Tales of Bengal. Satya Bhushan Bandyopadhyay
asked to supervise the ceremonies, inasmuch as Kumodini Babu's increasing age and infirmities rendered him unfit to do so efficiently, while his eldest son, yclept Jadu Babu, had barely reached man's estate. The letter of invitation referred incidentally to the difference of clan as a matter of no importance. Kumodini Babu's disappointment may be conceived when he got an answer from his younger brother, expressing strong disapproval of the match and ending with a threat to sever all connection with the family if it were persisted in! The recipient at first thought of running up to Ghoria, in view of softening Ghaneshyám Babu's heart by a personal appeal, but the anger caused by his want of brotherly feeling prevailed. Kumodini Babu and his wife agreed that matters had gone too far to admit of the marriage being broken off. If Ghaneshyám did not choose to take part in it, so much the worse for him!
Soon after dusk on Srávan 17th, Nalini entered his palanquin, arrayed in a beautiful costume of Benares silk. The wedding procession set out forthwith, amid a mighty blowing of conch-shells and beating of drums. At 8 p.m. it reached the bride's abode, where her family, with Shám Babu at the head, were ready to receive them. An hour later Nalini was conducted to the inner apartments, where the marriage ceremony began. It lasted until nearly eleven o'clock, when the young couple were taken to the Básárghar, or nuptial apartment. During these rites the men-folk were perhaps more pleasantly engaged in doing ample justice to a repast provided for them in the outer rooms. Then they chewed betels in blissful rumination, before separating with emphatic acknowledgments of the hospitality they had enjoyed.
On the following afternoon both bridegroom and bride were taken in palanquins to Kumodini Babu's house, where she instantaneously won every heart by her grace and beauty. Two days later the Bau-Bhát ceremony was held. This is a feast in the course of which the bride (bau) distributes cooked rice (bhát) with her own hands to bidden guests, in token of her reception into her husband's family and clan. Kumodini Babu had requisitioned an immense supply of dainties from local goálas (dairymen) and moiras (confectioners) with a view to eclipsing all previous festivals of the kind.
Early in the morning of the Bau-Bhát day a palanquin was carried into Kumodini Babu's courtyard; and who should emerge from it but Ghaneshyám Babu! He ran up to his brother, who was sitting with some neighbours in the parlour, and, clasping his feet, implored forgiveness. Kumodini Babu's heart leaped for joy. Tenderly did he embrace the penitent, who admitted that his peace of mind had fled from the moment he penned that cruel letter. He now saw the absurdity of his prejudices, and begged Kumodini Babu to forget his unbrotherly conduct. It is needless to add that the prayer was cordially granted and that Ghaneshyám Babu received a blessing from his elder brother. Thanks to his supervision the Bau-Bhát feast passed off at night without the slightest contretemps. Ten years later people still dwelt on the magnificent hospitality they had received, and held Kumodini Babu up as a model to fathers-in-law. In order that all classes might rejoice with him, he remitted a year's rent to every ryot, besides lavishing considerable sums on Brahmans and poor folk. The more enlightened section of Kayasthas were unanimous in pronouncing him to be a true Hindu, on whose descendants the gods on high would pour down their choicest blessings. There were others, however, whose malignity found material to work on in his disregard of caste prejudices.
THE RIVAL MARKETS.
The immediate success of Kumodini Babu's market caused infinite annoyance to Ramani Babu, who owned one long established in the neighbourhood. Hucksters and country-folk found the tolls levied there so much lighter, that the attendance at Ramani's fell off grievously. It is well known that when a new market is started, proprietors already in the field endeavour to break it up with the aid of paid láthiáls (clubmen). If, as often happens, the daring speculator be a man of substance, he employs similar means in his defence. Free fights occur on market-days, ending in many a broken head—sometimes in slaughter. The battle is directed by Gomasthas (bailiffs) on either side, with the full knowledge of their masters, who keep discreetly aloof from the fray.
Ramani Babu did not foresee that his property would be injured by the new venture, and allowed it to be firmly established without striking a single blow. Finding a lamentable decrease in his receipts, he ordered the bailiff to "go ahead," and took an early train for Calcutta in order to set up an alibi in case of legal proceedings. A day or two later his bailiff, attended by six or seven men armed with iron-shod bamboo staves, assembled at the outskirts of Kumodini Babu's market, on a spot where four roads met.
Ere long a cart was descried approaching from eastwards, whose driver bawled snatches of song and puffed his hookah between whiles. When it reached the crossing, the bailiff shouted:—
"Stop! whither so early, friend?"
"To market," the man replied carelessly.
"Whose market?"
"The new one, started by Kumodini Babu."
"What have you got in those baskets of yours?"
"Oh, sweet potatoes, brinjáls (egg-plants), and a lot of other vegetables."
"Why don't you attend Ramani Babu's market?"
"Because it does not pay me to go there."
"So you used to take your vegetables to Ramani Babu's market?"
"Yes; but there are hardly any customers left. Now please let me go; the sun is high up."
"So you won't obey me!"
"No!" roared the carter, prodding his oxen viciously.
"Stop a minute, I tell you! Whose ryot (tenant) are you?"
"Ramani Babu's."
"What, you are his ryot and yet are acting against his interests? If he hears of your perfidy he will certainly turn you out of his estate!"
"Why should he?" asked the fellow, now thoroughly frightened. "I am a very poor man, and Ramani Babu is my father and mother. He cannot object to my selling a few vegetables wherever I please."
"But he does object," rejoined the bailiff sternly. "What's your name and residence?"
"Sádhu Sheikh, of Simulgachi."
"Now, do you know who I am?"
"No-o," replied Sádhu, hesitatingly.
"I am Ramani Babu's new bailiff, sent with these men to see that his market is well attended."
Sádhu's tone completely changed. "Salám, Babu," he whined. "I did not know who you were. Please let me pass or I shall be too late."
"Not so fast, friend," shouted the bailiff. "Once for all, are you going to obey me or not?"
Sádhu prodded his bullocks into a lumbering canter; but the bailiff gave a signal to his clubmen, who ran after him, dragged him out of the cart, and thrashed him soundly. Then two of them escorted him, with his wares, to their master's market, which was being held about three miles away. The bailiff waited at the crossing for new arrivals. They were not long in coming. A fishwoman, heavily laden, passed by. He hailed her, and on learning whither she was bound, ordered his men to drag her to their master's market, which they did, despite the volume of abuse which she hurled at their heads. In this manner some half a dozen deserters were captured and escorted to the old market.
The story of his tyranny spread like wildfire through neighbouring villages, with many amplifications, of course. Kumodini Babu heard that his rival had arrested a hundred frequenters of his market and was about to destroy the shelters he had erected for salesmen. This information filled him with anxiety and, after consulting friends, he lodged a complaint at the police station. In the remote interior of Bengal policemen are all-powerful. They usurp authority to which they are not entitled by law, and use it for private ends. All classes go in perpetual fear of them; for, by a stroke of the pen, they can ruin reputations and defeat justice. No one has recourse to their dreaded