THE BABU.
Haridasi _Boisnavi_, having left the house of the Datta family, went
to Debipur. At this place there is a flower-garden surrounded by
painted iron railings. It is well stocked with fruit trees and
flowering shrubs. In the centre is a tank, upon the edge of which
stands a garden-house. Entering a private room in this house, Haridasi
threw off her dress. Suddenly that dense mass of hair fell from the
head; the locks were borrowed. The bust also fell away; it was made of
cloth. After putting on suitable apparel and removing the _Boisnavi_
garments, there stood forth a strikingly handsome young man of about
five and twenty years of age. Having no hair on his face he looked
quite a youth; in feature he was very handsome. This young man was
Debendra Babu, of whom we have before had some slight knowledge.
Debendra and Nagendra were sprung from the same family, but between
the two branches there had been feud for successive generations, so
that the members of the Debipur family were not on speaking terms with
those of Govindpur. From generation to generation there had been
lawsuits between the two houses. At length, in an important suit, the
grandfather of Nagendra had defeated the grandfather of Debendra, and
since that time the Debipur family had been powerless. All their money
was swallowed up in law expenses, and the Govindpur house had bought
up all their estates. From that time the position of the Debipur
family had declined, that of the other increased, the two branches no
longer united.
Debendra's father had sought in one way to restore the fallen fortunes
of his house. Another zemindar, named Ganesh, dwelt in the Haripur
district; he had one unmarried daughter, Hembati, who was given to
Debendra in marriage. Hembati had many virtues; she was ugly,
ill-tempered, unamiable, selfish. Up to the time of his marriage with
her, Debendra's character had been without stain. He had been very
studious, and was by nature steady and truth-loving. But that marriage
had been fatal to him. When Debendra came to years of discretion he
perceived that on account of his wife's disposition there was no hope
of domestic happiness for him. With manhood there arose in him a love
for beauty, but in his own house this was denied to him; with manhood
there came a desire for conjugal affection, but the mere sight of the
unamiable Hembati quenched the desire. Putting happiness out of the
question, Debendra perceived that it would be difficult to stay in the
house to endure the venom of Hembati's tongue. One day Hembati poured
forth abuse on her husband; he had endured much, he could endure no
more, he dragged Hembati by the hair and kicked her. From that day,
deserting his home, he went to Calcutta, leaving orders that a small
house should be built for him in the garden. Before this occurred the
father of Debendra had died, therefore he was independent. In Calcutta
he plunged into vicious pursuits to allay his unsatisfied desires, and
then strove to wash away his heart's reproaches in wine; after that he
ceased to feel any remorse, he took delight in vice. When he had
learned what Calcutta could teach him in regard to luxury, Debendra
returned to his native place, and, taking up his abode in the
garden-house, gave himself up to the indulgence of his recently
acquired tastes. Debendra had learned many peculiar fashions in
Calcutta; on returning to Debipur he called himself a Reformer. First
he established a _Brahmo Samaj_; many such Brahmos as Tara Charan were
attracted to it, and to the speech-making there was no limit. He also
thought of opening a female school; but this required too much effort,
he could not do it. About widow marriage he was very zealous. One or
two such marriages had been arranged, the widows being of low caste;
but the credit of these was due, not to him, but to the contracting
parties. He had been of one mind with Tara Charan about breaking the
chains of the zenana; both had said, "Let women come out." In this
matter Debendra was very successful, but then this emancipation had in
his mind a special meaning.
When Debendra, on his return from Govindpur, had thrown off his
disguise and resumed his natural appearance, he took his seat in the
next room. His servant, having prepared the pain-relieving _huka_,
placed the snake in front of him. Debendra spent some time in the
service of that fatigue-destroying goddess, Tobacco. He is not worthy
to be called a man who does not know the luxury of tobacco. Oh,
satisfier of the hearts of all! oh, world enchantress! may we ever be
devoted to thee! Your vehicles, the _huka_, the pipe, let them ever
remain before us. At the mere sight of them we shall obtain heavenly
delight. Oh, _huka_! thou that sendest forth volumes of curling smoke,
that hast a winding tube shaming the serpent! oh, bowl that beautifies
thy top! how graceful are the chains of thy turban; how great is the
beauty of thy curved mouthpiece; how sonorous the murmur of the
ice-cool water in thy depths! Oh, world enchantress! oh, soother of
the fatigues of man, employer of the idle, comforter of the henpecked
husband's heart, encourager of timid dependents, who can know thy
glory! Soother of the sorrowing! thou givest courage to the timid,
intellect to the stupid, peace to the angry! Oh, bestower of
blessings, giver of all happiness, appear in undiminished power in my
room! Let your sweet scent increase daily, let your cool waters
continue to rumble in your depths, let your mouthpiece ever be glued
to my lips!
Pleasure-loving Debendra enjoyed the favour of this great goddess as
long as he would, but yet he was not satisfied; he proceeded to
worship another great power. In the hand of his servant was displayed
a number of straw-covered bottles. Then on that white, soft, spacious
bed, a gold-coloured mat being laid, a spirit-stand was placed
thereon, and the sunset-coloured liquid goddess poured into the
power-giving decanter. A cut-glass tumbler and plated jug served as
utensils for worship. From the kitchen a black, ugly priest came,
bearing hot dishes of roast mutton and cutlets to take the place of
the sacred flowers. Then Debendra, as a devoted worshipper, sat down
to perform the rites.
Then came a troop of singers and musicians, and concluded the
ceremonies with their music and songs.
At length a young man of about Debendra's age, of a placid
countenance, came and sat with him. This was his cousin, Surendra.
Surendra was in every respect the opposite of Debendra, yet the latter
was much attached to his cousin; he heeded no one in the world but
him. Every night Surendra came to see him, but, fearing the wine, he
would only sit a few minutes.
When all were gone, Surendra asked Debendra, "How are you to-day?"
"The body," replied Debendra, "is the temple of disease."
"Yours is, especially," said his cousin, "Have you fever to-day?"
"No."
"Is your liver out of order?"
"It is as before."
"Would it not be better to refrain from these excesses?"
"What, drinking? How often will you speak of that? Wine is my constant
companion," said Debendra.
"But why should it be?" replied Surendra. "Wine was not born with you;
you can't take it away with you. Many give it up, why should not you
do so?"
"What have I to gain by giving it up? Those who do so have some
happiness in prospect, and therefore give it up. For me there is no
happiness."
"Then to save your life give it up."
"Those to whom life brings happiness may give up wine; but what have I
to gain by living?"
Surendra's eyes filled with tears. Full of love for his friend, he
urged:
"Then for my sake give it up."
Tears came into the eyes of Debendra as he said: "No one but yourself
urges me to walk in virtuous paths. If I ever do give it up it will be
for your sake, and--"
"And what?"
"If ever I hear that my wife is dead I will give up drink. Otherwise,
whether I live or die, I care not."
Surendra, with moist eyes, mentally anathematising Hembati, took his
leave.