There was a tremendous sensation in Court. When it subsided the judge thrust aside his papers and asked for evidence as to Karim’s identity, which was soon forthcoming on oath. Then he ordered him to be sworn, and recorded the following deposition:—
“Incarnation of Justice! I will make a full confession, whatever may happen to me. I was sent for about a month ago by my landlord Ramani Babu, who ordered me to insult some woman of Sádhu’s household, in order that he might be excommunicated. In fear of my life I consented to do so, and that very night I broke into the hut where Sádhu’s sister-in-law lay asleep. Her cries attracted Sádhu, who grappled with me in his yard. However, I managed to escape, and on reporting my failure to Ramani Babu, he sent me in charge of a Barkamdúz (guard) to Paliti, which is ten coss (20 miles) away. There I was confined in a Kacheri (office building) until yesterday, when I got away after nightfall. I had to pass through Ghoria Bazar, on my way home this morning, and there I ran up against Jadu Babu, who stopped and questioned me closely about my movements. There was nothing for me but to make a clean breast of everything. He took me to a babu’s house where he was staying, and thence brought me to your honour’s presence.”
Karim’s confession took every one by surprise, and it was corroborated by Jadu Babu in the witness-box. The judge then asked Sadhu why he pleaded guilty.
“Incarnation of Justice,” was the reply, “it was the Daroga Babu (Sub-Inspector of Police) who frightened me into making a confession. He told me again and again that he had quite enough evidence to hang me, and advised me to escape death by admitting the charge of murdering Karim. While I was shut up alone in jail, I had no one to consult or rely on. Through fear, my wits entirely left me and I resolved to obtain mercy by making a false confession.”
These circumstances, strange as they may appear to the Western reader, were no novelty to the Sessions Judge. In charging the jury, he commented severely on the conduct of the station police and directed them to return a verdict of not guilty, which they promptly did.
Ghaneshyám Babu did not let the matter drop. He moved the District Magistrate to prosecute Ramani Babu and his bailiff, Srikrishna, for conspiring to charge an innocent man with murder. Both were brought to trial and, despite the advocacy of a Calcutta barrister, they each received a sentence of six months’ rigorous imprisonment. Justice, lame-footed as she is, at length overtook a pair of notorious evil-doers.
The Biter Bitten.
Babu Chandra Mohan Bai, or Chandra Babu, as he was usually called, was a rich banker with many obsequious customers. He was a short choleric man, very fond of his hookah, without which he was rarely seen in public. He had no family, except a wife who served him uncomplainingly, and never received a letter or was known to write one except in the course of business. His birthplace, nay his caste, were mysteries. But wealth conceals every defect, and no one troubled to inquire into Chandra Babu’s antecedents. This much was known—that he had come to Kadampur fifteen years before my tale opens with a brass drinking-pot and blanket, and obtained a humbly-paid office as a clerk under a local Zemindar. In this capacity he made such good use of the means it offered of extorting money that he was able to set up as a moneylender at Simulgachi, close to Kadampur. When people learnt that a new Shylock was at their service, they flocked to him in times of stress. His usual rate of interest being only 5 per cent, per mensem, he cut into the business of other moneylenders, and in four or five years had no serious competitor within a radius of four miles from Kadampur itself. Once master of the situation he drew in his horns, lending money only to people who could give ample security in land, government papers, or jewellery. He also started a tejárati business (loans of rice, for seed and maintenance during the “slack” months, repaid in kind, with heavy interest, after the harvest). Although few Khátaks (customers) were able to extricate their property from his clutches or clear off their debit balances, Chandra Babu continued to be in great request. He was heard to boast that every family in or near Kadampur, except the Basus, were on his books. The rapid growth of his dealings compelled him to engage a gomastha (manager) in the person of Santi Priya Dás, who had been a village schoolmaster notorious for cruelty. The duties of his new office were entirely to Santi Priya’s liking, and he performed them to Chandra Babu’s unqualified approval.
On a certain morning in late August, Chandra Babu sat in his office to receive applications for money or grain. One of his customers named Karim Sheikh came in and squatted close to the door, after salaming profoundly. On seeing him Chandra Babu at once remembered that his bond had run out on 15th July, and that he owed nearly Rs. 100, principal and interest. He therefore addressed the newcomer in accents of wrath. “What do you want here, you son of a pig?”