As days and weeks wore on, his despondency became deeper and, one evening, while sitting with the Lakhimpur bailiff, he asked whether there was any remedy which would restore his peace of mind. The cunning rascal said nothing at the time; but at a late hour on the morrow he came to Nagendra Babu's house with a large bottle hidden under his wrapper. It contained some light brown fluid, which the bailiff poured into a tumbler. Then adding a small quantity of water, he invited his master to swallow the mixture. A few minutes after doing so, the patient was delighted to find that gloomy thoughts disappeared as if by magic. An unwonted elation of spirits succeeded; he broke into snatches of song, to the intense surprise of the household! His amateur physician left the bottle, advising him to take a similar dose every night; and Nagendra Babu followed the prescription punctiliously, with the best effect on his views of life. After finishing the bottle he asked for another, which was brought to him secretly. It had a showy label reading, "Exshaw No. 1 Cognac". Nagendra Babu's conscience accused him of disobeying the Shastras; but the die was cast. He could no longer exist without a daily dose of the subtle poison; and gradually increased it to a tumblerful, forgetting to add water.

His faithful wife did her best to wean him from the fatal habit. She even ventured to abstract his brandy bottle and dilute its contents. On being detected, she underwent a personal correction which was not soon forgotten. The poor creature, indeed, underwent every sort of humiliation from her worthless husband, which she bore in silence, hoping that time would bring him to his senses.

Drunken men are proverbially cunning. After brooding long over his supposed grievances Nagendra matured a scheme of revenge. He intercepted Ramda, one afternoon, on his way to visit Samarendra's widow, and, affecting sincere penitence for the injury he had endeavoured to work, he invited the unsuspecting Brahman into his sitting-room. Once inside, he suddenly thrust a brass vessel into his visitor's hand and dragged him into the yard, shouting "Thief! thief!" The Lakhimpur bailiff, who was sitting on the verandah, also laid hands on Ramda and, with the aid of two up-country servants, he was dragged to the police station, too bewildered to resist. On their way thither they met one of Nagendra's neighbours named Harish Chandra Pal, who stopped them and asked what was the matter. On learning particulars of the charge, he saw how the land lay, and resolved to defeat an infamous plot. So waiting till the little crowd was out of sight, he ran back to Nagendra's house and whispered to him that the bailiff had sent for more property, in order that the case against Ramda might look blacker. Nagendra handed him a fine muslin shawl and loin-cloth, and a set of gold buttons, adding that he would follow in half an hour in order to depose against the thief. On reaching the police station, Harish found the Sub-Inspector recording the statements of the witnesses. He looked on in silence until Nagendra arrived. Then he asked the Sub-Inspector: "Do these people mean to say that the brass vessel belongs to Nagendra Babu?"

"Certainly," was the reply. "Here are three witnesses who have identified it."

"Well, that's strange," said Harish; then producing the shawl and loin-cloth he said: "These are mine, but if you ask Nagen Babu he will tell you a different story".

"But they are mine!" roared Nagendra, "and part of the stolen property."

"Dear me," said Harish, "perhaps you will say that these buttons are yours too?"

"Of course they are," was the rejoinder.

"Now, Sub-Inspector Babu," said Harish, "you must see that Nagendra Babu is subject to strange hallucinations since he has taken to drink. He fancies that he is the god of wealth personified, and that everything belongs to him. I am quite certain that Ramda has been falsely charged with stealing a brass vessel which is his own property."

The Sub-Inspector evidently thought so too. He called the prosecutor into an inner room. What passed between them there was never known; but presently the Sub-Inspector returned to the office and ordered the prisoner to be at once released. Ramda was truly grateful to Harish Pal for having so cleverly saved him from ruin, and the whole story soon became common property. Nagendra overheard his neighbours whispering and pointing to him significantly, and village boys called him ill-natured nicknames in the street. His irritation was increased by recourse to the brandy bottle, and he vented it on his luckless wife. She suffered so terribly that, one morning, Nagendra found her hanging from a rafter in his cowshed. This suicide was the last straw. Nagendra saved himself from prosecution for murder by a heavy bribe, and got leave from the police to burn his wife's body. But so universally was he execrated that not a man in the village would help him to take her body to the burning-ghat. In dire despair he humbled himself so far as to implore Ramda's assistance. The magnanimous Brahman forgot his wrongs and cheerfully consented to bear a hand. Others followed his example, and thus Nagendra was able to fulfil the rites prescribed by religion. The lesson was not altogether lost on him. The scales fell from his eyes; he dismissed the rascally servant, who had led him from the path of duty, and foreswore his brandy bottle.



CHAPTER XII

A Rift in the Lute.

Nalini Chandra Basu worked hard for the B.L. degree, not to fill his pockets by juggling with other people's interests, but in order to help the poor, who are so often victims of moneyed oppression. After securing the coveted distinction, he was enrolled as a pleader of the Calcutta High Court and began to practise there, making it a rule to accept no fees from an impoverished client. But two years of constant attendance at Court convinced Nalini that Calcutta had far too many lawyers already. He therefore removed to Ghoria, knowing that he would find plenty of wrongs to redress there. About a month after his arrival, a Zemindar of Kadampur, named Debendra Chandra Mitra, sued one of his ryots for ejectment in the local Munsiff's Court. Nalini espoused the defendant's cause and showed so stout a fight that the case was dismissed with costs. Debendra Babu was deeply offended with the young pleader, and determined to do him a bad turn if possible.

About a week later Nalini got a telegram from Benares announcing his mother's death. He promptly donned the customary Kacha (mourning-cloth) and hurried home, only to find his brother, Jadunath Babu, already in possession of the sad news; and they went to Benares to comfort their stricken father.

After the customary month of mourning Jadu Babu made preparations for celebrating the sradh on a grand scale, by giving presents to distinguished Brahmans, feasting his relatives, and distributing alms to the poor. No money was spared in order to keep his mother's memory green. The family's position would have been most enviable, but for a slight unpleasantness which was created by some of the villagers. Debendra Babu, who had been waiting for an opportunity of revenge, went from house to house urging his neighbours not to participate in the sradh, on the score that Nalini had married into a strange clan and was ipso facto an outcast. Jadu Babu was stung to the quick on learning these machinations. He consulted Nalini as to the best method of parrying them, and was consoled by his brother's assurance that it would be quite easy to win over his opponents except, perhaps, Debendra Babu himself.

When the time for distributing Samajik (gifts) came round, Jadu Babu sent one to every caste-fellow in the village, but all returned them without a word of explanation. Nalini was not so much distressed as he by the rebuff. He advised an attempt to pacify Debendra Babu; which failing, he would put his scheme into execution. The two brothers, therefore, called on their enemy, and falling at his feet, implored him to say how they had offended him.

"You are much better off than I am," replied Debendra Babu sarcastically; "it would be presumptuous for me to consort with such people. You remember the old fable of the earthen pot and brass vessel?"

"Mahasay," pleaded Jadu Babu, "we are young enough to be your sons. If we have unwittingly caused you offence, we beg to be forgiven."

"You have learnt how to talk sweetly enough," rejoined Debendra Babu. "Nalini fancies himself a Lat (lord) or badshah at the very least. What times we live in! The young have no respect whatever for their seniors!"

"Nalini is hardly more than a boy," said Jadu Babu with folded hands. "I am sure he had not the slightest intention of hurting your feelings."

"What's the use of talking nonsense?" growled Debendra Babu. "Go away!" and he pointed to the door.

The brothers did not stir; but Jadu Babu asked, "So you won't overlook our faults, or even tell us what they are?"

"Well, if you will have it," replied Debendra Babu in measured accents, "Nalini is an outcast; and no respectable Kayastha can take part in your mother's sradh."

Jadu Babu fairly lost his temper. He exclaimed: "If there is a flaw in my sister-in-law's pedigree, what is to be said of people who visit women of alien religions, take food from their hands, and tipple strong liquor with them?"

This was a home thrust. Debendra Babu was well-known to be carrying on an intrigue with a Mohammadan woman, named Seraji, but as he was well-to-do, no one had dared to propose his excommunication. He started from his feet in an outburst of fury.

"What! you have the audacity to lecture me—a wretched brat like you? Leave my house at once." So saying he flounced into his inner apartments; while the brothers went away rather crestfallen.

After returning home Nalini disclosed his famous scheme for circumventing the boycott, which Jadu Babu heartily approved. To every Samajik they added an envelope containing a new ten-rupee note and sent them round to their caste-fellows. The sight of money banished prejudices; one and all received the gifts, and some were so shameless as to hint that similar largesse would be acceptable to their uncles or cousins.

