Stories from Tagore
Stories from Tagore-2
Bishamber wiped the tears from his own eyes and
took Phatik's lean and burning hands in his own and
sat by him through the night. The boy began again
to mutter. At last his voice became excited:
"Mother!" he cried, "don't beat me like that....
Mother! I am telling the truth!"
The next day Phatik became conscious for a short
time. He turned his eyes about the room, as if
expecting some one to come. At last, with an air
of disappointment, his head sank back on the pillow.
He turned his face to the wall with a deep sigh.
[Pg 31]
Bishamber knew his thoughts and bending down
his head whispered: "Phatik, I have sent for your
mother."
The day went by. The doctor said in a troubled
voice that the boy's condition was very critical.
Phatik began to cry out: "By the mark—three
fathoms. By the mark—four fathoms. By the
mark——." He had heard the sailor on the river-steamer
calling out the mark on the plumb-line.
Now he was himself plumbing an unfathomable sea.
Later in the day Phatik's mother burst into the
room, like a whirlwind, and began to toss from side
to side and moan and cry in a loud voice.
Bishamber tried to calm her agitation, but she
flung herself on the bed, and cried: "Phatik, my
darling, my darling."
Phatik stopped his restless movements for a moment.
His hands ceased beating up and down. He
said: "Eh?"
The mother cried again: "Phatik, my darling,
my darling."
Phatik very slowly turned his head and without
seeing anybody said: "Mother, the holidays have
come."
WORDS TO BE STUDIED
proposal. From the Latin word "ponere," to place.
Compare position, post, depose, impose, component,
composition, repose.
[Pg 32]
unanimously. From the Latin "unus," one, and "animus,"
mind. Compare magnanimous, pusillanimous.
philosopher. From the Greek "philos," a friend, and
"sophia," wisdom. Compare philology, philanthropy,
theosophy.
moustache. A French word which has found its home in
English. French is frequently giving to English new
words. Compare, in this story, manœuvre, discomfit,
mischief.
juncture. From the Latin "jungere," to join. Compare
junction, conjunction, subjunctive, adjunct.
unattractive. From the negative "un," meaning "not,"
and the root "tract-," meaning to draw. Compare
traction, tractor, attract, extract, subtract.
atmosphere. From the Greek word "atmos," the air, and
"sphaira," a "globe." Compare sphere, hemisphere,
photosphere.
wistfulness. Probably from the English word "wish,"
wishfulness. Several, however, regard it as coming
from an old word "whist" or "wist," meaning silent.
The vernacular word "udās" has the same meaning.
abjectly. From the Latin word "jacere," to throw.
Compare ad-jec-tive, subject, object, project, inject,
reject.
neighbourhood. From a Saxon word meaning near, nigh;
"hood" or "head" is a common addition to Saxon
words denoting the quality or character. Compare
knighthood, manhood, boyhood, womanhood.
holidays. This word is made up of two words, "holy"
and "days." The religious days of the Church were
those on which no one worked and thus they got the
meaning of holidays as opposed to working days.
[Pg 33]
ONCE THERE WAS A KING
[Pg 34]
[Pg 35]
III
ONCE THERE WAS A KING
"Once upon a time there was a king."
When we were children there was no need to know
who the king in the fairy story was. It didn't matter
whether he was called Shiladitya or Shaliban,
whether he lived at Kashi or Kanauj. The thing
that made a seven-year-old boy's heart go thump,
thump with delight was this one sovereign truth, this
reality of all realities: "Once there was a king."
But the readers of this modern age are far more
exact and exacting. When they hear such an opening
to a story, they are at once critical and suspicious.
They apply the searchlight of science to its legendary
haze and ask: "Which king?"
The story-tellers have become more precise in
their turn. They are no longer content with the old
indefinite, "There was a king," but assume instead
a look of profound learning and begin: "Once
there was a king named Ajatasatru."
The modern reader's curiosity, however, is not so
[Pg 36]
easily satisfied. He blinks at the author through his
scientific spectacles and asks again: "Which Ajatasatru?"
