"Good boy," observed Kumodini Babu, "the times are so completely out of joint that youths are ashamed to, utter their father's name, let alone their grandfather's. Where are you studying?"

"At the Metropolitan Institution," was the reply.

"An excellent college," said Kumodini Babu; then after a whispered consultation with Jadu Babu, he said, "I am delighted with Samarendra's modesty and good manners, and have no objection whatever to giving my daughter to him in marriage—provided Prajapati (the Lord of All) causes no hitch". Samarendra thought that his ordeal was over, but he was mistaken. One of Kumodini Babu's friends, who happened to be a Calcutta B.A., would not lose the opportunity of airing his superior learning.

"What are your English text-books?" he asked.

"Blackie's Self-culture, Helps' Essays, Milton's Paradise Lost, and Tennyson's Enoch Arden," gabbled Samarendra in one breath.

"Very good, now please fetch your Paradise Lost."

The boy disappeared, returning shortly with a well-thumbed volume, which the B.A. opened and selected Satan's famous apostrophe to the Sun for explanation. Samarendra was speechless. After waiting for a minute, the B.A. asked what text-book he studied in physics and was told that it was Ganot's Natural Philosophy. He asked Samarendra to describe an electrophone, whereon the lad began to tremble violently. Kumodini Babu had pity on his confusion and told him to run away. Needless to say he was promptly obeyed.

It has become a Calcutta custom for possible fathers-in-law to cross-examine suitors on their text-books; but few boys are able to satisfy the test, however brilliant their acquirements may be. Poor Samarendra was too overwhelmed with the strangeness of his position to do himself justice.

When the elder folks were quite alone they plunged into business. Kumodini Babu sounded his host as to dena paona (settlements) on either side; but the latter courteously left them entirely to his discretion. It was settled that Basumati's pakka dekha (betrothal) should be celebrated on 12th November at Kumodini Babu's, and that of Samarendra's at his father's, two days later.

Basumati being an only daughter, Kumodini Babu determined to conduct her marriage on a magnificent scale. In anticipation of the betrothal feast, he brought three Brahman cooks from Calcutta to prepare curries, pillaos and sweetmeats under the supervision of the ladies of his household.

At length the auspicious day came round. At 5 P.M. Amarendra Babu, with half a dozen friends, arrived at Kumodini Babu's house from Calcutta. They were received with great courtesy and conducted to seats, where a plentiful supply of tobacco and betel awaited them. At half-past seven, Jadu Babu presented the bride-elect to her future family. She looked charming in a Parsi shawl and Victoria jacket, decked out with glittering jewels, and sat down near Amarendra Babu, after saluting him respectfully. He took up some dhan, durba and chandan (paddy, bent grass and sandal-wood paste) and blessed her, presenting her at the same time with a gold chur (bracelet). After again saluting him, the timid girl was led back to the inner apartments. Then the guests were taken to a large hall where supper was ready for their delectation. Full justice was done to the repast; and after it was over, they washed their hands in the yard and smoked or chewed betel in perfect bliss until half-past ten. Then Amarendra Babu asked leave to return by the last train, declining hospitality for the night on the plea of previous engagements. While saying "good-bye" he called Jadu Babu aside and thrust Rs. 30 into his hands, to be distributed among the guru (spiritual guide), purohit (family priest), and servants. Two days afterwards, Kumodini Babu and his son went to Calcutta for the boy's betrothal. He blessed Samarendra, presenting him with a gold mohur (an obsolete coin worth sixteen rupees) besides Rs. 50 for the priest and servants of his household. A feast followed on the same scale as the previous one.

Kumodini Babu's family priest decided that Asar 28th would be a lucky day for the wedding, which was to be held at the bride's great-uncle's house in Calcutta. Early on the 26th, the Gaihalud (turmeric smearing) ceremony took place. Amarendra Babu rubbed his son's body with a mixture of turmeric and oil and despatched a supply to Kumodini Babu by his own barber, with injunctions to have it applied to his daughter's person before 9 A.M., because subsequent hours would be inauspicious. On the barber's arrival, the ladies of Kumodini Babu's household anointed Basumati with turmeric and oil and clad her in a gorgeous wrapper. Then they conducted her to another room where a janti (instrument for cracking betel-nuts) was given her and certain nitkits (minor ceremonies) were performed.

At 11 A.M. the presents given on the occasion of the turmeric-smearing (gaihalud) were brought by twenty servants who were regaled with a feast made ready in anticipation of their arrival. After partaking of it they were dismissed with a largesse of one rupee each. During the next two days presents continued to pour in from relatives of both families.

At length the fateful 28th Asar dawned, bringing a mighty commotion in the respective houses. Shouts and laughter echoed from every side. Amarendra Babu had resolved to marry his son in a style which, sooth to say, was far above his means, hoping to recoup himself from the large cash payment which he expected from Kumodini Babu. On his side the latter had consulted relatives as to the proper dowry. All agreed that Rs. 2,000 worth of ornaments; Rs. 1,001 in cash; Rs. 500 for Barabharan (gifts to a bridegroom); and Rs. 500 for Phulsajya (lit. a bed of flowers) would be sufficient. Thus Kumodini Babu provided Rs. 4,001 and imagined that he was acting generously.

At 7.30 P.M. the bridegroom's procession was formed. A Sub-Inspector of Police and three constables led the way, followed by a band of music. Next came a carriage and four conveying Samarendra, his younger brother, and the family priest. Carriages belonging to Amarendra Babu's friends, and some hired ones full of invited guests, brought up the rear. When a start was made, the little police force hustled vehicles out of the way and even stopped tram-cars when necessary; while the band tortured selections from Handel and Beethoven to the intense delight of passers-by, many of whom paused to criticise shortcomings in the procession among themselves. In about an hour it reached its destination, where Kumodini Babu's uncle received the guests. The family barber carried Samarendra in his arms to a chair which had been provided for him. There he sat with eyes fixed steadily on the ground, while his friends squatted round and cracked jokes at his expense. He smiled, but modestly implored them not to put him out of countenance. The Lagna (auspicious time) was determined to be 9.30; meanwhile the guests sat on carpets or chairs, beguiling the delay with hookahs.

While mirth was at its height, strange things were happening in a private room adjoining. Soon after arriving, Amarendra Babu asked Kumodini Babu and Jadunath to display the presents destined for the young couple. They took him into a room where all were set forth to the best advantage. After examining them in silence awhile, Amarendra Babu kicked the nearest contemptuously aside, remarking that they were "mere rubbish". In point of fact he fully expected Kumodini Babu to give Rs. 4,000 in cash, Rs. 2,000 in respect of Barabharan and Phulsajya and Rs. 4,000 worth of jewellery—Rs. 10,000 in all. To judge by the ornaments shown him, the total dowry would be barely half as much and he could not help expressing disappointment. On asking Kumodini Babu what he intended paying down in cash, and learning that Rs. 1,001 was all he could afford, Amarendra Babu's indignation knew no bounds. He demanded Rs. 5,000, declaring that if it were not paid on the nail, he would take his son away! The wretched father implored twelve hours' delay, but was told in as many words that his promise could not be relied on. The deadlock soon got wind, and Amarendra Babu's action was severely commented on by the guests, but he remained obdurate. Kumodini Babu's uncle ran to a wealthy acquaintance for a loan of Rs. 4,000, but was told that so large a sum was not available at short notice. On his return, Amarendra Babu delivered his ultimatum—Rs. 4,000 cash to be paid forthwith; and finding that it was hopeless to expect so much, he hailed a cab, hurried Samarendra into it, and drove home in high dudgeon, followed by all his relatives and friends. This unexpected calamity brought mourning into a house of mirth; people spoke in whispers; and anguish left its mark on every face.

Sham Babu was supervising the Haluikars (confectioners) when the awful news reached his ears. For a few minutes he stood transfixed to the spot; but ere long a happy thought struck him. He clapped his hands in silent glee, and ran to an inner room, where Kumodini Babu lay groaning on the bare floor, guarded by his son who feared that he would do something rash.

"Mahasay," he said soothingly. "Do not take on like this! God's ways are inscrutable; perchance He has broken the match off for your daughter's good."

"Yes, God's will be done," replied Kumodini Babu in sepulchral tones. "We are but His instruments." Then after a pause he added, "What I dread most is loss of caste".

"Who will dare to excommunicate you for such a trifle?" asked Sham Babu indignantly.

"Alas, you know too well that my family's position in society is terribly compromised. A marriage postponed is a marriage lost!" groaned Kumodini Babu.

"But why should it be postponed?" was Sham Babu's eager question. "I have a proposal to make, if you will only give it a moment's thought."

Kumodini Babu looked up, and a ray of hope dried his tears; he waited anxiously for further particulars.

"You know my son Susil, I suppose? He is just sixteen and has passed the Entrance Examination."

"Yes, yes," answered Kumodini Babu. "He is a fine lad, obedient and well-mannered. But what has he got to do with our present fix?"

"Will you give your daughter to him in marriage? I will not ask a single pice as dowry."

