“When late to Brindabun, O Krishna! I came,”“Your home there, alas! I found only a name.”
“When late to Brindabun, O Krishna! I came,”“Your home there, alas! I found only a name.”
As it was the ebb, the boat dropped quickly down-stream and the boatmen had no occasion to exert themselves: one sat on the edge of the boat; another, bearded like an old billy-goat, keeping his look-out on the top of the cabin, sang in the Chittagong dialect the popular song which goes:—
“E’en the earring of gold shall loosen its hold,”“By the lute-string’s languishing strain cajoled.”
“E’en the earring of gold shall loosen its hold,”“By the lute-string’s languishing strain cajoled.”
The sun had not yet set when the boat reached its moorings at the Deonagaji Ghât. Four boatmen, panting and puffing with their efforts, lifted Baburam Babu, a mass of solid flesh, out of the boat, and set him safe on land.
Beni Babu received his relative very courteously and begged him to be seated, while his house servant, Ram, at once brought some tobacco he had prepared for him. Baburam Babu was very fond of his pipe: after a few pulls he remarked:“How is it that thishookais hissing?”A servant who is in constant attendance upon a man of intelligence soon becomes intelligent himself: Ram, divining what was wrong, put a clearing-rod in thehooka, changed the water, supplied it with some fresh tobacco, sweet and compact, and brought it back with a larger mouthpiece. Finding thehookaplaced by him, Baburam Babu took entire possession, as though he had taken a permanent lease of it, and as he puffed away, emitting clouds of smoke, chattered with Beni Babu.
Beni.—Would you not like to get up now, sir, and take some light refreshment?
Baburam.—It is already rather late: I don’t think I will just now. I am quite at home, thank you; I would have called for it if I had wanted it. But please just listen to what I have to say. My son Matilall has shown that he possesses remarkable genius! You would be quite delighted to see the boy. I am anxious to have him taught English; do you think you can get me a master to teach him for some mere trifle?
Beni.—There are plenty of masters to be had, and a man of moderate ability might be got for from twenty to twenty-five rupees a month.
Baburam.—What, so much as that? Twenty-five rupees! Oh my dear friend, these religious ceremonies you know are a constant source of expense in my establishment: I have about a hundred people to feed every day; and besides all this, I shall very soon have my son’s marriage to arrange for. Why did I go to the expense of hiring a boat to come here and see you, only to be asked for as much as that after all?
With this, he put his hands on Beni Babu’s shoulders, and laughed immoderately.
Beni.—Then put him at some school in Calcutta: the boy might live with some relative, and his education need not in that case cost more than three or four rupees a month.
Baburam.—What, as much as that? Couldn’t one manage to get the prices down with a little haggling? And is a school education any better than a home one?
Beni.—Home education is a very excellent thing if you can secure a really first-rate teacher, but such a teacher is not to be had on a small salary. School education has its good points and also its bad points. A healthy spirit of emulation of course springs up amongst a number of boys who are being educated together; but at the same time some of the boys will always be in danger of being corrupted by bad company. Besides when twenty-five or thirty boys are reading in one class, there is a good deal of confusion, and equal attention cannot be paid every day to all the boys alike: consequently all do not make similar progress.
Baburam.—Anyhow I will send Matilall to you; and when you have looked about you, do try and make some cheap arrangement for me. None of the English gentlemen for whom I once did business are here now: if they had been, I might have got some of them to secure him schooling which would have cost me nothing: it would only have needed a little importunity. However it will be quite enough if my son obtains just a smattering of learning: if he becomes a scholar, he may not remain in the religion of his fathers. So kindly make it your business to see that he becomes a man: I lay the whole responsibility upon you, my friend.
Beni.—If a boy is to grow into a man, every attention is necessary both when he is at home and when he is away from home: the father must see everything with his own eyes and enter thoroughly into all the boy’s occupations. There is a good deal of business that may be done through commission agencies, but the education of a boy is not one of them.
Baburam.—That is all very true: regard Matilall then as your son. I shall now get some leisure for my ablutions in the Ganges, for reading the Puranas, and for looking after my concerns; for at present I have no time even for these: besides, all the English training that I possess is training of the old school. Matilall is yours, my dear friend, he is yours! I will rid myself of all anxiety by sending him to you. Adopt any course you think fit, but my dear friend, do take care that the expense is not heavy: you know my position as a man with a number of young children to look after: you can understand that thoroughly, can you not?
After this conversation with Beni Babu, Baburam Babu returned to his home at Vaidyabati.
MEN engaged in business all the week spend very lazy Sundays. They avail themselves of any excuse to postpone their bath and their meals: after they have bathed and eaten, some of them play chess and some cards: some occupy themselves in fishing, some play on thetomtom, and some on thesitar: some lie down and sleep, some go for a walk, and others read; but very little attention is paid to the improvement of the mind by study or conversation of an improving character. A good deal of idle talk is indulged in: perhaps somebody’s real or fancied disregard of caste-rules may be discussed, and how Shambhu ate three jack-fruit at a sitting. Such is the style of conversation with which the time will be wiled away. Beni Babu’s intelligence was of a different order. Most people in this country have a general notion that when school-days are over, education itself is complete; but this is a great error. However much may be the attention paid to the acquisition of knowledge from birth to death, the further shore of learning is never reached. Knowledge can only increase in proportion to the attention that is paid to learning: Beni Babu understood this well and acted accordingly.
He had risen as usual one morning, and having first looked into his household affairs, had taken up a book in order to prosecute his studies, when suddenly a boy of fourteen, with a charm round his neck, a ring in his ear, a bracelet on his wrist and an armlet on his arm, appeared before him and saluted him. Beni Baba was engrossed in his book, but was roused by the sound of approaching footsteps, and guessing who the boy was, said to him:“Come here, Matilall, come here! is all well at home?”“All is well,”replied the boy. Beni Babu bade Matilall stay with him for the night, and promised the next morning to take him to Calcutta and put him to school. Some little time after this, Matilall, having finished his meal, perceived that time was likely to hang heavy on his hands, as it would not be dark for a long time yet. Being naturally of a very restless disposition, it was always a hard thing for him to sit long in one place; so he rose very quietly from his seat, and proceeded to explore the house. First he tried to work the mill for husking rice with his feet; then he tramped about on the terraced roof of the house; then commenced throwing bricks and tiles at the passers by, running away when he had done so as hard as he could. Thus he made the circuit of Bally, tramping noisily about, stealing fruit out of people’s gardens and plucking the flowers, or else jumping about on the top of the village huts and breaking the water-jars. The people, annoyed by such conduct as this, asked each other:“Who is this boy? Surely our village will be ruined as Lanka was by Hanuman the house-burner.”Some of them, when they heard the name of the boy’s father, remarked:“Ah, he is the son of Baburam Babu! what then can you expect? Is it not written: ‘Men’s virtues are reflected in a son, in renown, and in water?’”
