TALES OF BENGAL
by
S. B. Banerjea
Edited by
Francis Henry Skrine.
Contents.
I. The Pride of Kadampur
II. The Rival Markets
III. A Foul Conspiracy
IV. The Biter Bitten
V. All's Well That Ends Well
VI. An Outrageous Swindle
VII. The Virtue of Economy
VIII. A Peacemaker
IX. A Brahman's Curse
X. A Roland for His Oliver
XI. Rámdá
XII. A Rift in the Lute
XIII. Debenbra Babu in Trouble
XIV. True to His Salt
XV. A Tame Rabbit
XVI. Gobardhan's Triumph
XVII. Patience is a Virtue
Introduction.
That "east is east, and west is west, and never the twain shall meet,"
is an axiom with most Englishmen to whom the oriental character seems
an insoluble enigma. This form of agnosticism is unworthy of a nation
which is responsible for the happiness of 300,000,000 Asiatics. It is
not justified by history, which teaches us that civilisation is the
result of the mutual action of Europe and Asia; and that the advanced
races of India are our own kinsfolk.
The scene of Mr. Banerjea's tales has been won from the sea by
alluvial action. Its soil, enriched by yearly deposits of silt, yields
abundantly without the aid of manure. A hothouse climate and regular
rainfall made Bengal the predestined breeding-ground of mankind; the
seat of an ancient and complex civilisation. But subsistence is too
easily secured in those fertile plains. Malaria, due to the absence
of subsoil drainage, is ubiquitous, and the standard of vitality
extremely low. Bengal has always been at the mercy of invaders. The
earliest inroad was prompted by economic necessity. About 2000 B.C. a
congeries of races which are now styled "Aryan" were driven by the
shrinkage of water from their pasture-grounds in Central Asia. They
penetrated Europe in successive hordes, who were ancestors of our
Celts, Hellenes, Slavs, Teutons and Scandinavians. Sanskrit was the
Aryans' mother-tongue, and it forms the basis of nearly every European
language. A later swarm turned the western flank of the Himalayas,
and descended on Upper India. Their rigid discipline, resulting from
vigorous group-selection, gave the invaders an easy victory over the
negroid hunters and fishermen who peopled India. All races of Aryan
descent exhibit the same characteristics. They split into endogamous
castes, each of which pursues its own interests at the expense of
other castes. From the dawn of history we find kings, nobles and
priests riding roughshod over a mass of herdsmen, cultivators and
artisans. These ruling castes are imbued with pride of colour. The
Aryans' fair complexions differentiated them from the coal-black
aborigines; varna in Sanskrit means "caste" and "colour". Their
aesthetic instinct finds expression in a passionate love of poetry,
and a tangible object in the tribal chiefs. Loyalty is a religion
which is almost proof against its idol's selfishness and incompetence.
Caste is a symptom of arrested social development; and no community
which tolerates it is free from the scourge of civil strife. Class
war is the most salient fact in history. Warriors, termed Kshatriyas
in Sanskrit, were the earliest caste. Under the law of specialisation
defence fell to the lot of adventurous spirits, whose warlike prowess
gave them unlimited prestige with the peaceful masses. They became
the governing element, and were able to transmit their privileges by
male filiation. But they had to reckon with the priests, descended
from bards who attached themselves to the court of a Kshatriya
prince and laid him under the spell of poetry. Lust of dominion is a
manifestation of the Wish to Live; the priests used their tremendous
power for selfish ends. They imitated the warriors in forming a
caste, which claimed descent from Brahma, the Creator's head, while
Kshatriyas represented his arms, and the productive classes his less
noble members.
In the eleventh century B.C. the warrior clans rose in revolt against
priestly arrogance: and Hindustan witnessed a conflict between the
religious and secular arms. Brahminism had the terrors of hell fire
on its side; feminine influence was its secret ally; the world is
governed by brains, not muscles; and spiritual authority can defy the
mailed fist. After a prolonged struggle the Kshatriyas were fain to
acknowledge their inferiority.
When a hierocracy has been firmly established its evolution
always follows similar lines. Ritual becomes increasingly
elaborate: metaphysical dogma grows too subtle for a layman's
comprehension. Commercialism spreads from the market to the sanctuary,
whose guardians exploit the all-pervading fear of the unknown to
serve their lust of luxury and rule.
Brahminism has never sought to win proselytes; the annals of ancient
India record none of those atrocious persecutions which stained
mediaeval Christianity. It competed with rival creeds by offering
superior advantages: and the barbarous princes of India were kept
under the priestly heel by an appeal to their animal instincts. A
fungoid literature of abominations grew up in the Tantras, which are
filthy dialogues between Siva, the destroying influence in nature,
and his consorts. One of these, Káli by name, is the impersonation
of slaughter. Her shrine, near Calcutta, is knee-deep in blood,
and the Dhyán or formula for contemplating her glories, is a tissue
of unspeakable obscenity. Most Hindus are Saktas, or worshippers of
the female generative principle: happily for civilisation they are
morally in advance of their creed. But it is a significant fact that
Káli is the tutelary goddess of extremist politicians, whose minds
are prepared for the acceptance of anarchism by the ever-present
ideal of destruction.
