Tales of Bengal | Page 8

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 Shám 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 begár (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 Kamárbári (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 Karmárbári remained unoccupied; his Hát-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. Shám 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."
Shám 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