As the evening drew on the village resounded with the cries of jackals and the humming of innumerable insects. As many men of position reside in Bally, and theshalgram[6]. is to be found in the houses of most of them, there was no lack of the sound of handbells and conch shells. Beni Babu had just risen from his reading and was stretching his limbs preparatory to a smoke, when a great commotion suddenly arose.“Sir, the son of thezemindarof Vaidyabati has been throwing bricks at us!”“Sir, he has thrown away my basket!”“He has been pushing me about!”“He has grossly insulted me!”“He has broken my pot ofghee!”Beni Babu, being very tender-hearted, gave each of the men a present, and dismissed them; then he fell to musing on the kind of training this boy must have been given to behave in such a fashion.“A fine bringing up the lad must have had,”he said to himself,“in the short space of three hours he has thrown the whole village into a state of panic: it will be a great relief when he goes.”Presently some of the oldest and most respected of the inhabitants of the place came to him and said:“Beni Babu, who is this boy? We were taking our usual nap after our midday meal, when we were aroused by this clamour: it is most unpleasant to have our rest broken in upon in this way.”Beni Babu replied:“Please say no more; I have had a very heavy burden imposed upon me: one of my relatives, azemindar, a man rather lacking in common sense if possessed of great wealth, has sent his son to me to put to school for him; and meanwhile I am being worn to a mere shadow with the annoyance. If I had to keep a boy like this with me for three days, my house would become a ruin for doves to come and roost in.”
As this conversation was proceeding, several boys approached, Matilall in their rear, all singing at the top of their voices the refrain—
“To Shambhu’s son all honour pay,”“Shambu, the lord of night and day.”
“To Shambhu’s son all honour pay,”“Shambu, the lord of night and day.”
“Ah!”said Beni Babu,“here he comes: keep quiet, perhaps he may take it into his head to beat us: I shall not breathe freely till I have got rid of the monkey.”Seeing Beni Babu, Matilall seemed somewhat ashamed of himself, and looked a little disconcerted: to his question however as to where he had been, he replied that he had merely been trying to form some idea of the size of the place. When they had entered the house, Matilall ordered Ram the servant to bring him some tobacco, but it was no good giving him the ordinary make; he smoked pipe after pipe of the very strongest, and Ram could not supply him fast enough. It was“Ram bring this!”“Ram, I do not want that!”in fact, Ram could not attend to any other work, but had to be constantly in attendance upon Matilall, keeping him supplied with tobacco. Beni Babu was astounded at such behaviour, and kept turning his head and glancing curiously in his direction. When the time for the evening meal came, Beni Babu took Matilall with him into thezenanaside of the house and regaled him with all sorts of luxuries; then having taken the usual betel by way of a digestive, retired to rest. Matilall also retired to his sleeping chamber and got into bed, when he had chewedpánand smoked enough. For some time he tossed restlessly about, now on this side, now on that; and every now and then he would get up and walk about, singing snatches of the love songs of Nil Thakur, or the old story of the separation of Radha and Krishna as told by Ram Basu. At the noise he made, sleep fled from all in the house.
Ram and Pelaram, the gardener, an inhabitant of Kashijora, had been asleep in the common thatched hall used for the family worship. After the work of the day, sleep is a great relief, and to have it rudely disturbed is naturally a source of much irritation. Both Ram and Pelaram were roused from their rest by the noise of the singing. Pelaram exclaimed:“Ah, Ram, my father! I can get no sleep while this bull is bellowing in this way: I might just as well get up and sow some seeds in the garden.”Ram, turning himself round, replied:“Ah, it is midnight! why get up now? The master has done a fine thing in bringing this brat here[7]: it means ruin to us all. The boy is a terrible nuisance: we shall not breathe again till he goes.”
Early next morning, Beni Babu took Matilall away with him to the house of Becharam Banerjea of Bow Bazar. This gentleman was the son of Kenaram Babu, and a man of very old family: he was a childlike, simple-minded man, hair-lipped from his birth, and highly excitable on the smallest provocation. Seeing Beni Babu, he called to him in his peculiar nasal tone:“Come, tell me what is in your mind now?”
Beni.—Well, seeing that Baburam Babu has no relative like yourself in Calcutta, I have come to request of you that his boy Matilall may live in your house while he is attending school, going to Vaidyabati for his Saturday holiday.
Becharam.—Well, there can be no possible objection to that. He is perfectly welcome to come and stay in my house: this is as much his home as his father’s house is. I have no children of my own, and only two nephews; let Matilall then stay with me as long as he pleases.
On hearing Becharam Babu’s nasal twang, Matilall burst out laughing. Beni Babu gave a sigh of disgust, thinking to himself that there would be little peace here so long as such a boy as this was about. Becharam noted the jeering laugh, and observed to Beni Babu,“Ah! friend Beni, the youngster appears somewhat ill-mannered and boorish. I imagine that he must have been constantly indulged from infancy.”
Beni Babu was a very shrewd man. His former history was known to all. He too had led a wild life, but had remedied everything by his own good qualities. He now told himself that if he were to express his real opinion of Matilall, the boy might be ruined: there would be an end to his remaining in Calcutta and to his school education, and it was his own earnest wish that the boy should grow to man’s estate with some sort of training at least. So after exchanging ideas on many other topics, he took his leave of Becharam Babu and went with Matilall to the school of one Mr. Sherborn. Owing to the establishment of the Hindu College, this gentleman’s school had somewhat diminished in numbers: it required all his attention, and constant toil day and night, to keep it going. He himself was a stout man with heavy and bushy eyebrows; was never seen withoutpánin his mouth and a cane in his hand; and would vary his walks up and down his classes by occasionally sitting down and pulling at ahooka. Beni Babu having placed Matilall at his school, returned to Bally.
