AT Sonagaji there was a Mahommedan mosque: it had long since
become the abode of ghosts, and was everywhere covered with lichen,
while jungle crows and mynahs had built their nests in different
parts of it. These were now bringing food to their young ones,
who were chirping merrily. The mosque had been left unrepaired for
many a long day: the only sounds heard there at nightfall were
the cries of jackals and the howling of dogs: no one remembered
having ever seen a light in any part of it.
Near this ruin a village teacher used to instruct some of the
village children, whose necks were generally enveloped in woollen
comforters; and whatever the extent of the education they were
receiving, they were at least frightened put of their lives by the
sound of the cane. It was only necessary for a boy to lift his eyes
off his book, or to eat something out of his lap, for the stick to
fall at once with a whack on his shoulders. It is a human failing
for a man armed with authority in any matter, to think that he must
constantly display that authority in various ways lest his dignity
should suffer; and so it was that the old village school-master
loved to collect a crowd round him, in order to make a display
of his sovereignty. When he saw people going by, he would look
in their direction and raise his voice to its highest pitch,
and then, if a crowd collected, his self-importance increased
till there was no limit to it: no wonder therefore that there
was a very heavy punishment for any trifling fault on the part
of the boys. A village school under such a master pretty nearly
resembles the Hall of Yama. Besides the constant sounds of slapping
and screaming, and cries of "_Oh Guru Mahashay! Guru Mahashay!_
your pupil is present," one boy will get his nose tweaked, another
his ear pulled, another will have to carry a brick in one hand,
another will be caned, another may be strung up by his thumbs,
while a stinging nettle will be applied to another: some form of
punishment or other is continually in force[50]. The honour and
glory of Sonagaji used to be kept up solely by the village
school-master whom I have mentioned. Just on the outskirts of the
village, a few beggars, who had been at it all day long, used to
congregate in the evening, wearied by their day's labour, and lie
down, singing snatches of songs softly to themselves.
Such was Sonagaji. Since Matilall's auspicious arrival, however,
the destiny of the place had undergone a revolution: there was
all the stir and bustle attending a great man's movements: the
air was full of the prancing of horses, the loud beating of drums:
there was an eternal munching of delicate sweetmeats: feasting and
revelry went on unceasingly by night and by day, and the people
of the place began to prostrate themselves before the great man.
It is very difficult to know Calcutta people well: to the
outer world, many of them appear all that is respectable, like
mangoes with a fair outside. They can assume a vast variety of
characters. Money is at the bottom of all this: where that is
in question, countless are the shifts and turns resorted to.
Man's nature is so frail that he worships wealth out of all
proportion to its worth. People make herculean efforts to become
recipients of the favour of any man reputed to be wealthy; and
whatever may be necessary for them to say or to do to accomplish
their object, there are no shortcomings on their part.
People of all grades took to visiting Matilall. Now there are
some men, like the Brahmans of Ula, who at once go to the point
with unblushing frankness, so that there is no mistaking their
meaning. Others, again, like the good people of Krishnaghar, expend
much ingenuity in embroidering their remarks, and only after a
good deal of beating about the bush will they introduce the real
object of their visit, and then very delicately. Others, like our
friends of Eastern Bengal, are very careful and deliberate in their
procedure: they at first assume an appearance of indifference and
disinterestedness, plunging their real object deep in the Dvaipara
Lake, and when after a long interval their special intention is
revealed, it turns out that the real object of all their coming and
going was after all a pecuniary one,-- some present or other that
might hereafter be exchanged for cash. Matilall had only to sigh,
and the visitor with him at the time would snap his fingers, by
way of warding off the evil omen: if he but sneezed, his visitor
would say: "May your life be prolonged." If Matilall called for a
servant, the sycophant would scream out: "Ho there! Ho there!" and
in answer to every remark of Matilall's, no matter what it was,
he would say: "Whatever your honour says must be right."