Kumodini Babu sprang to his feet and embraced Sham Babu with fervour, saying, "You have saved my life. Personally, I should be delighted to have Susil as a son-in-law, but you must let me consult my son and wife." He ran to the inner apartments, and communicated Sham Babu's offer to his near relatives. This unexpected solution of the dilemma filled them with surprise; and a loud clamour of voices echoed through the house. Finally all, without exception, agreed that the match would be an excellent one. Kumodini Babu brought news of its acceptance to Sham Babu, and it spread among the wedding guests, who were loud in their praises of his true Hindu spirit.

Sham Babu went into the courtyard where Susil sat talking with some other boys about the astounding piece of good fortune which awaited him. That he, the son of a humble clerk, should espouse the daughter of a Zemindar was more than his wildest dreams had anticipated. He joyfully accompanied Sham Babu to a room, where he was clad in silken attire, and thence to the hall, where he was solemnly inducted into the empty bridegroom's chair amid the acclamations of the assembled guests. As the Lagna (auspicious time) had not run out the actual marriage ceremony began forthwith. Basumati was given away by her father; while the ladies performed Satpak (lit. going round seven times—a ceremony without which a Hindu marriage is not binding) and other minor ceremonies with zest. After all had been well and duly gone through, the bride and bridegroom were conducted to an inner apartment. Susil underwent the customary "chaff" from the ladies, which he bore with great good humour and was at last left alone with his young companion for life; while some of the fair guests sang wedding songs to the intense delight of their friends. Nor were the men-folk idle. They sat down to a sumptuous feast prepared for the recreant bridegroom's family, nor did they separate till daybreak.

At 3 P.M. on the morrow Sham Babu took Sasil and Basumati to his own home, where the Bau-Bhat ceremony was performed in grand style. It was attended by all their caste-fellows, who were loud in extolling his magnanimity. Sham Babu accepted their praises meekly, remarking that he had done nothing more than his duty, by neglecting which he would have rendered himself accountable to God.



CHAPTER VI

An Outrageous Swindle

Amarendra Babu had expected Kumodini Babu to run after him, with entreaties to return and the promise of a note of hand for Rs. 4,000. Disappointment became downright wrath when he heard that his son's prospective bride had been forthwith married to another boy. After pondering awhile on this grievance, he sent an anonymous letter to Sham Babu's employers, to the effect that their clerk was robbing them right and left and running a business of his own with their money, under a fictitious name. They had implicit confidence in his honesty, and the only action they took was to hand the scrawl to him with a remark that they hoped he would discover and prosecute the writer.

Meanwhile Amarendra Babu cast about him for a suitable match for his son. Hearing of a likely girl from the marriage-broker, he visited her parents, who accepted his overtures with alacrity. The young lady's father, Jogesh by name, was a commission agent, whose regular earnings did not exceed thirty rupees a month; but he lived in such style that his neighbours believed him to be comfortably off. Amarendra Babu, too, was deceived by appearances, while the girl, who was exhibited to him, seemed intelligent and pretty. On his side, Jogesh knew his visitor to be a house-owner of some means; and learning from him that his son was a second-year student, he gladly consented to the match. The pair next broached a delicate question, that of dowry. Amarendra Babu had learnt by bitter experience of the folly of pitching expectations too high. He told Jogesh that he should be quite satisfied with Rs. 4,001, viz., ornaments 2,000, barabharan and phulsajya Rs. 500 each, and cash Rs. 1,001. On Jogesh's expressing willingness to provide that amount, the purohit (family priest) was sent for who, after referring to a panjika (almanac), announced that Sraban 20th would be an auspicious day for the marriage. They then separated with many protestations of mutual good-will.

Meantime Jogesh made minute inquiries as to Amarendra Babu's position and the health of his son. Their result was satisfactory enough; not so the fiasco related in my last chapter, which reached him with amplification, and made him resolve that Amarendra Babu should not play such tricks on him. He ordered no ornaments for his daughter, because he had little cash or credit, but simply borrowed Rs. 300 to meet absolutely necessary expenses. On the afternoon of Sraban 20th he called in half a dozen city roughs, armed them with thick sticks, and plied them with spirits, telling them on no account to appear in the public apartments of his house until they received a signal agreed on.

At seven o'clock Amarendra Babu, with his son and an uncle named Rashbehari, arrived at Jogesh's house in a second-class cab. No procession attended them, partly because the last had cost so much money, partly owing to the fear that another hitch might cover them with ridicule. After exchanging hearty salutations with Jogesh, they asked him to exhibit the ornaments prepared for the bride-elect. He took them to a side room and left them there a while, presently introducing a well-dressed man as his family goldsmith. The latter unlocked a tin box which he was carrying and took out a number of glittering gold trinkets, one by one. After examining them carefully, Amarendra Babu asked him to weigh them, which he did, proving that their weight exceeded 120 bharis (forty-eight ounces), and their total value, at Rs. 20 per bhari, no less than Rs. 2,400. This was far more than he had bargained for, and Amarendra Babu was highly delighted; but his uncle insisted on sending for his own goldsmith to weigh the ornaments. Jogesh at once fell in with the suggestion, and this tradesman, on arrival, valued them at Rs. 2,700.

Rashbehari Babu's scepticism vanished, and he assented to his nephew's whispered hint that they need not ask Jogesh to produce the barabharan. He, however, insisted on satisfying them as to its worth and placed in their hands a heavy gold watch by McCabe, with an albert chain, equally ponderous; and assured them that he had paid Rs. 800 for the two. Amarendra's joy was perhaps excessive, and when the lagna (auspicious time) came round, he permitted the marriage to be celebrated. Every ceremony went off without a hitch, and the evening closed in feasting and mirth.

On the following afternoon Amarendra Babu took the bridegroom and bride with the box of ornaments to his own home, while Rashbehari Babu remained behind at Jogesh's to receive the cash. On mentioning this little formality he was assured that the sum of Rs. 1,001 had been duly counted out to his nephew; so he took his leave. When he reached home, he discovered the dirty trick that had been played by Jogesh. Amarendra stoutly denied having received any cash; and the tin box was proved to contain only fragments of brick neatly wrapped in paper, and covered with pink cotton wool.

The pair of dupes hurried to Jogesh's house for an explanation. He sat in the parlour, in evident expectation of their arrival, and asked with an air of unconcern what was the matter.

"You son of a pig!" roared Amarendra Babu, shaking his clenched fist close to Jogesh's nose. "Tell me where are the ornaments—where is the cash?"

"Why, did you not take away a box full of trinkets? and you must admit that the Rs. 1,001 were handed you in a cotton bag,"

This impudence was too much. Both uncle and nephew fell upon Jogesh and belaboured him sorely with their shoes. He did not retaliate, but consoled himself with the thought that he had done his duty, to God and society, by marrying his daughter, whatever fate might await him. After vowing to bring a suit against the swindler, Amarendra Babu and his uncle left the premises and did what they would have done much earlier had they not been in such a desperate hurry to marry the lad. They made inquiries as to Jogesh's position and soon discovered that he was a man of straw, quite unworthy of powder and shot. They learned, too, that he had hired Rs. 3,000 worth of trinkets for one night from a goldsmith, who never let them out of his possession. From a wealthy neighbour he had borrowed a McCabe's watch and chain, also for one night only. His arrangements made with a gang of city roughs, in order to prevent the marriage being broken off, also came to light. Amarendra Babu saw that he had been dealing with a cunning and desperate man and prudently determined to give him a wide berth in future. But his daughter was in Amarendra Babu's clutches, and she was forced to expiate the sins of her father. The luckless girl was kept on very short commons and locked into a dark room when she was not engaged in rough household work. Contrary to custom, she was not sent to her father's house three days after the marriage; nor was the Bau-Bhat ceremony performed. But Jogesh was on the alert; he managed to communicate with her by bribing a maid-servant, and one morning Amarendra Babu's household discovered that the half-starved bird had flown.

A year passed away without news of the truants; but, one evening, Amarendra Babu was sitting in his parlour, spelling out a spicy leader in the Indian Mirror, when, to his unqualified amazement, Jogesh stepped in and unbidden took a seat. Amarendra Babu's first impulse was to shout for help and eject the intruder with every species of ignominy, but second thoughts are proverbially peaceful.

"This Jogesh," he reflected, "must be a very smart fellow, or he would never have taken us all in as he did. It is better to be on the side of the sacrificial knife than the goat that awaits its stroke. Why should I not hear what he has to say? He would not have come here without some excellent reason—perhaps he wants to pay up part of his debt to me, or maybe he has some scheme with money in it to unfold. He'll certainly try to overreach me again; but then once bitten twice shy. I'll be on my guard." Then with an attempt at irony he asked:—

"What brings you of all people to my house? Have you got another daughter to marry?"

Had Amarendra Babu observed the gleam which shot from Jogesh's shifty eyes, he would have kicked him out at once, but he waited for a reply, which came in honeyed accents:—

"Now, Babuji, please don't rake up old stories; what is done cannot be undone. You, as a father, ought to excuse little subterfuges, contrived in order to get a daughter off one's hands. I was so anxious to ally myself with your distinguished family that I did sail rather near the wind. But I have come to offer you some amends by putting you on a really good thing."

Amarendra Babu's cupidity was excited by these words. He asked with apparent indifference: "Well, let me hear more of your famous plans, and meantime I'll call for a hookah".