It was Bengal's misfortune that its people received Brahminism in
a corrupt and degenerate form. According to legend, King Adisur,
who reigned there in the ninth century of our era, imported five
priests from Kanauj to perform indispensable sacrifices. From this
stock the majority of Bengali Brahmins claim descent. The immigrants
were attended by five servants, who are the reputed ancestors of
the Kayasth caste. In Sanskrit this word means "Standing on the
Body," whence Kayasths claim to be Kshatriyas. But the tradition
of a servile origin persisted, and they were forbidden to study the
sacred writings. An inherited bent for literature has stood them in
good stead: they became adepts in Persian, and English is almost their
second mother-tongue to-day. Kayasths figure largely in Mr. Banerjea's
tales: their history proves that the pen is mightier than the sword.
Economic necessity was the cause of the first invasion of India: the
second was inspired by religion. The evolution of organised creeds is
not from simple to complex, but vice versa. From the bed-rock of magic
they rise through nature-worship and man-worship to monotheism. The
god of a conquering tribe is imposed on subdued enemies, and becomes
Lord of Heaven and Earth. Monotheism of this type took root among
the Hebrews, from whom Mohammed borrowed the conception. His gospel
was essentially militant and proselytising. Nothing can resist a
blend of the aesthetic and combative instincts; within a century of
the founder's death his successors had conquered Central Asia, and
gained a permanent footing in Europe. In the tenth century a horde
of Afghan Moslems penetrated Upper India.
The Kshatriya princes fought with dauntless courage, but unity of
action was impossible; for the Brahmins fomented mutual jealousies and
checked the growth of national spirit. They were subdued piecemeal;
and in 1176 A.D. an Afghan Emperor governed Upper India from Delhi. The
Aryan element in Bengal had lost its martial qualities; and offered
no resistance to Afghan conquest, which was consummated in 1203. The
invaders imposed their religion by fire and sword. The Mohammadans
of Eastern Bengal, numbering 58 per cent., of the population,
represent compulsory conversions effected between the thirteenth
and seventeenth centuries. Eight hundred years of close contact have
abated religious hatred; and occasional outbursts are due to priestly
instigation. Hindus borrowed the Zenana system from their conquerors,
who imitated them in discouraging widow-remarriages. Caste digs a
gulf between followers of the rival creeds, but Mr. Banerjea's tales
prove that a good understanding is possible. It is now imperilled by
the curse of political agitation.
In 1526 the Afghan dynasty was subverted by a Mongol chieftain lineally
descended from Tamerlane. His grandson Akbar's reign (1560-1605) was
India's golden age. Akbar the Great was a ruler of the best modern
type, who gave his subjects all the essentials of civilisation. But
he knew that material prosperity is only the means to an end. Man,
said Ruskin, is an engine whose motive power is the soul; and its
fuel is love. Akbar called all the best elements in society to his
side and linked them in the bonds of sympathy.
Religion in its highest phase is coloured by mysticism which
seeks emblems of the hidden source of harmony in every form of
life. Anthropomorphic conceptions are laid aside; ritual is abandoned
as savouring of magic; hierocracy as part of an obsolete caste system;
metaphysical dogma because the Infinite cannot be weighed in the
balances of human reason. The truce to fanaticism called by Akbar
the Great encouraged a poet and reformer named Tulsi Dása (1532-1623)
to point a surer way to salvation. He adored Krishna, the preserving
influence incarnate as Ráma, and rehandled Valmiki's great epic, the
Rámáyana, in the faint rays of Christian light which penetrated India
during that age of transition. Buddha had proclaimed the brotherhood of
man; Tulsi Dása deduced it from the fatherhood of God. The Preserver,
having sojourned among men, can understand their infirmities, and
is ever ready to save his sinful creatures who call upon him. The
duty of leading others to the fold is imposed on believers, for we
are all children of the same Father. Tulsi Dása's Rámáyana is better
known in Bihar and the United Provinces than is the Bible in rural
England. The people of Hindustan are not swayed by relentless fate,
nor by the goddess of destruction. Their prayers are addressed to a
God who loves his meanest adorer; they accept this world's buffetings
with resignation: while Ráma reigns all is well.
If the hereditary principle were sound, the Empire cemented together by
Akbar's statecraft might have defied aggression. His successors were
debauchees or fanatics. They neglected the army; a recrudescence of
the nomad instinct sent them wandering over India with a locust-like
horde of followers; Hindus were persecuted, and their temples were
destroyed. So the military castes whose religion was threatened, rose
in revolt; Viceroys threw off allegiance, and carved out kingdoms
for themselves. Within a century of Akbar's death his Empire was a
prey to anarchy.
India had hitherto enjoyed long spells of immunity from foreign
interference. Her people, defended by the Himalayan wall and the
ocean, were free to develop their own scheme of national life;
and world-forces which pierce the thickest crust of custom, reached
them in attenuated volume. Their isolation ended when the sea was no
longer a barrier; and for maritime nations it is but an extension of
their territory. A third invasion began in the sixteenth century,
and has continued till our own day. The underlying motive was not
economic necessity, nor religious enthusiasm, but sheer lust of gain.
