Baburam Babu was seated in his reception-hall: with him were Bancharam Babu of Outer Simla, Beni Babu of Bally, and Becharam Babu of Bow Bazar: they were all chatting hard. Thakchacha sat down among them as a monkey chief might sit amidst his subjects. Baburam at once greeted him: “Ha, Thakchacha, your arrival is most opportune: my difficulties are as great as ever: I am more involved than ever in these law-suits. Come and tell me some way of preserving my property.”
Thakchacha.— Litigation is natural to a man who is a man. Your misfortunes will all be at an end when your cases are won: why then should you feel alarmed?
Becharam.— Mercy! what advice is this you are giving? Baburam Babu will be completely ruined by your instrumentality: of that there is not the slightest doubt. What do you say, Beni, my dear friend?
Beni.— Some portions of the estate should be sold, I think, to clear off the debts, and some arrangements made for reducing the expenditure: the suits-at-law also should be looked into and cleared off. But our words are wasted, like one crying in a bamboo jungle. Thakchacha’s are the only words attended to.
Thakchacha.— I pledge my word of honour that all the suits that have been instituted at my instigation will be gained: I will clear all the difficulties away. Fighting is one of the necessities of man’s existence: what cause then is there for alarm?
Becharam.— Ah, Thakchacha, how grand is the heroism you have always exhibited! What a magnificent display of courage you made when the boat was swamped! Why it was all on your account that we suffered so on the occasion of the marriage. You displayed great bravery, I must say, in getting up that false charge against Barada Babu. Not one of the affairs of Baburam Babu in which you have meddled but has turned out most prosperously! All hail to you: I humbly salute you! But ugh! my gorge rises at the mere recollection of you and all your works! what more can I say to you? Come, friend Beni, get up and come away: it is no pleasure to me to sit here any longer.
CHAPTER XVII.
BABURAM’S SECOND MARRIAGE.
THERE had been heavy rain in the night: the roads and ghâts was all muddy and wet: the sky was still overcast, and there were occasional distant rumblings of thunder: frogs croaked everywhere in loud chorus. The shopkeepers in the bazaar had opened out their awnings, and were now engaged in smoking. Owing to the rainy weather very few people were moving about: only a few gariwans passed along the road, singing at the top of their voices, and some coolies bearing loads on their heads, absorbed in their favourite melody, of which the refrain ran:—