Tales of Bengal - S. B. Banerjea
Their faults are the outcome of superstition, slavery to custom,
and an unhealthy climate. Among them is a lack of moral courage,
a tendency to lean on stronger natures, and to flatter a superior by
feigning to agree with him. The standard of truth and honesty is that
of all races which have been ground under heel for ages: deceit is the
weapon of weaklings and slaves. Perjury has become a fine art, because
our legal system fosters the chicane which is innate in quick-witted
peoples. The same man who lies unblushingly in an English court, will
tell the truth to an assembly of caste-fellows, or to the Panohayat (a
committee of five which arbitrates in private disputes). Let British
Pharisees study the working of their own Divorce and County Courts:
they will not find much evidence of superior virtue! As for honesty,
the essence of commercialism is "taking advantage of other people's
needs," and no legal code has yet succeeded in drawing a line between
fair and unfair trade. In India and Japan merchants are an inferior
class; and loss of self-respect reacts unfavourably on the moral
sense. Ingratitude is a vice attributed to Bengalis by people who
have done little or nothing to elicit the corresponding virtue. As a
matter of fact their memory is extremely retentive of favours. They
will overlook any shortcomings in a ruler who has the divine gift
of sympathy, and serve him with devotion. Macaulay has branded them
with cowardice. If the charge were true, it was surely illogical and
unmanly to reproach a community numbering 50,000,000 for inherited
defects. Difference of environment and social customs will account
for the superior virility of Europeans as compared with their distant
kinsmen whose lot is cast in the sweltering tropics. But no one who
has observed Bengali schoolboys standing up bare-legged to fast bowling
will question their bravery. In fact, the instinct of combativeness is
universal, and among protected communities it finds vent in litigation.
Englishmen who seek to do their duty by India have potential allies
in the educated classes, who have grafted Western learning on a
civilisation much more ancient than their own. Bengal has given many
illustrious sons to the empire. Among the dead I may mention Pandits
Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar and Kissari Mohan Ganguli, whose vast
learning was eclipsed by their zeal for social service; Dr. Sambhu
Chandra Mukharji, whose biography I wrote in 1895; and Mr. Umesh
Chandra Banarji, a lawyer who held his own with the flower of our
English bar. A Bengali Brahmin is still with us who directs one of
the greatest contracting firms in the empire. How much brighter would
India's outlook be if this highly-gifted race were linked in bonds
of sympathy with our own!
The women of the Gangetic delta deserve a better fate than is
assigned to them by Hindu and Mohammadan custom. They are kept in
leading-strings from the cradle to the grave; their intellect is
rarely cultivated, their affections suffer atrophy from constant
repression. Yet Mr. Banerjea draws more than one picture of wifely
devotion, and the instinctive good sense which is one of the secrets
of feminine influence. Women seldom fail to rise to the occasion
when opportunity is vouchsafed them. The late Maharani Surnomoyi
of Cossimbazar managed her enormous estates with acumen; and her
charities were as lavish as Lady Burdett-Coutts's. Toru Dutt, who
died in girlhood, wrote French and English verses full of haunting
sweetness. It is a little premature for extremists to prate of autonomy
while their women are prisoners or drudges.
Superstition.--Modes of thought surviving from past ages of
intellectual growth are the chief obstacles in the path of
progress. Mr. Banerjea's tales contain many references to magic--a
pseudo-science which clings to the world's religions and social
polity. It is doubtful whether the most civilised of us has quite
shaken off the notion that mysterious virtues may be transmitted
without the impetus of will-power. Latin races are haunted by
dread of the Evil Eye; advertisements of palmists, astrologers and
crystal-gazers fill columns of our newspapers. Rational education
alone enables us to trace the sequence of cause and effect which
is visible in every form of energy. Until this truth is generally
recognised no community can eradicate the vices of superstition.
