Sounds of preparation straightway arose, and there was all the bustle that attends arrangements for a festival: it was the Udjog Parba over again. While one of the party fixed the wire for playing the sitar on his fore-finger, another tested the baya, tapping it to see whether it had any pitch or not: another examined the tabala: another tightened the rings round the drums: another put resin on a fiddle and tested the strings: another packed up the clothes: another prepared small parcels of tobacco, ganja and other stimulants, along with bundles of firewood: another selected, with great care, balls of opium and sweetmeats: another examined the different purchases to see whether they were of correct weight. All day and all night the bustle and noise of preparation went on without any diminution. It had got about in the village that the young Babus were about to go into trade, and next day, when all the shopkeepers of the place, the poorer sort of people, and the beggars and loafers, were out in the roads looking out for them to pass, they came swaggering down to the ghât, like so many wild elephants. There were a number of pandits at the ghât engaged in their early morning devotions: hearing the stir and bustle, theylooked behind them, and at once shook with fright. Seeing them so terrified, the Babus only jeered at them and laughed. Then they showered upon them Ganges mud and brick-bats, and insulted them generally, and the Brahmans, interrupted in this rude way at their devotions, went their way, calling upon Krishna in their distress. The young men having embarked on board a boat, all caught up a popular love-song, screaming it out at the top of their voices. The boat glided quickly down stream on the ebb. The Babus could not keep still for a moment; one would get on the deck of the cabin; another would work the rudder; one would pull an oar, and another strike a light with a flint. They had not gone very far when they met with Dhanamala. Now Dhanamala never cared what he said to any one: he called out to them: “Having reduced a whole village to ashes, are you now going to set the Ganges on fire?” To which they angrily replied: “Shut up, you idiot! Do you not know that we are all going into business?” Dhanamala’s only answer to this was:— “If you ever become traders, may your business come to grief! may it perish with a halter on its neck!”
CHAPTER XXIII.
MATILALL AT SONAGAJI.
AT Sonagaji there was a Mahommedan mosque: it had long since become the abode of ghosts, and was everywhere covered with lichen, while jungle crows and mynahs had built their nests in different parts of it. These were now bringing food to their young ones, who were chirping merrily. The mosque had been left unrepaired for many a long day: the only sounds heard there at nightfall were the cries of jackals and the howling of dogs: no one remembered having ever seen a light in any part of it.
Near this ruin a village teacher used to instruct some of the village children, whose necks were generally enveloped in woollen comforters; and whatever the extent of the education they were receiving, they were at least frightened put of their lives by the sound of the cane. It was only necessary for a boy to lift his eyes off his book, or to eat something out of his lap, for the stick to fall at once with a whack on his shoulders. It is a human failing for a man armed with authority in any matter, to think that he must constantly display that authority in various ways lest his dignity should suffer; and so it was that the old village school-master loved to collect a crowd round him, in order to make a display of his sovereignty. When he saw people going by, he would look in their direction and raise his voice to its highest pitch, and then, if a crowd collected, his self-importance increased till there was no limit to it: no wonder therefore that there was a very heavy punishment for any trifling fault on the part of the boys. A village school under such a master pretty nearly resembles the Hall of Yama. Besides the constant sounds of slapping and screaming, and cries of “Oh Guru Mahashay! Guru Mahashay! your pupil is present,” one boy will get his nose tweaked, another his ear pulled, another will have to carry a brick in one hand, another will be caned, another may be strung up by his thumbs, while a stinging nettle will be applied to another: some form of punishment or other is continually in force[50]. The honour and glory of Sonagaji used to be kept up solely by the village school-master whom I have mentioned. Just on the outskirts of the village, a few beggars, who had been at it all day long, used to congregate in the evening, wearied by their day’s labour, and lie down, singing snatches of songs softly to themselves.
Such was Sonagaji. Since Matilall’s auspicious arrival, however, the destiny of the place had undergone a revolution: there was all the stir and bustle attending a great man’s movements: the air was full of the prancing of horses, the loud beating of drums: there was an eternal munching of delicate sweetmeats: feasting and revelry went on unceasingly by night and by day, and the people of the place began to prostrate themselves before the great man.
It is very difficult to know Calcutta people well: to the outer world, many of them appear all that is respectable, like mangoes with a fair outside. They can assume a vast variety of characters. Money is at the bottom of all this: where that is in question, countless are the shifts and turns resorted to. Man’s nature is so frail that he worships wealth out of all proportion to its worth. People make herculean efforts to become recipients of the favour of any man reputed to be wealthy; and whatever may be necessary for them to say or to do to accomplish their object, there are no shortcomings on their part.
People of all grades took to visiting Matilall. Now there are some men, like the Brahmans of Ula, who at once go to the point with unblushing frankness, so that there is no mistaking their meaning. Others, again, like the good people of Krishnaghar, expend much ingenuity in embroidering their remarks, and only after a good deal of beating about the bush will they introduce the real object of their visit, and then very delicately. Others, like our friends of Eastern Bengal, are very careful and deliberate in their procedure: they at first assume an appearance of indifference and disinterestedness, plunging their real object deep in the Dvaipara Lake, and when after a long interval their special intention is revealed, it turns out that the real object of all their coming and going was after all a pecuniary one,— some present or other that might hereafter be exchanged for cash. Matilall had only to sigh, and the visitor with him at the time would snap his fingers, by way of warding off the evil omen: if he but sneezed, his visitor would say: “ May your life be prolonged.” If Matilall called for a servant, the sycophant would scream out: “Ho there! Ho there!” and in answer to every remark of Matilall’s, no matter what it was, he would say: “Whatever your honour says must be right.”
From early dawn till long after midnight people crowded about Matilall: every single moment of the day they were either coming or going: the staircase leading to his reception-room was constantly creaking beneath the heavy tramp of their shoes. Every moment fresh supplies of tobacco were arriving; smoke issued from the room at all times as from the funnel of a steam ship: the servants were so terribly worried, they were at their wits end. Night and day, in one continuous succession, dancing, music and all sorts of boisterous fun were kept up.