When we were young, we understood all sweet
things; and we could detect the sweets of a fairy story
by an unerring science of our own. We never cared
for such useless things as knowledge. We only
cared for truth. And our unsophisticated little
hearts knew well where the Crystal Palace of Truth
lay and how to reach it. But to-day we are expected
to write pages of facts, while the truth is simply
this:
"There was a king."
I remember vividly that evening in Calcutta when
the fairy story began. The rain and the storm had
been incessant. The whole of the city was flooded.
The water was knee-deep in our lane. I had a
straining hope, which was almost a certainty, that
my tutor would be prevented from coming that
evening. I sat on the stool in the far corner of the
verandah looking down the lane, with a heart beating
faster and faster. Every minute I kept my eye
on the rain, and when it began to diminish I prayed
with all my might: "Please, God, send some more
rain till half-past seven is over." For I was quite
ready to believe that there was no other need for rain
except to protect one helpless boy one evening in one
[Pg 37]
corner of Calcutta from the deadly clutches of his
tutor.
If not in answer to my prayer, at any rate according
to some grosser law of nature, the rain did not
give up.
But, alas, nor did my teacher!
Exactly to the minute, in the bend of the lane,
I saw his approaching umbrella. The great bubble
of hope burst in my breast, and my heart collapsed.
Truly, if there is a punishment to fit the crime after
death, then my tutor will be born again as me, and
I shall be born as my tutor.
As soon as I saw his umbrella I ran as hard as I
could to my mother's room. My mother and my
grandmother were sitting opposite one another playing
cards by the light of a lamp. I ran into the
room, and flung myself on the bed beside my mother,
and said:
"Mother, the tutor has come, and I have such a
bad headache; couldn't I have no lessons to-day?"
I hope no child of immature age will be allowed
to read this story, and I sincerely trust it will not be
used in text-books or primers for junior classes.
For what I did was dreadfully bad, and I received no
punishment whatever. On the contrary, my wickedness
was crowned with success.
My mother said to me: "All right," and turning
[Pg 38]
to the servant added: "Tell the tutor that he can
go back home."
It was perfectly plain that she didn't think my
illness very serious, as she went on with her game
as before and took no further notice. And I also,
burying my head in the pillow, laughed to my heart's
content. We perfectly understood one another, my
mother and I.
But every one must know how hard it is for a boy
of seven years old to keep up the illusion of illness
for a long time. After about a minute I got hold
of Grandmother and said: "Grannie, do tell me
a story."
I had to ask this many times. Grannie and
Mother went on playing cards and took no notice.
At last Mother said to me: "Child, don't bother.
Wait till we've finished our game." But I persisted:
"Grannie, do tell me a story." I told
Mother she could finish her game to-morrow, but she
must let Grannie tell me a story there and then.
At last Mother threw down the cards and said:
"You had better do what he wants. I can't manage
him." Perhaps she had it in her mind that she
would have no tiresome tutor on the morrow, while
I should be obliged to be back at those stupid lessons.
As soon as ever Mother had given way, I rushed
[Pg 39]
at Grannie. I got hold of her hand, and, dancing
with delight, dragged her inside my mosquito curtain
on to the bed. I clutched hold of the bolster with
both hands in my excitement, and jumped up and
down with joy, and when I had got a little quieter
said: "Now, Grannie, let's have the story!"
Grannie went on: "And the king had a queen."
That was good to begin with. He had only one!
It is usual for kings in fairy stories to be extravagant
in queens. And whenever we hear that there
are two queens our hearts begin to sink. One is sure
to be unhappy. But in Grannie's story that danger
was past. He had only one queen.
We next hear that the king had not got any son.
At the age of seven I didn't think there was any
need to bother if a man had no son. He might
only have been in the way.
Nor are we greatly excited when we hear that the
king has gone away into the forest to practise austerities
in order to get a son. There was only one
thing that would have made me go into the forest,
and that was to get away from my tutor!