Debendra Babu was deeply annoyed by the success of the strategy. He swore a mighty oath not to rest until he had destroyed the Basu family root and branch. After a good deal of thought he matured a plan which was to be executed through a notorious widow belonging to the village. This creature, Hiramani by name, had passed middle life and lived on a little money left by her husband, in a hut close to Debendra's residence. People used to say that God had created her a female by oversight, for she had every bad quality which a man could possess. She was noted for the fact that misfortune invariably fell on a house which she honoured with her intimacy. People were very shy indeed of inviting her.

One bright afternoon Hiramani called at the Basus and started a conversation with the wives of Jadu and Nalini by inquiring about their household affairs, and offering advice which is generally acceptable if seldom acted on. While they sat talking Jadu Babu's eldest boy came to his mother, whimpering:—

"Chota Kaka (my young uncle) has whipped me because an inkpot of his slipped from my hand, while I was playing with it, and got broken!"

"He served you rightly, naughty boy!" observed his mother administering a sharp slap which sent the child off bellowing loudly.

Hiramani remarked, "You ought not to beat him for so trivial a fault".

"That's a terrible boy," explained the mother. "He is up to all manner of tricks, and if he is not checked, he will grow up a regular Badmash."

"God forbid!" remarked Hiramani; "but has he not been too cruelly used by his uncle? You must have noticed the welts on his naked back. I counted five as broad as my forefinger. How could a grown-up man torture a child like that?"—and she looked meaningly at her hostess.

The mother was evidently impressed by these words. She undertook to speak to Nalini about his treatment of her son. Hiramani was delighted to see that the poison was beginning to work. She went straight from the Basus' house to Debendra Babu and reported her success. He praised her warmly, presented her with a rupee, and offered further instructions.

Hiramani soon became a regular visitor of the Basu ladies. She lost no opportunity of poisoning the mind of Jadu Babu's wife, by retailing Nalini's iniquities. At the outset her insinuations were disregarded; but in time the elder wife fell so completely under Hiramani's influence as to accept her stories as gospel truth. One day, indeed, she ventured to ask her husband to separate from his brother and, on meeting with a peremptory refusal, declared that she would take no food while Nalini remained in the house. Ending that she really meant to carry out this awful threat, Jadu Babu apparently yielded, promising to eject his brother. When the villagers saw Hiramani so thick with the Basu ladies, they prophesied ill-luck for the family, and on learning Jadu Babu's resolve they remarked that the old woman had not belied her reputation. As for Nalini, he knew that something was in the wind, but carefully avoided broaching the subject to his brother, lest he should widen the breach. Like a sacrificial goat, he waited for the stroke to fall on his devoted head. Shortly afterwards, Jadu Babu told his wife to make arrangements for setting up a separate establishment. Her heart leapt for joy. She cooked twice the number of dishes usually prepared for her husband's midday meal, and anxiously waited for him in her kitchen.

Jadu Babu went about his duties as usual, never mentioning the coming separation to Nalini. After bathing at 11 A.M. he took Nalini into the latter's kitchen, and asked his sister-in-law to give them something to eat. The pair sat down to a hastily-prepared repast, Jadu Babu chatting and joking with his brother according to his wont. After dinner he took his betel box and adjourned to the parlour for rumination and a siesta. Nalini and his wife were surprised by Jadu Babu's behaviour. They dared not ask him why he had invited himself to eat with them, but waited anxiously for further developments.

Meanwhile the elder wife was eating her heart with vexation and forming resolutions to give her husband a curtain lecture. But he slept that night in the parlour and on the morrow took both meals with Nalini. When a woman fails to gain her object she is apt to take refuge in tears, which are generally enough to force a mere man to bend to her wishes. Jadu's wife watched for an opportunity of having it out with her husband. On finding him alone, she burst into lamentations, beating her heart and praying that God would put an end to her wretched life. He calmly asked what was the matter and, on receiving no reply, went to bed. Presently she asked, "What has induced you to put me to shame?" Jadu Babu pretended ignorance, and thus made her only the more angry.

"Oh, you Neka" (buffoon), she groaned, "didn't you swear to separate from Nalini, and have you not taken all your meals with him ever since? Is that the action of a truthful man?"

"Well, I should like to know how Nalini has injured me?"

"I say that he is your enemy!"

"Tut, tut, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Where could I find a brother so faithful and obedient as he? You wish to live apart from him? Very well; I have made separate arrangements for you." Then in dispassionate tones Jadu Babu pointed out the treachery of Debendra and his parasite. The woman's eyes were opened. She fell at her husband's feet and implored his pardon. Then she suddenly rose, went across the courtyard to Nalini's room, and knocked at his door. He came out and, seeing his sister-in-law there at an unusual hour, asked anxiously whether Jadu was ill. She reassured him and took him by the hand to his brother, in whose presence she asked him to forgive and forget the offence. Nalini was nothing loth; and harmony was soon restored in the family.

Meanwhile old Hiramani had not failed to report progress to her patron daily. He was delighted to think that the rift in the Basu lute was widening, and promised her a handsome reward when the estrangement should take place.

On learning the failure of the plot, he paid Hiramani a surprise visit, abused her roundly, and, when she retorted in the like strain, he administered a wholesome correction with his shoe. On his departure she ran to Jadu Babu's house intending to have it out with his wife for her breach of faith. The doorkeeper, however, roughly denied her entrance; and when she threatened to report him to his mistress, he ran her out by the neck. Hiramani went home in a state of impatient anger and despair, and for several days she dared not show her face in the village. The spell cast by her malice was broken.



CHAPTER XIII

Debendra Babu in Trouble.

One chilly morning in February a Mohammadan neighbour of Nalini's named Sadhu Sheikh burst into his parlour crying, "Chota Babu, Chota Babu (lit. 'little babu,' used for younger brother, to distinguish him from the elder, styled 'bara babu'), Siraji is dying!"

"Who is she?" asked Nalini looking up from a law book which he was studying.

"Surely you know my sister, Chota Babu?"

"Yes, of course, what's the matter with her?"

"She has been ill for three days, with excruciating internal pains; what am I to do, Babuji?"

"Who is treating her?" asked Nalini.

"Abdullah has been giving her the usual remedies."

"Why, he is a peasant and knows nothing of medicine. You should not have called him in."

"Sir, we are poor folk. Abdullah is very clever and his fee is a mere trifle."

"What drugs has he been administering?"

"Homopotik (homoeopathic), they are called."

"Now you had better return home at once to find out how she is progressing. Let me know if she grows worse and I will send Hriday Doctor. Don't trouble about his fees; I will pay them myself. Why did you not come to me earlier?"

Sadhu muttered some words, which Nalini could not distinguish, and left the room hurriedly. After waiting for an hour for news, Nalini threw a wrapper over his shoulders and went to Siraji's cottage. On nearing it he learnt from Sadhu's loud lamentations that she was beyond the reach of medicine; so, after a few words of sympathy, he went home.

Presently Sadhu sallied forth to ask the neighbours' help in carrying the dead body to burial. One and all refused to lay a hand on it because, they said, she had lived with an unbeliever. In dire distress Sadhu again appealed to Nalini, who summoned the chief inhabitants of the Musalmanpara (Mohammadan quarter) to his house and ordered them to take Siraji's body to the burial ground. They reluctantly agreed to do so, and assembled at Sadhu's cottage; but at the last moment all of them refused to touch the corpse. Nalini was puzzled by their behaviour. He asked for an explanation, whereon the Mohammadans whispered together and nudged a grey-beard, who became their spokesman.

"Mahasay," he said, "the fact is Siraji lived with Debendra Babu and was actually made enceinte by him. In order to save himself from exposure and shame, Debendra Babu got Abdullah to administer powerful drugs to the woman. After taking these she was attacked by violent pains in the abdomen and vomiting, which ended in her death. The Chaukidar (village watchman) knows all the facts, and he is sure to give information to the police. You know, sir, that no one would dare to touch a corpse without their permission, if there is any suspicion of foul play."

Nalini was greatly surprised; he asked Sadhu whether the old man's words were true and, getting no reply except a significant silence, said: "You may now go about your business, but mind I shall expect you all to assemble here and carry Siraji to the burial ground as soon as the police give you leave to do so".

There was a chorus of assent, and the crowd dispersed. Nalini was about to return home too, when the Chaukidar came in and told him that he had reported Siraji's death to the Sub-Inspector of police, who had ordered him not to permit the corpse to be touched by any one until his arrival.