WHEN the British merchants first came to Calcutta, the Setts and Baisakhs were the great traders, but none of the people of the city knew English: all business communications with the foreigners had to be carried on by means of signs. Man will always find a way out of a difficulty if need be, and by means of these signs a few English words get to be known. After the establishment of the Supreme Court, increased attention was paid to English: this was chiefly due to the influence of the law courts. By that time Ram Ram Mistori and Ananda Ram Dass, who were representative men in Calcutta, had learned many English expressions: Ram Narayan Mistori, a pupil of Ram Ram Mistori, was engaged as clerk to an attorney and used to write out petitions for a great many people; he also kept a school, his pupils paying from fourteen to sixteen rupees a month. Following his example, others, as for instance Ram Lochan Napit and Krisha Mohun Basu, adopted the profession of schoolmaster: their pupils used to read some English book and learn the meaning of words by heart. At marriage ceremonies and festivals, everybody would contemplate with awe and astonishment, and loudly applaud, any boy who could utter a few English expressions. Following the example set by others, Mr. Sherborn had opened his school at a somewhat late period, and the children of people belonging to the upper grades of society were being educated at his establishment.
Now boys with a real desire to learn may pick up something or other, by dint of their own exertions, at any school they may be attending. All schools have their good and bad points, and there are a large number of lads so peculiarly constituted that they keep wandering about from school to school, under pretence of being dissatisfied with each one they go to, and think, by passing their time in this unsettled way, to deceive their parents into the belief that they are learning something. So Matilall, after attending Mr. Sherborn’s school for a few days, had himself entered anew at the school of a Mr. Charles.
The chief end in view in all education is the development of a good disposition and a high character, the growth of a right understanding, and the attainment of a thorough mastery of any work that may have to be attended to in the practical business of life. If the education of children is conducted on these lines, they may become in every way respectable members of society, competent to understand and duly execute all their business both at home and abroad. But to ensure that such a training shall be given, both parents and teachers have need to exert themselves. The young will naturally follow in the footsteps of their elders. Goodness in the parents is a necessary condition of the growth of goodness in the children. If a drunken father forbids his child liquor, why should the child listen to him? If a father, himself addicted to immorality, attempts to instruct a son in morals, he will at once recall the mousing cat that professed asceticism[8], and will only mock at his hypocrisy. The son whose father lives a virtuous life has no great need of advice and counsel: mere observation of his father will generate a good disposition. The mother too must keep her attention constantly fixed on her child: there is nothing so potent in its humanising effect on a child’s mind as a mother’s sweet conversation, kindness and caresses. A child’s good behaviour is assured when he distinctly realises that if he does certain things, his mother will not take him into her lap and caress him. Again, it is the teacher’s duty to guard against making a mere parrot of his pupil, when he is teaching him by book. If a boy has to get all he reads by heart, his faculty of memory may be strengthened, it is true; but if his intelligence is not promoted, and he gets no practical knowledge, then his education is all a sham. Whether the pupil be old or young, the matter should be explained to him in such a way that his mind may grasp what he is learning. By a good system of education, and judicious tact in teaching, an intelligent comprehension of a subject may be effected such as no amount of mere chiding will bring about.
Matilall had learned nothing of morality or good conduct in his Vaidyabati home, and now his residence in Bow Bazar proved a curse rather than a blessing. Becharam Babu had two nephews, whose names were Haladhar and Gadadhar. These boys had never known what it was to have a father; and though they occasionally went to school out of fear of their mother and uncle, it was more of a sham than anything else. They mostly wandered at their pleasure, unchecked, about the streets, the riverghâts, the terraced roofs of houses and the open common; and they utterly refused to listen to anybody who tried to restrain them. When their mother remonstrated, they would just retort:“If you do this we will both of us run away;”so they were left to do pretty much as they pleased. They found Matilall one of their own sort, and within a very short time a close intimacy sprang up between them; they became quite inseparable; would sit together, eat together, and sleep together; would put their hands on each other’s shoulders and go about both in doors and out of doors hand in hand, or with their arms round each other’s necks. Whenever Becharam’s wife saw them, she would say:“They are three brothers, sons of one mother.”
Neither children nor youths nor old men can remain for any length of time passive or engaged in one kind of occupation: they must have some way of dividing the twenty-four hours of the day and night between a variety of occupations. In the case of children, special arrangements will have to be made to ensure their having a combination of amusement with instruction. Neither continuous play nor continuous work is a good thing. The chief object of all recreation is to enable a man to pay greater attention to his labour afterwards, his body refreshed by relaxation. The mind only becomes enfeebled by unbroken exertion, and anything learnt in that condition simply floats about on the surface without sinking into it. But in all games there is this to be considered, that those only are beneficial in which there is a certain amount of bodily exertion; no benefit is to be derived from cards or dice or any pastimes of that kind: the only effect of such amusements is to increase the natural tendency to idleness, which is the source of such a variety of evils. Just as there is no good to be derived from unceasing work, so by continuous play the intelligence is apt to get blunted, for thereby the body only is strengthened, the mind is not disciplined at all; and as the latter must be engaged in something or other, is it to be wondered at that in such a condition it should adopt an evil rather than a good course? It is thus that many boys come to grief.
Matilall and his companions Haladhar and Gadadhar roamed about everywhere like so many Brahmini bulls, doing just as they pleased and paying no attention to any one. They were constantly amusing themselves either with cards and dice or else with kites and pigeon-flying. They could find no time either for regular meals or for sleep. If a servant came to call them into the house, they would only abuse him, and refuse to go in. If ever the maid came to tell them that her mistress could not retire to rest until they had had their supper, they would abuse her in a disgraceful manner. The maid-servant would sometimes retort:“What courteous language you have learned!”All the most worthless boys of the neighbourhood gradually collected together and formed a band. Noise and confusion reigned supreme in the house all day and night, and people in the reception-room could not hear each other’s voices: the only sounds were those of uproarious merriment. So much tobacco andganjawas consumed that the whole place was darkened with smoke: no one dared pass by that way when this company was assembled, and there was not a man who would venture to forbid such conduct. Becharam Babu indeed was disgusted when the smell of the tobacco reached him, as it occasionally did; but he would only give vent to his favourite exclamation of disgust and impatience.
Most terrible of all evils are the evils that spring from association with others. Even where there is unremitting attention on the part of parents and teachers, evil company may bring ruin; but where no such effort is made, the extent of corruption that association with others brings about cannot be estimated in language. Matilall’s character, far from improving, was, by the aid of his present associates, deteriorating day by day. He might attend school for one or two days in the week, but would merely remain seated there like a dummy, treating the whole thing as a supreme bore. He was continually joking with the other boys or drawing on his slate; would scarce attend for five minutes together to his lessons; and could think of nothing but the fine time he would have with his companions out of school. There are teachers possessed of sufficient skill and tact to draw to the acquisition of knowledge the mind of even such a boy as Matilall: being acquainted with various methods of imparting instruction, they adopt that which is likely to prove most efficacious in each particular case. Now the teaching in Mr. Charles school was as indifferent as the teaching in Government schools often is at the present day. Equal attention was not paid to all the classes and all the boys, and no pains were taken to ascertain whether they thoroughly understood the easy books they had to read before they proceeded to more difficult ones. A good many people are firmly convinced that a school derives its importance from the number of books prescribed, and the amount read. It was considered quite sufficient for the boys to repeat their lessons by heart: it was not supposed to be necessary to know whether they understood or not; and it was never taken into consideration at all whether the education they were receiving was one that would fit them for the practical business of afterlife. Unless influences are very strong in their favour, boys attending such schools have not much chance of receiving any education at all. Take into account Matilall’s father, the companions he had collected about him, the place he was living in, the school he was attending, and some idea may be formed of the extent of his intellectual training.