The "unrest" of which we hear so much finds no echo in Mr. Banerjea's
pages. It is, indeed, confined to a minute percentage of the
population, even including the callow schoolboys who have been
tempted to waste precious years on politics. The masses are too
ignorant and too absorbed by the struggle for existence to care
one jot for reforms. They may, however, be stirred to blind fury by
appealing to their prejudices. Therein lies a real danger. Divergence
of religious ideals, to which I have already alluded, accounts for
the tranquillity that prevails throughout Bihar as compared with the
spirit of revolution in Bengal proper. The microbe of anarchy finds
an excellent culture-ground in minds which grovel before the goddess
Kali. But the unrest cannot be isolated from other manifestations of
cosmic energy, which flash from mind to mind and keep the world in
turmoil. Every force of nature tends to be periodic. The heart's
systole and diastole; alternations of day and night, of season
and tide, are reflected in the history of our race. Progress
is secured by the swing of a giant pendulum from East to West,
the end of each beat ushering in drastic changes in religion,
economics and social polity. It is probable that one of these
cataclysmic epochs opened with the victories wrested from Russia by
Japan. The democratic upheaval which began five hundred years ago is
assuming Protean forces; and amongst them is the malady aptly styled
"constitutionalitis" by Dr. Dillon. The situation in India demands
prescience and statecraft. Though world-forces cannot be withstood,
they are susceptible of control by enlightened will-power. Will peace
be restored by the gift of constitutional government at a crisis when
the august Mother of Parliaments is herself a prey to faction? It
is worthy of note that the self-same spirit has always been rife in
Bengal, where every village has its Dals--local Montagues and Capulets,
whose bickerings are a fertile source of litigation.
Mr. Banerjea's tales were written for his own countrymen, and needed
extensive revision in order to render them intelligible to Western
readers. I have preserved the author's spirit and phraseology; and
venture to hope that this little book will shed some light on the
problem of Indian administration.
Francis H. Skrine.
CHAPTER I
The Pride of Kadampur.
Kadampur is a country village which is destitute of natural
or artificial attractions and quite unknown to fame. Its census
population is barely 1,500, four-fifths of whom are low-caste Hindus,
engaged in cultivation and river-fishing; the rest Mohammadans, who
follow the same avocations but dwell in a Para (quarter) of their
own. The Bhadralok, or Upper Crust, consists of two Brahman and ten
Kayastha (writer-caste) families. Among the latter group Kumodini
Kanta Basu's took an unquestioned lead. He had amassed a modest
competence as sub-contractor in the Commissariat during the second
Afghan War, and retired to enjoy it in his ancestral village. His
first care was to rebuild the family residence, a congenial task
which occupied five years and made a large hole in his savings. It
slowly grew into a masonry structure divided into two distinct Mahals
(wings)--the first inhabited by men-folk; the second sacred to the
ladies and their attendants. Behind it stood the kitchen; and the
Pujardalan (family temple) occupied a conspicuous place in front,
facing south. The usual range of brick cattle-sheds and servants'
quarters made up quite an imposing group of buildings.
Villagers classed amongst the gentry are wont to gather daily
at some Chandimandap (a rustic temple dedicated to the goddess
Durga, attached to most better-class houses). Kumodini Babu's was a
favourite rendezvous, and much time was killed there in conversation,
card-playing, and chess. Among the group assembled, one crisp afternoon
in February, was an old gentleman, called Shamsundar Ghosh, and known
to hosts of friends as "Sham Babu". He was head clerk in a Calcutta
merchant's office, drawing Rs. 60 a month (L48 a year at par),
which sufficed for the support of his wife and a son and daughter,
respectively named Susil and Shaibalini. After a vain attempt to
make two ends meet in expensive Calcutta, he had settled down at
the outskirts of Kadampur, which has a railway station within half
an hour's run of the Metropolis. Sham Babu's position and character
were generally respected by neighbours, who flocked to his house for
Calcutta gossip.
On this particular occasion talk ran on Kadampur requirements, and
somebody opined that another tank for bathing and drinking purposes
ought to be excavated at once; he did not say by whom.
