carry the conviction into actual practice. It is only necessary for a man to speak harshly to me for me to lose all respect for him, and to regard him as utterly beneath contempt. Now a man may have done you an actual injury, but your feelings towards him are still sincere and kind. I mean to say, that you would never think of doing him an injury, but on the contrary a kindness; and even abuse does not make you angry. Can qualities such as these be considered trifling?”
Barada.— Any man who loves another sees nothing but good in him, whereas a man who cannot know another intimately only misinterprets his conduct. It is pure kindness on your part to speak as you have of me: it cannot be owing to my own qualities. It is well-nigh an impossibility for man to maintain a mind that shall be simple and honest at all times, in all respects, and towards all men. Our minds are full of passion, envy, malice, and pride, and is it an easy task to hold all these in restraint? If one’s character is to be simple and unaffected, humility is the one thing necessary. Some persons display a mock modesty: some are made humble by fear, others by trouble and misfortune. Humility of this kind is but transient. If humility is to be an enduring and permanent quality, such sentiments as these should be firmly fixed in our minds. Our Creator, He is all-powerful, omniscient, without spot, or stain: ourselves, we are here to-day, gone to-morrow. Our strength, what is it? Our learning, what is it? Every moment of our lives we are subject to error, evil thoughts and evil deeds: where then is the ground for pride? Such humility as this being implanted in the mind, passion, envy, malice, and pride, all are dwarfed, and the mind becomes simple and sincere. Where this is the case, we derive no pleasure from a display of our own learning or intelligence, our own pride of wealth or place, which can only anger others; neither is our envy excited by the sight of the prosperity of others. We have no desire, either to abuse others, or to think meanly of them neither does an injury we may have received from another arouse our anger, or hatred against him. Our thoughts are directed solely to the purification of our own minds, or to other’s welfare. But much harsh self-discipline is necessary before this result can be attained. It is wonderful, the pride that springs up in the mind of the man possessed of but a modicum of wit: his own words, his own deeds, stand forth, in the estimation of such a man, as superior to those of all others; nothing that others may say or do is worthy of the slightest attention on his part.
Becharam.— Ah, my dear friend, how it refreshes me to hear you talk! I have been all along wishing to have such an opportunity.
Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the harried arrival of Premanarayan Mozoomdar, with the news that the Calcutta police had apprehended Thakchacha and taken him off to prison. Becharam Babu was immensely delighted when he heard the news, and exclaimed: “This is indeed good news to me.” Barada Babu was astounded, and fell into deep thought. Becharam Babu said to him: “Why are you so deep in thought? Why, there is nobody I know who would not be delighted if so wicked a man were to be transported.”
Barada.— What grieves me is the thought that the man from his youth upwards should have done evil and not good. Besides, there is his family to think of: they will die of starvation if he is put in chains.
Becharam.— Ah, my good friend! why do people reverence you but for all your qualities? Thakchacha never lost an opportunity of maligning and injuring you: he never ceased insulting and abusing you. Why, it was he who fabricated that charge of illegal confinement and assault against you, and he made every effort to press the charge home by means of forgery. And yet there is not a trace of anger or enmity in your mind against him on that account. The very meaning of retaliation is unknown to you. Your idea of retaliation was to restore him and his family to health again when they fell sick, by administering medicines, and by unremitting attention on your part; and even now all your anxiety is for his family. Ah, my dear friend, you may be a Kayasth in caste, but I should be willing to take the dust off the feet of such a Kayasth and put it on my head!
Barada.— Do not, sir, I pray you, talk like this to me. I am contemptible, and of no reputation amongst men, and am in no way worthy of your praise. Ah, sir! if you keep on saying this to me, my pride will increase.
Meanwhile, in Vaidyabati, a police sergeant, some constables, and an inspector, were hurrying Thakchacha, his arms tied behind his back, away to prison. A great crowd had collected in the streets. One man said, quoting an old proverb:— “As the deed, so the fruit.” Another man exclaimed:— “We shall never have any peace until the wretch is put on boardship and transported.” While another remarked:— “My only fear is that he may after all get off, and become as mischievous as ever.”