About three o'clock on the same day Nalini heard that the police had come to investigate the cause of Siraji's death. He went at once to Sadhu's house, where the Sub-Inspector was recording the statements of eye-witnesses. When Abdullah's turn came, the police officer surveyed him from head to foot, saying:—

"I have heard of you before; what is your occupation?"

"Sir, I am a Hakim (doctor)."

"Anything else?"

"Yes, sir, I have a little cultivation and sometimes lend money."

"Did you attend the deceased woman?"

"Yes, I was called in by Sadhu a week ago, and treated her for fever."

"A nice mess you have made of the case too! Swear on the Quran that you gave her no poison or drug!"

"Sir, I am ready to declare in the name of God and His Prophet that I gave her nothing but homopotik, only nuxo bomicka (nux vomica) in doses which would not have harmed a baby."

"Now, remember you are on your oath. Did you administer anything else?"

Abdullah's shaking limbs proved that he was terribly apprehensive of evil consequences to himself. He muttered, "I gave her a little patal-juice too."

"So I thought," said the Sub-Inspector. "Now all present will follow me." With the assistance of his constable and chaukidars, he led them to Debendra Babu's house. The latter received them in his parlour. He affected to be surprised and shocked by the news of Siraji's death.

"That is strange," retorted the Sub-Inspector. "Abdullah here has sworn that he poisoned her at your request."

Debendra Babu became ashen pale, but he soon regained self-possession. Turning on Abdullah he shouted:—"How dare you say that I gave you any such orders?"

"Babu," whined Abdullah, "I never said so. The Darogaji is mistaken."

The Sub-Inspector perceived that, all the witnesses being tenants of Debendra Babu, there was no hope of getting them to stick to any statement inculpating him. He sulkily told the Mohammadans present that they might bury Siraji's corpse, and accompanied Debendra Babu to his house, where he was royally entertained till next morning. However, on taking leave, he hinted that enough evidence had been secured to warrant his reporting the case as one of causing abortion by means of drugs, and that the Pulis Saheb (District Superintendent) would probably order further investigation. Debendra Babu was seriously alarmed by the implied threat. Visions of jail—perchance transportation across the dark ocean—floated in his sensorium. He resolved to submit the case to an astrologer.

Gobardhan Chakravarti was an old Brahman neighbour who lived by casting nativities, giving weather and crop forecasts, and prophesying good or evil things in proportion to the fee he received. Debendra Babu paid him a visit next morning and was received with the servile courtesy due to a wealthy client. After beating about the bush for a while he said: "My fate just now seems very unpropitious; when may I expect better times?"

Gobardhan covered a slate with mysterious calculations and, after poring over them for ten or fifteen minutes, he looked up with the remark:—"Your luck is really atrocious and has been so for more than three months."

"Quite true, but what I want to know is—how long is this going to last?"

"I am afraid that you may expect one misfortune after another; I can't quite see the end of your evil destiny."

"Goodness gracious! what shall I do? Are there no means of conjuring it away?"

"Certainly, the Shastras prescribe certain Grahasanti (propitiation of planets) processes, which will enable you to counteract the influence of malign stars."

The cunning bait was swallowed by Debendra Babu, who asked: "How much would these ceremonies cost?"

After thinking out the maximum amount he could decently demand, the astrologer said: "About one hundred rupees."

"Oh, that's far too much," was the reply. "Do you want to ruin me? Can't you do it for less?"

"Not a pice less. I could perform a jog (sacrifice) for as little as ten rupees; but such maimed rites are quite contrary to the Shastras."

"Will you guarantee definite results for Rs. 100?" asked Debendra Babu anxiously.

"I promise nothing; if you have faith in my ceremonies, you must pay me my own price; if not—I leave you to Fate."

"I have implicit faith in you," groaned Debendra Babu, who was now terribly alarmed, "and will pay you Rs. 100 to-morrow, but please don't delay; the matter is very pressing."

Gobardhan agreed to the proposal; but seeing that his client was loth to go and evidently had something on his mind, he remarked:—

"When a wise man consults a physician, he always discloses his symptoms. You must be quite frank and tell me how your affairs have been progressing lately, in order that I may address my incantations to the proper quarter. Be sure that I will divulge nothing."

Thus encouraged Debendra Babu revealed his relations with Siraji, confessed that he had bribed Abdullah to administer a powerful drug to her, and expatiated on the very awkward predicament in which her sudden death had placed him.

Gobardhan listened with breathless attention and then remarked: "You have acted rightly in telling me the whole truth. I will perform a homa (burnt sacrifice) and verily believe that it will have the desired effect. Let me have Rs. 200 and I will set about it at once."

Debendra Babu groaned inwardly at the thought of so heavy an expenditure; but after all, the prospect of escaping deadly peril was well worth Rs. 200. So he returned home and thence despatched the amount in currency notes to Gobardhan.

The astrologer spent about Rs. 5 on ghi (clarified butter), rice, and plantains for his homa sacrifice, and completed it in three days. Then he called on the police Sub-Inspector, who received him cordially. After the usual compliments had been, exchanged, Grobardhan asked how his host was faring.

"Things are not going well with me," was the reply. "Most of the people in those parts are miserably poor; and what I can extract from the well-to-do hardly suffices for my horse-keep. Thakurji (a term used in addressing Brahmans), I want you to examine my palm and say when good times are coming for me."

After poring over the proffered hand for fully a minute, muttering and shaking his head the while, Gobardhan said: "I am delighted to tell you that your good star is in the ascendant. Very soon you will make something handsome."

"I wish I could think so!" observed the policeman, "but it is impossible. I have only one likely case on my file, and prospects are not brilliant even in that quarter."

Then, in answer to leading questions from Gobardhan, he told the story of Siraji's death—adding that he had decided to send Debendra Babu and Abdullah up for trial, but doubted whether he could adduce sufficient evidence to convict them of murder or anything like it.

Gobardhan asked: "Now, why should you lose such a splendid opportunity of making money?" and seeing the policeman's eyes twinkle, he went on, "Oh, you need not appear in this transaction yourself. I will do the needful. Tell me frankly—how much money would satisfy you?"

"I could not run the risk of reporting the case as false for less than Rs. 100."

"That is too much," was the wily astrologer's reply. "Mention a reasonable sum, and I will see what can be done."

"Well, I will take Rs. 75, and not a pice less; and understand, if the money is not paid before this evening, I will send Debendra Babu up for trial."

"Very good; I will call on him at once and frighten him into paying up; but I must have something for myself."

"Certainly, if you can get Rs. 75 from the defendant you may keep Rs. 15 as commission."

Gobardhan returned home, took the required amount from the Rs. 200 paid him by Debendra Babu, and handed it privately to the Sub-Inspector, who swore by all the gods that he would take no further steps against the inculpated men.

Knowing well that the policeman would keep faith with a Brahman, Gobardhan went straight to Debendra Babu with the glad news that the homa sacrifice had been completely successful, and not a hair of his head would be injured. Debendra felt as though a mountain was lifted from his heart; he stooped to wipe the dust from Gobardhan's feet.

On learning a few days later that the case had been reported to headquarters as false, he was firmly convinced that Gobardhan's magical rites had saved him from ruin, and presented him with a bonus of Rs. 50. Nalini Babu was not long in ascertaining how the land lay. He was exasperated by the sordid wrong-doing which reached his ears and resolved to report it to the District Magistrate. But in the end he kept silent, because Sadhu came to him with tearful eyes, saying that he had already suffered deep humiliation; and if old scandals were raked up, the community would certainly excommunicate him.



CHAPTER XIV

True to His Salt.

Hiramani did not forget the thrashing given her by Debendra Babu for failing to cause a rupture between the Basu brothers. She took a vow of vengeance and laid in wait for an opportunity of fulfilling it. Meeting him one day in the village street, she asked with an air of mystery:—

"Have you heard the news?"

"What's that?" replied Debendra Babu carelessly.

"It concerns the woman Siraji," she whispered.

All Debendra Babu's fears revived; he exclaimed: "Speak plainly, what is the matter?"

"The matter stands thus. You know that her case was hushed up by the police? Well, I hear on good authority that the District Magistrate has received an anonymous letter relating the real cause of her death and has ordered a fresh investigation. So I am afraid you will soon be in hot water again. As I am your well-wisher in spite of the cruel treatment I have received, I think it my duty to warn you of this new danger."

Hiramani spoke in faltering accents and wiped away an imaginary tear with the corner of her cloth.

"How did yon learn all this?" asked Debendra Babu in deep anxiety.

"I got the news only last night from the wife of the new Sub-Inspector who has come here on transfer. On paying my respects to her, I was told in confidence that her husband had orders to make a searching inquiry into the cause of Siraji's death."