But the king left behind with his queen a small girl,
who grew up into a beautiful princess.
Twelve years pass away, and the king goes on
practising austerities, and never thinks all this while
of his beautiful daughter. The princess has reached
[Pg 40]
the full bloom of her youth. The age of marriage
has passed, but the king does not return. And the
queen pines away with grief and cries: "Is my
golden daughter destined to die unmarried? Ah
me, what a fate is mine!"
Then the queen sent men to the king to entreat
him earnestly to come back for a single night and
take one meal in the palace. And the king consented.
The queen cooked with her own hand, and with
the greatest care, sixty-four dishes. She made a
seat for him of sandal-wood and arranged the food
in plates of gold and cups of silver. The princess
stood behind with the peacock-tail fan in her hand.
The king, after twelve years' absence, came into the
house, and the princess waved the fan, lighting up all
the room with her beauty. The king looked in his
daughter's face and forgot to take his food.
At last he asked his queen: "Pray, who is this
girl whose beauty shines as the gold image of the
goddess? Whose daughter is she?"
The queen beat her forehead and cried: "Ah,
how evil is my fate! Do you not know your own
daughter?"
The king was struck with amazement. He said
at last: "My tiny daughter has grown to be a
woman."
[Pg 41]
"What else?" the queen said with a sigh. "Do
you not know that twelve years have passed by?"
"But why did you not give her in marriage?"
asked the king.
"You were away," the queen said. "And how
could I find her a suitable husband?"
The king became vehement with excitement.
"The first man I see to-morrow," he said, "when I
come out of the palace shall marry her."
The princess went on waving her fan of peacock
feathers, and the king finished his meal.
The next morning, as the king came out of his
palace, he saw the son of a Brahman gathering sticks
in the forest outside the palace gates. His age was
about seven or eight.
The King said: "I will marry my daughter to
him."
Who can interfere with a king's command? At
once the boy was called, and the marriage garlands
were exchanged between him and the princess.
At this point I came up close to my wise Grannie
and asked her eagerly: "When then?"
In the bottom of my heart there was a devout wish
to substitute myself for that fortunate wood-gatherer
of seven years old. The night was resonant with
the patter of rain. The earthen lamp by my bedside
was burning low. My grandmother's voice
[Pg 42]
droned on as she told the story. And all these things
served to create in a corner of my credulous heart
the belief that I had been gathering sticks in the dawn
of some indefinite time in the kingdom of some unknown
king, and in a moment garlands had been
exchanged between me and the princess, beautiful as
the Goddess of Grace. She had a gold band on her
hair and gold earrings in her ears. She had a necklace
and bracelets of gold, and a golden waist-chain
round her waist, and a pair of golden anklets tinkled
above her feet.
If my grandmother were an author, how many explanations
she would have to offer for this little
story! First of all, every one would ask why the
king remained twelve years in the forest? Secondly,
why should the king's daughter remain unmarried all
that while? This would be regarded as absurd.
Even if she could have got so far without a quarrel,
still there would have been a great hue and cry
about the marriage itself. First, it never happened.
Secondly, how could there be a marriage between a
princess of the Warrior Caste and a boy of the
priestly Brahman Caste? Her readers would have
imagined at once that the writer was preaching
against our social customs in an underhand way.
And they would write letters to the papers.
So I pray with all my heart that my grandmother
[Pg 43]
may be born a grandmother again, and not through
some cursed fate take birth as her luckless grandson.
With a throb of joy and delight, I asked Grannie:
"What then?"
Grannie went on: Then the princess took her
little husband away in great distress, and built a large
palace with seven wings, and began to cherish her
husband with great care.
I jumped up and down in my bed and clutched
at the bolster more tightly than ever and said:
"What then?"
Grannie continued: The little boy went to school
and learnt many lessons from his teachers, and as he
grew up his class-fellows began to ask him: "Who
is that beautiful lady living with you in the palace
with the seven wings?"