Jogesh was overjoyed by the success of his manoeuvres. He answered, punctuating his sentences by inhaling fragrant Bhilsi, "You have heard of Campbell & Co., the big cooly recruiters of Azimganj? Well, they have an agency in Calcutta for supplying emigrants to Mauritius, Trinidad, and other outlandish places; and it is run by one Ganesh Sen who is a close friend of mine. He tells me that a number of sub-contracts will be given out to-morrow, and I have made up my mind to apply for one. Ganesh Babu is sure to come to terms with me; and I know a very smart sardar (ganger) who will supply me with any number of coolies I want. But I shall take care to keep a large margin between the rate per head, at which they will be delivered to Campbell & Co., and that which my sardar will receive. All this will be clear profit."

"It seems a good speculation," said Amarendra Babu musingly, "but I should like to have further particulars. What do you expect to make per head delivered; and what capital will be required?" Jogesh pulled out a paper covered with calculations, and proved to his host's satisfaction that as much as Rs. 5 might be expected on each cooly. As for capital, a few hundreds would be needed in the first instance as an advance to the sardar, and other sums later, to provide outfits for the coolies according to law. Campbell & Co. settled the accounts of sub-contractors monthly, so that Amarendra would not have to wait long for his money. Jogesh concluded by urging his baibahik (father of a son-in-law) to call with him on Messrs. Campbell & Co.'s Calcutta manager, who would corroborate his statements. Amarendra Babu thought that there would be no harm in going into matters further. He fixed 4 P.M. on the following day for a visit to 809 Strand, where Campbell & Co.'s branch offices were said to be located.

On arriving there punctually, he was met by Jogesh, who took him through a courtyard where twenty or thirty coolies were squatting, shepherded by a stalwart Mohammadan, wearing a blue turban, who was introduced as Salim Sardar, his ganger. Pushing through the little crowd, they entered a well-furnished office, where several clerks sat writing busily. One of them looked up when Jogesh said: "Ganesh Babu, I have brought you my baibahik, who is thinking of joining me in a sub-contract".

The manager, for such he was, received Amarendra Babu politely and said that he would gladly come to terms with them. He then produced a written contract in duplicate on stamped paper, by which the partners agreed to furnish at least 1,000 coolies monthly, during the emigration season, at rates which left a net profit of Rs. 5 per head, to be shared equally between them. After reading both documents over twice, Amarendra Babu executed them, as did Jogesh; and the former took possession of his copy. On returning home with his new partner, he entered on a discussion as to ways and means. It was agreed that he should advance Rs. 5,000 for preliminaries, which he did a week later, raising the amount on a mortgage of his Calcutta house property. Everything went swimmingly at first; Jogesh calling daily to report progress; and a month later he burst into Amarendra Babu's parlour, with a cash-book and bundle of currency notes. The latter learnt to his intense delight that his share of the profits amounted to Rs. 1268 12.4. which was promptly paid him. Two or three days afterwards Jogesh again called to tell him that an opportunity of making Rs. 10,000 net had occurred owing to the pressing demand for cooly freight from a ship which was lying half-empty, and costing large sums for demurrage. Rs. 10,000 must be forthcoming at once for advances and perhaps special railway trucks, but Amarendra Babu might calculate on receiving 100 per cent. in three weeks at the latest. Such a chance of money-making was not to be lost. Amarendra Babu rushed off to his broker and sold nearly all his Government paper for Rs. 10,000 in cash, which he handed to Jogesh, against a formal acknowledgment.

Seeing nothing of his partner for several days, Amarendra called to inquire how the new contract fared and was thunderstruck to find Jogesh's house locked up. Hastening to Campbell & Co.'s Strand offices, he saw a notice "to let" exhibited there. This spectacle confirmed his worst fears—he had been twice swindled outrageously. His only hope lay in the scoundrel's arrest; so he laid an information at the police station, and a clever detective was told off to investigate the charge. Strange was the story which came to light. No such firm as "Campbell & Co." existed; Ganesh Babu and Salim Sardar were both accomplices of Jogesh, who had rented an office on the Strand for one month at Rs. 300 which was never paid. He had also engaged twenty or thirty loafers at 4 annas (4d.) a head to personate coolies for a couple of hours. This part of the inquiry was satisfactory enough—for the police; not so the efforts they made to trace Jogesh and his accomplices. From that day to this nothing has been heard of them.

Amarendra Babu never recovered from this crushing blow. The loss of nearly Rs. 14,000 is a very serious matter for any one of moderate means; to him it was doubly grievous, for he worshipped money and valued nothing but success. By constantly brooding on his misfortunes and folly he developed symptoms of madness and was at times so violent that his relatives were obliged to confine him in a dark room. One afternoon he eluded their vigilance and hurried to the office of "Campbell & Co." on the Strand. After gazing for several minutes at the empty building, he heaved a deep sigh, ran across the road, and sprang into the River Hughli. The undercurrent sucked his body in, and it was never recovered. Perhaps Mother Ganges was loath to keep a carcase so tainted in her bosom, and so whirled it southwards to the ocean.



CHAPTER VII

The Virtue of Economy.

Sham Babu was a clerk of nearly thirty years' standing, and the approach of old age made him anxious to escape from the daily grind of business. He asked permission to resign, which was reluctantly granted; his employers signifying their appreciation of his faithful service by granting him a pension of Rs. 30 a month and offering to provide for any of his relatives who might be fit for clerical work. Sham Babu thanked them warmly and retired to his native village, with the intention of passing the evening of life in peace. He had always lived well within his means. People who were thrice as rich could not imagine how he contrived to bring up a family on the salary which he was known to enjoy. Some folks insinuated that he had made money by giving his son in marriage to Kumodini Babu's daughter, never remembering that a dowry is reserved for the bride's benefit, while the cash payment made to a father-in-law barely suffices to meet the expenses of elaborate nuptial ceremonies. Others hinted that he had waxed rich on illicit commissions—another charge which was quite without foundation. Sham Babu was strictly honest, and besides, the opportunities within the reach of clerks employed by a private firm are not worth mentioning.

After settling down at Kadampur he cudgelled his brains for some means of increasing his slender resources. Friends advised him to try farming, or start a business in lending grain to cultivators. Neither trade was to his liking. Clerks are of little use outside their own sphere; and Sham Babu was too soft-hearted to succeed as a village Shylock. A matter of pressing importance was to establish his son Susil, who had passed the First Arts examination and was hanging about the Government offices at Ghoria, in the hope of securing a post. Sham Babu took advantage of his late employer's offer and sent the young man off to Calcutta armed with a sheaf of certificates. To his great delight, Susil was appointed clerk on Rs. 25—a magnificent start, which relieved his father's most pressing anxiety.

Sham Babu had begun life with a small patrimony which was slowly increased by savings from his monthly pay. He was worth nearly Rs. 10,000, the whole of which was lent by him to a trader named Gopal Datta, certified by Sham Babu's brother-in-law Hari to be thoroughly trustworthy. This Gopal dealt in jute; and being a man of great daring, he speculated so successfully with Sham Babu's money that, within three or four years, he amassed a fortune of two lakhs (L13,333). He paid 12 per cent. interest on the loan regularly, which made a comfortable addition to Sham Babu's pension.

It was the latter's habit to visit his Calcutta relatives at least once a month. So, one day in June, 18—, he went to Hari Babu's house with the intention of passing the night there. His brother-in-law was absent and not expected till the morrow; but Sham Babu was welcomed by the ladies of the family, who made all arrangements for his comfort. In the evening he sat in the Baitakhana (parlour) reading the Bhagavat Gita (a mystical poem). A carriage drove up to the door whence alighted Ramanath Babu, who was Gopal's younger brother. After the usual compliments had been exchanged, Sham Babu asked what business his visitor was engaged in.

"I have started as a broker in jute and oil-seeds," was the reply.

"I hope you will do as well as Gopal," said Sham Babu, "but I suppose you have joined him?"

"Certainly not," replied Ramanath impulsively; then he checked himself, as though he had said too much.

Sham Babu was astonished by the tone adopted by his visitor. He asked, "Why, what's the matter with Gopal, nothing wrong I hope and trust?"

"No, not exactly; but I'm in a hurry to-day, you must excuse my taking leave."

Sham Babu, however, would not be put off with vague insinuations. He said, "I must ask you, Ramanath, to be more precise. You know your brother has borrowed Rs. 10,000 from me on a mere note of hand, and I am naturally very anxious to learn the truth."

Ramanath Babu paused for a few seconds before replying. "It is a fact that my brother's speculations have been unfortunate of late. He certainly made a good deal of money at one time, but sunk the bulk of it in bricks and mortar, which you know are not easily turned into liquid capital. You, as a large creditor, ought to be told how the land lies."

"This is the first I have heard of Gopal's difficulties," groaned Sham Babu.

"Yes, because no one troubled himself to tell you the truth; but I can assure you that Gopal's liabilities are something awful, and it is quite possible that he may have to take insolvency proceedings."

"You don't say so! What shall I do? If Gopal becomes bankrupt, I shall be utterly ruined."