Debendra Babu saw that his secret was at the woman's discretion. He answered in an apologetic tone: "It was certainly foolish of me to lose my temper with you, but I had some provocation. Forgive me, and let bye-gones be bye-gones. Whom do you suspect of sending the anonymous letter?"

Hiramani bit her lips; she knew the author, who was none other than herself, and replied: "It might have been written by Jadu Babu; but I suspect his brother Nalini, who is as venomous as a snake and hates you mortally".

Debendra Babu stamped his foot in annoyance and, after musing awhile, asked, "What would you advise me to do?"

Hiramani wagged her head sententiously. "Babuji, I am afraid you are in a serious scrape. The matter has gone too far to be hushed up a second time. You cannot do anything directly without increasing the suspicion which attaches to you; but I will watch events and keep you informed of all that happens at the police station. You know I have friends there."

Debendra Babu was profuse in his thanks. He pressed a couple of rupees into the old woman's willing palm, saying: "Hiramani, I see that you are really my well-wisher. Come to my house as often as you like; and if you have anything particular to say to me, I shall always be glad to hear it—and grateful too."

Then the pair separated, and Hiramani took advantage of the Babu's invitation by visiting his daughter Kamini that very evening.

She was made welcome in the inner apartment and sat down for a long chat, in the course of which she asked after Kamini's husband.

"He has gone out for a stroll," her hostess replied, "but I expect him back every minute."

The words were hardly out of her mouth ere a young man came in hurriedly and, not noticing Hiramani who sat in the shade, asked for a drink of water. Hiramani doubted not that he was Debendra Babu's son-in-law, Pulin by name, who had lately come to live with his wife's family. She introduced herself as a friend of his father-in-law's and, being very witty when she chose to exert herself, soon managed to make a favourable impression on the young man, He asked her to come again whenever she pleased, adding that he was generally at home after sunset.

Hiramani had prepared the ground for a further attack. She left the house with a certainty that she had made a good impression.

Thenceforward hardly a day passed without at least one visit to Debendra Babu's. Hiramani wormed all Kamini's little harmless secrets out of her and obtained enough knowledge of the girl's tastes and habits to serve her own designs.

One day, finding herself alone with Pulin, she threw out dark hints against his wife's character. The young man's suspicion was excited. He pressed for more explicit information, but Hiramani shook her head mysteriously without replying. Pulin insisted on being told the truth, whereon Hiramani poured out a whispered story of Kamini's intrigues, mentioning names of male relatives who were known to frequent the house. Pulin was stung to the quick. Regardless of a stranger's presence, he called Kamini into the room, abused her roundly, and declared that he would never live with her again. Then gathering up a few belongings in a bundle, he quitted the house, leaving his wife in a flood of tears. Hiramani was overjoyed by the results of her machinations. She affected sympathy with the deserted wife, who was too young and innocent to suspect her of having caused the quarrel.

Debendra Babu had a servant, Ram Harak by name, who had been in the family for nearly forty years and was treated as one of them. He had watched the growing intimacy between Hiramani and the young couple and, knowing the old woman's character well, endeavoured to counteract her evil influence. Finding this impossible he sought Debendra Babu in the parlour, salamed profoundly, and stood erect, without uttering a word. His master asked, with some surprise, what he wanted.

"Mahasay," replied Ram Harak, "have I not served you for two-score years with obedience and fidelity? Have you ever found me untrue to my salt?"

"Certainly not; I know you are a good and faithful servant."

"Then, Mahasay, you ought to protect me against enemies of your house. That odious hag, Hiramani, has abused me foully."

"Now, Ram Harak, it is you who are abusive. What have you done to offend her?"

"You are my father and mother," replied Ram Harak with his eyes full of tears. "Let me explain fully. I have long since suspected Hiramani of making mischief in this house, and have kept a close watch on her movements. The very day of Pulin Babu's departure I overheard her whispering all manner of false insinuations against my young mistress. Then came the quarrel between husband and wife, which ended in Pulin Babu's leaving your house. After he had gone I ventured to remonstrate with Hiramani for poisoning jamai (son-in-law) Babu's mind against his wife; whereon she overwhelmed me with abuse and actually threatened to get me dismissed! I want to know whether this woman is mistress of the family? Am I to have no redress?"

"Leave all this to me, Ram Harak, and go to your work. I'll speak to Hiramani myself."

"Babuji, you are treading the matter far too lightly. I would never have complained on my own account, but I cannot bear to see her plotting against your daughter's happiness, which she has, perhaps, destroyed for ever!"

Debendra Babu went into his inner apartments and, seeing Hiramani engaged in close conversation with his daughter, he asked her why she had used bad language to Ram Harak. The old woman beckoned him to come outside; and after making sure that no one was listening, she poured into his ears a long tale of Ram Harak's misdoings. He was robbing his master, she declared, taking dasturi (commission on purchases) at twice the customary rates. What was far worse, the "faithful servant" had spoken freely of Debendra Babu's relations with Siraji in the village, and it was he who instigated the anonymous letter which was about to bring the police down on his master. Though all this was the purest fiction, Debendra Babu swallowed it greedily. He shouted for Ram Harak and, on the man's appearance, charged him with fraud and unfaithfulness to his salt. Ram Harak stood silent with folded hands, not deigning to exculpate himself, which so enraged Debendra Babu that he gave the poor old man a sharp blow on the head with his shoe, bidding him begone and never to cross his threshold again. Ram Harak went to his hut, collected his possessions in a bundle, and left the house where forty years of his life had been spent. Hiramani's plans of vengeance were prospering.

Soon after these unpleasant events the new Sub-Inspector of police arrived at Debendra Babu's house with a warrant for his arrest, and took him to the station despite loud protests of innocence. There he applied for bail, which was of course refused, and he spent the night in the lock-up. Knowing well that he had a very bad case, he humbled himself so far as to send for Nalini, whom he implored with folded hands to save him from destruction. Nalini was deeply moved by his appeal. He heartily despised the fellow's unutterable baseness, but reflected that he had been an old friend of his father's. He undertook the prisoner's defence.

In due course Debendra Babu, with Abdullah, was brought before the Deputy Magistrate of Ghoria on various grave charges. The evidence established a strong prima facie case against both, and Nalini Babu reserved his defence. They were committed for trial. When the case came before the Sessions Judge the Government Pleader (public prosecutor) adduced many witnesses proving the prisoner's guilt, the last of whom was Hiramani, who admitted on cross-examination that she had caused the anonymous letter to be sent to headquarters, which led to the charge being reopened. She protested that she had done so from a feeling that so great a crime should not be hushed up. Nalini Babu, in his turn, put forward some witnesses for the defence; but their statements were not of material advantage to the prisoner. It was, in fact, a losing game, but he played it manfully. After all evidence had been recorded, the Government Pleader was about to sum up for the prosecution, when the Court rose suddenly, as it was past five o'clock.

Nalini was going homewards in the dusk, when he felt a hand laid timidly on his shoulder. Turning sharply round, he saw an old man standing by his side. On being asked his name and business, the newcomer whispered some information which must have interested Nalini greatly for he rubbed his hands, smiled, and nodded several times. After a few minutes' talk the pair went together to a spot where a palanquin with bearers was waiting. Into it got Nalini and was carried off at a smart trot, while his companion hobbled behind.

When the Court assembled next day Nalini thus addressed the judge: "May it please your honour, I have, by the greatest good luck, obtained certain evidence which will, I think, place this case in a new light". On getting leave to adduce an additional witness, he beckoned to an old man, standing at the back of the Court, who entered the witness-box and declared that his name was Ram Harak and that he was a dismissed servant of the prisoner. This was a curious opening for a witness for the defence, and dead silence fell on the Court while Ram Harak proceeded to swear that it was he, and not Debendra Babu, who had been intimate with the deceased, and that she had poisoned herself to avoid excommunication.

"Did she tell you so herself?" asked the judge sharply.

"No, your highness; I learnt this only yesterday from Maina Bibi, Karim's own sister; Piyari Bibi, Sadhu's daughter; and Nasiban Bibi, his sister-in-law, who all lived with the deceased."

