The Rival Markets.
The immediate success of Kumodini Babu's market caused infinite
annoyance to Ramani Babu, who owned one long established in the
neighbourhood. Hucksters and country-folk found the tolls levied
there so much lighter, that the attendance at Ramani's fell off
grievously. It is well known that when a new market is started,
proprietors already in the field endeavour to break it up with the
aid of paid láthiáls (clubmen). If, as often happens, the daring
speculator be a man of substance, he employs similar means in his
defence. Free fights occur on market-days, ending in many a broken
head--sometimes in slaughter. The battle is directed by Gomasthas
(bailiffs) on either side, with the full knowledge of their masters,
who keep discreetly aloof from the fray.
Ramani Babu did not foresee that his property would be injured by the
new venture, and allowed it to be firmly established without striking a
single blow. Finding a lamentable decrease in his receipts, he ordered
the bailiff to "go ahead," and took an early train for Calcutta in
order to set up an alibi in case of legal proceedings. A day or two
later his bailiff, attended by six or seven men armed with iron-shod
bamboo staves, assembled at the outskirts of Kumodini Babu's market,
on a spot where four roads met.
Ere long a cart was descried approaching from eastwards, whose driver
bawled snatches of song and puffed his hookah between whiles. When
it reached the crossing, the bailiff shouted:--
"Stop! whither so early, friend?"
"To market," the man replied carelessly.
"Whose market?"
"The new one, started by Kumodini Babu."
"What have you got in those baskets of yours?"
"Oh, sweet potatoes, brinjáls (egg-plants), and a lot of other
vegetables."
"Why don't you attend Ramani Babu's market?"
"Because it does not pay me to go there."
"So you used to take your vegetables to Ramani Babu's market?"
"Yes; but there are hardly any customers left. Now please let me go;
the sun is high up."
"So you won't obey me!"
"No!" roared the carter, prodding his oxen viciously.
"Stop a minute, I tell you! Whose ryot (tenant) are you?"
"Ramani Babu's."
"What, you are his ryot and yet are acting against his interests? If
he hears of your perfidy he will certainly turn you out of his estate!"
"Why should he?" asked the fellow, now thoroughly frightened. "I am
a very poor man, and Ramani Babu is my father and mother. He cannot
object to my selling a few vegetables wherever I please."
"But he does object," rejoined the bailiff sternly. "What's your name
and residence?"
"Sádhu Sheikh, of Simulgachi."
"Now, do you know who I am?"
"No-o," replied Sádhu, hesitatingly.
"I am Ramani Babu's new bailiff, sent with these men to see that his
market is well attended."
Sádhu's tone completely changed. "Sálam, Babu," he whined. "I did
not know who you were. Please let me pass or I shall be too late."
"Not so fast, friend," shouted the bailiff. "Once for all, are you
going to obey me or not?"
Sádhu prodded his bullocks into a lumbering canter; but the bailiff
gave a signal to his clubmen, who ran after him, dragged him out of
the cart, and thrashed him soundly. Then two of them escorted him, with
his wares, to their master's market, which was being held about three
miles away. The bailiff waited at the crossing for new arrivals. They
were not long in coming. A fishwoman, heavily laden, passed by. He
hailed her, and on learning whither she was bound, ordered his men
to drag her to their master's market, which they did, despite the
volume of abuse which she hurled at their heads. In this manner some
half a dozen deserters were captured and escorted to the old market.
The story of his tyranny spread like wildfire through neighbouring
villages, with many amplifications, of course. Kumodini Babu heard
that his rival had arrested a hundred frequenters of his market and
was about to destroy the shelters he had erected for salesmen. This
information filled him with anxiety and, after consulting friends,
he lodged a complaint at the police station. In the remote interior of
Bengal policemen are all-powerful. They usurp authority to which they
are not entitled by law, and use it for private ends. All classes go
in perpetual fear of them; for, by a stroke of the pen, they can ruin
reputations and defeat justice. No one has recourse to their dreaded
agency who can avoid doing so or has the means of gratifying their
greed. By giving a handsome douceur to the Sub-Inspector, Kumodini Babu
obtained a promise of support, which he was simple enough to rely upon.
Meantime Ramani Babu's market bailiff was not idle. Knowing that
he had acted illegally, he resolved to "square" the executive. So,
one evening, he persuaded his master to accompany him to the police
station, provided with a bundle of ten-rupee currency notes. After
discussing commonplaces with the Sub-Inspector, they adjourned to
an inner room, where they induced him to take their side--for very
weighty reasons.
Matters now began to look ugly for Kumodini Babu. Every vendor who
approached his market was intercepted. He implored the help of the
Sub-Inspector, who, however, observed a strict neutrality, hinting
that the complainant was at liberty to defend himself with the aid
of clubmen. But Kumodini Babu was a man of peace, and finding the
policeman something less than lukewarm, he resigned himself to the
inevitable.
