Nagendra Babu did not forget the Brahman’s presumption and determined to teach him a lesson. So, one day, he sent him a written notice demanding the immediate payment of arrears of rent due for a few bighas (one-third of an acre) of land which Rámdá held on a heritable lease. As luck would have it the crops had failed miserably, and Rámdá was unable to discharge his debts. On receiving a more peremptory demand seven days later, he called on Nagendra Babu, whom he thus addressed:—
“Why, Nagen, what’s the matter with you? You are plaguing me to death with notices, yet you must be aware that I can’t pay you a pice at present.”
“Thákur,” replied Nagendra Babu in stern accents, “I will listen to none of your excuses. Do you mean to tell me that you decline to discharge your arrears?”
“I never said that,” protested Rámdá; “but you must really wait till the beginning of next year. My cold weather crops are looking well; and—”
“No, that won’t do at all. If you do not pay up in a week, I will certainly have recourse to the civil court.”
“Do so by all means if your sense of religion permits,” rejoined Rámdá, leaving the parlour in smothered wrath.
When the week of grace had expired, Nagendra Babu filed a suit in the local Múnsiffs Court against his defaulter. As soon as the fact was bruited abroad a universal protest was roused against Nagendra Babu’s harshness. Some of the village elders remonstrated with him, but were told to mind their own business; whereon they laid their heads together and subscribed the small sum due from the Brahman. A deputation of five waited on him with entreaties to accept it, but he refused to take the money on any other footing than a loan. So Rámdá paid his arrears and costs into Court, to the plaintiff’s intense annoyance.
Samarendra Babu had left his wife and children in comparatively poor circumstances; for, after discharging his debts, they had barely Rs. 300 a year to live on. The widow declined to seek Nagendra Babu’s help, even if she were reduced to beg in the streets. After her brother’s imprisonment, she had no one to manage her little property which, as a Purdanashin (lit. “one sitting behind the veil”), she was unable to do herself. After mature reflection she sent for Rámdá, who had known her from infancy. He obeyed the summons with alacrity and gave the poor woman sound advice regarding the direction of the Zemindary. By acting on it she was able to increase her income and live in tolerable comfort. Observing that Rámdá was a frequent visitor, Nagendra Babu hinted to his sister-in-law that, if she cared for her reputation, she would not be so thick with him. She flared up instantly. “I will talk to any of my friends I please,” said she, “and you shan’t poke your nose into my affairs!”
“Very well,” replied Nagendra angrily, “but you may rely on my making it hot for that old scoundrel shortly!”
This threat was of course repeated to Rámdá, who merely laughed. As far as he was concerned Nagendra might act as he pleased.