"Well, I cannot advise you fully," replied Ramanath Babu, "but forewarned is forearmed. If I were in your shoes I would certainly call in my loan." Thereon he took leave.

Sham Babu passed a restless night, dreaming of the debtor's jail and a starving family. On Hari Babu's return, next morning, he related the purport of his conversation with Ramanath. His host said: "You should not attach too much importance to such tittle-tattle. Ramanath has had a quarrel with his brother about family matters, and he is not at all averse to doing him a bad turn." Sham Babu was not satisfied with this explanation. He answered:—

"I can hardly believe Ramanath capable of telling deliberate lies, which must inevitably be detected."

"Perhaps not. It is quite possible that Gopal may be in temporary straits. But can you point to a single merchant among your acquaintances whose career has been uniformly prosperous? There are ups and downs in commerce, which no one can avoid. Mark my words, Gopal will soon pull himself together again!"

Sham Babu was by no means convinced by his brother-in-law's optimism. He remarked, "In any case I ought not to allow my loan to stand without some tangible security. Gopal has house property in Calcutta, I believe?"

"To be sure he has. There is his new house at Entally, which must have cost Rs. 20,000; and another in Barabazar, letting at Rs. 3,000. Just calculate what this property must be worth. If I doubted Gopal's solvency, do you suppose I would have lent him Rs. 20,000 on his note of hand?"

Sham Babu was quite reassured. He came to the conclusion that Ramanath had attempted to injure his own brother, and returned home with a firm resolve to disregard such scandalous talk in future.

About three months afterwards he met Ramanath Babu quite casually in Harrison Road and, in the course of conversation, the latter asked whether he had called in his loan to Gopal.

"I have done nothing of the kind," was the curt reply. "My brother-in-law tells me that he is quite solvent."

"It was just like him to say so—the selfish fellow! I am sorry to say that my brother has lost heavily by speculating in jute and is, in fact, a ruined man. If you don't believe me, ask Hari Babu again and you will see what tune he sings. Perhaps you don't know that he has called in his loan of Rs. 20,000?"

"That is certainly strange," replied Sham Babu with tears in his voice. "He never breathed a word of any such intention to me."

"Hari Babu is your brother-in-law," continued Ramanath, "but Gopal is my own brother. Is it likely that I would injure his reputation gratuitously? No; you are an old friend whom I cannot allow to be ruined without a word of warning. If you do not choose to act upon it, so much the worse for you."

Sham Babu was now convinced that no time was to be lost in demanding proper security for the loan. He went straight to his brother-in-law, to whom he repeated the information which he had received.

Hari Babu shook his head sadly. "Yes," he said, "I am afraid there is some truth in it. Gopal is in temporary difficulties; but you need not be anxious. I will get him to give you a mortgage on landed property worth much more than his debt to you."

Sham Babu felt somewhat reassured, but there was a point to be cleared up.

"One word more," he said, "have you called in your loan of Rs. 20,000?"

Hari Babu looked at him suspiciously. "Who told you so?"

"I heard it from a reliable source."

"It must have been Ramanath, who is always seeking to make mischief. Well, yes, I did ask Gopal to repay me, not that I distrusted him but because I wanted to invest the money in land."

Sham Babu felt indignant at the man's gross selfishness, but he concealed his feelings and merely remarked that he would not leave Calcutta till the mortgage was settled. Next morning he insisted on Hari Babu accompanying him to Gopal's house at Entally. They found the debtor apparently in high spirits, although he admitted that certain speculations had turned out badly. When pressed by Sham Babu to repay the loan, he asked for time, pleading that his whole capital was locked up. Sham Babu, however, was obdurate, and with his brother-in-law's help he brought such pressure to bear on Gopal that the latter sulkily agreed to give him a mortgage on an ancestral estate in the Mufassil (interior of Bengal). Sham Babu stuck closely to him until the bargain had been fulfilled, and managed matters so expeditiously that the mortgage deed was drawn up, executed, and registered in a week. Though he had now something tangible to rely on in case of accidents still he was not happy, for Gopal discontinued paying interest on the loan and he did not dare to press him, lest he should precipitate a crash.

Misfortunes never come singly. Soon after settling this unpleasant affair, Sham Babu was laid low by fever; and doctor's bills trenched sadly on his slender resources. Susil, too, the hope of the family, caught a mysterious disease and was absent from office so long that his employers were obliged to replace him. For the first time in his life, the poor old father felt the pinch of want, but he bore up bravely hoping for better times. When he was able to crawl about again, he applied to his old employers for work of any kind, but learnt to his sorrow that they intended winding up the business and were not able to increase their establishment. Sham Babu scanned the advertisement columns of the daily paper and answered many offers of employment, learning, on each occasion, that he was far too old to fill the coveted post.

One evening he sat in his parlour brooding over the many misfortunes which encompassed him. A distant connection named Srish Babu came in and, hearing that his host sorely needed work, said:—

"I am going to start a business in country produce and shall want several experienced clerks. I must provide for relatives first and strangers afterwards. Now, would you be inclined to come to me as manager, on Rs. 75 a month to begin with?"

Sham Babu jumped at the offer, which would restore him to comparative affluence, and it was agreed that he should enter on his new duties in three weeks. A month passed by without news from his relative, and meantime Sham Babu received a tempting offer of employment. Before deciding what to do he wrote to Srish Babu, informing him of the fact and asking whether he could rely on him. A reply came to the effect that he might do as he pleased, but that the business in country produce, which he was to manage, would positively be started in a fortnight. After another month of suspense, Sham Babu learnt that Srish's bubble had been pricked, and that he had levanted, no one knew whither, to escape a swarm of creditors.

The poor old man was now on his beam-ends. The only course open to him was to sue Gopal for arrears of interest and foreclose his mortgage. After a year and a half's attendance in divers civil courts and spending his last rupee on lawyers' fees, he obtained a decree. When, however, he tried to execute it, it turned out that the estate on which he had a lien was a joint family possession, with the shares so inextricably mixed up that he could neither trace the property mortgaged to him nor discover who was liable for the proportion of profit derived from it. As well poke one's fingers into a hornet's nest as into a joint family estate! Sham Babu was glad to accept an offer of Rs. 5,000 from Gopal's co-sharers, in return for a surrender of his claims. Despite his heavy loss, enough remained to preserve him from penury; and he was even able to start Susil in a small way of business. Great is the virtue of economy!



CHAPTER VIII

A Peacemaker.

Young Samarendra Dass of Calcutta hoped to enter Government service as a Sub-Deputy Magistrate; but this ambition was thwarted by the sudden decease of his father, who left a widow and two sons entirely unprovided for. After dutifully performing the sradh (funeral rites), he waited on the dead man's uncle, Rashbehari Babu by name, with a request that he would support the little family until the sons were in a position to do so. No good Hindu in comfortable circumstances ever turns a deaf ear to such appeals. Rashbehari Babu at once invited the trio to take up their abode with him. Having no nearer relatives, he had resolved to leave his whole fortune to Samarendra and his brother Nagendra; and long before his nephew's death he had executed a will to that effect, which for obvious reasons was kept a profound secret. The young men were, therefore, ignorant of the brilliant prospects in store for them, and worked hard to prepare themselves for earning a livelihood. Samarendra was soon provided with a post as clerk, which yielded enough to provide the cost of his father's funeral ceremony and also enabled him to pay Nagendra's school fees.

One evening Rashbehari Babu went to bed supperless, complaining of indisposition. At midnight, Samarendra was awakened by his groans and found him writhing in agony on the floor. A doctor was summoned in hot haste; but ere his arrival the poor old man had expired in Samarendra's arms. His case was diagnosed as one of failure of the heart's action.

Samarendra and his mother were prostrated by this sudden calamity; but there is no time to be lost in hot weather. Calling in three or four neighbours, they had the body carried to Nimtala Ghat for cremation. Sufficient money was given to the Muchis (low-caste men who serve as undertakers) for purchasing an abundant supply of fuel and ghi (clarified butter) with which a chilla (pyre) was constructed. After the corpse had been laid reverently thereon, Samarendra performed Mukhagni ("putting fire in its mouth," the duty of the eldest son or nearest relative). Fire was then applied on four sides, and when the body had been reduced to ashes, Samarendra bathed in the Ganges with his companions, and returned home with wet clothes, shouting "Haribol!" (a cry used at funerals).

Next day Samarendra discovered the dead man's keys, one of which opened a drawer where Rashbehari Babu kept his private papers. Among them was a will, which made himself and his brother sole heirs to the deceased's estate. He ran with the glad news to his mother, who, in the exuberance of her joy, vowed to offer a sumptuous puja at Kali Ghat temple after the sradh had been duly performed.

Rashbehari Babu left landed property yielding an annual income of Rs. 1,200, besides Rs. 10,000 deposited in a Calcutta bank, and a substantial house. His estate was worth not less than Rs. 40,000—a lucky windfall for the penniless brothers. It is needless to add that the testator's sradh was celebrated with great pomp, which over, Samarendra applied for and obtained probate of the will. A sudden change from dependence to comparative wealth is trying to the best-balanced character. Samarendra's head was turned by the accession of fortune; he began to give himself airs in dealing with acquaintances, and was not over-kind to his mother, who bore her sufferings patiently.