The Government Pleader at once objected to this statement being recorded, as it was hearsay. Nalini, however, assured the judge that the eye-witnesses were in attendance, and called them, one by one, to give evidence. Passing strange was their story. On the evening of Siraji's death they found her writhing in agony on the floor and, on being questioned, she gasped out that she could bear her kinsfolks' tyranny no longer. They had just told her that she was to be excommunicated for intriguing with an infidel. So she had got some yellow arsenic from the domes (low-caste leather-dressers) and swallowed several tolas weight of the poison in milk. The other women were thunderstruck. They sat down beside her and mingled their lamentations until Siraji's sufferings ended for ever. They afterwards agreed to say nothing about the cause of her death for fear of the police. But Ram Harak had come to them privately and frightened them into promising to tell the whole truth, by pointing out the awful consequences of an innocent man's conviction. Their evidence was not shaken by the Government Pleader's cross-examination, and it was corroborated by a dome, who swore that Siraji had got some arsenic from him a few days before her death, on the pretext that it was wanted in order to poison some troublesome village dogs. After consulting with the jury for a few minutes, the judge informed Nalini that his client was acquitted, and Debendra Babu left the Court, as the newspapers say, "without a stain on his character". Seeing Ram Harak standing near the door with folded hands, he clasped the good old man to his bosom, with many protestations of gratitude, and begged him to forgive the injustice with which he had been treated.

When Ram Harak found himself alone with his master at the close of this exciting day, he repeated the vile insinuations which Hiramani had made regarding the daughter's character. Debendra Babu was highly indignant and vowed that the scandal-monger should never cross his threshold again. He then implored Ram Harak to trace his son-in-law, authorising him to offer any reparation he might ask. The old man smiled, and left the house, but returned a quarter of an hour later with a Sanyasi (religious mendicant) who revealed himself as the missing Pulin. Debendra Babu received him with warm embraces and many entreaties for pardon; while Pulin said modestly that he alone was to blame, for he ought not to have believed the aspersions cast on his wife by Hiramani, which led him to quit the house in disgust. He added that Ram Harak had found him telling his beads near a temple, and persuaded him to wait close at hand until he had opened Debendra Babu's eyes.

Meanwhile the whole house echoed with songs and laughter. Debendra Babu rewarded Ram Harak's fidelity with a grant of rent-free land, and publicly placed a magnificent turban on his head. He resolved to celebrate his own escape from jail by feasting the neighbours. The entire arrangements were left in the hands of the two Basus, who managed matters so admirably that every one was more than satisfied and Debendra Babu's fame was spread far and wide. When things resumed their normal aspect, he held a confab with the brothers as to the punishment which should be meted out to Hiramani, and it was unanimously resolved to send her to Coventry. They, therefore, forbade the villagers to admit her into their houses, and the shopkeepers to supply her wants. Hiramani soon found Kadampur too hot to hold her and took her departure for ever, to every one's intense relief.



CHAPTER XV

A Tame Rabbit.

When a penniless Hindu marries into a wealthy family he is sorely tempted to live with, and upon, his father-in-law. But the ease thus secured is unattended by dignity. The gharjamai, "son-in-law of the house," as he is styled, shocks public opinion, which holds it disgraceful for an able-bodied man to eat the bread of idleness. Pulin incurred a certain degree of opprobrium by quartering himself on Debendra Babu; neighbours treated him with scant courtesy, and the very household servants made him feel that he was a person of small importance. He bore contumely with patience, looking forward to the time when Debendra Babu's decease would give him a recognised position. His wife was far more ambitious. She objected strongly to sharing her husband's loss of social standing and frequently reproached him with submitting to be her father's annadas (rice-slave).

So, one morning, he poured his sorrows into Nalini's sympathetic ear.

"Mahasay," he said, "you know that people are inclined to blame me for living in idleness, and I do indeed long to chalk out a career for myself. But I don't know how to set about it and have no patron to back me. Do you happen to know of any job which would give me enough to live on? Salary is less an object with me than prospects. I would gladly accept a mastership in some high school."

"You are quite right in seeking independence," replied Nalini, "and I shall be glad to help you. But lower-grade teachers are miserably paid, and their prospects are no better. It is only graduates who can aspire to a head-mastership. Are you one?"

"No, sir, but I passed the F.A. examination in 1897."

"Ah, then, you are a Diamond Jubilee man—that's a good omen," rejoined Nalini, with a shade of sarcasm in his voice. "What were your English text-books?"

"I read Milton's Absalom and Achitophel, Dryden's Holy Grail, and many other poems, but I'm not sure of their titles after all these years."

Nalini suspected that his friend's English lore was somewhat rusty. In order to test him further, he asked, "Can you tell me who wrote 'Life is real, life is earnest,'—that line applies to you!"

Pulin fidgeted about before answering. "It must have been Tennyson—or was it Wordsworth? I never could keep poetry in my head."

Nalini thought that an F.A. might have remembered Longfellow's Psalm of Life, but he refrained from airing superior knowledge.

"Do you know any mathematics?" he inquired.

"Mathematics!" replied Pulin joyously. "Why, they're my forte—-I am quite at home in arithmetic, algebra, and geometry. Please ask me any question you like."

"Well, let us have Prop. 30, Book I. of Euclid."

Pulin rattled off Proposition 13 of that book, without the aid of a diagram. Nalini now saw that the young man's mental equipment was of the slenderest description. He said, "Well, you may call on me another day, when I may be able to tell you of some vacancy".

Pulin, however, would take no denial. He became so insistent that Nalini reluctantly gave him a letter of introduction to Babu Kaliprasanna Som, Secretary of the Ramnagar High School, who, he said, was looking about him for a fourth master. Pulin lost no time in delivering it and was immediately appointed to the vacant post.

English education in Bengal is not regarded as a key which opens the door of a glorious literature, but simply and solely as a stepping-stone in the path of worldly success. The Department seems to aim at turning out clerks and lawyers in reckless profusion. Moreover, academic degrees are tariffed in the marriage market. The "F.A." commands a far higher price than the "entrance-passed," while an M.A. has his pick of the richest and prettiest girls belonging to his class. Hence parents take a keen interest in their boys' progress and constantly urge them to excel in class. With such lessons ringing in his ears, the Bengali schoolboy is consumed with a desire to master his text-books. The great difficulty is to tear him away from them, and insist on his giving sufficient time to manly games. When a new teacher takes the helm, he is closely watched in order to test his competence. The older lads take a cruel pleasure in plying him with questions which they have already solved from the Dictionary. Pulin did not emerge from this ordeal with credit, and the boys concocted a written complaint of his shortcomings, which they despatched to the Secretary of the School Committee, The answer was a promise to redress their grievances.

At 10.30 next morning Kaliprasanna Babu entered Pulin's classroom and stood listening to his method of teaching English literature. Presently one of the boys asked him to explain the difference between "fort" and "fortress". After scratching his head for fully half a minute he replied that the first was a castle defended by men, while the second had a female garrison! The Secretary was quite satisfied. He left the room and sent Pulin a written notice of dismissal. The latter was disheartened beyond measure by this unkind stroke of fortune. He shook the dust of Ramnagar from his feet and returned home to lay his sorrows before Nalini, seasoning the story with remarks highly derogatory to Kaliprasanna Babu's character. In order to get rid of an importunate suitor Nalini gave him another letter of introduction, this time to an old acquaintance named Debnath Lahiri who was head clerk in the office of Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop, one of the largest mercantile firms of Calcutta. Pulin was heartily sick of school-mastering, and the prospect of making a fortune in business filled his soul with joy. He borrowed Rs. 30 from Debendra Babu and took the earliest train for Calcutta. On arriving there he joined a mess of waifs and strays like himself, who herded in a small room and clubbed their pice to provide meals. Then he waited on Debnath Babu, whom he found installed in a sumptuous office overlooking the river Hughli. The great man glanced at his credentials and, with an appearance of cordiality, promised to let him know in case a vacancy occurred in the office. For nearly a month Pulin called daily for news at Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop's, and generally managed to waylay the head clerk, whose reply was invariably, "I have nothing to suit you at present".

One morning, however, he was stopped by the darwan (doorkeeper) who told him gruffly that the "Bara Babu did not like to have outsiders hanging about the office". The baffled suitor reflected on his miserable position. He had just eleven rupees and two pice left, which he calculated would last him, with strict economy, for another fortnight. When they were spent, he would have to return crestfallen to Kadampur. But could he face the neighbours' sneers, the servants' contumely—worse than all, his wife's bitter tongue? No, that was not to be thought of. It were better to plunge into the river whose turbid waters rolled only a few feet away.

Pulin was roused from this unpleasant train of thought by hearing his name pronounced. It came from a well-dressed man, who was just entering Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop's office, welcomed by a salam from the surly doorkeeper. Pulin was delighted to recognise in the stranger a certain Kisari Mohan Chatterji, who had taught him English in the General Assembly's College more than a decade back. In a few words he told his sad story and learnt that Kisari Babu had taken the same step as he himself contemplated, with the result that he was now head clerk in Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop's export department. This news augured well for his own ambition, but poor Pulin was disgusted on hearing that no less than three vacancies had occurred in as many weeks, and that all had been filled by relatives of Babu Debnath Lahiri. Kisari Babu added: "A junior clerk is to be appointed to-morrow. Write out an application in your very best hand, with copies of your testimonials, and bring it to me here this evening at five. I'll see that it reaches our manager, Henderson Saheb." Pulin punctually followed his friend's advice, and dreamed all night of wealth beyond a miser's utmost ambition.

