A Peacemaker.
Young Samarendra Dass of Calcutta hoped to enter Government service
as a Sub-Deputy Magistrate; but this ambition was thwarted by the
sudden decease of his father, who left a widow and two sons entirely
unprovided for. After dutifully performing the srádh (funeral rites),
he waited on the dead man's uncle, Rashbehári Babu by name, with a
request that he would support the little family until the sons were in
a position to do so. No good Hindu in comfortable circumstances ever
turns a deaf ear to such appeals. Rashbehári Babu at once invited the
trio to take up their abode with him. Having no nearer relatives,
he had resolved to leave his whole fortune to Samarendra and his
brother Nagendra; and long before his nephew's death he had executed
a will to that effect, which for obvious reasons was kept a profound
secret. The young men were, therefore, ignorant of the brilliant
prospects in store for them, and worked hard to prepare themselves
for earning a livelihood. Samarendra was soon provided with a post
as clerk, which yielded enough to provide the cost of his father's
funeral ceremony and also enabled him to pay Nagendra's school fees.
One evening Rashbehári Babu went to bed supperless, complaining of
indisposition. At midnight, Samarendra was awakened by his groans and
found him writhing in agony on the floor. A doctor was summoned in hot
haste; but ere his arrival the poor old man had expired in Samarendra's
arms. His case was diagnosed as one of failure of the heart's action.
Samarendra and his mother were prostrated by this sudden calamity;
but there is no time to be lost in hot weather. Calling in three
or four neighbours, they had the body carried to Nimtala Ghat for
cremation. Sufficient money was given to the Muchis (low-caste men who
serve as undertakers) for purchasing an abundant supply of fuel and ghi
(clarified butter) with which a chilla (pyre) was constructed. After
the corpse had been laid reverently thereon, Samarendra performed
Mukhagni ("putting fire in its mouth," the duty of the eldest son
or nearest relative). Fire was then applied on four sides, and when
the body had been reduced to ashes, Samarendra bathed in the Ganges
with his companions, and returned home with wet clothes, shouting
"Haribol!" (a cry used at funerals).
Next day Samarendra discovered the dead man's keys, one of which
opened a drawer where Rashbehári Babu kept his private papers. Among
them was a will, which made himself and his brother sole heirs to
the deceased's estate. He ran with the glad news to his mother, who,
in the exuberance of her joy, vowed to offer a sumptuous pujá at Kali
Ghát temple after the srádh had been duly performed.
Rashbehári Babu left landed property yielding an annual income of
Rs. 1,200, besides Rs. 10,000 deposited in a Calcutta bank, and a
substantial house. His estate was worth not less than Rs. 40,000--a
lucky windfall for the penniless brothers. It is needless to add
that the testator's srádh was celebrated with great pomp, which
over, Samarendra applied for and obtained probate of the will. A
sudden change from dependence to comparative wealth is trying to
the best-balanced character. Samarendra's head was turned by the
accession of fortune; he began to give himself airs in dealing with
acquaintances, and was not over-kind to his mother, who bore her
sufferings patiently.
A landed proprietor holds service in contempt. Samarendra at once
resigned his post and settled down at Ratnapur, where Rashbehári
Babu had owned a house and the bulk of his estate was situated. Soon
afterwards he yielded to the repeated advice of his mother by marrying
the daughter of a caste-fellow, endowed with goods on a par with her
husband's new position.
His brother Nagendra passed the Entrance Examination, but failed to
secure a First Arts certificate. This rebuff so disheartened him that
he gave up all idea of continuing the University course and returned to
Ratnapur with the intention of living in idleness on his property. In
vain did Samarendra point out the advantages of a degree. Nagendra
declared that such distinctions were beyond his reach. Sudden wealth,
in fact, was injurious to both of them.
Two uneventful years passed away. Samarendra's wife was the mother
of an idolised boy and was herself adored by her mother-in-law, who
never allowed her to do any manner of household work. The result was
that her temper changed for the worse. When the old lady fell ill,
the young one made horrible messes of her curry and rice. If her
husband ventured to remonstrate, she silenced him with abuse, and
even emphasised her remarks with a broomstick.
Samarendra, in fact, was completely under his wife's thumb. Her word
was law in the household; her mother-in-law a mere cypher, who found
both husband and wife perpetually leagued against her. Shortly after
his arrival at Ratnapur, Nagendra espoused the daughter of Kanto
Babu, a Zemindar residing in the neighbourhood. At first Samarendra's
wife received the new-comer graciously enough; but finding that she
was of a submissive disposition, she soon began to lord it over her
sister-in-law. Nagendra sympathised heartily with his young wife,
but had such a horror of family quarrels that he was very loath to
intervene on her behalf. One evening, however, he ventured on a word
of reproof, which was received with angry words and threats of his
eldest brother's vengeance.
Next day Samarendra called him into the parlour, and, after they
were seated, said: "I hear you have been rude to Barabau (the elder
wife). Is that so?"
Nagendra raised his hands in wonder. "No, brother, it was she who
showed disrespect to me, simply because I objected to her bullying
my wife."