A landed proprietor holds service in contempt. Samarendra at once resigned his post and settled down at Ratnapur, where Rashbehari Babu had owned a house and the bulk of his estate was situated. Soon afterwards he yielded to the repeated advice of his mother by marrying the daughter of a caste-fellow, endowed with goods on a par with her husband's new position.

His brother Nagendra passed the Entrance Examination, but failed to secure a First Arts certificate. This rebuff so disheartened him that he gave up all idea of continuing the University course and returned to Ratnapur with the intention of living in idleness on his property. In vain did Samarendra point out the advantages of a degree. Nagendra declared that such distinctions were beyond his reach. Sudden wealth, in fact, was injurious to both of them.

Two uneventful years passed away. Samarendra's wife was the mother of an idolised boy and was herself adored by her mother-in-law, who never allowed her to do any manner of household work. The result was that her temper changed for the worse. When the old lady fell ill, the young one made horrible messes of her curry and rice. If her husband ventured to remonstrate, she silenced him with abuse, and even emphasised her remarks with a broomstick.

Samarendra, in fact, was completely under his wife's thumb. Her word was law in the household; her mother-in-law a mere cypher, who found both husband and wife perpetually leagued against her. Shortly after his arrival at Ratnapur, Nagendra espoused the daughter of Kanto Babu, a Zemindar residing in the neighbourhood. At first Samarendra's wife received the new-comer graciously enough; but finding that she was of a submissive disposition, she soon began to lord it over her sister-in-law. Nagendra sympathised heartily with his young wife, but had such a horror of family quarrels that he was very loath to intervene on her behalf. One evening, however, he ventured on a word of reproof, which was received with angry words and threats of his eldest brother's vengeance.

Next day Samarendra called him into the parlour, and, after they were seated, said: "I hear you have been rude to Barabau (the elder wife). Is that so?"

Nagendra raised his hands in wonder. "No, brother, it was she who showed disrespect to me, simply because I objected to her bullying my wife."

"Do you mean to say that Barabau has lied?" thundered Samarendra. His brother was nettled by the tone adopted. He replied hotly, "Yes, she has lied!"

"What!" asked Samarendra beside himself with indignation. "Is my wife a liar and are you a Judisthir?" (the elder of the five Pandav brothers, heroes of the Mahabharata). "You are a creature without shame!" So saying, he shook his fist at Nagendra who started from his seat as if to attack him. Luckily a respectable neighbour came in at the very nick of time and separated the would-be combatants.

On the morrow, Nagendra told his brother curtly that these perpetual bickerings must be avoided at all cost, and that the only course open to them was to separate. Samarendra raised not the slightest objection, and from that day forward two distinct establishments were set up in the same house. It only remained to divide the estates equally, and as a preliminary step Nagendra asked for accounts during the last three years. They were furnished in a few weeks, and he spent several nights in examining them carefully, taking lists of defaulters in order to verify them by independent inquiry.

While returning home, one evening, from supper at a friend's house, he met a Mohammadan ryot who, according to the accounts, was heavily in arrears of rent. He paused and, after acknowledging the man's salam, remarked that he ought to make an effort to pay a part at least of what was due. The ryot stood aghast with surprise, but invoked Allah to witness that he had paid up every pice, adding that he held Dakhilas (rent receipts) from Bara Babu (the elder brother) which would prove his assertion. Nagendra asked him to call next day with the receipts in question.

When the man presented himself, Nagendra, in his brother's presence, asked for the arrears of rent shown in the jama wasil baqi (accounts). Again the ryot affirmed that he owned nothing and appealed to the Bara Babu for corroboration. Samarendra was taken aback.

"Yes," he stammered, "you did pay me something about a month ago."

"Why do you say 'something,' Babu? You know quite well that I discharged my rent in full; and what is more I have receipts." So saying he untied a knot in his gamcha (wrapper) and extracted some greasy papers, which he flourished in Samarendra's face, shouting, "Will you swear by your gods that these are not in your writing?"

Nagendra took the receipts, which bore his brother's signature. The latter looked somewhat sheepish as he answered: "My memory failed me; I now recollect receiving our rent from you."

Nagendra turned sharply on his brother with the question: "Then why did you not enter these receipts in your karcha (cash-book)?"

"I'm sure I don't know," was the reply; "probably I forgot to do so."

Though Nagendra said nothing at the time, his doubts of Samarendra's probity became certainties. From that day onward he was indefatigable in studying the copy of the siah (rent-roll) furnished him, the cash-book, and statement of arrears. Figures set down in these accounts were checked by private inquiries among the ryots themselves. Then the truth dawned on Nagendra, that his brother had misappropriated large sums, which should have been paid to him, and concealed his fraud by falsifying the Zemindari papers. After preparing a list of defalcations, he showed it to his brother and asked for an explanation. None was forthcoming; nay, Samarendra made his case worse by flying into a passion and ordering him out of the room. He went straight to Kanto Babu for advice, and was told that the only course open to him was to sue his brother for recovery of the amount wrongfully appropriated. He resolved to do so forthwith.

On the self-same night his wife, after discussing household affairs with him as usual, asked casually why he had paid her father a visit. He told her everything that occurred without reserve. The young lady listened with breathless attention, but heaved a deep sigh on learning that he intended suing his elder brother. Nagendra paused and asked what was on her mind.

"My lord," was her reply, "I am only a woman, knowing nothing of the world except things within my sphere. Any attempt on my part to meddle in business matters may seem extremely presumptuous. But this is such a grave and risky matter that I cannot help speaking out. If you file a suit against your brother, he will of course defend himself; for to lose it would ruin him in purse and honour. It will drag on for months. If you get a decree, the defendant will appeal to the Sub-Judge, and eventually to the High Court. To fight your way step by step will cost a fortune; and even should you win all along the line, the lawyers will not leave you enough to keep body and soul together. How can a small estate like yours bear the costs of both sides? So in my humble opinion it would be much better to allow your brother to enjoy his ill-gotten gains. Make up your mind, from this day forward, to look carefully after your interests, and you may rest assured that your brother will never try any such tricks again."

Nagendra listened with open mouth to this discourse, and when his wife had done speaking, he embraced her fondly again and again, murmuring:—

"My dearest love, I never knew your real worth till now. The Goddess of Wisdom has chosen you as her messenger and has convinced me that lawsuits are luxuries which only the rich folk can enjoy—not people in my position. I will certainly see your father to-morrow and tell him my resolve to take no steps whatever against Samarendra."

A Hindu wife is her husband's truest friend; ever eager to share his sorrows and to proffer sound advice in times of difficulty. Yet these sweet, unselfish creatures are systematically libelled by men who owe everything to them. It was soon noised abroad that Nagendra's wife had saved him from inevitable ruin. Everyone praised her common-sense—not excepting Samarendra and his wife, who thenceforward treated her with more consideration. Nagendra, therefore, began to hope that peace and unity would again rule the family.



CHAPTER IX

A Brahman's Curse.

Despite his lack of training Samarendra Babu had great capacities for business, and seldom lost a chance of profit-making. He saw that people around him stood in constant need of funds to defray the cost of religious and family rites, and were ready to pay 60 per cent for loans—at least they undertook to do so. It occurred to him that if he lent money on unimpeachable security at something under the market rates, he could not fail to make a large fortune. Soon after he had set up as a banker, the neighbours flocked to him for advances, which he granted only to such as could offer substantial security; his charges by way of interest being 30 to 40 per cent. He also started a business in lending ryots rice for their seed-grain and support till the harvest should be reaped. It is needless to add that his clients paid heavily for this accommodation. So rapidly did his dealings increase that he sought an agent to represent him at the district headquarters; and particularly to buy up defaulters' estates at the auctions which are held periodically under Government auspices. His choice fell upon one Bipinbehari Bhur, who had a widespread reputation for acuteness. It was not belied. In less than a year Bipin had secured for his master estates yielding a net income of nearly Rs. 1,200, which had cost a mere song at auction. Samarendra Babu never failed to reward him for such bargains. On one occasion he had such a slice of luck that it is worth while to narrate it in some detail.

He had just retired to rest for the night, when a servant knocked at the door to say that Bipin had come on very urgent business. Samarendra Babu went downstairs to his parlour, clad in a wrapper, to find his agent pacing up and down in evident agitation. After the usual compliments had been exchanged, he asked why Bipin had called so late.

"I have bad news for you, Mahasay," was the reply. "You remember buying the Shibprakash estate at last auction? Well, that property may slip through your fingers." He paused to watch the effect of the announcement on his master, and then went on: "The late proprietor has lodged an objection to its sale, on the ground that no arrears were due, producing a receipt to substantiate his contention. The Collector has just called on us to show cause against the cancellation of the sale and will take the case up the day after to-morrow."

Samarendra was thunderstruck by this information, the Shibprakash estate being one of the best bargains he had ever got. After pondering a while, he asked, "What would you advise me to do? I am afraid it is hopeless to contend against a receipt in full!"

