Stories of Bengalee Life/The Foundling/Chapter 4
IV
(A LETTER)
Village of Chandbari,
27th Sawan.
This representation is laid, with many respectful salutations, at the sacred lotus feet of the Excellent and Worshipful Father.
On the day following your departure for Calcutta, I arrived in the course of business at the village of Chandbari. I first paid my respects to your friend Babu Bhudharnath Chatterji. He is a very nice gentleman. He gave me the most cordial welcome, to the extent that I am staying as a guest in his house.
When my arrival was known, some gentlemen from the village came to see me, and one of them, an elderly person, took me aside and said, "Young gentleman, I hear that you are prepared to marry this Bhudhar Chatterji's daughter."
I replied politely that it was not I, but my honoured father who cherished that desire. At this the gentleman was taken aback. He evidently thought I was making fun of him. So I explained. Whereupon the gentleman said—"That would be ruin. You must not let your father do this. The caste of the girl is not known. She is a foundling. Thirteen or fourteen years ago when the great Varuni Festival was held at Triveni, there was an immense assemblage of people. Having gone there with his family to bathe in the Ganges, Chatterji picked up this little girl. She was then about two years old. Being himself childless, Chatterji brought up the girl as his daughter. Many times arrangements were made to marry her; but lest some good Kulin should incur loss of caste by taking her to wife, we have each time warned the party of the intending groom. I now warn you."
On hearing that the child had been picked up at the great Varuni Festival at Triveni, a suspicion arose in my mind and I resolved to see the girl. I said to Chatterji Mahashoi that as my father was about to marry his daughter, it was fit and proper that I should see her first. Chatterji had the girl suitably dressed and brought to me for my inspection. At first sight of her I was amazed to find that she was the exact image of my lost wife. I then said to Chatterji Mahashoi—"This girl is not your daughter. I know all about it." The truth of this Chatterji was constrained to admit. What I then wormed out of him through much cross questioning, confirmed my suspicions—the girl is my sister-in-law. Reckoning up the time, I found it is just thirteen years ago that my mother-in-law returned from Triveni having lost her child, then only two years old. During a whole week the parents vainly made searches for her in all directions. As the child was adorned with many golden ornaments, it was believed that she had been murdered by some one for the jewels. All this history is certainly known to you. To arrive at certainty in the matter, I telegraphed to my father-in-law. This morning he arrived here with my mother-in-law. When they examined the girl they found a birth-mark on the left upper arm which convinced the mother that the girl was her daughter.
For you to marry her, under these circumstances, would confuse relationship. On this account and also as I feel it my duty to save you from this alliance so embarrassing to yourself at your age, I finally consented to marry the girl myself. Therefore please to come quickly with all the needful things. I have sent written invitations to my brothers at home.
P.S. If you have time before coming away, will you kindly go to Gurudas Chatterjee, book-seller, and bring away with you all unsold copies of my book "Sorrowful Tears of a Broken Heart"? I enclose a note addressed to the book-seller that he may know you have my warrant. Enquire of him please whether, if I write my autobiography, he is prepared to publish it at his own cost. This unwritten work is sure to be very humorous and entertaining.
P.P.S. Bhudhar Chatterji now states that what he said to you about my first wife's ornaments was all false. When Chatterji Mahashoi found me willing to marry the girl for her own sake, he revealed the truth. I questioned him as to why he had deceived you in this way. He said—"When Mukerii Mahashoi became conscious and asked for his box, I was astonished and said truly that I had found no box. Then the doctor came and advised me not to say so as it might aggravate his illness. So I pretended that the box was safe and gave him a chance to recover. It then struck me that it would be a good stroke of business to make a further use of the pretence and getting the girl married. I would have revealed the truth to your father when the nuptial rites were over."—Chatterji Mahashoi though affable and hospitable seems to be a man of very loose moral principles. I congratulate myself that I have escaped becoming his son-in-law.