On arriving at Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop's office next morning he joined a crowd of twenty or thirty young men who were bent on a like errand. His spirits sank to zero, nor were they raised when after hanging about in the rain for nearly two hours the aspirants were told that the vacancy had been filled up. Thereupon the forlorn group dispersed, cursing their ill-luck and muttering insinuations against Mr. Henderson and his head clerk. Pulin, however, lingered behind. By tendering a rupee to the doorkeeper he got a slip of paper and pencil, with which he indited a piteous appeal to Kisari Babu, and a promise that it should reach him. Presently his friend came out in a desperate hurry, with a stylograph behind his ear, and his hands laden with papers.

"It's just as I anticipated," he whispered to Pulin. "The head clerk has persuaded Henderson Saheb to bestow the post on his wife's nephew. But don't be disheartened. I will speak to our Saheb about you this very day. Come here at five to learn the result."

Pulin did so and was overjoyed to find that he had been appointed probationary clerk in the export department on Rs. 20 per mensem, in supersession of Debnath Babu's nominee.

On the morrow he entered on his new duties with some trepidation, but Kisari Babu took him under his wing and spared no pains to "teach him the ropes". Pulin spent his evenings in furbishing up his English and arithmetic, mastered the whole art of book-keeping, and, being naturally intelligent, he soon had the office routine at his fingers' ends. He grasped the fact that a young man who wishes to succeed in life must make himself indispensable. In course of time Pulin's industry and trustworthiness attracted the attention of Mr. Henderson, who confirmed him as clerk, with a salary of Rs. 35.

But every cup has its bitter drop; and Pulin's was the persistent enmity of the head clerk, who bore him a grudge for ousting his wife's nephew and seized every opportunity of annoying him. Leagued with the arch-enemy were two subordinate clerks, Gyanendra and Lakshminarain by name, who belonged to Debnath Babu's gusti (family). This trio so managed matters that all the hardest and most thankless work fell to Pulin's lot. He bore their pin-pricks with equanimity, secure in the constant support of Kisari Babu.

One muggy morning in August he awoke with a splitting headache, the harbinger of an attack of fever, and was obliged to inform the head clerk, by means of a note, of his inability to attend office. An answer was brought by Gyanendra to the effect that three days' leave of absence was granted, but that his work must be carried on by some other clerk. He was, therefore, ordered to send the key of his desk by the bearer. For three days the patient endured alternations of heat and cold; but his malady yielded to quinine, and on the fourth he was able to resume work.

Soon after reaching the office, he was accosted by one of the bearers, named Ramtonu, who told him that the Bara Sahebwished to see him at once. The moment he entered the manager's sanctum he saw that something unpleasant had occurred. Without wishing him good morning, as usual, Mr. Henderson handed him a cheque and asked sternly whether he had filled it up. Pulin examined the document, which turned out to be an order on the Standard Bank to pay Tarak Ghose & Co. Rs. 200, signed by Mr. Henderson. He was obliged to admit that the payee's name, as also the amount in words and figures, seemed to be in his handwriting.

"Yes," rejoined the manager, "and the signature is very like my own; but it is a forgery. Do you hear me, Babu, a forgery!"

To Pulin's disordered senses the room, with its furniture and Mr. Henderson's angry face, seemed to be turning round. He gasped out, "I'm ill, sir!" and sank into a chair. The manager mistook the remains of fever for a tacit admission of guilt. He waited till Pulin had regained a share of his wits and said gravely: "I did not think that one whom I trusted with my cheque-book would act thus. Now you will search your books, to see whether they contain a record of any payment of the kind, and return with them in half an hour. But I must warn you that if this forgery is traced to you, I shall have to call in the police."

Pulin staggered back to his room in despair and observed that Gyanendra and Lakshminarain, who sat at the next desk, were evidently enjoying his mental agony. Alas! the books showed no trace of any payment to Tarak Ghose & Co. He wrung his hands in great distress and sat bewildered, until Ramtonu came to summon him to the manager's tribunal. In the corridor Ramtonu glanced round, to make sure that no one was within hearing, and said, "Don't be afraid, Babuji. You did me a good turn, and I may be able to help you now."

This Ramtonu was an office menial hailing from the district of Gaya, in Behar. He was an intelligent man, but rather unlicked, and was the butt of the younger clerks, who delighted in mocking his uncouth up-country dialect. Pulin, however, had never joined in "ragging" him, and, on one occasion, he lent Ramtonu Rs. 7 for his wife, who was about to increase the population of Gaya. Gratitude for kindness is a marked trait in the Indian character, and Pulin bethought him of the old fable of the Lion and Mouse. He asked: "Why, what do you know about lekha-para (reading and writing)?"

"Never mind," rejoined Ramtonu. "We must not loiter, for we should be suspected of plotting together. Come to the Saheb's room. I shall be admitted, for he knows that I don't understand English. All I ask is that you will clasp your hands as a signal when I may come forward and tell my story."

A European police officer was seated by Mr. Henderson's side, engaged in writing from his dictation. They looked up, and the manager asked whether Pulin had found any record of the payment in dispute.

On receiving a negative answer, he said: "Then I shall be obliged to hand you over to the police".

Pulin clasped his hands in a mute appeal for mercy, whereon Ramtonu stepped forward. Carefully extracting a folded sheet of foolscap from the pocket of his chapkan (a tight-fitting garment, worn by nearly all classes in full dress), he spread it out on the table and respectfully asked the manager to run his eye over it.

"By Jove," remarked the latter, with great surprise, "here's some one has been copying my signature—and Pulin's writing too!"

All eyes were now bent on the incriminating document. It was made up of many fragments of paper, carefully pasted on a sheet of foolscap, and bore the words, "Tarak Ghose & Co., two hundred rupees, 200," repeated at least twenty times. Below was "A.G. Henderson," also multiplied many-fold. The manager asked where Ramtonu had found the paper, and received the following answer:—"Your Highness, Pulin Babu here did not come to office on Monday; and for the next few days his work was done by Gyanendra Babu, who got the keys of his desk. I knew that he and some other clerks detested Pulin Babu, so I watched their movements narrowly, to see whether they would try to get him into a scrape, and more than once I surprised Gyanendra and Lakshminarain whispering together. On Tuesday neither of them left the office for lunch with the other clerks, and I seized some pretext for entering the room where they sit. Gyanendra roughly bade me begone; so I went to the verandah outside and peeped through the jilmils (Venetian blinds) of a window close to their desk. Lakshminarain was copying some English words from a paper on his left side, while the other clerk looked on, nodding and shaking his head from time to time. After writing in this fashion for a while, Lakshminarain took a sheet of notepaper covered with writing and copied the signature many times, until both babus were satisfied with the result. Then I saw Gyanendra unlock Pulin Babu's desk, take out a cheque-book, and hand it to the other man, who filled up the counterfoil and body of one blank cheque, glancing sometimes at the paper in front of him. He returned it to Gyanendra who placed it in a pocket-book. After tearing up the papers they had used and throwing them into the waste-paper basket, they left the room. I ran round, carefully avoiding them, picked the fragments of paper out of the basket, tied them in a corner of my gamcha (wrapper), and left the office quickly, asking the doorkeeper what direction they had taken. When he said that they had turned northwards, I guessed that they were off to the Bank, in order to cash the cheque, and sure enough I overtook them not more than a rassi from the office. Following them at a little distance on the other side of the street, I saw them stop outside the Standard Bank and look anxiously around. Presently a schoolboy passed by, whom they hailed and, after talking for a while, Gyanendra handed him the cheque with a small linen money-bag, and pointed to the door of the Bank. The lad went inside, while both babus waited round the corner. In a short time he came out and handed the bag full of money to Gyanendra, who gave him something and hurried back to the office with his companion. Putting two and two together I felt assured that those clerks had forged the cheque; and had I known where Pulin Babu lived, I would certainly have communicated my suspicions to him. Having to work without his help, I persuaded a student, who lodges near my quarters, to piece the scraps of paper together. It took him two hours to do so, and we then pasted them carefully on this sheet of foolscap. You will see, Saheb, that there are thirty-seven in all, and only three missing."

The story made a deep impression on Mr. Henderson and the Police Inspector, while Pulin was raised to the seventh heaven of delight by the thought that his innocence might yet be established.

