A few days afterwards the bailiff of Nagendra Babu’s estate, known as Lakhimpur, called on Rámdá with a verbal request that he should surrender his ancestral tenure and, meeting with a curt refusal, left the house threatening all sorts of evil consequences. Next day, indeed, Rámdá received a notice from Nagendra Babu, calling on him to show cause against the cancellation of his lease on the ground that, by mismanaging the land, he had rendered it unfit for cultivation. Rámdá called some of his neighbours together, to whom he exhibited the document. They expressed the greatest indignation and assured him that they would spend their last rupee in defending his interests. Rámdá gave them a heartfelt blessing and promised a divine reward for their sympathy.
Calling on Samarendra’s widow the same day, he was distressed to find that she had received a similar notice, which aimed at robbing her of a small estate, on the ground that it had been surrendered by her husband in part payment of his debt to Nagendra Babu. She knew nothing of any such arrangement and assured Rámdá that, if the property was lost, her income would fall to little more than Rs. 100, meaning starvation for herself and little ones. Her trusty counsellor told her not to lose heart, for she might rely on his help.
In due course the suit against Rámdá came on for hearing before the Munsiff. His pleader established by documentary evidence that the tenure was one without any condition whatever; while the neighbours came forward to prove that the land in dispute had been admirably tilled. The plaintiff, therefore, was non-suited, with costs. The very same result attended Nagendra Babu’s action against his sister-in-law, whose case excited universal sympathy. He lost heavily in purse and left the Court with a ruined reputation. It was natural that a man so evil-minded should regard Rámdá as the author of misfortunes due to his own wicked nature. He plotted the poor Brahman’s destruction, but no effectual means of compassing it suggested itself.
As days and weeks wore on, his despondency became deeper and, one evening, while sitting with the Lakhimpur bailiff, he asked whether there was any remedy which would restore his peace of mind. The cunning rascal said nothing at the time; but at a late hour on the morrow he came to Nagendra Babu’s house with a large bottle hidden under his wrapper. It contained some light brown fluid, which the bailiff poured into a tumbler. Then adding a small quantity of water, he invited his master to swallow the mixture. A few minutes after doing so, the patient was delighted to find that gloomy thoughts disappeared as if by magic. An unwonted elation of spirits succeeded; he broke into snatches of song, to the intense surprise of the household! His amateur physician left the bottle, advising him to take a similar dose every night; and Nagendra Babu followed the prescription punctiliously, with the best effect on his views of life. After finishing the bottle he asked for another, which was brought to him secretly. It had a showy label reading, “Exshaw No. 1 Cognac”. Nagendra Babu’s conscience accused him of disobeying the Shástras; but the die was cast. He could no longer exist without a daily dose of the subtle poison; and gradually increased it to a tumblerful, forgetting to add water.
His faithful wife did her best to wean him from the fatal habit. She even ventured to abstract his brandy bottle and dilute its contents. On being detected, she underwent a personal correction which was not soon forgotten. The poor creature, indeed, underwent every sort of humiliation from her worthless husband, which she bore in silence, hoping that time would bring him to his senses.
Drunken men are proverbially cunning. After brooding long over his supposed grievances Nagendra matured a scheme of revenge. He intercepted Rámdá, one afternoon, on his way to visit Samarendra’s widow, and, affecting sincere penitence for the injury he had endeavoured to work, he invited the unsuspecting Brahman into his sitting-room. Once inside, he suddenly thrust a brass vessel into his visitor’s hand and dragged him into the yard, shouting “Thief! thief!” The Lakhimpur bailiff, who was sitting on the verandah, also laid hands on Rámdá and, with the aid of two up-country servants, he was dragged to the police station, too bewildered to resist. On their way thither they met one of Nagendra’s neighbours named Harish Chandra Pál, who stopped them and asked what was the matter. On learning particulars of the charge, he saw how the land lay, and resolved to defeat an infamous plot. So waiting till the little crowd was out of sight, he ran back to Nagendra’s house and whispered to him that the bailiff had sent for more property, in order that the case against Rámdá might look blacker. Nagendra handed him a fine muslin shawl and loin-cloth, and a set of gold buttons, adding that he would follow in half an hour in order to depose against the thief. On reaching the police station, Harish found the Sub-Inspector recording the statements of the witnesses. He looked on in silence until Nagendra arrived. Then he asked the Sub-Inspector: “Do these people mean to say that the brass vessel belongs to Nagendra Babu?”
“Certainly,” was the reply. “Here are three witnesses who have identified it.”
“Well, that’s strange,” said Harish; then producing the shawl and loin-cloth he said: “These are mine, but if you ask Nagen Babu he will tell you a different story”.
“But they are mine!” roared Nagendra, “and part of the stolen property.”
“Dear me,” said Harish, “perhaps you will say that these buttons are yours too?”