An Outrageous Swindle
Amarendra Babu had expected Kumodini Babu to run after him,
with entreaties to return and the promise of a note of hand for
Rs. 4,000. Disappointment became downright wrath when he heard that
his son's prospective bride had been forthwith married to another
boy. After pondering awhile on this grievance, he sent an anonymous
letter to Shám Babu's employers, to the effect that their clerk was
robbing them right and left and running a business of his own with
their money, under a fictitious name. They had implicit confidence
in his honesty, and the only action they took was to hand the scrawl
to him with a remark that they hoped he would discover and prosecute
the writer.
Meanwhile Amarendra Babu cast about him for a suitable match for his
son. Hearing of a likely girl from the marriage-broker, he visited her
parents, who accepted his overtures with alacrity. The young lady's
father, Jogesh by name, was a commission agent, whose regular earnings
did not exceed thirty rupees a month; but he lived in such style that
his neighbours believed him to be comfortably off. Amarendra Babu, too,
was deceived by appearances, while the girl, who was exhibited to him,
seemed intelligent and pretty. On his side, Jogesh knew his visitor
to be a house-owner of some means; and learning from him that his son
was a second-year student, he gladly consented to the match. The pair
next broached a delicate question, that of dowry. Amarendra Babu had
learnt by bitter experience of the folly of pitching expectations too
high. He told Jogesh that he should be quite satisfied with Rs. 4,001,
viz., ornaments 2,000, barabharan and phulsajya Rs. 500 each, and cash
Rs. 1,001. On Jogesh's expressing willingness to provide that amount,
the purohit (family priest) was sent for who, after referring to a
panjika (almanac), announced that Srában 20th would be an auspicious
day for the marriage. They then separated with many protestations of
mutual good-will.
Meantime Jogesh made minute inquiries as to Amarendra Babu's position
and the health of his son. Their result was satisfactory enough;
not so the fiasco related in my last chapter, which reached him with
amplification, and made him resolve that Amarendra Babu should not
play such tricks on him. He ordered no ornaments for his daughter,
because he had little cash or credit, but simply borrowed Rs. 300 to
meet absolutely necessary expenses. On the afternoon of Srában 20th he
called in half a dozen city roughs, armed them with thick sticks, and
plied them with spirits, telling them on no account to appear in the
public apartments of his house until they received a signal agreed on.
At seven o'clock Amarendra Babu, with his son and an uncle named
Rashbehari, arrived at Jogesh's house in a second-class cab. No
procession attended them, partly because the last had cost so much
money, partly owing to the fear that another hitch might cover them
with ridicule. After exchanging hearty salutations with Jogesh, they
asked him to exhibit the ornaments prepared for the bride-elect. He
took them to a side room and left them there a while, presently
introducing a well-dressed man as his family goldsmith. The latter
unlocked a tin box which he was carrying and took out a number of
glittering gold trinkets, one by one. After examining them carefully,
Amarendra Babu asked him to weigh them, which he did, proving that
their weight exceeded 120 bháris (forty-eight ounces), and their
total value, at Rs. 20 per bhári, no less than Rs. 2,400. This was
far more than he had bargained for, and Amarendra Babu was highly
delighted; but his uncle insisted on sending for his own goldsmith
to weigh the ornaments. Jogesh at once fell in with the suggestion,
and this tradesman, on arrival, valued them at Rs. 2,700.
Rashbehari Babu's scepticism vanished, and he assented to his
nephew's whispered hint that they need not ask Jogesh to produce
the barabharan. He, however, insisted on satisfying them as to its
worth and placed in their hands a heavy gold watch by McCabe, with
an albert chain, equally ponderous; and assured them that he had
paid Rs. 800 for the two. Amarendra's joy was perhaps excessive,
and when the lagna (auspicious time) came round, he permitted the
marriage to be celebrated. Every ceremony went off without a hitch,
and the evening closed in feasting and mirth.
On the following afternoon Amarendra Babu took the bridegroom and
bride with the box of ornaments to his own home, while Rashbehari
Babu remained behind at Jogesh's to receive the cash. On mentioning
this little formality he was assured that the sum of Rs. 1,001 had
been duly counted out to his nephew; so he took his leave. When he
reached home, he discovered the dirty trick that had been played by
Jogesh. Amarendra stoutly denied having received any cash; and the
tin box was proved to contain only fragments of brick neatly wrapped
in paper, and covered with pink cotton wool.