In 1498 Vasco da Gama discovered an all-sea route to India, thus
opening the fabulous riches of Asia to hungry Europe. Portuguese,
Dutch, French and English adventurers embarked in a struggle for
Indian commerce, in which our ancestors were victorious because they
obtained the command of the sea, and had the whole resources of the
mother-country at their back.
Westerners are so imbued with the profit-making instinct that they
mentally open, a ledger account in order to prove that India gains
more than she loses by dependence on the people of these islands. It
cannot be denied that the fabric of English administration is a
noble monument of the civil skill and military prowess developed by
our race. We have given the peninsula railways and canals, postal
and telegraph systems, a code of laws which is far in advance of our
own. Profound peace broods over the empire, famine and pestilence are
fought with the weapons of science. It would be easy to pile up items
on the debit side of our imaginary cash-book. Free trade has destroyed
indigenous crafts wholesale, and quartered the castes who pursued
them on an over-taxed soil. Incalculable is the waste of human life
and inherited skill caused by the shifting of productive energy from
India to Great Britain, Germany and America. It cannot be said that
the oversea commerce, which amounted in 1907-8 to £241,000,000, is an
unmixed benefit. The empire exports food and raw materials, robbing
the soil of priceless constituents, and buys manufactured goods which
ought to be produced at home. Foreign commerce is stimulated by the
home charges, which average £18,000,000, and it received an indirect
bounty by the closure of the mints in 1893. The textile industry of
Lancashire was built upon a prohibition of Indian muslins: it now
exports yarn and piece goods to the tune of £32,000,000, and this
trade was unjustly favoured at the expense of local mills under the
Customs Tariff of 1895. But there are forces in play for good or evil
which cannot be appraised in money. From a material point of view
our Government is the best and most honest in existence. If it fails
to satisfy the psychical cravings of India there are shortcomings on
both sides; and some of them are revealed by Mr. Banerjea's tales.
Caste.--As a Kulin, or pedigreed Brahmin, he is naturally prone to
magnify the prestige of his order. It has been sapped by incidents
of foreign rule and the spread of mysticism. Pandits find their
stupendous lore of less account than the literary baggage of a
university graduate. Brahmin pride is outraged by the advancement of
men belonging to inferior castes. The priesthood's dream is to regain
the ascendancy usurped by a race of Mlecchas (barbarians); and it keeps
orthodox Hindus in a state of suppressed revolt. One centre of the
insidious agitation is the fell goddess Káli's shrine near Calcutta;
another is Puna, which has for centuries been a stronghold of the
clannish Máráthá Brahmans. Railways have given a mighty impetus to
religion by facilitating access to places of pilgrimage; the post
office keeps disaffected elements in touch; and English has become
a lingua franca.
While Brahminism, if it dared, could proclaim a religious war,
it has powerful enemies within the hierarchy. A desire for social
recognition is universal. It was the Patricians' refusal to intermarry
with Plebeians that caused the great constitutional struggles of
Ancient Rome. Many of the lowest castes are rebelling against Brahmin
arrogance. They have waxed rich by growing lucrative staples, and a
strong minority are highly educated. Mystical sects have already thrown
off the priestly yoke. But caste is by no means confined to races of
Indian blood. What is the snobbery which degrades our English character
but the Indo-German Sudra's reverence for his Brahmin? The Europeans
constitute a caste which possesses some solidarity against "natives,"
and they have spontaneously adopted these anti-social distinctions. At
the apex stand covenanted civilians; whose service is now practically
a close preserve for white men. It is split into the Secretariat,
who enjoy a superb climate plus Indian pay and furlough, and the
"rank and file" doomed to swelter in the plains. Esprit de corps,
which is the life-blood of caste, has vanished. Officers of the
Educational Service, recruited from the same social strata, rank as
"uncovenanted"; and a sense of humiliation reacts on their teaching.