"True," observed Sham Babu, "but a market is still more necessary. We
have to trudge four miles for our vegetables and fish, which are
obtainable in a more or less stale condition only twice a week. If
one were started here, it would be a great boon to ten villages
at least." Kumodini Babu assented, without further remark, and the
subject dropped.
It came up again on the following Sunday, when Kumodini Babu said to
his friend:--
"I have been thinking about your idea of a market in this village,
and should like, if possible, to establish one myself. How much would
it cost me? As an old commissariat contractor, I am well up in the
price of grain, fodder and ghi (clarified butter used in cooking),
but I really know very little about other things."
The confession elicited a general laugh, and Sham Babu replied,
"It will be a matter of Rs. 200".
"Two hundred rupees! Surely that is far too much for a range of huts."
"True enough. Your own bamboo clumps, straw-stacks and stores of
cordage would provide raw material; and as for labour, all you have
to do is to order some of your ryots (tenants) who are behindhand
with their rent to work for you gratis."
"That would be contrary to my principles. How are these poor people
to live while engaged in begar (forced labour) on my behalf? They
must be paid."
"Very well, then, let us set apart Rs. 20 to meet the cost of market
buildings. But, for the first few weeks, you will have to buy up
the unsold stock of perishable goods brought by Farias (hucksters);
you must patronise the shopkeepers who open stalls for selling grain,
cloth, confectionery, tobacco and trinkets. Once these people find
that they are making fair profits they will gladly pay you rent for
space allotted, besides tolls on the usual scale. At least Rs. 180
must be set apart for these preliminary expenses."
Kumodini Babu never did anything in haste. A fortnight elapsed ere
he announced to the neighbours gathered in his Chandimandap that
he intended starting a bi-weekly market on a vacant plot measuring
one Bigha (one-third of an acre), known as the Kamarbari (Anglice,
"Abode of Blacksmiths"). On an auspicious day towards the end of April,
he inaugurated the new enterprise with some ceremony. His own ryots
were enjoined to attend; shopkeepers, hucksters, and fishermen who
had hitherto gone much further afield, came in considerable numbers;
and business was amazingly brisk. Zemindars (landed proprietors)
generally have to wait for months and spend money like water
before they gain a pice (a bronze coin worth a farthing) from a new
market. Kumodini Babu, however, began to reap where he had sown in
less than a fortnight. Not an inch of space in the Karmarbari remained
unoccupied; his Hat-Gomastha, or bailiff, levied rent and tolls for
vendors, at whose request the market was proclaimed a tri-weekly
one. His fame as a man of energy and public spirit spread over ten
villages, whose people felt that he was one who would give them good
counsel in times of difficulty.
There is some truth in the notion that fortune's gifts seldom come
singly. Kumodini Babu's success in a business venture was immediately
followed by one in his domestic affairs. It fell out in this wise. Sham
Babu's daughter, Shaibalini, was still unmarried, though nearly
thirteen and beautiful enough to be the pride of Kadampur. Money was,
indeed, the only qualification she lacked, and Sham Babu's comparative
poverty kept eligible suitors at a distance. For three years he had
sought far and wide for a son-in-law and was beginning to fear that
he might, after all, be unable to fulfil the chief duty of a Hindu
parent. One evening his wife unexpectedly entered the parlour where
he was resting after a heavy day at office.
"Why has the moon risen so early?" he asked.
"Because the moon can't do otherwise," she answered, with a faint
smile. "But, joking apart, I want to consult you about Saili. Our
neighbour Kanto Babu's wife called on me just before you returned
from Calcutta, and, after beating about the bush, suggested Kumodini
Babu's younger son, Nalini, as a suitable match for her."
Sham Babu's face wore a worried look.
"Surely that would be flying too high for such as us," he
rejoined. "The Basus are comparatively rich, and very proud of their
family which settled here during the Mughal days (i.e., before British
rule, which in Bengal date from 1765). Young Nalini is reading for
his B.A. examination and wants to be a pleader (advocate). Kumodini
Babu would hardly allow his son to marry the daughter of a poor clerk."