From early dawn till long after midnight people crowded about
Matilall: every single moment of the day they were either coming or
going: the staircase leading to his reception-room was constantly
creaking beneath the heavy tramp of their shoes. Every moment fresh
supplies of tobacco were arriving; smoke issued from the room at
all times as from the funnel of a steam ship: the servants were
so terribly worried, they were at their wits end. Night and day,
in one continuous succession, dancing, music and all sorts of
boisterous fun were kept up.
The dignity of the village school-master was quite eclipsed
by all this stir: till now he had been the turkey-cock; now he
had become but the tiny tailor-bird. There would be a good deal
of noise at times when he was teaching his boys, and Matilall,
hearing this one day, said to his companions:-- "Why is that idiot
making so much noise? I escaped in boyhood from the annoyance
of a school-master: why must have I another near me now? Away
with him quickly." The young Babus taking the hint, very soon
brought about the disappearance of the village school-master from
the scene by the simple expedient of throwing brickbats at him;
and the village school was in consequence broken up. The boys of
the school, thinking it a happy release, took up their bundles
of palm leaves, and having ridiculed their old school-master to
their heart's content, ran breathlessly home.
Just about this time, Mr. John opened his house of business: the
firm was known as John and Company. Matilall was the chief agent
of the house, Bancharam and Thakchacha managers. The Saheb showed
great attention to his chief agent for the sake of his money,
and the chief agent for his part would pay occasional visits to
the office with his companions. He generally came about three or
four in the afternoon, chewing _pán_, his eyes red and inflamed,
and after walking about and prying into everything, would go
home again. The Saheb had not a pice to his name, and depended
entirely upon Mr. Butler for his support: but he rented a house
in Chowringhee, and filled it with a great variety of furniture
and pictures: he also bought splendid carriages, fine horses
and dogs, all on credit, and amused himself training and running
race-horses. Later on he married, and frequented the best society
of the place, wearing a gold chain and a diamond ring. Seeing all
this display, many people were firmly persuaded that Mr. John
was a wealthy man, and had no hesitation in having monetary
transactions with him; but a few persons, of higher intelligence,
knowing the real state of his affairs, were more cautious, and
would have nothing to say to him. Many of the Calcutta merchants
get their living by brokerage: they may be either freight brokers,
or they may buy and sell Government paper or goods generally, their
commission being several rupees in every hundred. Many others,
acquainting themselves with the market prices current in Calcutta
and elsewhere, do affairs on their own account; but to manage
this, they must have already learned the details of business,
as otherwise their business cannot prosper. Mr. John had no
capacity for business at all: he was persuaded that he only had
to purchase goods to dispose of them at a profit: as a matter of
fact, his only object was to enjoy himself and play the rich man
at the expense of others. He thought trade a very simple thing:
he only had to fire enough bullets, and game was sure to fall to
one or other.
The chief agent was even worse in this respect than the Saheb:
he was blankly ignorant, without any education to speak of, and
understanding nothing whatever of accounts: consequently, to do
business with him was so much lost labour. _Mahajans_, brokers,
and shopkeepers were continually going to him with patterns of
their goods, informing him of the fluctuations in prices, and
giving him the latest market intelligence: all the time they
were talking business, he would be gazing vacantly about him,
completely at sea. He never answered any of their questions,
doubtless for fear that anything he might say would betray his
ignorance: he would refer them to Bancharam and Thakchacha.
There were a few clerks in the office, who kept all the accounts
in English. Matilall having one day expressed a wish to have a
thorough examination of the English cash-book, had it fetched for
this purpose by one of the clerks, then having just looked into it
casually, shoved it aside. He generally occupied a room below the
office: this being rather damp, the cash-book, having been kept
there over a month, soon got completely ruined. The young Babus
too used to tear leaves out of it and twist them up into spills
for daily use; and very soon they were all used up in this way,
the cover only remaining. When search was afterwards made for it,
it was found to be the mere shadow of its former self: it was
reduced to a mere skeleton,-- bones and hide, as the saying is,
sacrificed in the service of others.