"Do you mean to say that Barabau has lied?" thundered Samarendra. His
brother was nettled by the tone adopted. He replied hotly, "Yes,
she has lied!"
"What!" asked Samarendra beside himself with indignation. "Is my
wife a liar and are you a Judisthir?" (the elder of the five Pandav
brothers, heroes of the Mahabharata). "You are a creature without
shame!" So saying, he shook his fist at Nagendra who started from
his seat as if to attack him. Luckily a respectable neighbour came
in at the very nick of time and separated the would-be combatants.
On the morrow, Nagendra told his brother curtly that these perpetual
bickerings must be avoided at all cost, and that the only course open
to them was to separate. Samarendra raised not the slightest objection,
and from that day forward two distinct establishments were set up
in the same house. It only remained to divide the estates equally,
and as a preliminary step Nagendra asked for accounts during the last
three years. They were furnished in a few weeks, and he spent several
nights in examining them carefully, taking lists of defaulters in
order to verify them by independent inquiry.
While returning home, one evening, from supper at a friend's house,
he met a Mohammadan ryot who, according to the accounts, was heavily
in arrears of rent. He paused and, after acknowledging the man's salám,
remarked that he ought to make an effort to pay a part at least of what
was due. The ryot stood aghast with surprise, but invoked Allah to
witness that he had paid up every pice, adding that he held Dákhilas
(rent receipts) from Bara Babu (the elder brother) which would prove
his assertion. Nagendra asked him to call next day with the receipts
in question.
When the man presented himself, Nagendra, in his brother's
presence, asked for the arrears of rent shown in the jamá wásil báqi
(accounts). Again the ryot affirmed that he owned nothing and appealed
to the Bara Babu for corroboration. Samarendra was taken aback.
"Yes," he stammered, "you did pay me something about a month ago."
"Why do you say 'something,' Babu? You know quite well that I
discharged my rent in full; and what is more I have receipts." So
saying he untied a knot in his gamcha (wrapper) and extracted some
greasy papers, which he flourished in Samarendra's face, shouting,
"Will you swear by your gods that these are not in your writing?"
Nagendra took the receipts, which bore his brother's signature. The
latter looked somewhat sheepish as he answered: "My memory failed me;
I now recollect receiving our rent from you."
Nagendra turned sharply on his brother with the question: "Then why
did you not enter these receipts in your karcha (cash-book)?"
"I'm sure I don't know," was the reply; "probably I forgot to do so."
Though Nagendra said nothing at the time, his doubts of Samarendra's
probity became certainties. From that day onward he was indefatigable
in studying the copy of the siah (rent-roll) furnished him,
the cash-book, and statement of arrears. Figures set down in
these accounts were checked by private inquiries among the ryots
themselves. Then the truth dawned on Nagendra, that his brother
had misappropriated large sums, which should have been paid to him,
and concealed his fraud by falsifying the Zemindari papers. After
preparing a list of defalcations, he showed it to his brother and
asked for an explanation. None was forthcoming; nay, Samarendra made
his case worse by flying into a passion and ordering him out of the
room. He went straight to Kanto Babu for advice, and was told that
the only course open to him was to sue his brother for recovery of
the amount wrongfully appropriated. He resolved to do so forthwith.
On the self-same night his wife, after discussing household affairs
with him as usual, asked casually why he had paid her father a
visit. He told her everything that occurred without reserve. The young
lady listened with breathless attention, but heaved a deep sigh on
learning that he intended suing his elder brother. Nagendra paused
and asked what was on her mind.
"My lord," was her reply, "I am only a woman, knowing nothing of
the world except things within my sphere. Any attempt on my part to
meddle in business matters may seem extremely presumptuous. But this is
such a grave and risky matter that I cannot help speaking out. If you
file a suit against your brother, he will of course defend himself;
for to lose it would ruin him in purse and honour. It will drag on
for months. If you get a decree, the defendant will appeal to the
Sub-Judge, and eventually to the High Court. To fight your way step
by step will cost a fortune; and even should you win all along the
line, the lawyers will not leave you enough to keep body and soul
together. How can a small estate like yours bear the costs of both
sides? So in my humble opinion it would be much better to allow your
brother to enjoy his ill-gotten gains. Make up your mind, from this
day forward, to look carefully after your interests, and you may rest
assured that your brother will never try any such tricks again."
Nagendra listened with open mouth to this discourse, and when his wife
had done speaking, he embraced her fondly again and again, murmuring:--
"My dearest love, I never knew your real worth till now. The Goddess
of Wisdom has chosen you as her messenger and has convinced me that
lawsuits are luxuries which only the rich folk can enjoy--not people
in my position. I will certainly see your father to-morrow and tell
him my resolve to take no steps whatever against Samarendra."
A Hindu wife is her husband's truest friend; ever eager to share his
sorrows and to proffer sound advice in times of difficulty. Yet these
sweet, unselfish creatures are systematically libelled by men who owe
everything to them. It was soon noised abroad that Nagendra's wife had
saved him from inevitable ruin. Everyone praised her common-sense--not
excepting Samarendra and his wife, who thenceforward treated her with
more consideration. Nagendra, therefore, began to hope that peace
and unity would again rule the family.