Bipin was not so easily disheartened. He replied, "Let us consult our pleader, Asu Babu, who is sure to have some plan for upholding the sale. He won't ask more than Rs. 100, which is not a tenth of the annual profits for Shibprakash." This course commended itself to Samarendra, who sent his headman back to Ghoria, promising to follow next day, with the necessary sinews of war. He arrived betimes at Bipin's house there, and took him to the Bar Library, where Asu Babu was sure to be found when not engaged in Court. A few minutes later the limb of the law came in, and asked what business brought Samarendra to Ghoria.

After hearing the story of Shibprakash and its vicissitudes of ownership, he asked:—

"How much will you pay me if I win your case?"

Glancing at Bipin, Samarendra answered hesitatingly, "Well, I might go as far as fifty rupees".

"Nonsense," was the rejoinder. "I won't take a pice less than Rs. 100." After several minutes wasted on haggling, it was agreed that Asu Babu should be paid Rs. 40 on the nail and Rs. 35 more if he won the suit. The pleader pocketed this first instalment, and assured Samarendra that he would prove the sale to have been perfectly valid. Then the trio separated, Samarendra returning to Bipin's house where they passed the day in forming plans for further purchases.

At 10.30 on the morrow, both attended at the Collectorate and found that the Shibprakash objection stood first for hearing. It was opened by the appellant's pleader, who rose armed with a huge account book and bundle of receipts, in order to prove that his client owed nothing to Government, and that the sale proceedings were a blunder from beginning to end. Asu Babu waited till his turn came, and then informed the Collector that he would find, on examining his books, that the appellant was Rs. 1 11. 0. in arrears at the date of the sale. The Collector ordered his head clerk to produce the ledger account of payments on account of the Shibprakash estates, and, sure enough, they showed a short payment of the amount stated. This was a thunderbolt for the appellant, whose pleader vainly tried to pick holes in the accounts, but was at last obliged to confess that a mistake had been made. The only course open to him was to sue for mercy. The Collector, however, was inexorable, and indeed he had no power to mitigate the Draconian law of sale. That of Shibprakash was duly confirmed, and its new owner adjourned to the bar library to settle matters with his pleader. The meeting was joyful indeed. After congratulating Asu Babu on his unexpected success, Samarendra asked how he had managed it. The pleader at first refused to gratify his curiosity, but yielded to entreaty. "The tiger has a jackal," he said, "and I, who cannot stoop to dirty tricks myself, have a certain mukhtiar (the lowest grade of advocates) who is hand-in-glove with all the amlas (clerks) and can twist them round his finger—for a consideration. I gave him Rs. 10 out of the advance money and promised as much more if he could persuade the Collectorate clerks to cook the appellant's accounts, so as to show a short payment. You see how well he has succeeded, and now I think the least you can do is to refund the douceur to me." Samarendra agreed and handed Asu Babu Rs. 55, prophesying that he would have a brilliant career at the bar.

He had to stop for a fortnight or so at Ghoria, in order to get possession of his purchase from the Collectorate nazir (bailiff) who, according to custom, planted a bamboo thereon, as a symbol of its transfer. While waiting for this formality he attended another sale for arrears of revenue, in the hope of picking up some profitable bargains. He was not disappointed. The last lot was the whole of Jayrampur, a small village quite close to his house, inhabited by hardworking and submissive ryots, who paid their rent punctually. Samarendra was all agog when the nazir read out the names of its proprietors, the amount of arrears, and the boundaries, calling on the crowd to bid. A dead silence followed, which was at last broken by a timid offer of Rs. 1,000. Samarendra promptly bid Rs. 6,000; which he knew was hardly three years' purchase of the net rental, and the rise was so tremendous that it choked off all competition. Jayrampur was knocked down to him; but his exultation was tempered by the discovery that he had not nearly enough to meet the amount of earnest money which had to be paid down at once. A mukhtiar came to his aid by whispering offers of a loan, and the requisite amount was forthcoming in five minutes, on Samarendra's giving his note of hand with a bonus of 10 per cent. payable next day.

His star continued to be in the eleventh heaven; for this was one of a series of profitable purchases. In seven or eight years he owned estates yielding an income of Rs. 8,000, while his dealings in grain produced half as much again.

Samarendra's ambition rose with growing prosperity. Visions of a title hovered in his brain, and being a man of resource, he hit upon an ingenious method of converting them into realities. Close to his house there was an extensive bil (marsh) peopled in season by swarms of wild-duck, teal and snipe. It was visited occasionally by Europeans from Calcutta, who are always on the alert for a day's sport, but they were inconvenienced by the total lack of accommodation. So Samarendra built a neat bungalow, equipped it with European furniture, and placed an old Khansama (Mohammadan butler) in charge, who was versed in all the customs of Saheb-log (Englishmen). This menial had orders to report the arrival of white visitors and offer them hospitality. His courtesy was highly appreciated, and there was scarcely a Sunday during the cold weather which did not bring a couple of sportsmen to the bungalow. Samarendra attended personally to their comforts, thus making many friends. Through their influence he secured carte blanche in the matter of guns and ammunition—a boon which seldom falls to the lot of middle-class Indians. At their request he subscribed to various European clubs, winning the reputation of being "not half a bad sort of fellow". All this hospitality, however, was terribly expensive, and it soon exceeded Samarendra's income. But he went on spending money like water, in the assurance that one day it would yield a golden return.

On a bright morning, in January, 18—, he was sitting in his bungalow, in the hope of welcoming guests, when a European entered it, attended by two orderlies; and seeing a well-dressed Indian, was about to retire. Samarendra introduced himself as the local Zemindar and offered to send a shikari (game-keeper) with the visitor in order to show him some sport. His overtures were gratefully received, and the European, on returning at noon with a heavy bag, was delighted to find an appetising tiffin ready for his acceptance. Samarendra kept out of the way until it was finished, and then asked whether his guest had enjoyed himself. The latter was profuse in thanks and, ere leaving for the neighbouring railway station, asked whether he could be of any service, tendering a card inscribed, "Mr. Charles Bernardson, Indian Civil Service". He was none other than the Chief Secretary to Government.

Such an acquaintance was not to be lost sight of. A week later Samarendra went to Calcutta and called on Mr. Bernardson at his chambers in the United Service Club. He was received, so to speak, with open arms, questioned about crops, crime, sport, and other commonplace topics, and again assured that Mr. Bernardson would serve him in any way within his power. The latter hint was promptly taken. On receiving permission to quit the great man's presence he timidly suggested that he would like to be an Honorary Magistrate. Mr. Bernardson took note of the wish, and a few weeks later the Gazette announced Samarendra's nomination to the Ghoria Independent Bench, with power to try cases singly.

The next point was to attract the attention of the district authorities. Samarendra pored over the Penal and Procedure Codes, took lessons in law from Asu Babu, and soon mastered the routine of a petty Court of Justice. He never missed any sitting of the Bench and signalised himself by a rigorous interpretation of the law. Offenders had short shrift from him; and the police moved heaven and earth to get their cases disposed of in his Court. His percentage of convictions was larger than that of any honorary magistrate. Such zeal deserved a suitable reward, and it soon attracted the attention of the authorities. On New Year's Day, 189-, the Calcutta Gazette came out with its usual list of honours, amongst which was seen a Rai Bahadurship for Samarendra. This dignity answers to the English knighthood, and it is usually made an excuse for rejoicings shared by all classes. Samarendra, however, thought it unnecessary to waste money on junketings. He preferred subscribing to movements favoured by the "little tin gods" of Darjiling.

Towards the end of the same year, he was accosted, while leaving Court one afternoon, by a chuprassi (orderly) attached to the magistrate-collector's person, who salamed obsequiously and said that the Bara Saheb wished to see him at once. Hastening to the district chief's bungalow he was graciously received, and in the course of conversation a remark fell from the great man's lips, which made the blood course wildly through his veins. It seemed that a fund had been started in Calcutta for the purpose of erecting some permanent memorial to the late Viceroy, and a hint was thrown out that if Samarendra subscribed liberally, he might possibly find himself gazetted a "Raja Bahadur". He assured the magistrate that the Memorial Fund would receive a handsome donation from him and asked for a few days in order to decide the amount.

On returning home, he made a rough calculation of his assets and liabilities. The latter amounted to nearly a lakh of rupees (L6,666), or about five times his net annual income. Common prudence suggested that he ought not to increase the burden; but ambition prevailed, and the only question which Samarendra set himself was, "What is the least amount I can decently give?" After thinking over pros and cons for a whole night, he decided that Rs. 10,000 would be enough; raised that sum at 12 per cent, by mortgaging some landed property, and sent it with a flowery letter to the District Magistrate, as a humble donation to the Viceroy's Memorial Eund.

A few days later Samarendra was preparing for a visit to his favourite rest-house, in the vague hope that Mr. Bernardson might turn up again, when a strange Brahman entered the courtyard and thus addressed him:—

"Sir, you are an Amir, and I am a beggar. I have a request to make."

"Cut it short," replied Samarendra testily. "Come to the point—what do you want?"

"Sir, I have a grown-up daughter who positively must be married; but I cannot raise a sufficient dowry. Will your honour give me a trifle towards making one up?"

"No, I won't; if you belonged to this village you would know that I cannot afford to fling money about. My expenses are enormous!"

"Now, please, don't refuse me, Rai Bahadur; surely you can spare a couple of rupees to a poor Brahman!"