The Brahman's son was eager to know who she
was. He could only remember how one day he had
been gathering sticks and a great disturbance arose.
But all that was so long ago that he had no clear
recollection.
Four or five years passed in this way. His companions
always asked him: "Who is that beautiful
lady in the palace with the seven wings?" And
the Brahman's son would come back from school and
sadly tell the princess: "My school companions always
ask me who is that beautiful lady in the palace
[Pg 44]
with the seven wings, and I can give them no reply.
Tell me, oh, tell me, who you are!"
The princess said: "Let it pass to-day. I will
tell you some other day." And every day the Brahman's
son would ask: "Who are you?" and the
princess would reply: "Let it pass to-day. I will
tell you some other day." In this manner four or
five more years passed away.
At last the Brahman's son became very impatient
and said: "If you do not tell me to-day who you
are, O beautiful lady, I will leave this palace with
the seven wings." Then the princess said: "I will
certainly tell you to-morrow."
Next day the Brahman's son, as soon as he came
home from school, said: "Now, tell me who you
are." The princess said: "To-night I will tell you
after supper, when you are in bed."
The Brahman's son said: "Very well"; and he
began to count the hours in expectation of the night.
And the princess, on her side, spread white flowers
over the golden bed, and lighted a gold lamp with
fragrant oil, and adorned her hair, and dressed herself
in a beautiful robe of blue, and began to count
the hours in expectation of the night.
That evening when her husband, the Brahman's
son, had finished his meal, too excited almost to eat,
and had gone to the golden bed in the bedchamber
[Pg 45]
strewn with flowers, he said to himself: "To-night
I shall surely know who this beautiful lady is in the
palace with the seven wings."
The princess took for her food that which was left
over by her husband, and slowly entered the bedchamber.
She had to answer that night the question,
who was the beautiful lady that lived in the palace
with the seven wings. And as she went up to the
bed to tell him she found a serpent had crept out of
the flowers and had bitten the Brahman's son. Her
boy-husband was lying on the bed of flowers, with
face pale in death.
My heart suddenly ceased to throb, and I asked
with choking voice: "What then?"
Grannie said: "Then ..."
But what is the use of going on any further with
the story? It would only lead on to what was more
and more impossible. The boy of seven did not
know that, if there were some "What then?" after
death, no grandmother of a grandmother could tell
us all about it.
But the child's faith never admits defeat, and
it would snatch at the mantle of death itself to turn
him back. It would be outrageous for him to think
that such a story of one teacherless evening could so
suddenly come to a stop. Therefore the grandmother
had to call back her story from the ever-shut
[Pg 46]
chamber of the great End, but she does it so simply:
it is merely by floating the dead body on a banana
stem on the river, and having some incantations read
by a magician. But in that rainy night and in the
dim light of a lamp death loses all its horror in the
mind of the boy, and seems nothing more than a deep
slumber of a single night. When the story ends the
tired eyelids are weighed down with sleep. Thus it
is that we send the little body of the child floating
on the back of sleep over the still water of time, and
then in the morning read a few verses of incantation
to restore him to the world of life and light.
WORDS TO BE STUDIED
sovereign. This word is taken directly from the French
language. It is connected with the Latin "supremus."
blinks. Many English words are made up from the supposed
sound or motion to be represented. Compare to
splash, to plump, to quack, to throb, to swish.
suspicious. From the Latin word "spicere," to look.
Compare auspicious, respect, inspect, aspect.
unsophisticated. This word comes from the Greek "sophistes,"
meaning a sophist, that is to say, one who
makes a pretence of being wise. Unsophisticated means
one who makes no pretence to be learned.
umbrella. This word has come into English from the
Italian language. "Umbra" in Latin means "shade"
and Ombrella in Italian means "little shade."
extravagant. From the Latin root "vag," meaning to
wander. The word means "wandering outside" and
so "going beyond bounds." Compare vagrant, vagabond,
vague.