"Still, there is no harm in trying," remarked the wife. "If you don't
feel equal to approaching him, there's Kanto Babu who would do so. It
was his wife who broached the subject to me, which makes me think
that they have been discussing it together."
"An excellent idea," exclaimed Sham Babu. "I'll go to him at once." And
taking his stick, he set out for Kanto Babu's house, which was barely
fifty yards off. In half an hour he returned to gladden his wife with
the news that their neighbour had consented to act as a go-between.
Kanto Babu was as good as his word. That very evening he called
on Kumodini Babu, whom he found reading the Mahabharata (an epic
poem). After dwelling now on this matter, now on that, he asked
casually:--
"Have you never thought of getting Nalini married? He is over twenty,
I believe."
"My wife has been urging me to look out for a wife for him, but in
my opinion he is too young for such responsibilities. Better wait
till he has passed the B.A. examination."
"Your wife's idea is sounder than yours, if I may be permitted to say
so. Just think of the awful temptations to which unmarried students
are exposed in that sink of profligacy, Calcutta! How many promising
lads have succumbed to them, wrecking their own lives and causing
bitter grief to their parents!"
Kumodini Babu started. "You surprise me! I had no idea that Calcutta
was as bad as you paint it. We must certainly get Nalini married at
once. I wonder whether you know of a likely match for him. I don't
care about money, but--"
"That I do," interrupted Kanto Babu, "There's Sham Babu's
daughter, Shaibalini. What a pretty creature she is; modest,
loving and kind-hearted! You won't find her equal in this elaqa
(lit. jurisdiction). If you approve, I will gladly be your spokesman
with her family."
Kumodini Babu mused awhile before answering. "I know Shaibalini
well by reputation, and she is all you describe her. Sham Babu,
too, comes of excellent lineage, though he is not a Zemindar, and
depends on service. I should not object to marrying Nalini with his
daughter. But wait a bit: what gotra (clan) does he belong to?"
"I believe he is a Dakhin Rarhi," answered Kanto Babu.
"But I am an Uttar Rarhi," remarked Kumodini Babu. "Is not that a
fatal objection?"
For the benefit of non-Hindu readers I may explain that Kayasthas are
split into clans--probably a survival of the tribal organisation which
preceded the family almost everywhere. According to tradition, a King
of Bengal named Adisur imported five Brahmans, and as many Kayastha
servants from Kanauj in Upper India. From the latter are descended
the Ghosh, Basu, Mitra, Guha, and Datta families. The first four are
generally recognised as Kulin (Angl., "aristocratic") Kayasthas, while
the Dattas and seven other families are known as Sindhu Maulik--"coming
of a good stock". Adisur and his companions found 700 Brahmans and
the same number of Kayasthas already established in Bengal. These are
the supposed ancestors of a large number of Kayastha families still
termed Saptasati, "the Seven Hundred". The ancient Greeks reckoned
their neighbours beyond the Hellenic pale as "barbarians". So Brahmans
and Kayasthas of Central Bengal styled their congeners north of the
Ganges Rarh, or "uncivilised". The epithet survives in Uttar (north)
and Dakhin (south) Rarhi, but has lost its offensive meaning. Barendra
is another phrase for the inhabitants of a tract north of the Ganges,
which answers to the modern districts of Rajshahi, Pabna, and Bogra.
Kanto Babu was evidently perplexed; but after reflecting for a short
time he asked, "Now why should such a trifling matter cause any
trouble whatever? The time has long since passed away when arbitrary
difference of clan was considered a bar to marriage among Kayasthas."
"You are quite right," was Kumodini Babu's reply, "and personally I
am above these old-fashioned prejudices. My daughter-in-law may be
Dakhin Rarhi, Banga-ja, or Barendri for all I care, provided she be
comely, well-mannered and come of good stock. But will Sham Babu
be equally tolerant?"