Samarendra was exasperated by the man's importunity. He replied sharply, "You and your kind seem to think that I am Kuver (the God of Wealth) incarnate, who is able to satisfy every human need! I won't give you anything!"

"Only one rupee, Rai Bahadur," pleaded the Brahman with folded hands.

"No! no! Get out of my house at once!" bellowed Samarendra; then turning to his doorkeeper, he ordered him to "run the fellow out of the yard by the neck".

The Brahman was deeply incensed. Drawing himself up to his full height, he looked scornfully at Samarendra, and said:—

"Babu, you dare to order me, a Brahman, to be ejected with violence from your house. Is there no religion left in this world? Mark my words, a day is coming when you will be poorer even than myself. I have spoken." Then he strode out of the courtyard in high dudgeon. Samarendra merely laughed aloud and hurled mocking epithets after his retreating figure, to which no reply was vouchsafed.

Next morning he received a letter from the District Magistrate which filled him with mingled joy and terror. It contained a curt request to call at once on a matter of great importance. He drove to the great man's bungalow arrayed in his best, but was kept waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour in the porch. When he was ushered into the magistrate's study he saw intuitively that something was wrong. His salam was returned by a mere inclination of the head and a request to be seated. Then the Magistrate spoke in tones of chilling politeness:—

"Rai Bahadur, I've sent for you to say that a subscription of Rs. 10,000 is wholly unworthy of your position. If you wish, I will send it to the Secretary of the Memorial Fund; but I warn you plainly that the most you can expect in return is an expression of the Lieutenant-Governor's thanks in the Gazette. I could not possibly recommend you for a title for such a paltry sum."

Poor Samarendra's heart beat more loudly than the clock on the magistrate's mantelpiece. He stammered out: "I need only assure your honour that I have given as much as I could afford; but if your honour thinks the amount insufficient—er—er—er—I am quite willing to give—twice as much". So saying he awaited a reply in trembling apprehension. It was satisfactory.

"Now, Rai Bahadur, you are talking sense. Send me Rs. 10,000 more for the fund and I'll undertake to submit your name to Government for a Rajaship. It will be just in time for the New Year's Gazette. Now you may take leave."

Samarendra bowed himself out with precipitation and, on returning home, sent for his factotum, Bipin, to whom he related this momentous interview, with an injunction to raise Rs. 10,000 more by hook or by crook. Bipin shook his head ominously and feared that no moneylender would advance any considerable sum on estates already over-burdened. However, he promised to do his best and negotiated so successfully that Rs. 10,000 were procured at 24 per cent. in less than a week. This additional subscription was gracefully acknowledged by the District Magistrate, and a fortnight later Samarendra's drooping spirits were revived by the appearance of a notification in the Gazette thanking him warmly for his "munificence and public spirit". There was nothing for it but to count the days of the expiring year.

On 31st December, 189-, his impatience could brook no further delay. Hurrying to Calcutta by train, he sent a trusty servant to the Government printing office with orders to obtain the earliest copy of the Gazette at any price. He slept not a wink on that fateful night and rose betimes to intercept the messenger.

At last the bulky document was thrust into his hands. He unfolded it with trembling fingers and glanced downwards through an interminable list of newly-made Maharajas, Nawab Bahadurs, Raja Bahadurs, and Rajas—in the hope of finding his own name. Alas, it was conspicuous by its absence. Oh, the pangs of hope deferred and wounded pride! Death seemed to Samarendra preferable to a life of poverty and despair. He returned home crestfallen and nursed his disappointment until it landed him in a severe attack of brain fever. As soon as he felt strong enough to leave the house, he drove to the magistrate's house for explanation and comfort. He was courteously received, but the Chief hinted that there might be a hitch about the title, as he himself had enemies in the Secretariat, who would be glad of an opportunity of placing him in a false position. He counselled patience and expressed a conviction that the birthday Gazette would contain the notification so ardently desired.

This was comforting, but Samarendra resolved to push his own interests. He remembered the promises made by Mr. Bernardson and took the next train to Calcutta in order to secure his influence. On reaching the Secretariat he learnt, with deep annoyance, that Mr. Bernardson had taken sick leave to England and was not likely to return. So the only course open was to wait for 24th May. Again he was disappointed, the list of birthday honours ignoring him completely. Samarendra had not even the resource of consulting the official who had lured him into extravagant expenditure. The District Magistrate was transferred to a distant and unhealthy part of the province, and his successor disclaimed all knowledge of the bargain.

Samarendra's long suspense and repeated disappointments told severely on his health. He neglected business, leaving everything in the hands of Bipin, who was more anxious to feather his own nest than extricate his master from difficulties; so the interest in mortgages fell into arrears. One creditor bolder than the rest sued him and foreclosed; then others were encouraged to attack the ruined man. In less than a year, Samarendra was stripped of every bigha (one-third of an acre) of land he once possessed, and attachments galore were issued against his moveable property. Too late did he see the depths of folly into which he had fallen.

Grief and despair brought on a second attack of brain fever, which exhausted his failing strength. After tossing for several weeks in delirium he regained sense only to feel assured that the end of all worldly ambition was fast approaching. Then he remembered the Brahman's curse, and knowing that it was the cause of all his misfortunes he endeavoured to make some reparation; but the holy man was not to be found. One evening he fell into a deep slumber from which he never awoke, leaving a wife and several helpless children in comparative penury. Then a hush fell on the land, and people whispered that Brahmateja (the power of Brahmans) was by no means extinct.



CHAPTER X

A Roland for His Oliver.

Nagendra's soul was not haunted by any such ambitions. He was content with the surplus profits from his landed estates, which he did not invest in trade or even Government paper, but hoarded in a safe. By slow degrees he amassed a small fortune, and when Samarendra's growing impecuniosity forced him to ask his brother for a loan of Rs. 2,000, it was readily granted on a mere note of hand. In less than six months the borrower died and, after waiting as long, Nagendra pressed his sister-in-law for payment of the debt. She referred him to her brother, Priyanath Guha, who, she said, was manager of what property she had left. This man was a scoundrel of the deepest dye, and Samarendra, who was fully aware of the fact, never allowed him inside the house. After his death Priya made himself so useful to the widow that she invited him to live in her house and trusted him implicitly. When the neighbours learnt this arrangement they whispered that the poor woman would inevitably be reduced to beggary.

Nagendra reluctantly applied to Priya for a refund of the loan, producing Samarendra's note of hand, which was about a year overdue. After examining it, Priya said:—

"The matter is simple enough. My sister must repay you; but you know the muddle in which her husband's affairs were left, and I'm sure you won't refuse to renew the bond."

Nagendra replied that he would gladly give his sister any reasonable time to discharge her debt.

"Very well," rejoined Priya. "What do you say to my renewing this note of hand for six months, with 12 per cent. interest?"

"I have no objection," said Nagendra, "but you must satisfy me first that you hold a general power of attorney to act for her."

"Oh, you doubt my word," sneered Priya, "but I don't blame you; such is the way of the world."

So saying he took a registered power of attorney out of his sister's strong box, which Nagendra saw entitled him to transact any business whatever relating to her estate. He handed the bond to Priya and asked him to endorse the conditions agreed on. While doing so Priya looked up. "Have you any objection," he asked, "to my antedating the renewal a week or so. The fact is, Baisakh 12th has always been a lucky day in my family and I should like to date my endorsement then."

"Just as you like," answered Nagendra indifferently; and after reading the endorsement through very carefully he took the note of hand away without saluting Priya.

Not hearing from him when the note matured, Nagendra called at his sister's house and pressed Priya, whom he found there, for payment of the Rs. 2,000 and interest.

Priya gazed at him with feigned astonishment "What loan are you talking about?" he asked.

Nagendra attempted to jog his memory, but he stoutly denied having renewed any note of hand which purported to have been executed by Samarendra. When the document was shown him, he boldly declared that the endorsement was a forgery, and further that the handwriting on the note of hand itself was not Samarendra's. Nagendra stood aghast for awhile and, on regaining his wits, he said, "I ought to have known better than trust a haramzada like you!"

"Now don't descend to personalities," rejoined Priya. "I can prove that the endorsement could not have been executed by me; and the whole transaction looks fishy."

This was too much for Nagendra, who lost his temper and abused the scoundrel roundly. They separated with threats of mutual vengeance.

On the morrow, Nagendra instructed a pleader to file a suit against his sister for recovery of the principal and interest due on the promissory note. When it came on for hearing before the Subordinate Judge, Nagendra Babu was dumbfoundered by hearing the defendant's pleader aver that the endorsement could not possibly be genuine, inasmuch as his client was fifteen hundred miles from Ratnapur at the alleged date of execution. He then placed Priya in the box, to swear that, on Baisakh 12th, he was at Lahore, in order to give evidence in a civil suit. All doubt vanished in the Sub Judge's mind when the pleader handed him a document bearing the seal of the Chief Court of the Punjab, certifying that Priya had been in attendance on that day. He dismissed the suit with costs against Nagendra, and remarked that this palpable forgery cast discredit on the whole transaction.