The Land.--In 1765 Clive secured for the East India Company the
right of levying land-tax in Bengal. It was then collected by
zemindars, a few of whom were semi-independent nobles, and the
rest mere farmers of revenue, who bid against one another at the
periodical settlements. Tenant right apart, the conception of private
property in the soil was inconceivable to the Indian mind. Every one
knows that it was borrowed by English lawyers from the Roman codes,
when commercialism destroyed the old feudal nexus. Lord Cornwallis's
permanent Settlement of 1793 was a revolution as drastic in its degree
as that which Prance was undergoing. Zemindars were presented with
the land for which they had been mere rakers-in of revenue. It was
parcelled out into "estates," which might be bought and sold like
moveable property. A tax levied at customary rates became "rent"
arrived at by a process of bargaining between the landlord and ignorant
rustics. The Government demand was fixed for ever, but no attempt was
made to safeguard the ryot's interests. Cornwallis and his henchmen
fondly supposed that they were manufacturing magnates of the English
type, who had made our agriculture a model for the world. They were
grievously mistaken. Under the cast-iron law of sale most of the
original zemindars lost their estates, which passed into the hands
of parvenus saturated with commercialism. Bengal is not indebted to
its zemindars for any of the new staples which have created so vast
a volume of wealth. They are content to be annuitants on the land,
and sub-infeudation has gone to incredible lengths. Most of them
are absentees whose one thought is to secure a maximum of unearned
increment from tillers of the soil. In 1765 the land revenue amounted
to £3,400,000, of which £258,000 was allotted to zemindars. A century
afterwards their net profits were estimated at £12,000,000, and
they are now probably half as much again. The horrible oppression
described by Mr. Banerjea is impossible in our era of law-courts,
railways and newspapers. But it is always dangerous to bring the sense
of brotherhood, on which civilisation depends, into conflict with
crude animal instincts. In days of American slavery the planter's
interest prompted him to treat his human cattle with consideration,
yet Simon Legrees were not unknown. It is a fact that certain zemindars
are in the habit of remeasuring their ryots' holdings periodically,
and always finding more land than was set forth in the lease.
The Police.--A pale copy of Sir Robert Peel's famous system was
introduced in 1861, when hosts of inspectors, sub-inspectors and
head constables were let loose on Bengal. The new force was highly
unpopular, and failed to attract the educated classes. Subaltern
officers, therefore, used power for private ends, while the masses
were so inured to oppression that they offered no resistance. There
has been a marked improvement in the personnel of late years;
and Mr. Banerjea's lurid pictures of corruption and petty tyranny
apply to a past generation of policemen. The Lieutenant-Governor
of Eastern Bengal does justice to a much-abused service in his
Administrative Report for 1907-8. His Honour "believes the force to be
a hard-working body of Government servants, the difficulties, trials,
and even dangers of whose duties it is impossible for the public at
large really to appreciate". He acknowledges that "India is passing
through a period of transition. Old pre-possessions and unscientific
methods must be cast aside, and the value of the confession must be
held at a discount." Bengal policemen fail as egregiously as their
British colleagues in coping with professional crime. Burglary is
a positive scourge, and the habit of organising gang-robberies has
spread to youths of the middle class.
Education.--Though Mr. Banerjea has no experience of the inner working
of our Government offices, he speaks on education with an expert's
authority. Lord Macaulay, who went to India in 1834 as legal member of
Council, was responsible for the introduction of English as the vehicle
of instruction. He had gained admission to the caste of Whigs, whose
battle-cry was "Knowledge for the People," and his brilliant rhetoric
overpowered the arguments of champions of oriental learning. Every one
with a smattering of Sanskrit, Arabic or Persian, regrets the fact that
those glorious languages have not been adequately cultivated in modern
India. Bengali is a true daughter of the Sanskrit; it has Italian
sweetness and German capacity for expressing abstract ideas. No degree
of proficiency in an alien tongue can compensate for the neglect of the
vernacular. Moreover, the curriculum introduced in the "thirties" was
purely academic. It came to India directly from English universities,
which had stuck fast in the ruts of the Renaissance. Undue weight
was given to literary training, while science and technical skill
were despised. Our colleges and schools do not attempt to build
character on a foundation of useful habits and tastes that sweeten
life; to ennoble ideals, or inspire self-knowledge, self-reliance,
and self-control. Technical education is still in its infancy; and
the aesthetic instinct which lies dormant in every Aryan's brain is
unawakened. A race which invented the loom now invents nothing but
grievances. In 1901 Bengal possessed 69,000 schools and colleges,
attended by 1,700,000 pupils, yet only one adult male in 10 and
one female in 144 can read and write! The Calcutta University is an
examining body on the London model. It does not attempt to enforce
discipline in a city which flaunts every vice known to great seaports
and commercial centres, unmitigated by the social instinct. Nor is the
training of covenanted civilians more satisfactory. In 1909 only 1 out
of 50 selected candidates presented himself for examination in Sanskrit
or Arabic! Men go out to India at twenty-four, knowing little of the
ethnology, languages or history, of the races they are about to govern.
Agriculture.--Seventy-two per cent. of the Bengalis live by cultivating
the soil. The vast majority are in the clutches of some local Shylock,
who sweeps their produce into his garners, doling out inadequate
supplies of food and seed grain. Our courts of law are used by these
harpies as engines of oppression; toil as he may the ryot is never
free from debt. The current rates of interest leave no profit from
agriculture or trade. Twelve to 18 per cent. is charged for loans on
ample landed security; and ordinary cultivators are mulcted in 40 to
60. A haunting fear of civil discord, and purblind conservatism in the
commercial castes, are responsible for the dearth of capital. India
imports bullion amounting to £25,000,000 a year, to the great
detriment of European credit, and nine-tenths of it is hoarded in the
shape of ornaments or invested in land, which is a badge of social
rank. Yet the Aryan nature is peculiarly adapted to co-operation. If
facilities for borrowing at remunerative rates existed in towns,
agricultural banks on the Schulze-Delitzsch and Raiffeisen systems
would soon overspread the land. Credit and co-operative groupings for
the purchase of seed, fertilisers and implements, are the twin pillars
of rural industry. Indian ryots are quite as receptive of new ideas as
English farmers. They bought many thousands of little iron sugar mills,
placed on the market a generation back by some English speculators,
and will adopt any improvements of practical value if the price is
brought within their slender means.