Teachers vary as much as schools do. One man will take immense pains, while another will simply trifle away his times, fidgetting about and pulling his moustache. Mr. Charles’ factotum was Bakreswar Babu, of Batalata; and he could do nothing without him. This man made it his practice to visit his pupils’ rich parents, and say to them all alike:“Ah sir, I always pay special attention to your boy! he is the true son of his father: he is no ordinary boy, that: he is a perfect model of a boy.”Bakreswar Babu had charge of the education of the higher classes in the school, but it was exceedingly doubtful whether he himself understood what he taught. If this had got generally known he would have been disgraced for life, so he kept very quiet on the subject. His sole work was to make the boys read; and if any boy asked him for the meaning of a word, he would bid him look in the dictionary. He was bound of course to make a few corrections here and there in the translation exercises the boys did for him; for if he were to pass them all as correct, where would be his occupation as a school-master? So he would make corrections, even when there was no necessity for doing so, and when by doing so he actually made mistakes which did not exist before: then if the boys asked him what he was about, he would tell them they were very insolent and had no business to contradict him. He generally paid most attention to rich men’s sons, and would question them at length about the rents and value of their property. In a very short time, Matilall became a great favourite with Bakreswar Babu: the boy would bring him presents of flowers or fruit or books, or handkerchiefs. Bakreswar Babu’s idea was that he ought not to let boys like Matilall slip out of his hands, for when they reached man’s estate, they might become as a“field ofbeguns”[9]to him,— a perpetual source of profit. What benefit too, he thought, would he derive in the next world from looking after the affairs of this school!
The time of the great autumn festival, the Durga Pujah, had now arrived. In the bazaars and everywhere there was a great stir, and the general bustle and confusion gave additional zest to Matilall’s passion for amusement. He suffered agonies so long as he had to remain in school: his attention was perpetually distracted; at one moment sitting at his desk, at the next playing on it; never still for a single moment. One Saturday he had been attending school as usual, and having got a half-holiday out of Bakreswar Babu, had left for home. On his way he purchased some betel andpán, and was proceeding merrily along, his whole attention fixed on the pigeon and kite shops that lined the road, and taking no note of the passers-by, when suddenly a sergeant of police and some constables came up and caught him by the arm, the sergeant telling him that he held a warrant for his arrest, and that he must go quietly along with him. Matilall did his best to get his arm free, but the sergeant was a powerful man and kept a firm grasp as he dragged him along. Matilall next threw himself on the ground and, bruised all over and covered with dust as he was, made repeated efforts to escape: the sergeant thereupon hit him with his fist several times. At last, as he lay overpowered on the ground, the thought of his father caused the boy to burst into tears, and there rose forcibly in his mind the question:“Why have I acted as I have done? Association with others has been my ruin.”A crowd now began to collect in the road, and people asked each other what was the matter. Some old women discussing the affair inquired:“Whose child is this that they are beating so?— the child with the moon-face? ah, it makes one’s heart bleed to hear him cry!”The sun had not set when Matilall was brought to the police-station: there he found Haladhar, Gadadhar, Ramgovinda and Dolgovinda, with other boys from his neighbourhood, all standing aside, looking extremely woe-begone. Mr. Blaquiere was police magistrate at that time, and it would have been his business to examine the prisoners; but he had gone home, so they had to remain for the night in the lock-up.
SINGING snatches of a popular love-song:—
“For my lost love’s sake I am dying:”“And my heart is faint with sighing.”
“For my lost love’s sake I am dying:”“And my heart is faint with sighing.”
and varying his song with whistling, Meeah Jan, a cartman, was urging his bullocks along the road, abusing them roundly for their slowness, twisting their tails, and whacking them with his whip. A few clouds were overhead, and a little rain was falling. The bullocks as they went lumbering along, succeeded in overtaking the hiredgharryin which Premnarayan Mozoomdar was travelling. It was swaying from side to side in the wind: the two horses were wretched specimens of their kind, and must surely have belonged to the far-famed race of thePakshiraj, king of birds. They were doing their best to get along, poor beasts, but notwithstanding the blows that rained down on their backs from the driver’s whip, their pace did not mend very considerably. Before starting on his journey, Premnarayan had eaten a very hearty meal, and at each jolt of thegharryhis heart was in his mouth. His disgust however increased as the bullock cart drew ahead of his vehicle. Premnarayan need not be blamed for this. Every man has some self-respect which he does not care to lose. The majority have a high opinion of themselves, and while some lose their tempers if there is the slightest failing in the respect they think due to them, others feel humiliated and depressed.
Premnarayan, in his passion, expressed his thoughts thus to himself:—“Ah! what a hateful thing is service. The servant is regarded as no better than a dog! he must run to execute any order that is given. How long has my soul been vexed by the rude behaviour of Haladhar, Gadadhar, and the other boys! They would never let me eat or sleep in peace: they have even composed songs in derision of me: their jests have been as irritating to me as ant-bites; they have signalled to other boys in the street to annoy me: they have gone so far as to clap their hands at me behind my back. Can any one submit tamely to such treatment as this? It is enough to drive a sane man out of his senses. I must have a good stock of courage not to have run away from Calcutta long ago: it is due to my good genius only that so far I have not lost my employment. At last the scoundrels have met with their desserts: may they now rot in jail, never to get out again! Yet after all these are idle words; is not my journey being made with the express object of effecting their release? has not this duty been imposed upon me by my employer? Alas, I have no voice in the matter! if men are not to starve, they must do and bear all this.”