It was a wise man who said that we hate our enemies less for the harm they have done us than for the harm we have done them. Priya was not content with depriving Nagendra of his dues; he resolved to injure him more materially. About a month after his unlucky lawsuit, Nagendra learnt quite by accident that one of his estates named Lakhimpur had been notified for sale for arrears of land revenue amounting to Rs. 197 odd. The Naib (manager), on being asked to account for this, laid all the blame on the ryots, who, he said, would not be made to pay their rent and thus deprived him of the means of satisfying the Government demand. Nagendra rebuked him for gross negligence and failing to report the matter, for, he added, the arrears would have been paid from his own pocket. He at once dismissed the Naib from his employ and hastened to Ghoria, where he instructed a pleader named Asu Babu to petition the collector for leave to make good the arrears on Lakhimpur. The request was perforce rejected. Lakhimpur was put up for sale and Nagendra ascertained that the purchaser was a man of straw representing Priya himself. He endured the loss of a valuable property, resolving to be even some day with his enemy.

On the following night he was about to retire to bed, when the Lakhimpur Naib burst into the parlour and clasped his master's feet which he bedewed with tears. Nagendra shook him off roughly and asked how he dared to intrude upon him.

"Mahasay," whined the Naib, "I want to make a clean breast of my misdeeds. It was Priya who persuaded me to withhold the revenue due on Lakhimpur, by promising me a reward of Rs. 2,000 if the estate was auctioned. Now that he has got possession of it, he refuses to carry out his bargain and actually offers me Rs. 20, saying that I deserved no more. The black-hearted villain! Now I am come to implore forgiveness of my sin and to make amends for it."

Nagendra was amazed by the fellow's villainy and impudence. He reflected, however, that nothing was to be gained by kicking him out of the house, while his offer of reparation was not to be despised. He replied, "You have been faithless to your salt; but I will pardon you on one condition that you help me to regain my estate, lost through your treachery."

"That I will," protested the Naib. "Only let me have Rs. 300 in currency notes of one hundred rupees each, previously recording the numbers. I swear by Mother Kali, not only to pay the arrears of revenue but to get the sale quashed." Nagendra at first thought that to do so would be only throwing good money after bad; but the man was terribly in earnest, and evidently hostile to their common enemy. He opened his safe and handed the Naib the amount he asked, after carefully taking the numbers of the notes.

At the same hour on the morrow, the Naib returned in high glee to say that the business had been satisfactorily concluded. All Nagendra had to do was to file a petition praying for the cancellation of the sale, and it could not fail to be granted. On being asked how he had contrived to evade the law, the Naib went on:—

"I will tell you the whole truth, Mahasay, only concealing names; for the people, who helped me extracted an oath that I would keep them a profound secret. I went straight from your house last night to that of an office tout, who is a precious rascal, but tolerated because he is in some way related to the Collectorate head clerk. On hearing my story he said he thought the matter could be settled, and asked me to meet him at 1 P.M. under a Nim tree north of the Collectorate, when he would bring a man to me who was able to do all we wished. I was punctual to the minute, and sure enough the tout came with one of the Collectorate clerks. I asked him whether it would not be possible so to manipulate the accounts of Lakhimpur, as to show that all Government revenue had been paid prior to the alleged default. The clerk at first refused to have hand in such a transaction, as it would be too risky; but when I produced my currency notes he thought the job might be attempted, and added that some of the Treasury amlas (clerks) would have to be squared as well as himself. I thereupon handed him Rs. 300, saying that it was enough to discharge the revenue due on Lakhimpur and leave more than Rs. 100 to divide as bakshish (gratuity). He said that he would do his best and made me swear never to divulge his name. We then separated, and only two hours ago the tout came to my house with the news that the accounts had been corrected."

Nagendra was delighted on hearing these clever tactics and straightway ordered his pleader, Asutosh Sen, widely known as Asu Babu, to file a petition praying for the cancellation of the sale. It came in due course before the Collector for hearing. He called for the accounts, which fully substantiated the petitioner's statements. After hearing the arguments of Priya's representative the Collector said that he was fully satisfied that a mistake had been made, and called on the head clerk to explain the non-entry of a payment made before the due date. That officer laid the whole blame on an unfortunate apprentice, who was promptly dismissed. The sale was declared null and void, and Nagendra regained his own to the intense disgust of the rascally Priya.



CHAPTER XI

Ramda.

Nagendra Babu was now the wealthiest man in Ratnapur. Puffed up by worldly success, he began to treat his neighbours arrogantly and, with one exception, they did not dare to pay him back in his own coin. Ramdas Ghosal, known far and wide as Ramda, flattered or feared no one. Having a little rent-free and inherited land, he was quite independent of patronage. Ramda was "everyone's grandfather," a friend of the poor, whose joys and sorrows he shared. He watched by sick-beds, helped to carry dead bodies to the burning-ghat, in short did everything in his power for others, refusing remuneration in any shape. He was consequently loved and respected by all classes. Ramda was the consistent enemy of hypocrisy and oppression—qualities which became conspicuous in Nagendra Babu's nature under the deteriorating influence of wealth. He met the great man's studied insolence with a volley of chaff, which is particularly galling to vain people because they are incapable of understanding it.

Nagendra Babu did not forget the Brahman's presumption and determined to teach him a lesson. So, one day, he sent him a written notice demanding the immediate payment of arrears of rent due for a few bighas (one-third of an acre) of land which Ramda held on a heritable lease. As luck would have it the crops had failed miserably, and Ramda was unable to discharge his debts. On receiving a more peremptory demand seven days later, he called on Nagendra Babu, whom he thus addressed:—

"Why, Nagen, what's the matter with you? You are plaguing me to death with notices, yet you must be aware that I can't pay you a pice at present."

"Thakur," replied Nagendra Babu in stern accents, "I will listen to none of your excuses. Do you mean to tell me that you decline to discharge your arrears?"

"I never said that," protested Ramda; "but you must really wait till the beginning of next year. My cold weather crops are looking well; and—"

"No, that won't do at all. If you do not pay up in a week, I will certainly have recourse to the civil court."

"Do so by all means if your sense of religion permits," rejoined Ramda, leaving the parlour in smothered wrath.

When the week of grace had expired, Nagendra Babu filed a suit in the local Munsiffs Court against his defaulter. As soon as the fact was bruited abroad a universal protest was roused against Nagendra Babu's harshness. Some of the village elders remonstrated with him, but were told to mind their own business; whereon they laid their heads together and subscribed the small sum due from the Brahman. A deputation of five waited on him with entreaties to accept it, but he refused to take the money on any other footing than a loan. So Ramda paid his arrears and costs into Court, to the plaintiff's intense annoyance.

Samarendra Babu had left his wife and children in comparatively poor circumstances; for, after discharging his debts, they had barely Rs. 300 a year to live on. The widow declined to seek Nagendra Babu's help, even if she were reduced to beg in the streets. After her brother's imprisonment, she had no one to manage her little property which, as a Purdanashin (lit. "one sitting behind the veil"), she was unable to do herself. After mature reflection she sent for Ramda, who had known her from infancy. He obeyed the summons with alacrity and gave the poor woman sound advice regarding the direction of the Zemindary. By acting on it she was able to increase her income and live in tolerable comfort. Observing that Ramda was a frequent visitor, Nagendra Babu hinted to his sister-in-law that, if she cared for her reputation, she would not be so thick with him. She flared up instantly. "I will talk to any of my friends I please," said she, "and you shan't poke your nose into my affairs!"

"Very well," replied Nagendra angrily, "but you may rely on my making it hot for that old scoundrel shortly!"

This threat was of course repeated to Ramda, who merely laughed. As far as he was concerned Nagendra might act as he pleased.

A few days afterwards the bailiff of Nagendra Babu's estate, known as Lakhimpur, called on Ramda with a verbal request that he should surrender his ancestral tenure and, meeting with a curt refusal, left the house threatening all sorts of evil consequences. Next day, indeed, Ramda received a notice from Nagendra Babu, calling on him to show cause against the cancellation of his lease on the ground that, by mismanaging the land, he had rendered it unfit for cultivation. Ramda called some of his neighbours together, to whom he exhibited the document. They expressed the greatest indignation and assured him that they would spend their last rupee in defending his interests. Ramda gave them a heartfelt blessing and promised a divine reward for their sympathy.

Calling on Samarendra's widow the same day, he was distressed to find that she had received a similar notice, which aimed at robbing her of a small estate, on the ground that it had been surrendered by her husband in part payment of his debt to Nagendra Babu. She knew nothing of any such arrangement and assured Ramda that, if the property was lost, her income would fall to little more than Rs. 100, meaning starvation for herself and little ones. Her trusty counsellor told her not to lose heart, for she might rely on his help.

In due course the suit against Ramda came on for hearing before the Munsiff. His pleader established by documentary evidence that the tenure was one without any condition whatever; while the neighbours came forward to prove that the land in dispute had been admirably tilled. The plaintiff, therefore, was non-suited, with costs. The very same result attended Nagendra Babu's action against his sister-in-law, whose case excited universal sympathy. He lost heavily in purse and left the Court with a ruined reputation. It was natural that a man so evil-minded should regard Ramda as the author of misfortunes due to his own wicked nature. He plotted the poor Brahman's destruction, but no effectual means of compassing it suggested itself.