Raicharan went back to his own village. Up to this time he had had no
son, and there was no hope that any child would now be born to him. But
it came about before the end of a year that his wife gave birth to a son
and died.
An overwhelming resentment at first grew up in Raicharan's heart at the
sight of this new baby. At the back of his mind was resentful suspicion
that it had come as a usurper in place of the little Master. He also
thought it would be a grave offence to be happy with a son of his own
after what had happened to his master's little child. Indeed, if it had
not been for a widowed sister, who mothered the new baby, it would not
have lived long.
But a change gradually came over Raicharan's mind. A wonderful thing
happened. This new baby in turn began to crawl about, and cross the
doorway with mischief in its face. It also showed an amusing cleverness
in making its escape to safety. Its voice, its sounds of laughter and
tears, its gestures, were those of the little Master. On some days, when
Raicharan listened to its crying, his heart suddenly began thumping
wildly against his ribs, and it seemed to him that his former little
Master was crying somewhere in the unknown land of death because he had
lost his Chan-na.
Phailna (for that was the name Raicharan's sister gave to the new baby)
soon began to talk. It learnt to say Ba-ba and Ma-ma with a baby accent.
When Raicharan heard those familiar sounds the mystery suddenly became
clear. The little Master could not cast off the spell of his Chan-na and
therefore he had been reborn in his own house.
The three arguments in favour of this were, to Raicharan, altogether
beyond dispute:
The new baby was born soon after his little master's death.
His wife could never have accumulated such merit as to give birth to a
son in middle age.
The new baby walked with a toddle and called out Ba-ba and Ma-ma.--There
was no sign lacking which marked out the future judge.
Then suddenly Raicharan remembered that terrible accusation of the
mother. "Ah," he said to himself with amazement, "the mother's heart was
right. She knew I had stolen her child."
When once he had come to this conclusion, he was filled with remorse for
his past neglect. He now gave himself over, body and soul, to the new
baby and became its devoted attendant. He began to bring it up as if it
were the son of a rich man. He bought a go-cart, a yellow satin
waistcoat, and a gold-embroidered cap. He melted down the ornaments of
his dead wife and made gold bangles and anklets. He refused to let the
little child play with any one of the neighbourhood and became himself
its sole companion day and night. As the baby grew up to boyhood, he was
so petted and spoilt and clad in such finery that the village children
would call him "Your Lordship," and jeer at him; and older people
regarded Raicharan as unaccountably crazy about the child.
At last the time came for the boy to go to school. Raicharan sold his
small piece of land and went to Calcutta. There he got employment with
great difficulty as a servant and sent Phailna to school. He spared no
pains to give him the best education, the best clothes, the best food.
Meanwhile, he himself lived on a mere handful of rice and would say in
secret: "Ah, my little Master, my dear little Master, you loved me so
much that you came back to my house! You shall never suffer from any
neglect of mine."
Twelve years passed away in this manner. The boy was able to read and
write well. He was bright and healthy and good-looking. He paid a great
deal of attention to his personal appearance and was specially careful
in parting his hair. He was inclined to extravagance and finery and
spent money freely. He could never quite look on Raicharan as a father,
because, though fatherly in affection, he had the manner of a servant. A
further fault was this, that Raicharan kept secret from every one that
he himself was the father of the child.
The students of the hostel, where Phailna was a boarder, were greatly
amused by Raicharan's country manners, and I have to confess that behind
his father's back Phailna joined in their fun. But, in the bottom of
their hearts, all the students loved the innocent and tender-hearted old
man, and Phailna was very fond of him also. But, as I have said before,
he loved him with a kind of condescension.
Raicharan grew older and older, and his employer was continually finding
fault with him for his incompetent work. He had been starving himself
for the boy's sake, so he had grown physically weak and no longer up to
his daily task. He would forget things and his mind became dull and
stupid. But his employer expected a full servant's work out of him and
would not brook excuses. The money that Raicharan had brought with him
from the sale of his land was exhausted. The boy was continually
grumbling about his clothes and asking for more money.