Baburam Babu of Vaidyabati was seated in all a Babu’s state; his servant, Hari, was rubbing his master’s feet. Seated on one side of him the pandits were discussing some trivial points relating to certain observances enjoined by theShástras, such as:—“Pumpkins may be eaten to-day,begunsshould not be eaten to-morrow; to take milk with salt is quite as bad as eating the flesh of cows.”On the other side of him, some friends were engaged in a game of chess: one of them was in deep thought, his head supported on his hand: evidently his game was up, he was checkmated. Some musicians in the room were mingling their harmonies, their instruments twanging noisily. Near him were hismohurrirswriting up their ledgers, and before him stood sundry creditors, tenants of his, and tradesmen from the bazaar, some of whose accounts were passed, and others refused. People kept thronging into the reception-room. Certain of his tradespeople were explaining how they had been supplying him for years with one-thing and another, and now were in great distress, having hitherto received nothing by way of payment; how, moreover, from their constant journeyings to and fro, their business was being utterly neglected and ruined. Retail shopkeepers too, such as oilmen, timber-merchants and sweetmeat-sellers, were complaining bitterly that they were ruined, and that their lives were not worth a pin’s head: if he continued to treat them as he was doing, they could not possibly live: they had worn out the muscles of their legs in their constant journeyings to and fro to get payment: their shops were all shut, their wives and children starving. The whole time of the Babu’sdewanwas taken up in answering these people.“Go away for the present,”he was saying,“you will receive payment all right; why do you jabber so much?”Did any of them venture to remonstrate, Baburam Babu would scowl, abuse him roundly, and have him forcibly ejected from the room.
A great many of the wealthy Babus of Bengal take the goods of the simple country-folk on credit: it would give them an attack of fever to have to pay ready-money for anything. They have the cash in their chests, but if they were not to keep putting their creditors off, how could they keep their reception-rooms crowded? Whether a poor tradesman lives or dies is no concern of theirs; only let them play the magnifico, and their fathers’ and grandfathers’ names be kept before the public! Many there are who thus make a false show of being rich; they present a splendid figure before the outside world, while within they are but men of straw after all.
“Out of doors you flaunt it bravely, wealth is in your very air:”“In the house the rats are squealing, and the cupboard’s mostly bare.”
“Out of doors you flaunt it bravely, wealth is in your very air:”“In the house the rats are squealing, and the cupboard’s mostly bare.”
It would be death to them to be obliged to regulate their expenditure by their income, for then they could not be the owners of gardens or live the luxurious life of the rich Babu. By keeping up a fine exterior they hope to throw dust in the eyes of their tradesmen. When they take money or goods from others, they practically borrow twice over; for when pressure is brought to bear upon them to make them pay, they borrow from one man only to pay what they owe someone else; and when at last a summons is issued against them, they register their property under another person’s name, and are off somewhere out of the way for the time being.
Baburam Babu was devoted to his money and very close-fisted[10]: it was always a great grief to him to be obliged to take cash out of his chest. He was engaged in wrangling with his tradespeople when Premnarayan arrived, and whispered in his ear the news from Calcutta. Baburam was thunderstruck for a time. When shortly after he recovered himself, he had Mokajan Meeah summoned to his presence. Now Mokajan was skilled in all matters of law.zemindars, indigo planters, and others were continually going to him for advice; for a man like this, gifted with such ability for making up cases, for suborning witnesses, for getting police and other officers of the court under his thumb, for disposing secretly of stolen property, for collecting witnesses in cases of disputes, and generally for making right appear wrong and wrong right, was not to be found every day. Out of compliment to him, people all called himThakchacha.: this was a great gratification to him, and his thoughts often shaped themselves thus:“Ah, my birth must have taken place at an auspicious moment! my observances of the seasons ofRamjanandEed, have answered well; and if I am only properly attentive to my patron saint, I fancy my importance will increase still further.”Though engaged in his ablutions at the time that Baburam Babu’s peremptory summons reached him, he came away at one and listened, in private, to all Baburam had to say. After a few minutes’ reflection, he said:“Why be alarmed, Babu? How many hundred cases of a similar kind have I disposed of! Is there any great difficulty in the way this time? I have some very clever fellows in my employ; I have only to take them with me, and will win the case on their testimony: you need be under no apprehension. I am going away just now, but I will return the first thing in the morning.”
Baburam, though somewhat encouraged by these words, was still not at all comfortable in his mind. He was much attached to his wife, and everything she said was always, in his view, shrewdly to the point: were she to say to him.“This is not water, it is milk,”with the evidence of his own eyes against him, he would reply:“Ah, you are quite right! this is not water, it is milk. If the mistress of the house says so, it must be so.”Most men, whatever the affection they have for their wives are at least able to exercise some discretion as to the matters in which those ladies are to be consulted and to what extent they should be listened to. Good men love their wives with heartfelt affection; but if they are to accept everything their wives say they may just as well dress insaris, and sit at home. Now Baburam Babu was entirely under his wife’s thumb: if she bade him get up, he would get up; if she bade him sit down, he would sit down.
Some months before this, she had presented her husband with a son, and she was busy nursing the infant on her lap, her two daughters seated by her. Their conversation was running on household affairs and other matters, when suddenly the master of the house came into the room and sitting down with a very sad countenance, said:“My dear wife, I am most unlucky! The one idea of my life has been to hand over the charge of all my property to Matilall on his reaching man’s estate, and to go and live with you at Benares[11]; but all my hopes have, I fear, been dashed to the ground.”
The Mistress of the House.—my dear husband, what is the matter? Quick, tell me! my breast is heaving with emotion. Is all well with my darling Matilall?
The Master.—yes, so far as his health goes he is well enough, but I have just received news that the police have apprehended him and put him in jail.
The Mistress.—What was that you said? They have dragged away Matilall to prison? And why, O why, my husband, have they imprisoned him? Alas, alas! The poor boy must be a mass of bruises! I expect, too, he has had nothing to eat and not been able to get any sleep. O my husband, what is to be done? Do bring my darling Matilall back to me again!
With this, the mistress of the house began to weep: her two daughters wiped away the tears from her eyes, and tried their best to console their mother. The infant too seeing its mother crying, began to howl lustily.
In the course of his enquiries, made under pretence of conversation, her husband got to know that Matilall had been in the habit, under one pretext or another, of getting money out of her. She had not mentioned the matter to her husband for fear of his displeasure: the boy had been unfortunate, and she could not tell what might have happened if he had got angry. Wives ought to tell all that concerns their children to their husbands, for a disease that is concealed from the surgeon can never be cured. After a long consultation with his wife, the master sent off a letter by night, to arrange for some of his relatives to meet him in Calcutta at his lodgings.
A night of happiness passes away in the twinkling of an eye, but how slowly drag the hours when the mind is sunk in an abyss of painful thought! It may be close to dawn, and the day may be every moment drawing nearer, but yet it seems to tarry. Ways and means occupied the whole of Baburam Babu’s thoughts throughout the night: he could no longer remain quietly in the house, and long before the morning came was in a boat with Thakchacha and his companions. As the tide was running strong, the boat soon reached the Bagbazaar Ghât.