The pair of dupes hurried to Jogesh's house for an explanation. He
sat in the parlour, in evident expectation of their arrival, and
asked with an air of unconcern what was the matter.
"You son of a pig!" roared Amarendra Babu, shaking his clenched fist
close to Jogesh's nose. "Tell me where are the ornaments--where is
the cash?"
"Why, did you not take away a box full of trinkets? and you must
admit that the Rs. 1,001 were handed you in a cotton bag,"
This impudence was too much. Both uncle and nephew fell upon Jogesh
and belaboured him sorely with their shoes. He did not retaliate,
but consoled himself with the thought that he had done his duty,
to God and society, by marrying his daughter, whatever fate might
await him. After vowing to bring a suit against the swindler,
Amarendra Babu and his uncle left the premises and did what they
would have done much earlier had they not been in such a desperate
hurry to marry the lad. They made inquiries as to Jogesh's position
and soon discovered that he was a man of straw, quite unworthy of
powder and shot. They learned, too, that he had hired Rs. 3,000 worth
of trinkets for one night from a goldsmith, who never let them out of
his possession. From a wealthy neighbour he had borrowed a McCabe's
watch and chain, also for one night only. His arrangements made with a
gang of city roughs, in order to prevent the marriage being broken off,
also came to light. Amarendra Babu saw that he had been dealing with a
cunning and desperate man and prudently determined to give him a wide
berth in future. But his daughter was in Amarendra Babu's clutches,
and she was forced to expiate the sins of her father. The luckless
girl was kept on very short commons and locked into a dark room when
she was not engaged in rough household work. Contrary to custom,
she was not sent to her father's house three days after the marriage;
nor was the Bau-Bhát ceremony performed. But Jogesh was on the alert;
he managed to communicate with her by bribing a maid-servant, and one
morning Amarendra Babu's household discovered that the half-starved
bird had flown.
A year passed away without news of the truants; but, one evening,
Amarendra Babu was sitting in his parlour, spelling out a spicy
leader in the Indian Mirror, when, to his unqualified amazement,
Jogesh stepped in and unbidden took a seat. Amarendra Babu's first
impulse was to shout for help and eject the intruder with every
species of ignominy, but second thoughts are proverbially peaceful.
"This Jogesh," he reflected, "must be a very smart fellow, or he would
never have taken us all in as he did. It is better to be on the side of
the sacrificial knife than the goat that awaits its stroke. Why should
I not hear what he has to say? He would not have come here without
some excellent reason--perhaps he wants to pay up part of his debt
to me, or maybe he has some scheme with money in it to unfold. He'll
certainly try to overreach me again; but then once bitten twice
shy. I'll be on my guard." Then with an attempt at irony he asked:--
"What brings you of all people to my house? Have you got another
daughter to marry?"
Had Amarendra Babu observed the gleam which shot from Jogesh's shifty
eyes, he would have kicked him out at once, but he waited for a reply,
which came in honeyed accents:--
"Now, Babuji, please don't rake up old stories; what is done cannot
be undone. You, as a father, ought to excuse little subterfuges,
contrived in order to get a daughter off one's hands. I was so anxious
to ally myself with your distinguished family that I did sail rather
near the wind. But I have come to offer you some amends by putting
you on a really good thing."
Amarendra Babu's cupidity was excited by these words. He asked with
apparent indifference: "Well, let me hear more of your famous plans,
and meantime I'll call for a hookah".
Jogesh was overjoyed by the success of his manoeuvres. He answered,
punctuating his sentences by inhaling fragrant Bhilsi, "You have
heard of Campbell & Co., the big cooly recruiters of Azimganj? Well,
they have an agency in Calcutta for supplying emigrants to Mauritius,
Trinidad, and other outlandish places; and it is run by one Ganesh
Sen who is a close friend of mine. He tells me that a number of
sub-contracts will be given out to-morrow, and I have made up my mind
to apply for one. Ganesh Babu is sure to come to terms with me; and I
know a very smart sardár (ganger) who will supply me with any number of
coolies I want. But I shall take care to keep a large margin between
the rate per head, at which they will be delivered to Campbell & Co.,
and that which my sardár will receive. All this will be clear profit."
