CHAPTER XX.
THE SHRADDHA CEREMONY.
ON the death of his father, Matilall succeeded to the guddee, and became the head of the house. His former companions never left his side for a moment, and he grew as proud as a turkey-cock, rejoicing in the thought that at last after so long a time he might give his extravagance its full bent. When Matilall displayed a little grief on his father’s account, his companions said to him: “Why are you so depressed? who expects to live for ever with his father and mother? You are now lord and master.” A fool’s grief is a mere empty name. How can true sorrow possibly affect the mind of the man who has never given any happiness to those whom he should hold most sacred— his father and his mother— but on the contrary untold pain and misery? The feeling, if it does arise, passes away like a shadow, and the natural consequence is that such a man can never have any veneration for the memory of his father, and his mind is never inclined to do anything to keep him in remembrance. Matilall’s eager desire to know the extent of the property which his father had left, very soon overshadowed his grief. Acting on the advice of his companions, he put double locks on the house-door and on the money-chest, and became more easy in his mind when he had done so. He was in a perpetual state of alarm lest his money should somehow or other fall into the hands of his mother, stepmother, brother or sister, and be altogether lost to him in consequence. His companions were continually saying to him: “Money is a very important thing, sir! Where it is in question, no confidence is to be reposed even in one’s own father. Now there is your younger brother always carrying a big bag of virtue about with him wherever he goes, and with truth always on his tongue; yet even his preceptor never shows indulgence to anyone, but whenever he has the opportunity enforces his full claims. We have seen a good many shams of that kind. Anyhow, Barada Babu must know something of witchcraft: he must have lived some time at Kamrup[39]. How otherwise is it possible to account for the great influence he had over Baburam Babu at the time of his death?”
Not very long after this conversation, Matilall proceeded to visit his relatives and kinsmen, to signify his accession to his new position as master of the house. Busybodies are at all times to be found, ready to interfere in other people’s concerns. Like the twists and turns of the jelabhi sweetmeat, their conversation touches on a variety of topics, but never goes straight to the point: like air it wanders where it will, and it is as difficult to get hold of, for it will generally be found on close examination to have double meaning. Some of those he visited said: “The master was a most worthy person: had it not been for his great store of merit, he could not have had the children he did. His death too,— why, it was characteristic of the man! it was marvellous! Ah, sir, all this time you have been under the shelter of a mountain, shielded and protected! You will now have your own discretion to depend upon: the family all look to you: you have the whole number of religious festivals to keep up: you have, moreover, to perpetuate the name of your father and your grandfather. First, of course you must perform the shraddha with due regard to your property: you need not in this matter dance to the tune of the world’s opinion. Why Ram Chandra himself offered a funeral cake of sand to his father’s shade, and if you have to abridge your expenditure in this respect, it is idle to mourn over that: but to do nothing at all is not good. Ah, sir, you must know that your father’s name resounds far and wide! by virtue of his name the tiger and the cow drink at the same pool! can his shraddha then be like the shraddha of a poor and insignificant man? Even those encumbered with debt must avoid the world’s reproach.” Matilall could not comprehend the drift of all this talk. These men, while nominally manifesting their bosom friendship as kinsmen for a kinsman, were really in their inmost hearts eager to have a gorgeous shraddha ceremony, and themselves to get the management of it, so that they might gain importance thereby; but they would never give a plain answer to a plain question. One of them said: “It will never do not to have the shorash, with the usual display of silver and other presents.” Another remarked: “You will find it very hard to keep the world’s respect, if you do not have a dan-sagar, with costly presents of every kind for all comers.” Another said: “It will be a very poor sort of shraddha, if there is no dampati-baran, for poor Brahmans.” And another said: “It will be a great disgrace if pandits are not invited to attend, and a distribution of alms not made to the poor.” There was a good deal of wrangling over the affair. “Who wants your advice?”— “Who told you to argue?”— “Who listens to your conclusions?”— “Nobody respects you in the village: it is only in your own opinion that you are the head man,” such remarks were freely bandied about from one to the other. Each of those present indeed was in his own estimation the most important man there, and each man thought what he had to say the conclusion of the whole matter. Three days after this discussion, Beni Babu, Becharam Babu, Bancharam Babu, and Bakreswar Babu, arrived at Matilall’s house. Thakchacha was sitting near Matilall as melancholy and spiritless as a snake with its jewelled crest lost: with bead-rosary in his hand and with trembling lips, he was muttering his prayers. His attention was not directed to the brisk conversation that was going on around him: his eyes were rolling about, their glance chiefly directed at the wall. When he saw Beni Babu and the others, he rose hurriedly and saluted them. Such humility on Thakchacha’s part had never been witnessed before, but the old proverb has it:— “With the venom, goes the glamour.”
Beni Babu took hold of Thakchacha’s hand, and said to him: “Why, what are you doing? How is it that you, a venerable old Moulvi as you are, honour us like this?”
Bancharam Babu said: “We must waste no more time: our leisure is very limited. Nothing is as yet arranged; come, tell us what should be done.”
Becharam.— Baburam’s affairs are in great confusion: some of the property will have to be sold to clear off debts. It would not be right to celebrate the shraddha on a magnificent scale and incur more debt by so doing.
Bancharam.— What is this I hear? Surely the very first requisite is to avoid the censure of the world: the property may be looked after later on. Shall honour and reputation be allowed to float away on the waters of this flood?
Becharam.— That is very bad advice, and I will never assent to it myself. How now, friend Beni, what do you say?
Beni.— To incur debt again in any case where there is already a good deal, and where it is doubtful whether it can be cleared off even by a sale of property, is really a species of theft; for how can the new debt incurred be cleared off?