The revolution which began a decade ago in America has not spread to
Bengal, where the average yield of grain per acre is only 10 bushels
as compared with 30 in Europe. Yet it has been calculated that
another bushel would defray the whole cost of Government! Bengalis
obey the injunction "increase and multiply" without regard for
consequences. Their habitat has a population of 552 per square mile,
and in some districts the ratio exceeds 900. Clearly there is a
pressing need of scientific agriculture, to replace or supplement
the rule-of-thumb methods in which the ryot is a past master.
The Bengali Character.--Mr. Banerjea has lifted a corner of the veil
that guards the Indian's home from prying eyes. He shows that Bengalis
are men of like passions with us. The picture is perhaps overcharged
with shade. Sycophants, hustlers and cheats abound in every community;
happily for the future of civilisation there is also a leaven of true
nobility: "The flesh striveth against the spirit," nor does it always
gain mastery. Having mixed with all classes for twenty eventful years,
and speaking the vernacular fluently, I am perhaps entitled to hold
an opinion on this much-vexed question. The most salient feature in
the Indian nature is its boundless charity. There are no poor laws,
and the struggle for life is very severe; yet the aged and infirm,
the widow and the orphan have their allotted share in the earnings of
every household. It is a symptom of approaching famine that beggars
are perforce refused their daily dole. Cruelty to children is quite
unknown. Parents will deny themselves food in order to defray a son's
schooling-fees or marry a daughter with suitable provision. Bengalis
are remarkably clannish: they will toil and plot to advance the
interests of anyone remotely connected with them by ties of blood.
Their faults are the outcome of superstition, slavery to custom,
and an unhealthy climate. Among them is a lack of moral courage,
a tendency to lean on stronger natures, and to flatter a superior by
feigning to agree with him. The standard of truth and honesty is that
of all races which have been ground under heel for ages: deceit is the
weapon of weaklings and slaves. Perjury has become a fine art, because
our legal system fosters the chicane which is innate in quick-witted
peoples. The same man who lies unblushingly in an English court, will
tell the truth to an assembly of caste-fellows, or to the Panohayat (a
committee of five which arbitrates in private disputes). Let British
Pharisees study the working of their own Divorce and County Courts:
they will not find much evidence of superior virtue! As for honesty,
the essence of commercialism is "taking advantage of other people's
needs," and no legal code has yet succeeded in drawing a line between
fair and unfair trade. In India and Japan merchants are an inferior
class; and loss of self-respect reacts unfavourably on the moral
sense. Ingratitude is a vice attributed to Bengalis by people who
have done little or nothing to elicit the corresponding virtue. As a
matter of fact their memory is extremely retentive of favours. They
will overlook any shortcomings in a ruler who has the divine gift
of sympathy, and serve him with devotion. Macaulay has branded them
with cowardice. If the charge were true, it was surely illogical and
unmanly to reproach a community numbering 50,000,000 for inherited
defects. Difference of environment and social customs will account
for the superior virility of Europeans as compared with their distant
kinsmen whose lot is cast in the sweltering tropics. But no one who
has observed Bengali schoolboys standing up bare-legged to fast bowling
will question their bravery. In fact, the instinct of combativeness is
universal, and among protected communities it finds vent in litigation.
Englishmen who seek to do their duty by India have potential allies
in the educated classes, who have grafted Western learning on a
civilisation much more ancient than their own. Bengal has given many
illustrious sons to the empire. Among the dead I may mention Pandits
Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar and Kissari Mohan Ganguli, whose vast
learning was eclipsed by their zeal for social service; Dr. Sambhu
Chandra Mukharji, whose biography I wrote in 1895; and Mr. Umesh
Chandra Banarji, a lawyer who held his own with the flower of our
English bar. A Bengali Brahmin is still with us who directs one of
the greatest contracting firms in the empire. How much brighter would
India's outlook be if this highly-gifted race were linked in bonds
of sympathy with our own!
The women of the Gangetic delta deserve a better fate than is
assigned to them by Hindu and Mohammadan custom. They are kept in
leading-strings from the cradle to the grave; their intellect is
rarely cultivated, their affections suffer atrophy from constant
repression. Yet Mr. Banerjea draws more than one picture of wifely
devotion, and the instinctive good sense which is one of the secrets
of feminine influence. Women seldom fail to rise to the occasion
when opportunity is vouchsafed them. The late Maharani Surnomoyi
of Cossimbazar managed her enormous estates with acumen; and her
charities were as lavish as Lady Burdett-Coutts's. Toru Dutt, who
died in girlhood, wrote French and English verses full of haunting
sweetness. It is a little premature for extremists to prate of autonomy
while their women are prisoners or drudges.