[Pg 47]
explanation. From the Latin "planus," meaning plain.
Compare explanatory, explain, plain, plane.
incantation. From the Latin "cantare," to chant, something
chanted over a person.
magician. From the Greek "magus," an astrologer.
Compare magic, the Magi, magical.
[Pg 48]
[Pg 49]
THE CHILD'S RETURN
[Pg 50]
[Pg 51]
IV
THE CHILD'S RETURN
I
Raicharan was twelve years old when he came as a
servant to his master's house. He belonged to the
same caste as his master and was given his master's
little son to nurse. As time went on the boy left
Raicharan's arms to go to school. From school he
went on to college, and after college he entered the
judicial service. Always, until he married, Raicharan
was his sole attendant.
But when a mistress came into the house, Raicharan
found two masters instead of one. All his
former influence passed to the new mistress. This
was compensated by a fresh arrival. Anukul had a
son born to him and Raicharan by his unsparing attentions
soon got a complete hold over the child.
He used to toss him up in his arms, call to him in
absurd baby language, put his face close to the baby's
and draw it away again with a laugh.
Presently the child was able to crawl and cross the
doorway. When Raicharan went to catch him, he
[Pg 52]
would scream with mischievous laughter and make
for safety. Raicharan was amazed at the profound
skill and exact judgment the baby showed when pursued.
He would say to his mistress with a look of
awe and mystery: "Your son will be a judge some
day."
New wonders came in their turn. When the baby
began to toddle, that was to Raicharan an epoch in
human history. When he called his father Ba-ba
and his mother Ma-ma and Raicharan Chan-na, then
Raicharan's ecstasy knew no bounds. He went out
to tell the news to all the world.
After a while Raicharan was asked to show his
ingenuity in other ways. He had, for instance, to
play the part of a horse, holding the reins between
his teeth and prancing with his feet. He had also
to wrestle with his little charge; and if he could not,
by a wrestler's trick, fall on his back defeated at the
end a great outcry was certain.
About this time Anukul was transferred to a district
on the banks of the Padma. On his way
through Calcutta he bought his son a little go-cart.
He bought him also a yellow satin waistcoat, a gold-laced
cap, and some gold bracelets and anklets.
Raicharan was wont to take these out and put them
on his little charge, with ceremonial pride, whenever
they went for a walk.
[Pg 53]
Then came the rainy season and day after day the
rain poured down in torrents. The hungry river,
like an enormous serpent, swallowed down terraces,
villages, cornfields, and covered with its flood the tall
grasses and wild casuarinas on the sandbanks.
From time to time there was a deep thud as the
river-banks crumbled. The unceasing roar of the
main current could be heard from far away.
Masses of foam, carried swiftly past, proved to the
eye the swiftness of the stream.
One afternoon the rain cleared. It was cloudy,
but cool and bright. Raicharan's little despot
did not want to stay in on such a fine afternoon.
His lordship climbed into the go-cart. Raicharan,
between the shafts, dragged him slowly along till
he reached the rice-fields on the banks of the river.
There was no one in the fields and no boat on the
stream. Across the water, on the farther side, the
clouds were rifted in the west. The silent ceremonial
of the setting sun was revealed in all its glowing
splendour. In the midst of that stillness the
child, all of a sudden, pointed with his finger in front
of him and cried: "Chan-na! Pitty fow."
Close by on a mud-flat stood a large Kadamba
tree in full flower. My lord, the baby, looked at it
with greedy eyes and Raicharan knew his meaning.
Only a short time before he had made, out of these
[Pg 54]
very flower balls, a small go-cart; and the child had
been so entirely happy dragging it about with a
string, that for the whole day Raicharan was not
asked to put on the reins at all. He was promoted
from a horse into a groom.
But Raicharan had no wish that evening to go
splashing knee-deep through the mud to reach the
flowers. So he quickly pointed his finger in the opposite
direction, calling out: "Look, baby, look!
