Matilall gradually threw off all restraint: he became so depraved that continuing to throw dust in his father’s eyes, he now openly spoke of him in the most unfilial and atrocious manner. The constant burden of his talks with his companions was: “Ah, if my old father would but die, I could then enjoy myself to my heart’s content!” Any money he demanded from his parents they gave him: if there was any hesitation on their part, he would at once say: “Very well, then, I will go hang myself, or else take poison.” His parents in their alarm thought: “Ah, what must be, must! Our life is bound up with the boy’s life, he is our Shivratri[19] lamp: let him live and we shall have our libations when we are gone[20].”
Matilall spent his whole time in riotous living: he hardly spent a minute of his day at home: at one time he would be engaged at a picnic, taking part in a theatrical entertainment, or making one of a party of amateur musicians: at another, he would be running about getting up a procession in honour of some local deity, or else absorbed in contemplating a nautch: or again, he would be creating a disturbance, and making unprovoked assaults upon other people. His appetite for stimulants, whether it were ganja, opium or even wine, never failed him, and tobacco of course was in constant demand.
They carried foppery to an extreme, these young Babus, wearing their hair in curls and using powder for their teeth. Their dress was of fine Dacca muslin embroidered with gold lace: on their heads they wore embroidered caps; carried in their hands silk handkerchiefs perfumed with attar of roses, and light canes; and smart English dress shoes with silver buckles adorned their feet. As, moreover, they had no spare time for their regular meals, they carried about with them all sorts of dainty sweetmeats.
Unless an evil disposition is checked at the very outset, it grows worse every day, and in time becomes quite brute-like in its nature: just as when a man has once become enslaved to opium, the quantity he takes tends constantly to increase, so when a man has become addicted to evil habits, the craving for still more grievous courses comes naturally of itself. Matilall and his companions soon began to think the amusements they had hitherto been indulging in too tame: they no longer gave them any special pleasure; so they set to work to devise means for more solid pleasures. They now started sallying forth in a band late in the evenings, setting fire to and plundering houses, setting the thatch of poor people’s huts alight, visiting the houses of loose women and creating a disturbance, pulling their hair about, burning their mosquito curtains, and plundering their dresses and ornaments. Sometimes, they would even insult a respectable girl. The people of the place were terribly annoyed at all this, but the young men only snapped their fingers at them in derision, and consigned them all to perdition.
Baburam Babu had been for some time in Calcutta on business. One day towards evening, a zenana palki was passing the Vaidyabati house. As soon as the young scoundrels saw it, they at once ran out, surrounded it, and commenced beating the palki-bearers, who thereupon set the palki down and ran for their lives. Opening the palki, they saw a beautiful young girl inside. Matilall ran forward, seized the girl’s hand, and dragged her out of the palki trembling all over with confusion and fear. In vain she looked around her for help: she saw only pitiless dark space. Then weeping bitterly she called on the Almighty: “Oh Lord, protect the helpless young orphan! I am content to die, only grant that I may not lose my honour.” As the young Babus were all struggling together to get possession of her, she fell to the ground; they then tried to drag her by main force into the house. Matilall’s mother hastened outside in some trepidation when she heard the sound of the girl’s weeping, and the miscreants thereupon took to their heels. Seeing the mistress of the house, the young girl fell at her feet and said in her distress: “Oh dear lady, protect my honour! You must be a devoted wife yourself.” None but a faithful and virtuous wife can understand the danger of a virtuous woman. Baburam Babu’s wife at once lifted the girl off the ground and wiped away her tears with the border of her sari, saying as she did so: “My dear child, do not weep, you have no further cause for fear; I will cherish you as my own dear child: the Lord Almighty always protects the honour of the woman who is faithful to her vows.” With these words she dispelled the girl’s fears, and when she had soothed and consoled her, accompanied her to her home, and left her there.
CHAPTER X.
THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT.
THE waving of lamps and the loud clanging of bells showed the worship of the goddess Nistarini[21] to be in full swing in Sheoraphuli. Becharam Babu looked into the shrine of the goddess as he went by on foot: lining both sides of the road were shops: in some of them heaps of potatoes, grown at Bandipore and Gopalpore, were exposed for sale: in others, the shopkeepers were hard at work selling parched rice and sweetmeats, grain and dál. Here in one part were oil-merchants sitting near their mills, (which were simply the hollowed out trunks of trees,) and reading the Ramayana in the vulgar tongue: now and then they would urge on their cattle, as they went circling round, with a click of the tongue, and when the circle was completed, would shriek out the passage: “Oh Ram! we are monkeys, Ram, we are monkeys!” Women were busily engaged in cutting up fish for sale by the light of their lamps, and calling out: “Buy our fish, buy our fish!” while cloth merchants, reciting some passage from the Mahabharata were murdering its unhappy author[22]. All this, as he passed through the Bazaar,Becharam Babu was closely observing. When a man is taking a solitary walk, anything that has recently occupied his attention keeps recurring to his mind. Now, Becharam Babu was very fond in those days of processional singing; and as he went along an unfrequented path, after leaving his dwelling, one of his favourite songs came into his mind. The night was dark and there was hardly a soul about: only a few bullock-carts, their wheels creaking as they lumbered along, were on their way home: dogs were barking here and there. So Becharam Babu began to put all his lung-power into the song he was chanting in the monotone peculiar to processional music. The village women hearing his nasal twang, screamed aloud in their terror, for it is the rooted conviction of the country folk that only ghosts adopt this peculiar vocal style. Hearing the commotion Becharam was somewhat disconcerted, so he took to his heels and soon reached the Vaidyabati house.
Baburam Babu had a big gathering. Beni Babu of Bally, Bakreswar Babu of Batalata, Bancharam Babu of Outer Simla and many others were present. Thakchacha sat on a chair near the master. Several pandits were there discussing the Shástras; some had taken up passages of the treatises concerning logic and metaphysics for discussion: others were hotly discussing the dates that would be auspicious or otherwise for the annual festivals: others were giving their interpretation of the slokas out of a particular portion of the Bhagavad Gita: others were holding a great argument on grammatical niceties. One of the pandits, a man with an Assamese designation and a resident of Kamikhya, who was sitting near the master, said to him as he pulled away at his pipe: “You are a very fortunate man, sir, to possess two sons and two daughters. This year is a somewhat unpropitious one, but if you offer up a sacrifice, the stars may all be favourable again, and you can use their influence on your behalf.” In the midst of the discussion Becharam Babu arrived, and the whole company rose to their feet as he entered, and welcomed him most cordially. The visitor had been more or less in a bad temper since the affair of the police court, but a courteous and kind address has a great effect in turning a man’s wrath away; and Becharam Babu, mollified by the courteous welcome so unanimously accorded him, sat down with a smile close to Beni Babu. Baburam Babu thereupon said to him: “Sir, the seat you have taken is not a good one: come and sit with me on my couch.” Men after each other’s hearts are as inseparable as cranes, and notwithstanding the pressing invitation of Baburam Babu, Becharam Babu would not give up his seat near Beni Babu.