So things went on. Bipin Bihari put his affairs in order after much
litigation in the Courts, and by less constitutional methods outside.
Most of the tenants submitted to his will out of fear. Only a fellow
called Asimuddin, son of Mirza Bibi, remained refractory.
Bipin's displeasure was keenest against this man. He could quite
understand his father having granted rent-free lands to Brahmins, but
why this Mohammedan should be holding so much land, some free and
some at rents lower than the prevailing rates, was a riddle to him.
And what was he? The son of a low Mohammedan widow, giving himself
airs and defying the whole world, simply because he had learnt to read
and write a little at the village school. To Bipin it was intolerable.
He made inquiries of his clerks about Asimuddin's holdings. All that
they could tell him was that Babu Krishna Gopal himself had made
these grants to the family many years back, but they had no idea
as to what his motive might have been. They imagined, however, that
perhaps the widow won the compassion of the kind-hearted _zemindar_, by
representing to him her woe and misery.
To Bipin these favours seemed to be utterly undeserved. He had not
seen the pitiable condition of these people in days gone by. Their
comparative ease at the present day and their arrogance drove him to
the conclusion that they had impudently swindled his tender-hearted
father out of a part of his lawful income.
Asimuddin was a stiff-necked sort of a fellow, too. He vowed that he
would lay down his life sooner than give up an inch of his land. Then
came open hostilities.
The poor old widow tried her best to pacify her son. 'It is no good
fighting with the _zemindar_,' she would often say to him. 'His
kindness has kept us alive so long; let us depend upon him still,
though he may curtail his favours. Surrender to him part of the lands
as he desires.'
'Oh, mother!' protested Asimuddin. 'What do you know of these
matters, pray?'
One by one, Asimuddin lost the cases instituted against him. The more
he lost, the more his obstinacy increased. For the sake of his all,
he staked all that was his.
One afternoon, Mirza Bibi collected some fruits and vegetables from
her little garden, and unknown to her son went and sought an interview
with Bipin Babu. She looked at him with a tenderness maternal in its
intensity, and spoke: 'May Allah bless you, my son. Do not destroy
Asim--it wouldn't be right of you. To your charge I commit him.
Take him as though he were one whom it is your duty to support--as
though he were a ne'er-do-well younger brother of yours. Vast is
your wealth--don't grudge him a small particle of it, my son.'
This assumption of familiarity on the part of the garrulous old woman
annoyed Bipin not a little. 'What do you know of these things, my good
woman?' he condescended to say. 'If you have any representations
to make, send your son to me.'
Being assured for the second time that she knew nothing about these
affairs, Mirza Bibi returned home, wiping her eyes with her apron all
the way, and offering her silent prayers to Allah.