Look at the bird." And with all sorts of curious
noises he pushed the go-cart rapidly away from the
tree.
But a child, destined to be a judge, cannot be put
off so easily. And besides, there was at the time
nothing to attract his eyes. And you cannot keep up
for ever the pretence of an imaginary bird.
The little Master's mind was made up, and Raicharan
was at his wits' end. "Very well, baby," he
said at last, "you sit still in the cart, and I'll go and
get you the pretty flower. Only mind you don't go
near the water."
As he said this, he made his legs bare to the knee,
and waded through the oozing mud towards the
tree.
The moment Raicharan had gone, his little Master's
thoughts went off at racing speed to the forbidden
water. The baby saw the river rushing by,
[Pg 55]
splashing and gurgling as it went. It seemed as
though the disobedient wavelets themselves were running
away from some greater Raicharan with the
laughter of a thousand children. At the sight of
their mischief, the heart of the human child grew
excited and restless. He got down stealthily from
the go-cart and toddled off towards the river. On
his way he picked up a small stick and leant over the
bank of the stream pretending to fish. The mischievous
fairies of the river with their mysterious
voices seemed inviting him into their play-house.
Raicharan had plucked a handful of flowers from
the tree and was carrying them back in the end of
his cloth, with his face wreathed in smiles. But when
he reached the go-cart there was no one there. He
looked on all sides and there was no one there. He
looked back at the cart and there was no one there.
In that first terrible moment his blood froze within
him. Before his eyes the whole universe swam
round like a dark mist. From the depth of his
broken heart he gave one piercing cry: "Master,
Master, little Master."
But no voice answered "Chan-na." No child
laughed mischievously back: no scream of baby delight
welcomed his return. Only the river ran on
with its splashing, gurgling noise as before,—as
though it knew nothing at all and had no time to attend
[Pg 56]
to such a tiny human event as the death of a
child.
As the evening passed by Raicharan's mistress became
very anxious. She sent men out on all sides
to search. They went with lanterns in their hands
and reached at last the banks of the Padma. There
they found Raicharan rushing up and down the fields,
like a stormy wind, shouting the cry of despair:
"Master, Master, little Master!"
When they got Raicharan home at last, he fell
prostrate at the feet of his mistress. They shook
him, and questioned him, and asked him repeatedly
where he had left the child; but all he could say was
that he knew nothing.
Though every one held the opinion that the Padma
had swallowed the child, there was a lurking doubt
left in the mind. For a band of gipsies had been
noticed outside the village that afternoon, and some
suspicion rested on them. The mother went so far
in her wild grief as to think it possible that Raicharan
himself had stolen the child. She called him
aside with piteous entreaty and said: "Raicharan,
give me back my baby. Give me back my child.
Take from me any money you ask, but give me back
my child!"
Raicharan only beat his forehead in reply. His
mistress ordered him out of the house.
[Pg 57]
Anukul tried to reason his wife out of this wholly
unjust suspicion: "Why on earth," he said,
"should he commit such a crime as that?"
The mother only replied: "The baby had gold
ornaments on his body. Who knows?"
It was impossible to reason with her after that.
II
Raicharan went back to his own village. Up to
this time he had had no son, and there was no hope
that any child would now be born to him. But it
came about before the end of a year that his wife
gave birth to a son and died.
An overwhelming resentment at first grew up in
Raicharan's heart at the sight of this new baby. At
the back of his mind was resentful suspicion that it
had come as a usurper in place of the little Master.
He also thought it would be a grave offence to be
happy with a son of his own after what had happened
to his master's little child. Indeed, if it had
not been for a widowed sister, who mothered the
new baby, it would not have lived long.
But a change gradually came over Raicharan's
mind. A wonderful thing happened. This new
baby in turn began to crawl about, and cross the
doorway with mischief in its face. It also showed
an amusing cleverness in making its escape to safety.