"That I can't say until I have consulted him," answered Kanto
Babu. "One thing more I must know. What is your idea of Dena Paona
(a word answering to our 'settlements')?"
"Ram, Ram!" exclaimed Kumodini Babu. "Am I the man to sell my son for
filthy lucre? I hear that Calcutta folks occasionally do so, but I
am quite opposed to the custom. Should Sham Babu agree to this match,
I will make no stipulations whatever as to a money payment. He is in
very moderate circumstances, and may give whatever he chooses. Please
see him at once and let me have his decision."
Kanto Babu promised to do so and withdrew, inwardly chuckling over
his diplomacy.
Sham Babu called on him the same evening to learn its issue. He was
delighted to find that Kumodini Babu was not averse to the match,
but his face fell on hearing of the difference of clan. Observing his
agitation, Kanto Babu observed gently, "I don't see why a matter, which
is not even mentioned in our Shastras (holy books), should cause one
moment's hesitation. Pluck up your courage, man, and all will go well."
"Perhaps so," murmured Sham Babu. "But I do stand in awe of the Samaj"
(a caste-assembly which pronounces excommunication for breaches
of custom).
"That's all nonsense! Look at our friend Kunjalal Babu who has just
married his son to a Barendri girl. Is he an outcast? Certainly not. It
is true that the ultra-orthodox kicked a bit at first; but they all
came round, and joined in the ceremony with zest. I can quote scores
of similar instances to prove that this prejudice against marrying
into a different clan is quite out of date."
Sham Babu had nothing to urge in opposition to these weighty
arguments. He promised to let Kanto Babu have a definite reply on
the morrow and kept his word. Having endured a curtain lecture from
his wife, who proved to him that an alliance with the Basu family
offered advantages far outweighing the slight risk there was of
excommunication, he authorised Kanto Babu to assure Kumodini Babu that
the proposed match had his hearty approval. Once preliminaries were
satisfactorily settled, all other arrangements proceeded apace. The
Paka Dekha is a solemn visit paid by males of the future bridegroom's
family to that of his betrothed, during which they are feasted and
decide all details regarding the marriage ceremonies. It passed
off without a hitch, and the purohit (family priest) fixed Sravan
17th as an auspicious day for consummating the union. Thenceforward
preparations were made for celebrating it in a manner worthy of the
esteem in which both families were held.
Kumodini Babu issued invitations to all his relatives. Chief amongst
these was a younger brother, Ghaneshyam Basu by name, who practised
as a pleader (advocate) at Ghoria, where he had built a house after
disposing of his interest in the family estate to Kumodini Babu. This
important person was asked to supervise the ceremonies, inasmuch as
Kumodini Babu's increasing age and infirmities rendered him unfit to
do so efficiently, while his eldest son, yclept Jadu Babu, had barely
reached man's estate. The letter of invitation referred incidentally
to the difference of clan as a matter of no importance. Kumodini Babu's
disappointment may be conceived when he got an answer from his younger
brother, expressing strong disapproval of the match and ending with a
threat to sever all connection with the family if it were persisted
in! The recipient at first thought of running up to Ghoria, in view
of softening Ghaneshyam Babu's heart by a personal appeal, but the
anger caused by his want of brotherly feeling prevailed. Kumodini
Babu and his wife agreed that matters had gone too far to admit of
the marriage being broken off. If Ghaneshyam did not choose to take
part in it, so much the worse for him!
Soon after dusk on Sravan 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 Sham 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 Basarghar, 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-Bhat
ceremony was held. This is a feast in the course of which the bride
(bau) distributes cooked rice (bhat) 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 goalas (dairymen) and moiras (confectioners) with a view
to eclipsing all previous festivals of the kind.
Early in the morning of the Bau-Bhat day a palanquin was carried into
Kumodini Babu's courtyard; and who should emerge from it but Ghaneshyam
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
Ghaneshyam Babu received a blessing from his elder brother. Thanks
to his supervision the Bau-Bhat 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.
CHAPTER II
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 lathials (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.