"Could you identify the boy?" asked the Europeans with one breath.

"I don't know his name," was Ramtonu's rejoinder; "but I think I could pick him out, for he passes this office daily on his way to and from school. But this is just the time when he goes home for tiffin. With your Highness's permission, I will watch for him in the street."

"Do so by all means," was the Inspector's reply. "Meanwhile, I'll take down notes of your statement."

Ramtonu went out and in a few minutes returned dragging with him triumphantly a well-dressed lad of fifteen, who seemed terribly alarmed by the company into which he was thrust. The Inspector calmed his fears by assuring him that he would come to no harm if only he spoke the whole truth. "You have been unwittingly made the instrument of a forgery," he added, "and we want your help towards detecting it." The boy plucked up courage and answered every question put him quite candidly. His tale corroborated Ramtonu's in most particulars, with the addition that the tall babu had given him eight annas bakshish for cashing the cheque. He had not seen either of the men previously, but thought he should be able to recognise one of them owing to his unusual height.

"Now, bearer," said Mr. Henderson, "go and fetch both the clerks; bring in the tall one first, but keep an eye on the other outside and beyond earshot."

Ramtonu left the room with alacrity and presently returned ushering Lakshminarain into the dreaded presence. The newcomer was beside himself with terror; and when he was identified by the schoolboy as one of the men who had employed him to cash the cheque, he did not wait to be asked for an explanation. Throwing himself at Mr. Henderson's feet he begged for mercy, promising to reveal the entire truth. The Inspector would make no promises but simply adjured him to make a clean breast of his share in the transaction. Lakshminarain obeyed, and his statement, interrupted by many sobs, was duly recorded. His accomplice was next introduced. At first Gyanendra was inclined to put a bold face on the matter, stoutly affirming that it was a put-up affair between Pulin and Ramtonu. When, however, the Inspector read out to him the deposition of the bearer and schoolboy, he saw that the game was up and confessed his misdoings, accusing the head clerk of having prompted them. The culprits were taken in a ticca gari (four-wheeled cab) to the police station Pulin occupying the box, while Ramtonu ran behind.

Well, to cut a long story short, the prisoners stuck to their confession and refunded their ill-gotten gains. They were duly committed to the High Court on charges of forgery and conspiring to accuse an innocent man of the like offence. They both pleaded guilty, and the judge remarked that it was one of the worst cases of the kind he had ever tried. In passing sentence of two years rigorous imprisonment on each prisoner, he added that they would have fared worse but for the patent fact that they had been made catspaws of by some one who kept in the background. As there was no evidence against Debnath Babu, except that of accomplices, he was not prosecuted; but immediately after the trial, Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop dismissed him without notice. Kisari Babu was promoted to the vacant office of head clerk, while Pulin stepped into his friend's shoes. By unfailing application to duty, he won Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop's entire confidence, and in fulness of time succeeded Kisari Babu as head clerk. Ten or twelve years later, Pulin was rich enough to build a pakka (masonry) house at Kadampur, which far eclipsed his father-in-law's, and had a well-paid doorkeeper in the person of Ramtonu. The once-despised gharjamai took a leading position among the local gentry.



CHAPTER XVI

Gobardhan's Triumph.

Jadu Babu's four-year-old daughter, Mrinalini, or Mrinu as she was called in the family, came to her mother one evening to say that her kitten was lost. In vain was she taken on the maternal lap, her tears gently wiped away, and all manner of pretty toys promised. Her little frame was convulsed with sobs, and she refused to be comforted. So her mother sent a maidservant to search for the plaything. The girl returned shortly and said that the kitten was certainly not in the house. At this Mrinu howled more loudly than ever, bringing her father on the scene. He pacified the child by undertaking to produce her pet, and told the servants that the finder would be handsomely rewarded. Meanwhile his wife was trying to keep Mrinu's attention engaged by telling her a long story, when she suddenly exclaimed, "What has become of your jasam (gold bracelet)?"

Mrinu replied, "I took it off to play with kitty and laid it down somewhere".

This was all the information she could vouchsafe in answer to repeated questions. The mother set her down and proceeded to search every hole and corner for the jasam, but it was not to be found. Her husband was greatly alarmed on hearing of this untoward event. The loss of Rs. 100, at which the trinket was valued, might have been borne; but Hindus believe that misfortune invariably follows the loss of gold. He set all his servants and hangers-on to look for the jasam, but they were unsuccessful. In despair he hurried to Nalini for advice and was told to send for Gobardhan, which he promptly did.

The astrologer listened attentively to his story and then asked whether Jadu Babu would try Bati Chala (divination by the bata leaf), or some simpler method of discovering the lost jasam. On learning that the matter would be left entirely in his hands, he told Jadu Babu to collect all his servants in the parlour and let him have half a seer (1 lb.) of raw rice, with as many strips of banana leaf as there were servants. When all were assembled, Gobardhan thus addressed them, "Mrinu has lost her jasam, have any of you seen it?" The reply was a chorus of "Noes" with emphatic head-shakings. "Then none of you have stolen it?" Again a volume of protestations. "Very well, then," said Gobardhan, "I must try the ordeal of chewed rice." After uttering many mantras (incantations) and waving his hand over the pile of grain and banana leaves, he dealt out a quotum of each to the servants.

"Now" he said, "you will masticate the rice for a minute thoroughly and then drop the result on your leaves. I warn you that it will be deadly poison for the thief." All obeyed with alacrity, and Gobardhan, after examining the contents of each leaf, assured Jadu Babu that the jasam had not been stolen.

My readers who are versed in science will understand that, in point of fact, there is nothing magical about this rite, which is based on the circumstance that fear checks the flow of saliva. In all probability a thief would eject the rice absolutely dry.

The inference was that the jasam had been mislaid; and Jadu Babu asked whether Gobardhan's lore was equal to recovering it.

"Possibly," answered the astrologer, "but it is not a case of Bati Chala; if you can guarantee me Rs. 10, I will perform Nakha Darpan (literally 'nail-mirror'). Let me have an almanac, please, to find an auspicious day."

After examining it and receiving a ten-rupee note from Jadu Babu, the astrologer said oracularly that he would return on the following afternoon, with a lad of twelve, who had been born under the Constellation of the Scales.

At the appointed hour, Gobardhan came accompanied by his acolyte, with whom he sat down at the Chandimandab (a shrine of the goddess Durga, found in most Hindu houses, which serves for social gatherings). Jadu Babu and the bhadra-lok (gentle-folk) took their seats there too, while the underlings formed a respectful half-circle in front. Adjuring all to keep perfect silence, he asked the lad to gaze into the nail on his own right index finger and tell the people what he saw there. After staring at it for a minute or so, the boy began to tremble violently and whispered: "I see a mango-tope (orchard); a little girl is playing with her kitten under the trees. Now I see her slipping a jasam from her arm, the kitten frisks about, and the child follows it; now it disappears, and the child runs indoors." Then, raising his voice to a shrill scream, he pointed with his left hand to the north and asked:—

"What are those animals which are prowling in the orchard? Are they dogs? No—they are jackals—one, two, three jackals! They pounce on the kitten, and tear her limb from limb! Now everything is growing hazy; I can't see any more!"

A thrill of fear ran through the audience, and one might have heard a pin drop. At length Gobardhan broke the silence:—

"Let us go to the mango-tope north of this house," he said solemnly.

Thither they hurried and, after a few minutes' search, one of the maidservants cried out that she had found the jasam half-hidden by the gnarled roots of a tree.

Jadu Babu was overjoyed by the recovery of his missing jewel, and pressed another fee of ten rupees on the astrologer. As for Gobardhan, his fame spread far and wide, and his hut was rarely without some client, eager to learn the future.



CHAPTER XVII

Patience is a Virtue.

Sadhu Sheikh of Simulgachi was not long in finding a husband for his half-sister, Maini Bibi. Before she was fourteen, a young farmer named Ramzan proposed for her hand, offering a den mohur of Rs. 100. The den mohur is a device recognised by Mohammadan law for protecting married women from capricious repudiation. The husband binds himself to refund a fictitious dowry, generally far above his means, in case he should divorce his wife for no fault of hers. Ramzan was accepted by Sadhu, and the marriage was duly celebrated. Maini Bibi was a handsome girl; but beauty was among the least of her gifts. She was sweet-tempered, thrifty, and obedient, winning sympathy on all sides. The one discordant note was struck by Ramzan's mother, Fatima Bibi by name, who took a violent dislike to the bride and evinced it by persistently scolding and ill-using her. Ramzan was completely under his mother's thumb and saw everything with her eyes. His love for Maini was slowly sapped by her innuendoes, and he treated the poor girl with something worse than coldness. Maini, however, bore her hard lot without a murmur, hoping that time and patience would win back her husband's heart.

