Tales of Bengal | Page 7

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 Káli. 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 Párá (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 Maháls (wings)--the first inhabited
by men-folk; the second sacred to the ladies and their attendants.
Behind it stood the kitchen; and the Pujardálán (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 Shámsundar
Ghosh, and known to hosts of friends as "Shám Babu". He was head
clerk in a Calcutta merchant's office, drawing Rs. 60 a month (£48 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