Any counsel his parasite pours in his ears,
Baburam, the old dotard, as gospel reveres.
Still dreaming of riches by day and by night,
No thought ever stirs him of wrong or of right.
In saving and getting he squanders his life,
And lately it struck him, “I’ll marry a wife!”
“Fie! you’re old,” cry his friends, “and what can you need more?”
“You’ve your wife and your children, with grandsons in store?”
But their kindly advice for themselves they may keep
At a trifle like bigamy, fortunes go cheap!
So all in a flurry he orders a boat,
And with kinsmen and servants is shortly afloat.
Good Beni’s remonstrance he haughtily spurns,
Who home to his rice unrewarded returns.
Becharam is disgusted, and toddles away:
“Thakchacha, you scoundrel!” was all he could say.
But the Barnagore women such volleys of jeers
Exchange through their chudders where’er he appears,
That the bridegroom gets nervous, and asks in affright,
“Can I really be such a ridiculous sight?”
“Is some further expenditure needed, alas?”
And anxiously studies his face in the glass.
Reassured of his beauty, and freed from alarm
He swaggers along, upon Thakchacha’s arm.
But scarce is he rid of that terrible doubt,
When in mud like a pumpkin he’s tumbling about;
And his friends in the mire as they flounder half-dead,
See the Halls, not of Hymen but Pluto ahead.
And indeed it turns out, when he’s taken the yoke[33],
That his vision connubial has vanished in smoke;
For the cluster of pearls he was hoping to claim,
And the gold and the silver, were nought but a name!
Thakchacha, outwitted, with furious scowl
Glares round him, scarce able to stifle a howl.
And oh, when its time for the bridegroom to enter
The ladies’ domain[34], of what mirth he’s the centre!
Every bangle a-jangle, around him they flutter,
And flout him and scout him till scarce he can stutter.
“This pot-bellied dotard to wed with a baby!”
“This bloated old octogenarian gaby!”
“With a head like a gourd, not a tooth to his gum!”
“’Tis an overgrown ogre in spectacles come!”
“And the child, the sweet blossom, our jewel so rare!”
“Ah, shame on the Kulins, such deeds who can dare!”
While, shrinking and blinking and all of a shiver,
The bridegroom, a captive whom none will deliver,
Cries feebly as one in the direst of pain,
“To the rescue, Thakchacha!” again and again.
That hero leaps in at the piteous sound,
But is seized by the durwans and hurled to the ground.
The remains of his beard he may rescue to-day,
But a terrible hiding’s his share of the prey.
The guests, who consider it risky to stay,
Have other engagements, and hasten away.
Your servant, the tumult increasing still more,
Not without some temerity, made for the door,
And retired, with a fortitude second to none.
All hail to you, masters! my story is done.
CHAPTER XIX.
DEATH OF BABURAM BABU.
HAVING just come in from his morning walk, Beni Babu was sitting in his garden-house. He was gazing about him, and had just caught up a refrain of Ram Prasad’s[35]
“Swift to its goal life ebbs away.”
— when suddenly from a bower of creepers to the west of him, he heard a voice: “Ha! friend Beni! True indeed it is that ‘swift to its goal life ebbs away.’” Starting up from his seat, Beni Babu saw Becharam Babu of Bow Bazar hurrying towards him, and going to meet him, said: “Becharam, my dear friend, what has happened?” Becharam Babu replied: “Throw your shawl over your shoulders and come with me at once: Baburam Babu is very ill: you must see him just once.”
The two friends soon reached Vaidyabati, and saw that Baburam Babu had a very severe attack of fever: his temperature was very high, and he was suffering from intense thirst, tossing restlessly about on his bed. Some slices of cucumber and a cloth steeped in rose-water lay beside him, but he could retain no nourishment. The villagers all thronged around, loudly discussing the nature of his illness: one of them was saying: “Our pulse is the pulse of vegetarians and fish-eaters: nothing but harm can arise from the use of leeches, purgatives, and blisters. The best kind of treatment for us is that of the old village doctor; and then, if no relief is obtained, and grave symptoms occur, a doctor using the English methods might be called in.” Another remarked: “It would be a good thing to have the opinion of a Mahomedan hakim: they often effect wonderful cures, and their drugs are all as pleasant to take as that delicious sweetmeat the mohanbhog” Another said: “You may say what you will, but doctors who treat on English methods give instantaneous relief in all such cases of sickness, as if by the repetition of a mantra: a cure will be very difficult without proper medical treatment.” The sick man kept repeatedly asking for water. Brojonath Raya, the old kabiraj, who was sitting by him at the time, said: “The case is a very serious one: it is not a good thing to be constantly giving him water: we must give him a little of the juice of the bael. We are none of us his enemies, I should imagine, that we should be giving him just now as much water as he wants.” All this wrangling was going on by Baburam Babu’s bedside. The next room was filled with a number of pandits, who, of course, regarded as of chief importance the performance of sacrifices to Shiva, the worship of the sun, the offering of a million of hibiscus flowers at Kali’s shrine at Kalighat, and all such religious ceremonials. Beni Babu had been standing listening to the discussion going on round Baburam Babu, but everybody was talking at once and nobody listening to anybody else. “Many sages many opinions” says the old proverb, and each man thought his words as infallible as the mystic mantra: possessed by Druva. Though Beni Babu attempted once or twice to express his own opinion, his words were lost almost before he had opened his lips[36], and being unable to get a word in edgewise, he took Becharam Babu outside with him.
Just then Thakchacha approached them, limping painfully along: he was exceedingly anxious on account of Baburam Babu’s illness, reflecting that all his chances of gain had slipped away. Beni Babu, seeing him, said: “Thakchacha, what is the matter with your leg?” Becharam burst in with the remark: “What, my friend, have you never heard of the affair of Barnagore? The pain he is suffering is only the punishment for his evil advice: have you forgotten what I said in the boat?” Thakchacha tried to slip away when he heard this, but Beni Babu caught him by the arm and said: “Never mind that now! is anything being devised for the recovery of the master? There is great confusion in the house.” Thakchacha replied: “When the fever commenced, I took Ekramaddi the hakim with me: by the administration of purgatives and other drugs he reduced the fever, and allowed his patient to eat spiced rice; but the fever returned again the other day, and since then Brojonath the kabiraj has been looking after the case. The fever seems to me to be steadily increasing: I cannot imagine what to do.” Beni Babu said: “Thakchacha, do not be angry at what I am going to say: you should have sent us news of this before. However, that cannot be helped now: we must call in a skilled English doctor at once.”
At this moment, Ramlall and Barada Prasad Babu approached. Ramlall’s face was quite worn from night-watching, from the labour and toil of nursing, and from I anxiety of mind; his daily anxiety was to devise means for restoring his father to convalescence and health. Seeing Beni Babu he said to him: “Sir, I am in grievous trouble: with all this confusion in the house no good advice is to be had from any one. Barada Babu comes every morning and evening to look after my father, but none of the people here will allow me to carry out his instructions. Your arrival is most opportune: please adopt any steps you think necessary.”