Night had nearly come to an end: oil-dealers were busy putting their mills in order, ready to work: cartmen were leading their bullocks off to their day’s toil: the washermen’s donkeys were labouring with their loads upon the road: men were hurrying along at a swing-trot with loads of fish and vegetables. The pandits of the place were all off with their sacred vessels to the river for their morning bathe; the women were collecting at the differentghâtsand exchanging confidences with each other.“I am suffering agonies from my sister-in-law’s cruelty,”said one.“Ah, my spiteful mother-in-law!”exclaimed another.“Oh, my friends!”cried another,“I have no wish to live any longer, my daughter-in-law tyrannises over me so, and my son says nothing to her; in fact, she has made my son like a sheep with her charms.”“Alas!”said another,“I have such a wretch of a sister-in-law! she tyrannises over me day and night.”Another lamented,“My darling child is now ten years old; my life is so uncertain, it is high time for me to think of getting him married.”
There had been rain in the night, and patches of cloud were still to be seen in the sky; the roads and the steps of theghâtswere all slippery in consequence. Baburam Babu puffed away at hishookaand looked out for a hiredgharryor apalki, but he would not agree to the fare demanded: it was a great deal too much to his mind. When the boys who had collected in the road saw how Baburam Babu was chaffering, some of them said to him:“Had you not better, sir, be carried in a coolie’s basket? The charge for that will be only two pice.”As Baburam Babu ran after them and tried to hit them, roundly abusing them the while, he fell heavily to the ground. The boys only laughed at this and clapped their hands at him from a safe distance. Baburam with a woe-begone countenance then got into agharrywith Thakchacha and his companions. Thegharrywent creaking along, and eventually pulled up at the house of Bancharam Babu, of Outer Simla.
Bancharam Babu was the principal agent of a Mr. Butler, an attorney living inBoitakhana; he had had a good deal of experience in the law-courts and in cases-at-law: though his pay was only fifty rupees a month, there was no limit to his gains, and festivals were always in full swing in his house.
Beni Babu of Bally, Becharam Babu of Bow Bazar, and Bakreswar Babu of Batalata, were all seated in his sitting-room, waiting for Baburam Babu. With the arrival of that worthy the business of the day commenced.
Becharam.—Oh Baburam, what a venomous reptile have you been nourishing all this time! You would never listen to me, though time after time I sent word to you. Your boy Matilall has pretty well done for his chances in this world and in the next: he drinks his fill, he gambles[12], he eats things forbidden: caught in the very act of gambling, he struck a policeman: Haladhar, Gadadhar, and other boys were with him at the time. Having no children of my own, I had fondly thought that Haladhar and Gadadhar would be as sons to me, to offer the customary libation to my spirit when I was no more, but my hopes are asgoorinto which sand has fallen. I really have no words to express my disgust at the boy’s behaviour.
Baburam.—Which of them has corrupted the other it may be very difficult to say with any certainty; but just now please tell me how I am to proceed with reference to the investigation.
Becharam.—So far as I am concerned, you may do exactly as you think fit. I have been put to very great annoyance. The boys have been going into the temple at night and drinking heavily there: they have made the beams black with the smoke from tobacco andganja: they have stolen my gold and silver ornaments and sold them; and one day they even went so far as to threaten to grind the holyshalgramto powder and eat it with their betel in lieu of lime. Can you expect me then to subscribe towards their release? Ugh! certainly not.
Bakreswar.—Matilall is not so bad as all that: I have seen a good deal of him at school: he has naturally a good disposition. He was no ordinary boy; he was a perfect model of behaviour: how then he can have become what you describe is beyond me.
Thakchacha.—May I ask what need there is of all this irrelevant talk? We are not likely to get our stomachs filled by simply chatting of oil and straw: let a case be thoroughly well got up for the trial.
Bancharam [highly delighted at the prospect of making a good thing out of the case].—Matters of business require a man of business. Thakchacha’s words are shrewdly to the point: we must get a few good witnesses together and have them thoroughly instructed in their role betimes; we must also engage our friend Mr. Butler the attorney. If after all that we do not win our case, I will take it up to the High Court. Then if the High Court can do nothing, I will go up to the Council with the case; and if the Council can do nothing, we must carry it to England for appeal. You may put implicit confidence in me: I am not a man to be trifled with[13]. But nothing can be done unless we secure the services of Mr. Butler. He is a thoroughly practical man: knows all manner of contrivances for upsetting cases, and trains his witnesses as carefully as a man trains birds.
Bakreswar.—A keen intelligence is needed in time of misfortune. A very careful preparation for the trial is required: why be jeered at for want of it?
Bancharam.—So clever an attorney as Mr. Butler it has never fallen to my lot to see. I have no language capable of expressing his astuteness: three words will suffice for him to have all these cases dismissed. Come, gentlemen, rise and let us go to him.
Beni.—Pardon me, sir, I could not do what I know to be wrong, even were my life at stake! I am prepared to follow your advice in most matters, but I cannot risk my chances of happiness in the next world. It is best to acknowledge a fault if one has really been committed: there is no danger in truth, whereas to take refuge in a lie only intensifies an evil.
Thakchacha.—Ha! ha! what business have bookworms with law? The very mention of the word sets them all atremble! If we take the course this gentleman advises, we may as well at once prepare our graves! Sage counsels indeed to listen to!
Bancharam.—At this rate, gentlemen, it will be the case of the old proverb over again,—“The festival is over, and your preparations still progressing.”I have no doubt that Beni Babu is a man of very solid parts; why, in theNiti Shástras, he is a second Jagannath Tarkapanchanan! I shall have to go some day to Bally to hold an argument with him, but we have no time for that just now; we must be up and doing.
Becharam.—Ah, Beni my friend, I am quite of your mind! I am getting an old man now: already three periods of my life have passed away and one only is left to me. I too will do no wrong, even if my life be at stake. Who are these boys that I should do what is wrong for them? They have made my life a perfect burden to me. Shall I be put to any expense for them? Certainly not: they may go to jail for all I care, and then perhaps I may contrive to live in peace. Why should I trouble myself any more about them? The very sight of their faces makes my blood boil. Ugh! the young wretches!
