Soon after dusk on Sraván 17th, Nalini entered his palanquin, arrayed in a beautiful costume of Benares silk. The wedding procession set out forthwith, amid a mighty blowing of conch-shells and beating of drums. At 8 P.M. it reached the bride’s abode, where her family, with Shám Babu at the head, were ready to receive them. An hour later Nalini was conducted to the inner apartments, where the marriage ceremony began. It lasted until nearly eleven o’clock, when the young couple were taken to the Básárghar, or nuptial apartment. During these rites the men-folk were perhaps more pleasantly engaged in doing ample justice to a repast provided for them in the outer rooms. Then they chewed betels in blissful rumination, before separating with emphatic acknowledgments of the hospitality they had enjoyed.
On the following afternoon both bridegroom and bride were taken in palanquins to Kumodini Babu’s house, where she instantaneously won every heart by her grace and beauty. Two days later the Bau-Bhát ceremony was held. This is a feast in the course of which the bride (bau) distributes cooked rice (bhát) with her own hands to bidden guests, in token of her reception into her husband’s family and clan. Kumodini Babu had requisitioned an immense supply of dainties from local goálas (dairymen) and moiras (confectioners) with a view to eclipsing all previous festivals of the kind.
Early in the morning of the Bau-Bhát day a palanquin was carried into Kumodini Babu’s courtyard; and who should emerge from it but Ghaneshyám Babu! He ran up to his brother, who was sitting with some neighbours in the parlour, and, clasping his feet, implored forgiveness. Kumodini Babu’s heart leaped for joy. Tenderly did he embrace the penitent, who admitted that his peace of mind had fled from the moment he penned that cruel letter. He now saw the absurdity of his prejudices, and begged Kumodini Babu to forget his unbrotherly conduct. It is needless to add that the prayer was cordially granted and that Ghaneshyám Babu received a blessing from his elder brother. Thanks to his supervision the Bau-Bhát feast passed off at night without the slightest contretemps. Ten years later people still dwelt on the magnificent hospitality they had received, and held Kumodini Babu up as a model to fathers-in-law. In order that all classes might rejoice with him, he remitted a year’s rent to every ryot, besides lavishing considerable sums on Brahmans and poor folk. The more enlightened section of Kayasthas were unanimous in pronouncing him to be a true Hindu, on whose descendants the gods on high would pour down their choicest blessings. There were others, however, whose malignity found material to work on in his disregard of caste prejudices.
The Rival Markets.
The immediate success of Kumodini Babu’s market caused infinite annoyance to Ramani Babu, who owned one long established in the neighbourhood. Hucksters and country-folk found the tolls levied there so much lighter, that the attendance at Ramani’s fell off grievously. It is well known that when a new market is started, proprietors already in the field endeavour to break it up with the aid of paid láthiáls (clubmen). If, as often happens, the daring speculator be a man of substance, he employs similar means in his defence. Free fights occur on market-days, ending in many a broken head—sometimes in slaughter. The battle is directed by Gomasthas (bailiffs) on either side, with the full knowledge of their masters, who keep discreetly aloof from the fray.
Ramani Babu did not foresee that his property would be injured by the new venture, and allowed it to be firmly established without striking a single blow. Finding a lamentable decrease in his receipts, he ordered the bailiff to “go ahead,” and took an early train for Calcutta in order to set up an alibi in case of legal proceedings. A day or two later his bailiff, attended by six or seven men armed with iron-shod bamboo staves, assembled at the outskirts of Kumodini Babu’s market, on a spot where four roads met.
Ere long a cart was descried approaching from eastwards, whose driver bawled snatches of song and puffed his hookah between whiles. When it reached the crossing, the bailiff shouted:—
“Stop! whither so early, friend?”
“To market,” the man replied carelessly.