Superstition.--Modes of thought surviving from past ages of
intellectual growth are the chief obstacles in the path of
progress. Mr. Banerjea's tales contain many references to magic--a
pseudo-science which clings to the world's religions and social
polity. It is doubtful whether the most civilised of us has quite
shaken off the notion that mysterious virtues may be transmitted
without the impetus of will-power. Latin races are haunted by
dread of the Evil Eye; advertisements of palmists, astrologers and
crystal-gazers fill columns of our newspapers. Rational education
alone enables us to trace the sequence of cause and effect which
is visible in every form of energy. Until this truth is generally
recognised no community can eradicate the vices of superstition.
The "unrest" of which we hear so much finds no echo in Mr. Banerjea's
pages. It is, indeed, confined to a minute percentage of the
population, even including the callow schoolboys who have been
tempted to waste precious years on politics. The masses are too
ignorant and too absorbed by the struggle for existence to care
one jot for reforms. They may, however, be stirred to blind fury by
appealing to their prejudices. Therein lies a real danger. Divergence
of religious ideals, to which I have already alluded, accounts for
the tranquillity that prevails throughout Bihar as compared with the
spirit of revolution in Bengal proper. The microbe of anarchy finds
an excellent culture-ground in minds which grovel before the goddess
Káli. But the unrest cannot be isolated from other manifestations of
cosmic energy, which flash from mind to mind and keep the world in
turmoil. Every force of nature tends to be periodic. The heart's
systole and diastole; alternations of day and night, of season
and tide, are reflected in the history of our race. Progress
is secured by the swing of a giant pendulum from East to West,
the end of each beat ushering in drastic changes in religion,
economics and social polity. It is probable that one of these
cataclysmic epochs opened with the victories wrested from Russia by
Japan. The democratic upheaval which began five hundred years ago is
assuming Protean forces; and amongst them is the malady aptly styled
"constitutionalitis" by Dr. Dillon. The situation in India demands
prescience and statecraft. Though world-forces cannot be withstood,
they are susceptible of control by enlightened will-power. Will peace
be restored by the gift of constitutional government at a crisis when
the august Mother of Parliaments is herself a prey to faction? It
is worthy of note that the self-same spirit has always been rife in
Bengal, where every village has its Dals--local Montagues and Capulets,
whose bickerings are a fertile source of litigation.
Mr. Banerjea's tales were written for his own countrymen, and needed
extensive revision in order to render them intelligible to Western
readers. I have preserved the author's spirit and phraseology; and
venture to hope that this little book will shed some light on the
problem of Indian administration.
Francis H. Skrine.
CHAPTER I
The Pride of Kadampur.
Kadampur is a country village which is destitute of natural
or artificial attractions and quite unknown to fame. Its census
population is barely 1,500, four-fifths of whom are low-caste Hindus,
engaged in cultivation and river-fishing; the rest Mohammadans, who
follow the same avocations but dwell in a Párá (quarter) of their
own. The Bhadralok, or Upper Crust, consists of two Brahman and ten
Kayastha (writer-caste) families. Among the latter group Kumodini
Kanta Basu's took an unquestioned lead. He had amassed a modest
competence as sub-contractor in the Commissariat during the second
Afghan War, and retired to enjoy it in his ancestral village. His
first care was to rebuild the family residence, a congenial task
which occupied five years and made a large hole in his savings. It
slowly grew into a masonry structure divided into two distinct Maháls
(wings)--the first inhabited by men-folk; the second sacred to the
ladies and their attendants. Behind it stood the kitchen; and the
Pujardálán (family temple) occupied a conspicuous place in front,
facing south. The usual range of brick cattle-sheds and servants'
quarters made up quite an imposing group of buildings.
Villagers classed amongst the gentry are wont to gather daily
at some Chandimandap (a rustic temple dedicated to the goddess
Durga, attached to most better-class houses). Kumodini Babu's was a
favourite rendezvous, and much time was killed there in conversation,
card-playing, and chess. Among the group assembled, one crisp afternoon
in February, was an old gentleman, called Shámsundar Ghosh, and known
to hosts of friends as "Shám Babu". He was head clerk in a Calcutta
merchant's office, drawing Rs. 60 a month (£48 a year at par),
which sufficed for the support of his wife and a son and daughter,
respectively named Susil and Shaibalini. After a vain attempt to
make two ends meet in expensive Calcutta, he had settled down at
the outskirts of Kadampur, which has a railway station within half
an hour's run of the Metropolis. Shám Babu's position and character
were generally respected by neighbours, who flocked to his house for
Calcutta gossip.
On this particular occasion talk ran on Kadampur requirements, and
somebody opined that another tank for bathing and drinking purposes
ought to be excavated at once; he did not say by whom.
"True," observed Sham Babu, "but a market is still more necessary. We
have to trudge four miles for our vegetables and fish, which are
obtainable in a more or less stale condition only twice a week. If
one were started here, it would be a great boon to ten villages
at least." Kumodini Babu assented, without further remark, and the
subject dropped.