THE Vaidyabati house was all astir with preparations for a religious ceremonial. The sun had not risen when Shridhar Bhattacharjea, Ram Gopal Charamani and other Brahman priests, set to work repeatingmantras. All were employed upon something: one was offering the sacred basil to the deity: some were busy picking the leaves of the jessamine: others humming and beating time on their cheeks. One was remarking:“I am no Brahman if good fortune does not attend the sacrifices;”and another,“If things turn out inauspiciously, I will abandon my sacred thread.”The whole household was busily engaged, but not a member of it was happy in mind. The mistress of the house was sitting at an open window and calling in her distress upon her guardian deity: her infant boy lay near her, playing with a toy and tossing his little limbs in the air. Every now and again she glanced in the direction of the child, and said to herself:“Ah my darling, I cannot say what kind of destiny awaits you! To be childless is a single sorrow and anxiety: multiplied a hundred-fold is the misery that comes with children. How is a mother’s mind distracted if her child has the slightest complaint! she will cheerfully sacrifice her life in order to get him well again: so long as her babe is ill, all capacity for food and sleep deserts her: day and night to her are alike. If a child who has caused her so much sorrow grows up good, she feels her work accomplished; but if the contrary be the case, a living death is hers: she takes no interest in anything in the world and cares not to show herself in the neighbourhood. The haughty face grows wan and pinched: in her inmost heart, like Sita, she gives expression to this wish: ‘Oh, Earth, Earth, open, and let me hide myself within thy bosom!’ The good God knows what trouble I have taken to make Matilall a man: my young one has now learned to fly, and heavy is my chastisement. How it grieves me to hear of such evil conduct: I am almost heartbroken with sorrow and chagrin. I have not told my husband all: he might have gone mad had he heard all. Away with these thoughts! I can endure them no longer: I am but a weak woman. What will such laments avail me now? what must be, must be.”
A maid-servant came in at that moment and took the child away, and the mistress of the house engaged in her daily religious duties.
Man’s mind is so constituted that it cannot readily forget any particular matter it may be absorbed in, to attend to other affairs in hand. When therefore she tried to perform her usual devotions, she found herself unable to do so. Again and again she set herself to fix her attention on themantrasshe had to repeat, but her mind kept wandering: the thought of Matilall surged up like a strong and irresistible flood. At one time she fancied that the orders for his imprisonment had been passed, and her imagination depicted him as already in fetters, and being led off to jail: she even thought she saw his father standing near him, his head bowed down in woe, weeping bitterly; and again she almost fancied that her son was come to see her, and was saying to her:“Mother, forgive me: what is past cannot now be mended, but I will never again cause you such trouble and sorrow.”She then began to dream of some great calamity as about to befall Matilall,— that he would be transported perhaps for life. When these phantoms of her imagination had left her, she began to say to herself:“Why, it is now high noon! can I have been dreaming? No, surely this is no dream! I must have seen a vision. I wish I could tell why my mind is so distracted to-day!”With these words she laid herself silently down on the ground, and wept bitterly.
Her two daughters, Mokshada and Pramada, were busy drying their hair on the roof, and Mokshada was saying to her sister:“Why sister Pramada, you have not half combed your hair, and how dry it is too! But it must be so, for it is ages since a drop of oil fell upon it. It is just the use of oil and water that keeps people in good health: to bathe once a month, and without using oil, would be bad for any one. But why are you so wrapped in thought? anxiety and trouble are making you as thin as a string.”
Pramada.—Ah, my sister, how can I help thinking? Cannot you understand it all? Our father brought the son of a Kulin Brahmin here when I was a mere child and married me to him. I only heard about this when I was grown up. Considering the number of the different places where he has contracted marriage, and considering his personal character too, I have no wish to see his face: I would rather not have a husband at all than such a one.
Mokshada.—Hush, my dear! you must not say that. It is an advantage to a woman to have a husband alive, whether his character be bad or good.
Pramada.—Listen then to what I have to tell you. Last year, when I was suffering from intermittent fever and had been lying long days and nights on my bed, too weak to rise, my husband came one day to the house. From the time of my earliest impressions, I had never seen what a husband was like: my idea was that there was no treasure a woman could possess like a husband, and I thought that if he only came and sat with me for a few moments and spoke to me, my pain would be alleviated. But, my sister you will not believe me when I say it! he came to my bedside, and said:“You are my lawful wife, I married you sixteen years ago: I have come to see you now because I am in need of money, and will go away again directly: I have told your father that he has cheated me: come, give me that bracelet off your wrist!”I told him that I would first ask my mother, and would do what she bade me. Thereupon he pulled the bracelet off my wrist by brute force; and when I struggled to prevent his doing so, he gave me a kick and left me. I fainted away, and did not recover till mother came and fanned me.
Mokshada.—Oh my dear sister Pramada, your story brings tears into my eyes. But consider, you still have a husband living: I have not even that.
Pramada.—A fine husband indeed, my sister! Happily for me, I once spent some time with my uncle, and learned to read and write and to do a little fancy work with my needle; so by constant work during the day and by a little occasional reading, writing or sewing, I keep my trouble hidden. If I sit idle for any time, and begin to think, my heart burns with indignation.
Mokshada.—What else can it do? Ah, it is because of the many sins committed by us in previous births that we are suffering as we are! It is by plenty of hard work that our bodies and minds retain their vigour: idleness only causes evil thoughts and evil imaginations and even disease to get a stronger hold upon us: it was uncle that told me that. I have done all I can to soften the pains of widowhood. I always reflect that everything is in God’s hands: reliance upon Him is the real secret of life. My dear sister, if you so constantly ponder on your grief, you will be overwhelmed in the ocean of anxiety: it is an ocean that has no shore. What good can possibly result from so much brooding? Just do all your religious and secular duties as well as you can: honour our father and mother in everything: attend to the welfare of our two brothers: nourish and cherish any children they may have, and they will be as your own.
Pramada.—Ah my sister, what you say is indeed true, but then our elder brother has gone altogether astray. He is given over to vicious ways and vicious companions; and as his disposition has changed for the worse, so his affection for his parents and for us has lessened. Ah, the affection that brothers have for their sisters is not one-hundredth part of the affection that sisters have for their brothers! In their devotion to their brothers, sisters will even risk their lives; but brothers always think that they will get on much better if they can only be rid of their sisters! We are Matilall’s elder sisters: if he comes near us at all, he may perhaps make himself agreeable for a short time, and we may congratulate ourselves upon it; but then have no any influence whatever upon his conduct?
Mokshada.—All brothers are not like that. There are brothers who regard their elder sisters as they would their mother, and their younger sisters as they would a daughter. I am speaking the truth: there are brothers who look upon their sisters in the same light as they do their brothers: they are unhappy unless they are free to converse with them; and if they fall into any danger, they risk their lives to save them.