As, with head bent low, beard fluttering in the breeze, and eyes glaring, Thakchacha was going along with the police, he quietly offered the sergeant half a rupee to loose his bonds: the sergeant had a capacious paunch, and at once tossed the half rupee away in contempt. Thakchacha then . said to him: “Take me for a short time to Mati Babu: get him to give bail: let me go for a day only, I will put an appearance to-morrow.” The sergeant only replied: “You jabbering idiot: you will get a smack on the face, if you speak to me again.” Thakchacha then folded his hands in humble supplication before the sergeant, and begged and prayed to be let off. The sergeant refused to listen to him, and put him into a boat; About four o’clock in the afternoon he arrived with him at the police court; but as the police magistrate had left the court by that time, Thakchacha had to spend the night in the lock-up.
Matilall, when he heard of the evil plight of Thakchacha, became very anxious for himself. He dreaded the fall of the thunderbolt in his direction. Thakchacha having been caught, his turn he thought was safe to come next: the whole affair, he imagined, was connected with John Company, but anyhow extreme caution on his part was necessary. Acting upon this determination, he fastened the main door of the house very securely. Ramgovinda said to him: “Thakchacha has been apprehended, sir, on a charge of forgery: if there had been a warrant out against you, your house would have been surrounded long ago: why entertain such causeless alarm?” Matilall replied. “Ah! none of you understand: unluckily for me misfortunes are cropping up all round me: as the old proverb has it, ‘The burnt shal fish has slipped out of my hands.’ If I can only get through to-day somehow or other, I will go off the first thing to-morrow to my estates in the Jessore district. It is not safe for me to remain at home any longer: I am encompassed with portents, obstacles, fears, and misfortunes of every kind, and besides all this my money is all gone, my hand is mere dust.”
Just as he had finished speaking, there was a loud knocking at the door, and somebody shouted out: “Open the door, friend! Ho there! Is there anybody there?” Matilall said very quietly: “Hush! just what I expected has happened.” Mangovinda peeped out from above, and saw a messenger pushing away at the door: he went quietly to Matilall and said to him: “It is high time for you to be off, sir! you had better get away at once; I rather fancy that a second warrant has come in connection with Thakchacha’s case. Who can foresee the end of a spark of fire? If you can find no other deserted spot, go and get into the dirty tank at the back door, and stand like a pillar in the middle, as did King Durjyodhan.” Dolgovinda said: “Why anticipate evil? why swamp the boat at the first sight of waves? Find out the true state of affairs first: if you wait a second I will make enquiries.” Saying this, he called out: “Ho there! you messenger! from what court have you come?” The messenger replied, “Sir, I have brought a letter from Mr. John,” and saying, “Here, take the letter!” he threw it up to them. They all shouted “Aha! we are saved! we breathe again!” Then Haladhar and Gadadhar, who were behind the others, caught up the refrain:— “Protect us, O Lord, in this world.” The news to the young Babus was like an autumn cloud: it was rain, it was sun, it was warmth, it was joy. Matilall enjoined them to be quiet a little and asked for the letter, telling them that it was possible that some other opportunity for trade might be presenting itself. When he had opened the letter, the young Babus all stooped over him: there were a good many heads collected together, but not an atom of learning amongst the lot of them: reading the letter was a sore trial to them. At last they had a man called from the house of a neighbour of theirs, a Kayasth, and they ascertained the substance of the letter to be that Mr. John was almost starving, and that he was very badly in want of money. Mangovinda remarked:— “What a shameless wretch! So much money already thrown into the deep on his account, and yet he does not leave us alone; I like his impudence!” Dolgovinda said: “It is a very good thing to have an Englishman in our power, for their luck is sure to turn[54]: there are times when a handful of mud in their hands may become a handful of gold.” Matilall said to them: “Why are you chattering like this? You may cut me up and not find any blood in me: you may whittle me away, and get no flesh off me.”
One evening, about this time, Becharam Babu, having crossed over from Bally, was proceeding along in a northerly direction in a gharry. He was singing a song, the refrain of which was—