Mr. John bewailed and lamented the loss of his cash-book,
but kept his grief locked in his own breast. He exercised no
discrimination in the purchases he made, when he began to export
largely to England and to other countries, and took no trouble to
find out the real cost of the goods, or what would be the margin
of profit. Bancharam and Thakchacha saw their opportunity, and
made many a successful stroke of business for themselves: they
soon waxed fat on their gains[51]. A small draught is never
sufficient to relieve great thirst. These two, as they sat
together in secret consultation, had only one object in view,
and that was to increase their gains by every possible means in
their power. They well knew that the opportunity would never recur
again. The springtide of their gains would soon pass, and the
winter of want might come: no time like the present.
Within a year or two, very bad news arrived of the sale of the
goods: instead of a profit there would be a loss, which Mr. John,
to his confusion and dismay, estimated at a lakh of rupees. He had
himself been spending nearly a thousand rupees a month, and was
besides heavily in debt to several banks and money-lenders. For
some months past, indeed, the firm had only been kept going by
a variety of shifts: now the fair bark of outward respectability
was altogether swamped. It was impossible to keep up appearances
any longer, and it soon became notorious that John and Company
had failed. The Saheb went off with his wife to Chandernagore,
a place under French rule, to which, even to this day, debtors
and criminals betake themselves to escape imprisonment. The
money lenders and other creditors thereupon came down upon
Matilall. Look where he would, Matilall could see no way out
of his difficulties: he had not a single pice he could call his
own: he had been living entirely on credit. He could come to no
decision one way or the other at this juncture. He was constantly
on the look out for a visit from Bancharam Babu or Thakchacha,
but "confidence in a dear friend is as a knife in the left hand"
says an old proverb: it was idle to look for any aid from them:
they had vanished before the smash.
When the creditors were referred to them they only answered that
all the accounts were in Mati Babu's name: they had had no dealings
with the others, regarding them as agents only. Owing to all this
confusion in his affairs, Matilall fled one night in disguise
with his companions to Vaidyabati. The people of that place,
when the news reached them of the outcome of Matilall's trade
enterprises, all clapped their hands, and cried: "This is grand
news: there is still justice on the earth[52]: what meaning would
the terms right and wrong have, if such a fate had not befallen
so wicked a man,-- a man who has cheated mother, brother, and
sister,-- a man to whom no sinful action has come amiss?"
It so chanced that Premnarayan Mozoomdar was bathing the next
day at the Vaidyabati Ghât: seeing Tarka Siddhanta there, he
remarked to him: "Those wretched fellows, after having squandered
all their substance, have had to take to flight, to escape a
warrant for their apprehension, and have returned here: they are
not ashamed to appear in public again. A fine instrument for the
ruin of his family has Baburam bequeathed to the world." Tarka
Siddhanta replied: "The village has been tranquil all the time
those boys have been away: alas! that they should have returned
at all. Had mother Ganga only shown us a little favour, how
happy we might have been!" Several other Brahmans were bathing
at the ghât at the same time: their teeth began to chatter in
terror when they heard the news of the return of the young Babus,
and they thought to themselves:-- "Henceforth we may expect to
have to confide into Sri Krishna's keeping our daily ablutions
and devotions." Some small shopkeepers, as they looked towards
the _ghât_ said:-- "Ah sir! we heard that drums would beat when
Mati Babu returned with his seven ships laden with treasure:
yet we cannot see so much as a fisherman's dinghy approaching
let alone a cargo-boat." Premnarayan replied:-- "Do not be
anxious; Mati Babu, like Srimanta Saudagor[53], has obtained a
place of temporary retirement, because of the difficulties caused
by Kamala Kamini. Is not the Babu a very estimable person? Is he
not the chosen son of the fair Lakshmi! His dinghies, his
cargo-boats, and his ships will soon appear, and you will hear the
sound of the drums, while preparing your parched rice and pulse."