Pramada.—That is very true, but it is our lot to have a brother just in keeping with our unhappy destiny. Alas, there is no such thing as happiness in this world!
At this moment, a maid-servant came to tell them her mistress was crying: the two sisters rushed downstairs as soon as they heard it.
It was a fine moonlight evening, the moon shedding her radiance over the breadth of the Ganges. A gentle breeze was diffusing the sweet fragrance of the wild jungle flowers; the waves danced merrily in the moonlight: the birds in a neighbouring grove were calling to each other in their varied notes. Beni Babu was seated at the Deonagaji Ghât, looking about him and singing snatches of some up-country song on the loves of Krishna and Radha. He was completely absorbed in his music and was beating time to it, when suddenly he heard somebody behind him calling his name and echoing his song. Turning round, he saw Becharam Babu of Bow Bazar: he at once rose, and invited his guest to take a seat.
Becharam opened the conversation.“Ah! Beni, my friend! those were home truths you told Baburam Babu to-day. I have been invited to your village: and as I was so pleased with what I saw of you the other day, I wanted to come and call on you just once before leaving.”
Beni.—Ah, my friend Becharam, we are poor sort of folk here! We have to work for our living: we prefer to visit places where the secrets of knowledge or virtue are investigated. We have a good many rich relatives and acquaintances, but we feel embarrassed in their presence; we visit them very occasionally, when we have fallen into any trouble, or have any very particular business on hand. It is never a pleasure to call on upon them, and when we do go we derive no intellectual benefit from the visit; for whatever respect rich men may show to other rich men, they have not much to say to us; they just remark“It is very hot to-day. How is your business getting on? Is it flourishing? Have a smoke?”If only they speak cheerfully and pleasantly to us, we are fully satisfied. Ah, learning and worth have nothing like the respect shown to them that is shown to wealth! Paying court to rich men is a very dangerous thing: there is a popular saying:—“The friendship of the rich is an embankment made of sand.”Their moods are capricious: a trifle will offend them just as a trifle will please them. People do not consider this: wealth has such magic in it that they will put up with any humiliation, any indignity from a rich man; they will even submit to a thrashing, and say to the rich man after it:—“It is your honour’s good pleasure.”However this be, it is a hard thing to live with the rich and not forfeit one’s chances of happiness in the next world. In that affair of to-day, for instance, we had a hard struggle for the right.
Becharam.—From observation of Baburam Babu’s general behaviour, I am inclined to think that his affairs are not prospering. Alas, alas, what counsellors he has got! That wretched Mahomedan, Thakchacha, a prince of rogues! there is an evil magic in him. Then Bancharam, the attorney’s clerk! he is like a fine mango, fair outside but rotten at the core. Well-practised in all the arts of chicanery, like a cat treading stealthily along in the wet, he simulates innocence while all the while exercising his wiles to entrap his prey. Anybody falling under the influence of that sorcery would be utterly, and for ever, ruined. Then there is Bakreswar the schoolmaster, a teacher of ethics forsooth! A passed master indeed in the art of cajolery, a very prince of flatterers! Ugh! But tell me, is it your English education that has given you this high moral standard?
Beni.—Have I this high moral standard you attribute to me? It is only your kindness to say so. The slight acquaintance I have with morality is entirely due to the kind favour of Barada Babu, of Badaragan: I lived with him for some time, and he very kindly gave me some excellent advice.
Becharam.—Who is this Barada Babu? Please tell me some particulars about him. It is always a pleasure to me to hear anything of this kind.
Beni.—Barada Babu’s home is in Eastern Bengal, in Pergunnah Etai Kagamari. On the death of his father he moved to Calcutta, and found great difficulty at first in providing himself with food and clothing: he had not even the wherewithal to buy his daily meal. But from his boyhood he had always engaged in meditation upon divine things, and so it was that when trouble befell him it did not affect him so much. At this time he used to live in a common tiled hut, his only means of subsistence being the two rupees a month which he received from a younger brother of his father’s. He was on terms of intimacy with a few good men and would associate with none but these: he was very independent, and refused to be under obligations to anybody. Not having the means to keep either a man-servant or a maid-servant, he did all his own marketing, cooking for himself as well; and he did not neglect his studies even when he was cooking. Morning noon and night, he calmly and peacefully meditated on God. The clothes in which he attended school were torn and dirty, and excited the derision of rich men’s sons: he pretended not to hear them when they laughed and jeered at him, and eventually succeeded by his pleasant and courteous address in winning them completely over. With very many, pride is the only result of English learning: they scorn the very earth they live on. This however found no place in the mind of Barada Babu: his disposition was too calm and mild. When he had completed his education he left school, and at once obtained employment as a teacher, on thirty rupees a month. He then took his mother, his wife and his two nephews to live with him, and did his very utmost to make them comfortable. He would also look after the wants of the many poor people living in his immediate neighbourhood, helping them, as far as his means allowed, with money, visiting them when they were sick, and supplying them with medicine. As none of these poor people could afford to send their children to school, he held a class for them himself every morning. One of his cousins who had fallen dangerously ill after his father’s death, recovered entirely, thanks to the unremitting attention of Barada Babu, who sat by his bedside for days and nights together. He was deeply devoted to his aunt, and regarded her quite as a mother. Some men appear to have a contempt for the things of this world in comparison with things of eternity, like the contempt for death that is characteristic of those who are in constant attendance at burning-ghâts. Does death or calamity befall any of their friends or kinsfolk, the world, they feel, is nothing, and God all. This idea is constantly present to the mind of Barada Babu: conversation with him and observation of his conduct soon make it apparent; but he never parades his opinions before the world. He is in no sense ostentatious: he never does anything for mere appearance sake. All his good deeds are done in secret: numbers of people meet with kindness from him, but only the person actually benefited by him is aware of it; and he is much annoyed if others get any inkling of it. Though a man of varied accomplishments, he is without a particle of vanity. It is the man who has only a smattering of learning who is puffed up with pride and self-importance.“Aha!”says such a one to himself,“what a very learned man I am! Who can write as I do? Who is so erudite as I? How I always do speak to the point!”Barada Babu is a different sort of man altogether: though his learning is so profound, he never treats the thoughts of others as beneath his attention. It does not annoy him to hear an opinion expressed opposite to his own: on the contrary, he listens with pleasure, and reviews his own beliefs. To describe in detail all his good qualities would be a long affair, but they may be summed up in the remark that so gentle and god-fearing a man has rarely been seen: he could not do wrong even if his life were at stake. Yes, the amount of instruction to be had from personal intercourse with Barada Babu far exceeds any to be got from books!