His evil star continued to prevail, for, soon after these untoward
events, it brought him into collision with the police. In consequence
of an understanding with Ramani Babu, the Sub-Inspector took to buying
provisions from the few shopkeepers who still attended Kumodini Babu's
market and referring them to him for payment. His constables, too,
helped themselves freely to rice and vegetables without even asking
the price, and had their shoes blacked gratis by Kumodini Babu's
muchis (leather-dressers). His bailiff put up with their vagaries,
until the shopkeepers came in a body to say that unless they were
stopped, the market would be entirely deserted. The luckless Zemindar
was staggered by the tale of oppression. He paid for every article
extorted by the police, but strictly forbade the vendors to give any
further credit. The Sub-Inspector was deeply incensed in finding this
source of illicit profit cut off, and his vengeance was perpetrated
under the pretence of law.
One evening, while Kumodini Babu was conning the Mahábhárata (an
ancient epic) in his parlour, the Sub-Inspector came in, armed with
a search warrant issued by the Deputy Magistrate of Ghoria, which
he showed the astonished master of the house. A charge of receiving
stolen property brought against him was indeed a bolt from the blue;
but when Kumodini Babu regained his scattered wits, he told the
Sub-Inspector scornfully that he might search every hole and corner of
his house. For half an hour the police were occupied in turning his
furniture and boxes topsy-turvy; and at last the Sub-Inspector went
alone into a lumber-room, while his head constable kept Kumodini's
attention fixed on the contents of an almeira (ward-robe) which he
was searching. Shouting, "I have found the property!" he emerged
from the room with a box containing various articles of gold and
silver, which he said were hidden under some straw. On comparing
them with a list in his possession he declared that they exactly
tallied with property reported as part of the spoils of a burglary
in the neighbouring village. In vain Kumodini Babu protested his
entire innocence and asked whether he, a respectable Zemindar, was
likely to be a receiver of stolen goods. He was handcuffed and taken
to the police station on foot, while the Sub-Inspector followed in
a palanquin. Kumodini Babu's women-folk filled the house with their
lamentations; and his eldest son, Jadu Náth, was the first to recover
from the prostration caused by sudden misfortune. He had a pony saddled
and galloped to the railway station, whence he telegraphed to his
uncle, Ghaneshyám Babu, the pleader, "Father arrested: charge receiving
stolen goods". Ghaneshyám arrived by the next train, and after hearing
the facts returned to Ghoria, where he applied to the Deputy Magistrate
for bail. There was a strong disinclination to grant it, owing to the
gravity of the charge; but finally an order was issued, releasing the
prisoner on personal recognisance of Rs. 10,000 and two sureties of
Rs. 5,000. The necessary security was immediately forthcoming, and
Kumodini Babu found himself temporarily a free man, after enduring
nearly forty-eight hours of unspeakable misery in the station lock-up.
In due course his case came on for hearing before the Deputy
Magistrate. Ghaneshyám Babu secured the services of a fighting member
of the Calcutta bar and was indefatigable in his efforts to unearth
the nefarious plot against his brother. Proceedings lasted for four
days in a court packed with spectators. The Sub-Inspector and his
accomplices told their story speciously enough. A burglary had really
been committed and the jewellery found in Kumodini Babu's outhouse
was proved to have been part of the stolen goods. The issue was--who
placed them there? On this point the Sub-Inspector's evidence was
not by any means satisfactory. He finally broke down under rigorous
cross-examination, and was forced to admit that it was quite possible
that some one acting on his behalf had hidden the property in Kumodini
Babu's lumber-room. The battle of the markets was related in all its
dramatic details. Shopkeepers and ryots alike, seeing that justice
was likely to prevail, came forward to depose to acts of tyranny by
Ramani Babu's servants and their allies, the police. Evidence of the
prisoner's high character was forthcoming, while his age and dignified
bearing spoke strongly in his favour. The Magistrate saw that he had
been the victim of an abominable conspiracy and released him amid
the suppressed plaudits of the audience. His reasons for discharge
contained severe strictures on the local police, and even suggested
their prosecution. Thus, after weeks of agonising suspense and an
expenditure on legal fees running into thousands of rupees, Kumodini
Babu was declared innocent. He took the humiliation so much to heart,
that he meditated retiring to that refuge for storm-tossed souls,
Benares. But Ghaneshyám Babu strongly dissuaded him from abandoning the
struggle, at least until he had turned the tables on his enemies. So
Kumodini Babu moved the District Magistrate to issue process against
Ramani Babu and the Sub-Inspector. He met with a refusal, however,
probably because the higher authorities thought fit to hush up a
glaring scandal which might "get into the papers," and discredit
the administration. Ramani Babu, therefore, was not molested, but his
accomplice was departmentally censured, and transferred to an unhealthy
district. Kumodini Babu also thought of discontinuing the market
which had been the fount and origin of his misfortunes. Here again
his brother objected that such a course would be taken to indicate
weakness and encourage further attacks. His advice was followed. The
new market throve amazingly, while Ramani Babu's was quite deserted.