On returning one evening from the fields, Ramzan was hailed by his mother who was evidently in a worse temper than usual.

"Hi! Ramzan," she shrieked, "I am an old woman, and you, doubtless, find me an incumbrance. Speak out, my son; you have only to say 'go,' and I will leave this house in half an hour."

"Why, what's the matter, mother?" asked Ramzan with open eyes.

"Matter," she yelled. "Would you believe it, that black-faced daughter of a pig has actually abused me—me, your old mother!"

"What did she say?" rejoined Ramzan angrily.

"My son," was the answer, "you know how she neglects household duties, leaving all the hard jobs to me. Well, this afternoon, I ventured on a word of remonstrance, and she actually abused me." And the old woman wiped her tears away with a corner of her cotton wrapper, adding with eyes cast heavenwards, "Merciful Allah, to think that I should come to this in my old age!"

"But what did she say?" repeated Ramzan wearily.

"She told me to my face that I had forgotten to put salt into the curry!"

"That's hardly abusive," rejoined Ramzan.

"You think so," shouted Fatima. "Now you're taking sides with her against your mother, who bore you. You will assuredly suffer in Jehannam (hell) for such a crime! But I'll have it out with that she-devil!"

So saying, she dashed from the room to the kitchen, where the luckless Maini was cowering in anticipation of a coming storm. She was not deceived. Fatima seized her by the hair and administered a sound thumping.

Several days passed by, bringing no alleviation to her fate. But matters came to a crisis on a certain morning, owing to Ramzan's complaint that his wife had over-salted the curry. On tasting the food, Fatima burst into violent imprecations and "went for" her daughter-in-law, who took refuge in the neighbouring brushwood. At nightfall she crept back to the house and found Ramzan closeted with his mother. They were talking earnestly, but Maini could not distinguish the purport of the conversation. It seemed to her that Fatima's voice was raised in entreaty, and Ramzan was objecting to some scheme proposed by her. She passed the night sleepless and in tears.

Early next day Ramzan entered her room and said gruffly, "Get up, collect your chattels, and follow me. I am going to take you back to Sadhu's." Maini obeyed without a word of remonstrance, and a quarter of an hour later the ill-assorted pair might have been seen walking towards Simulgachi.

The rainy season was now in full swing, and their path lay across a deep nullah (ravine) through which mighty volumes of drainage water were finding their way to the Ganges. On reaching a bamboo foot-bridge which spanned it, Ramzan ordered his wife to go first. Ere she reached the opposite bank, he gave her a violent shove, which sent her shrieking vainly for help into the swirling torrent below.

Hardly had Ramzan perpetrated this odious deed than he felt he would give his chances of bihisht (paradise) to recall it. He ran along the bank shouting frantically, "Maini! Maini!" Alas! her slender body was carried like a straw by the foaming water towards the Ganges and soon disappeared in a bend of the nullah. Then her murderer sat down and gave himself up to despair. But the sun was up; people were stirring in the fields; and so he slunk homewards. Fatima stood on the threshold and raised her eyebrows inquiringly; but Ramzan thrust her aside, muttering, "It is done," and shut himself up in his wife's room. There everything reminded him of her; the scrupulous neatness of floor and walls—no cobwebs hanging from the rafters, the kitchen utensils shining like mirrors. He sat down and burst into a flood of tears.

For several days he did not exchange a word with his accomplice, and dared not go to market lest his worst fears should be realised. Dread of personal consequences added new torture to unavailing remorse. Every moment he expected the red-pagried ministers of justice to appear and hale him to the scaffold. The position was clearly past bearing. So, too, thought Fatima, for she waylaid her son one afternoon and said: "Ramzan, I cannot stand this life any longer; let me go to my brother Mahmud Sardar, the cooly-catcher".

"Go," he replied sullenly, and the old woman gathered up her belongings in a bundle and departed, leaving him to face the dark future alone.

While brooding over his fate, he was startled by the sudden arrival of Sadhu. "Now I'm in for it," he thought and began to tremble violently while his features assumed an ashen hue. But Sadhu sat down by his side and said, "Ramzan, I've come about Maini".

"Then she's drowned!" gasped Ramzan. "By Allah the Highest, I swear that I did my best to save her."

"Hullo!" rejoined Sadhu with great surprise; "you must have been with her when she fell into the nullah."

Ramzan bent his head in silence. After a few moments he looked up, clasped his hands, and said:—

"Tell me the truth, Sadhu, is Maini alive?"

"She is," was the reply. "On Thursday morning she came to our house dripping wet and quite exhausted, with a story that your mother had turned her out of doors and that she was on her way to live with us when, on crossing the Padmajali Nullah, her foot slipped and she fell into the water. She told us how, after being carried for nearly a gau-coss (lit. cow league, the distance at which a cow's lowing can be heard), she was swept by the stream against the overhanging roots of a pipal tree (ficus religiosa) and managed to clamber up the bank. But Maini never told us that you were with her. Why, Ramzan, you're quaking in every limb. I always suspected Maini had concealed the truth. Swear on the Quran that you did not try to drown her."

Ramzan feebly protested innocence, and the two men sat awhile without speaking.

At length Sadhu said: "I've come to make you a proposal. Young Esaf, the son of Ibrahim of our village, has fallen in love with Maini and wants to marry her. He is willing to pay the den mohur of Rs. 100 which would be due from you in case of repudiation. Now we want you to divorce her."

Ramzan was overcome by his wife's magnanimity, and the thought of losing her drove him to distraction. "No!" he shouted, "I won't divorce her. I'll fetch her back this very day!"

"That's quite out of the question," rejoined Sadhu. "Maini cannot bear her mother-in-law's cruelty, and I'm sure she'll never consent to live with you again. Besides, Esaf is a rich man and will make her happy. She shall marry him."

"I say she shan't," said Ramzan emphatically.

Sadhu got up and moved off, remarking, "Very well, I will go to the police station at once and charge you with attempting to kill her! We shall soon worm the truth out of Maini, and get plenty of eye-witnesses too."

Ramzan was beside himself with terror. He followed Sadhu, clasped his feet, and groaned, "No, you won't do that! I am ready to divorce Maini. Let Allah's will be done."

"Ah," replied Sadhu, "so you can listen to reason after all. Come to our house to-morrow evening; we will have witnesses ready, and Esaf will be there with the den mohur."

Ramzan had a sleepless night and was too downcast to work on the morrow. When evening came, he walked wearily to Simulgachi. There was quite a small crowd in Sadhu's courtyard. On one side sat Maini and some other women with faces closely covered; Esaf and the witnesses were on the other. Between them was a mat, on which lay a bag full of money. Ramzan was received without salutations, and squatted down by Sadhu's side.

Moslem husbands can get rid of their wives by repeating the word talaq (surrender) thrice, in the presence of witnesses. Every one expected him to utter the formula, which would release Maini from his power. However, he sat silent, with downcast eyes. After a minute or two, he rose and, looking steadily at Maini, was just about to speak, when she sprang forward, laid her hand on his arm, and said: "Surely you are not going to divorce me, your faithful wife, who loves you dearly and seeks only to make you happy? What have I done to be treated thus?"

A murmur was heard in the assembly, but Sadhu raised his hand in token of silence.

"Foolish girl!" he exclaimed, "do you wish to return to a mother-in-law who hates and persecutes you? Will Ramzan be able to protect you?" Then lowering his voice, he added, "Is your life safe with those people?"

"Life and death," rejoined Maini, "are in Allah's hands. It is his will that we should fulfil our destinies, and mine is to cling to my husband. I would not change him for Hatim Tai (a legendary hero, very rich and generous) himself!" Then nestling closer to Ramzan, she pleaded in a voice of music, "Surely you don't want to get rid of me?"

He was quite overcome and burst into tears.

"No," he sobbed, "I will never separate from my treasure. Come back to me, and you need not fear my mother's tongue. She has left my house for good, and I swear by Allah, in the presence of all these people, that she shall not live with us again. You, Maini, shall be sole mistress of my house."

Maini was overjoyed by this decision. She clapped her hands twice, and then, picking up the bag of money, said to the crestfallen Esaf, "Take back your rupees; I am going home with my husband".

So speaking, she took Ramzan's hand and led him out of the house, while a great silence fell on the crowd, broken at length by many exclamations and a buzz of loud talk. My readers who know Maini's sweet nature will not be surprised to learn that her happiness was thenceforward without a single cloud.



THE END