Tales of Bengal | Page 8

an
hour's run of the Metropolis. Shám 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 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