"It seems a good speculation," said Amarendra Babu musingly, "but
I should like to have further particulars. What do you expect to
make per head delivered; and what capital will be required?" Jogesh
pulled out a paper covered with calculations, and proved to his host's
satisfaction that as much as Rs. 5 might be expected on each cooly. As
for capital, a few hundreds would be needed in the first instance as
an advance to the sardár, and other sums later, to provide outfits
for the coolies according to law. Campbell & Co. settled the accounts
of sub-contractors monthly, so that Amarendra would not have to wait
long for his money. Jogesh concluded by urging his baibáhik (father
of a son-in-law) to call with him on Messrs. Campbell & Co.'s Calcutta
manager, who would corroborate his statements. Amarendra Babu thought
that there would be no harm in going into matters further. He fixed 4
P.M. on the following day for a visit to 809 Strand, where Campbell &
Co.'s branch offices were said to be located.
On arriving there punctually, he was met by Jogesh, who took him
through a courtyard where twenty or thirty coolies were squatting,
shepherded by a stalwart Mohammadan, wearing a blue turban, who was
introduced as Salim Sardár, his ganger. Pushing through the little
crowd, they entered a well-furnished office, where several clerks
sat writing busily. One of them looked up when Jogesh said: "Ganesh
Babu, I have brought you my baibáhik, who is thinking of joining me
in a sub-contract".
The manager, for such he was, received Amarendra Babu politely and
said that he would gladly come to terms with them. He then produced
a written contract in duplicate on stamped paper, by which the
partners agreed to furnish at least 1,000 coolies monthly, during
the emigration season, at rates which left a net profit of Rs. 5
per head, to be shared equally between them. After reading both
documents over twice, Amarendra Babu executed them, as did Jogesh;
and the former took possession of his copy. On returning home with
his new partner, he entered on a discussion as to ways and means. It
was agreed that he should advance Rs. 5,000 for preliminaries, which
he did a week later, raising the amount on a mortgage of his Calcutta
house property. Everything went swimmingly at first; Jogesh calling
daily to report progress; and a month later he burst into Amarendra
Babu's parlour, with a cash-book and bundle of currency notes. The
latter learnt to his intense delight that his share of the profits
amounted to Rs. 1268 12.4. which was promptly paid him. Two or three
days afterwards Jogesh again called to tell him that an opportunity
of making Rs. 10,000 net had occurred owing to the pressing demand
for cooly freight from a ship which was lying half-empty, and costing
large sums for demurrage. Rs. 10,000 must be forthcoming at once for
advances and perhaps special railway trucks, but Amarendra Babu might
calculate on receiving 100 per cent. in three weeks at the latest. Such
a chance of money-making was not to be lost. Amarendra Babu rushed off
to his broker and sold nearly all his Government paper for Rs. 10,000
in cash, which he handed to Jogesh, against a formal acknowledgment.
Seeing nothing of his partner for several days, Amarendra called
to inquire how the new contract fared and was thunderstruck to find
Jogesh's house locked up. Hastening to Campbell & Co.'s Strand offices,
he saw a notice "to let" exhibited there. This spectacle confirmed
his worst fears--he had been twice swindled outrageously. His only
hope lay in the scoundrel's arrest; so he laid an information at the
police station, and a clever detective was told off to investigate
the charge. Strange was the story which came to light. No such firm
as "Campbell & Co." existed; Ganesh Babu and Salim Sardár were both
accomplices of Jogesh, who had rented an office on the Strand for
one month at Rs. 300 which was never paid. He had also engaged twenty
or thirty loafers at 4 annas (4d.) a head to personate coolies for a
couple of hours. This part of the inquiry was satisfactory enough--for
the police; not so the efforts they made to trace Jogesh and his
accomplices. From that day to this nothing has been heard of them.
Amarendra Babu never recovered from this crushing blow. The loss of
nearly Rs. 14,000 is a very serious matter for any one of moderate
means; to him it was doubly grievous, for he worshipped money and
valued nothing but success. By constantly brooding on his misfortunes
and folly he developed symptoms of madness and was at times so violent
that his relatives were obliged to confine him in a dark room. One
afternoon he eluded their vigilance and hurried to the office of
"Campbell & Co." on the Strand. After gazing for several minutes at
the empty building, he heaved a deep sigh, ran across the road, and
sprang into the River Hughli. The undercurrent sucked his body in,
and it was never recovered. Perhaps Mother Ganges was loath to keep
a carcase so tainted in her bosom, and so whirled it southwards to
the ocean.