[Pg 58]
Its voice, its sounds of laughter and tears, its gestures,
were those of the little Master. On some
days, when Raicharan listened to its crying, his heart
suddenly began thumping wildly against his ribs, and
it seemed to him that his former little Master was
crying somewhere in the unknown land of death
because he had lost his Chan-na.
Phailna (for that was the name Raicharan's sister
gave to the new baby) soon began to talk. It learnt
to say Ba-ba and Ma-ma with a baby accent. When
Raicharan heard those familiar sounds the mystery
suddenly became clear. The little Master could not
cast off the spell of his Chan-na and therefore he had
been reborn in his own house.
The three arguments in favour of this were, to
Raicharan, altogether beyond dispute:
The new baby was born soon after his little master's
death.
His wife could never have accumulated such merit
as to give birth to a son in middle age.
The new baby walked with a toddle and called
out Ba-ba and Ma-ma.—There was no sign lacking
which marked out the future judge.
Then suddenly Raicharan remembered that terrible
accusation of the mother. "Ah," he said to
himself with amazement, "the mother's heart was
right. She knew I had stolen her child."
[Pg 59]
When once he had come to this conclusion, he
was filled with remorse for his past neglect. He now
gave himself over, body and soul, to the new baby
and became its devoted attendant. He began to
bring it up as if it were the son of a rich man. He
bought a go-cart, a yellow satin waistcoat, and a
gold-embroidered cap. He melted down the ornaments
of his dead wife and made gold bangles and
anklets. He refused to let the little child play with
any one of the neighbourhood and became himself
its sole companion day and night. As the baby
grew up to boyhood, he was so petted and spoilt and
clad in such finery that the village children would
call him "Your Lordship," and jeer at him; and
older people regarded Raicharan as unaccountably
crazy about the child.
At last the time came for the boy to go to school.
Raicharan sold his small piece of land and went to
Calcutta. There he got employment with great difficulty
as a servant and sent Phailna to school. He
spared no pains to give him the best education, the
best clothes, the best food. Meanwhile, he himself
lived on a mere handful of rice and would say in secret:
"Ah, my little Master, my dear little Master,
you loved me so much that you came back to my
house! You shall never suffer from any neglect of
mine."
[Pg 60]
Twelve years passed away in this manner. The
boy was able to read and write well. He was bright
and healthy and good-looking. He paid a great deal
of attention to his personal appearance and was
specially careful in parting his hair. He was inclined
to extravagance and finery and spent money
freely. He could never quite look on Raicharan as
a father, because, though fatherly in affection, he
had the manner of a servant. A further fault was
this, that Raicharan kept secret from every one that
he himself was the father of the child.
The students of the hostel, where Phailna was a
boarder, were greatly amused by Raicharan's country
manners, and I have to confess that behind his father's
back Phailna joined in their fun. But, in
the bottom of their hearts, all the students loved
the innocent and tender-hearted old man, and
Phailna was very fond of him also. But, as I have
said before, he loved him with a kind of condescension.
Raicharan grew older and older, and his employer
was continually finding fault with him for his incompetent
work. He had been starving himself for the
boy's sake, so he had grown physically weak and no
longer up to his daily task. He would forget things
and his mind became dull and stupid. But his employer
expected a full servant's work out of him and
[Pg 61]
would not brook excuses. The money that Raicharan
had brought with him from the sale of his land
was exhausted. The boy was continually grumbling
about his clothes and asking for more money.
III
Raicharan made up his mind. He gave up the situation
where he was working as a servant, and
left some money with Phailna and said: "I have
some business to do at home in my village, and shall
be back soon."
He went off at once to Baraset where Anukul was
magistrate. Anukul's wife was still broken down
with grief. She had had no other child.
One day Anukul was resting after a long and
weary day in court. His wife was buying, at an
exorbitant price, a herb from a mendicant quack,
which was said to ensure the birth of a child. A
voice of greeting was heard in the courtyard.
Anukul went out to see who was there. It was
Raicharan. Anukul's heart was softened when he
saw his old servant. He asked him many questions
and offered to take him back into service.