Krishna Kanta's Will (Chatterjee, Knight)/Part 2/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III.
At sight of his daughter's sad condition Mâdhabi Nâth had firmly resolved to avenge it. Gobind Lâl and Rohini were at the root of it. Therefore the first thing was to find these people, otherwise their sin could not be punished. Bhramar also would die.
They had completely hidden themselves; every thread by which they could be traced had been cut, the traces of their footsteps effaced. But Mâdhabi Nâth said "If I fail to find them, then no longer need I boast of my manhood."
With this firmly fixed design Mâdhabi Nâth set out alone from the Râi's mansion. There was a post office at Haridrâ. Mâdhabi Nâth, stick in hand, with a slightly swinging gait, chewing spices, walked leisurely into the post-office with the air of a pleasant gentleman of peaceful disposition.
The Deputy Postmaster, a gentleman receiving a salary of fifteen rupees a month, ruled over this post-office, a dark, thatched house. On a dilapidated mango-wood table lay letters, a letter-file, some sealing wax, a potful of gum, a pair of scales, the post-office seal, et cetera. Amid all these things the postmaster, or post bâbu, was gravely displaying his importance to the peon. The Deputy Postmaster received Rs. 15 a month, the peon only Rs. 7. So the peon considered that there was not more difference between himself and the bâbu than there is between seven annas and fifteen annas. But the bâbu thought, "I am Deputy Postmaster; he is a mere piyâda. I am his lord and master, between him and me there is the distance of the sky from the earth. To display this difference the postmaster constantly scolded the poor man, to which the piyâda also gave seven annas' worth of sauce in reply. The bâbu was just now weighing the letters and bestowing on the peon eighty annas' worth of abuse, when the peaceful, smiling face of Mâdhabi Nâth Bâbu appeared before them. At sight of a gentleman the postmaster ceased awhile his squabbling with the piyâda, and gazed at him with some degree of curiosity. He had some impression that he ought to be civil to a gentleman (he was sitting at this time), but in what way to show this civility he had never been taught, consequently he failed to show any. Mâdhabi Nâth saw he had to do with a boor. Smiling, he said, "Are you a Brahman?"
The postmaster said "Yes, and thou?—you, what are you, sir?"
Repressing a smile, Mâdhabi Nâth bent his head, touching his brow with clasped hands, said, "A morning salutation."
The postmaster said, "Be pleased to sit."
This threw Mâdhabi Nâth into a difficulty. He was bid to sit, but where was he to sit? The bâbu himself occupied an old three-legged chair, and other seat there was none. Then the postmaster's seven-anna Hari Dâs peon took a heap of torn books from a broken stool and offered it to the strange gentleman for a seat. Seating himself, Mâdhabi Nâth glanced at the peon. "Oh, how are you?" he inquired. "Have I not seen you somewhere?"
Peon. "Yes, sir, I deliver the letters."
Mâdhabi. "Ah! it was thus I came to know you. If you would be so good as to prepare a hukâ for me."
Mâdhabi Nâth was from another village and had never seen Hari Dâs Boiragi piyâda, and Boirâgi Bâbâji had never seen him. Bâbâji thought, "He looks the sort of gentleman who would give me a small present if I asked him." And with this idea Hari Dâs ran off joyfully to get a hukâ. Mâdhabi Nâth was not a smoker at all, and it was only to get rid of Hari Dâs that he ordered the tobacco.
As soon as the piyâda had gone, Mâdhabi Nâth said to the postmaster bâbu, "I am come to make some inquiries from you, sir."
The postmaster smiled inwardly. He was of Bengal. If he was stupid in other matters, he at least was as sharp as a needle at understanding his own interests. He said, "What would you know, sir?"
"Are you acquainted with Brahmânanda?"
"A little, not well."
Mâdhabi Nâth perceived that the Avatâr was inclined to maintain his dignity, so he said, "Do any letters come to your office addressed to Brahmânanda Ghosh?"
Postmaster. "Have you no acquaintance with Brahmânanda Ghosh?"
Mâdhabi. "Never mind whether I have or not. I came to ask from you some information about him."
Then the postmaster, remembering his high office and his designation as deputy, became extremely grave and said somewhat roughly, "We are forbidden to give information at the post-office," and proceeded silently with the weighing of the letters.
Mâdhabi Nâth smiled inwardly, but aloud he said, "I know well you never do give it, so I came provided. I shall give you something before I go. Now give me correct answers to the questions I am going to put to you."
The postmaster, with a cheerful face, repeated his former question, "What would you know?"
"This whether letters to the address of Brahmânanda Ghosh do not come here?"
"They do come."
"At what intervals?"
"I have not yet been paid for my first answer. Pay for that first, then ask a fresh question."
Mâdhabi Nâth's intention had been to give the postmaster something before he left. But the bâbu's manner put his back up; he said: "My good sir, I see you are not of this part of the country. Do you know who I am?"
Shaking his head, the postmaster replied, "No, but what does it signify who you are? Do you think we give post-office information to any sort of person? Who are you at all?"
"I am named Mâdhabi Nâth Sarkar. I dwell at Râjgrâm. Do you happen to remember how many lâthiyâls I employ?"
The post bâbu was frightened. He had heard of Mâdhabi Bâbu's name, and of how he lorded it over all with a strong hand. The post bâbu remained silent.
Mâdhabi Nâth resumed: "Mind you give me truthful answers to whatever I ask you. Don't try to deceive me, for if you do, I will give you nothing, not a copper. But if you either refuse to speak, or speak falsely, I will burn your house and plunder the post-office, and I will produce evidence in the Courts to prove that you did it yourself to get hold of the Government money. Now will you speak?"
Shaking and trembling, the post bâbu said, "Why does your honour get angry? I did not know who you were. Thinking it was some common person, I spoke in that manner. As your honour has been pleased to come here, I shall tell you whatever you may ask of me."
"At what intervals do letters come for Brahmânanda?"
"About every month. There is no certainty about it."
"Are the letters registered?"
"Yes, most of them are."
"In what post-office are they registered?"
"I don't remember."
"Don't you keep a receipt book for registered letters coming to your office?"
The postmaster hunted about and produced a receipt. He read it and said "Prasâdpur."
"In what district is Prasâdpur? Look at your list."
Still trembling, the postmaster examined the printed list and answered "Jessore."
"Look and see from what other places registered letters have come to his address. Examine all the receipts."
The post bâbu found that all the letters lately received had come from Prasâdpur. Mâdhabi Nâth placed a ten-rupee note in the postmaster's trembling hand and took leave of him. Hari Dâs had not yet arrived with the hukâ. Mâdhabi Nâth left a rupee for Hari Dâs with the bâbu. It is needless to say that the post bâbu kept it for himself.