It came up again on the following Sunday, when Kumodini Babu said to
his friend:--
"I have been thinking about your idea of a market in this village,
and should like, if possible, to establish one myself. How much would
it cost me? As an old commissariat contractor, I am well up in the
price of grain, fodder and ghi (clarified butter used in cooking),
but I really know very little about other things."
The confession elicited a general laugh, and Shám Babu replied,
"It will be a matter of Rs. 200".
"Two hundred rupees! Surely that is far too much for a range of huts."
"True enough. Your own bamboo clumps, straw-stacks and stores of
cordage would provide raw material; and as for labour, all you have
to do is to order some of your ryots (tenants) who are behindhand
with their rent to work for you gratis."
"That would be contrary to my principles. How are these poor people
to live while engaged in begár (forced labour) on my behalf? They
must be paid."
"Very well, then, let us set apart Rs. 20 to meet the cost of market
buildings. But, for the first few weeks, you will have to buy up
the unsold stock of perishable goods brought by Farias (hucksters);
you must patronise the shopkeepers who open stalls for selling grain,
cloth, confectionery, tobacco and trinkets. Once these people find
that they are making fair profits they will gladly pay you rent for
space allotted, besides tolls on the usual scale. At least Rs. 180
must be set apart for these preliminary expenses."
Kumodini Babu never did anything in haste. A fortnight elapsed ere
he announced to the neighbours gathered in his Chandimandap that
he intended starting a bi-weekly market on a vacant plot measuring
one Bigha (one-third of an acre), known as the Kamárbári (Anglice,
"Abode of Blacksmiths"). On an auspicious day towards the end of April,
he inaugurated the new enterprise with some ceremony. His own ryots
were enjoined to attend; shopkeepers, hucksters, and fishermen who
had hitherto gone much further afield, came in considerable numbers;
and business was amazingly brisk. Zemindars (landed proprietors)
generally have to wait for months and spend money like water
before they gain a pice (a bronze coin worth a farthing) from a new
market. Kumodini Babu, however, began to reap where he had sown in
less than a fortnight. Not an inch of space in the Karmárbári remained
unoccupied; his Hát-Gomastha, or bailiff, levied rent and tolls for
vendors, at whose request the market was proclaimed a tri-weekly
one. His fame as a man of energy and public spirit spread over ten
villages, whose people felt that he was one who would give them good
counsel in times of difficulty.
There is some truth in the notion that fortune's gifts seldom come
singly. Kumodini Babu's success in a business venture was immediately
followed by one in his domestic affairs. It fell out in this wise. Shám
Babu's daughter, Shaibalini, was still unmarried, though nearly
thirteen and beautiful enough to be the pride of Kadampur. Money was,
indeed, the only qualification she lacked, and Sham Babu's comparative
poverty kept eligible suitors at a distance. For three years he had
sought far and wide for a son-in-law and was beginning to fear that
he might, after all, be unable to fulfil the chief duty of a Hindu
parent. One evening his wife unexpectedly entered the parlour where
he was resting after a heavy day at office.
"Why has the moon risen so early?" he asked.
"Because the moon can't do otherwise," she answered, with a faint
smile. "But, joking apart, I want to consult you about Saili. Our
neighbour Kanto Babu's wife called on me just before you returned
from Calcutta, and, after beating about the bush, suggested Kumodini
Babu's younger son, Nalini, as a suitable match for her."
Shám Babu's face wore a worried look.
"Surely that would be flying too high for such as us," he
rejoined. "The Basus are comparatively rich, and very proud of their
family which settled here during the Mughal days (i.e., before British
rule, which in Bengal date from 1765). Young Nalini is reading for
his B.A. examination and wants to be a pleader (advocate). Kumodini
Babu would hardly allow his son to marry the daughter of a poor clerk."
"Still, there is no harm in trying," remarked the wife. "If you don't
feel equal to approaching him, there's Kanto Babu who would do so. It
was his wife who broached the subject to me, which makes me think
that they have been discussing it together."
"An excellent idea," exclaimed Shám Babu. "I'll go to him at once." And
taking his stick, he set out for Kanto Babu's house, which was barely
fifty yards off. In half an hour he returned to gladden his wife with
the news that their neighbour had consented to act as a go-between.
Kanto Babu was as good as his word. That very evening he called
on Kumodini Babu, whom he found reading the Mahábhárata (an epic
poem). After dwelling now on this matter, now on that, he asked
casually:--
"Have you never thought of getting Nalini married? He is over twenty,
I believe."
"My wife has been urging me to look out for a wife for him, but in
my opinion he is too young for such responsibilities. Better wait
till he has passed the B.A. examination."
"Your wife's idea is sounder than yours, if I may be permitted to say
so. Just think of the awful temptations to which unmarried students
are exposed in that sink of profligacy, Calcutta! How many promising
lads have succumbed to them, wrecking their own lives and causing
bitter grief to their parents!"
Kumodini Babu started. "You surprise me! I had no idea that Calcutta
was as bad as you paint it. We must certainly get Nalini married at
once. I wonder whether you know of a likely match for him. I don't
care about money, but--"
"That I do," interrupted Kanto Babu, "There's Shám Babu's
daughter, Shaibalini. What a pretty creature she is; modest,
loving and kind-hearted! You won't find her equal in this eláqa
(lit. jurisdiction). If you approve, I will gladly be your spokesman
with her family."
Kumodini Babu mused awhile before answering. "I know Shaibalini
well by reputation, and she is all you describe her. Shám Babu,
too, comes of excellent lineage, though he is not a Zemindar, and
depends on service. I should not object to marrying Nalini with his
daughter. But wait a bit: what gotra (clan) does he belong to?"
"I believe he is a Dakhin Rárhi," answered Kanto Babu.
"But I am an Uttar Rárhi," remarked Kumodini Babu. "Is not that a
fatal objection?"
For the benefit of non-Hindu readers I may explain that Kayasthas are
split into clans--probably a survival of the tribal organisation which
preceded the family almost everywhere. According to tradition, a King
of Bengal named Ádisur imported five Brahmans, and as many Kayastha
servants from Kanauj in Upper India. From the latter are descended
the Ghosh, Basu, Mitra, Guha, and Datta families. The first four are
generally recognised as Kúlin (Angl., "aristocratic") Kayasthas, while
the Dattas and seven other families are known as Sindhu Maulik--"coming
of a good stock". Ádisur and his companions found 700 Brahmans and
the same number of Kayasthas already established in Bengal. These are
the supposed ancestors of a large number of Kayastha families still
termed Saptasati, "the Seven Hundred". The ancient Greeks reckoned
their neighbours beyond the Hellenic pale as "barbarians". So Brahmans
and Kayasthas of Central Bengal styled their congeners north of the
Ganges Rárh, or "uncivilised". The epithet survives in Uttar (north)
and Dakhin (south) Rárhi, but has lost its offensive meaning. Bárendra
is another phrase for the inhabitants of a tract north of the Ganges,
which answers to the modern districts of Rajshahi, Pabna, and Bogra.
Kanto Babu was evidently perplexed; but after reflecting for a short
time he asked, "Now why should such a trifling matter cause any
trouble whatever? The time has long since passed away when arbitrary
difference of clan was considered a bar to marriage among Kayasthas."
"You are quite right," was Kumodini Babu's reply, "and personally I
am above these old-fashioned prejudices. My daughter-in-law may be
Dakhin Rárhi, Banga-ja, or Bárendri for all I care, provided she be
comely, well-mannered and come of good stock. But will Shám Babu
be equally tolerant?"
"That I can't say until I have consulted him," answered Kanto
Babu. "One thing more I must know. What is your idea of Dená Páona
(a word answering to our 'settlements')?"
"Rám, Rám!" exclaimed Kumodini Babu. "Am I the man to sell my son for
filthy lucre? I hear that Calcutta folks occasionally do so, but I
am quite opposed to the custom. Should Shám Babu agree to this match,
I will make no stipulations whatever as to a money payment. He is in
very moderate circumstances, and may give whatever he chooses. Please
see him at once and let me have his decision."
Kanto Babu promised to do so and withdrew, inwardly chuckling over
his diplomacy.
Shám Babu called on him the same evening to learn its issue. He was
delighted to find that Kumodini Babu was not averse to the match,
but his face fell on hearing of the difference of clan. Observing his
agitation, Kanto Babu observed gently, "I don't see why a matter, which
is not even mentioned in our Shástras (holy books), should cause one
moment's hesitation. Pluck up your courage, man, and all will go well."
"Perhaps so," murmured Shám Babu. "But I do stand in awe of the Samáj"
(a caste-assembly which pronounces excommunication for breaches
of custom).
"That's all nonsense! Look at our friend Kunjalál Babu who has just
married his son to a Bárendri girl. Is he an outcast? Certainly not. It
is true that the ultra-orthodox kicked a bit at first; but they all
came round, and joined in the ceremony with zest. I can quote scores
of similar instances to prove that this prejudice against marrying
into a different clan is quite out of date."
Shám Babu had nothing to urge in opposition to these weighty
arguments. He promised to let Kanto Babu have a definite reply on
the morrow and kept his word. Having endured a curtain lecture from
his wife, who proved to him that an alliance with the Basu family
offered advantages far outweighing the slight risk there was of
excommunication, he authorised Kanto Babu to assure Kumodini Babu that
the proposed match had his hearty approval. Once preliminaries were
satisfactorily settled, all other arrangements proceeded apace. The
Páká Dekhá is a solemn visit paid by males of the future bridegroom's
family to that of his betrothed, during which they are feasted and
decide all details regarding the marriage ceremonies. It passed
off without a hitch, and the purohit (family priest) fixed Sravan
17th as an auspicious day for consummating the union. Thenceforward
preparations were made for celebrating it in a manner worthy of the
esteem in which both families were held.
Kumodini Babu issued invitations to all his relatives. Chief amongst
these was a younger brother, Ghaneshyám Basu by name, who practised
as a pleader (advocate) at Ghoria, where he had built a house after
disposing of his interest in the family estate to Kumodini Babu. This
important person was 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 Sraván 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.