CHAPTER XXV.
Matilall in Jessore.
The taluk that belonged to Baburam Babu in Jessore had been more profitable to him than all his other estates. At the time of the Permanent Settlement the land on that portion of the property had been mostly uncultivated, and the rent of it had been fixed at one rate; but once under tillage, it became very productive and was let out in fields: in fact it proved so fertile that hardly any portion of it remained common land or waste.
At one period the ryots, after cultivating it for some time, used to make large profits by a succession of crops of different sorts, but they were now in a very bad way, owing to oppression on the part of the proprietor of the estate, acting entirely on Thakchacha's advice. Many of the lakherajdars, finding that their lands had been included in the estates of the zemindar, and not having any proofs of possession, came now and again to give their customary offerings to the zemindar, and then gradually left the estate altogether. Many of the headmen of the different villages, too, finding themselves disturbed in their possession by forgeries and oppression, abandoned their rights to their own lands, without getting any compensation, and fled to other estates. So it came about that for a space of two or three years the income of the taluk had considerably increased, and Thakchacha would remark to Baburam in a swaggering tone: "See how great my power is!" But, says the old Sanscrit proverb;-- "The course of virtue is a very delicate thing." Within a very short time, many of the ryots, alarmed at the state of affairs, left the estates, taking with them their draught cattle and their seed-grain, and it became very difficult to let their land: they were all afraid that the proprietor would, either by force or by craft, seize upon the little profits they might make, and that the toil and labour of cultivation would be carried on at the risk of their lives: what was the use then, they argued, of remaining any longer on the estate? The naib of the estate, for all his soft language and insinuating address, could not succeed in calming them down. So it was that a good deal of land remained unlet, and nobody could be found willing to take it even at a low rent: much less would anyone take it at a fixed permanent rent. The proprietor had now some difficulty in raising the revenue from it when he took it into his own hands, and paid labourers to cultivate it. The naib kept the proprietor constantly informed of the state of affairs, and he would write back the customary reply;-- "If the revenue is not collected, as it always has been hitherto, you will have to starve, and no excuse will be attended to." Now there are times when severity, under special circumstances, may be of avail; but what can it profit when misfortunes have occurred entirely beyond its reach? In this dilemma, the naib went about his duties, anxious and perplexed. Meanwhile, as the revenue had fallen into arrears for some two or three years past, an order was issued for a sale of the property; in order to save his property, Baburam Babu had paid the Government revenue, borrowing money by a mortgage upon the land.
Matilall now came and took up his abode on this estate, accompanied by his band of boon companions. His intention had been to get all the money he could out of the taluk to pay off his debts with, and so keep up his state and dignity. The Babu had never seen a paper connected with estate management, and was entirely ignorant of the ordinary terms used in keeping estate accounts. When the naib said to him one day: "Just look, sir, for a moment at these different heads of the records;" he would not even glance at the papers, but gazed vacantly in the direction of a tree near the office. On another occasion, the naib said to him: "Sir, there are so many Khodkast and so many Paikast tenants." "Don't talk to me," said the Babu, "of Khodkast and Paikast, I will make them all Ek-kast[56]." When the tenants heard of the arrival of the proprietor of the estate at his head-quarters, they were delighted, and said to each other: "Ah, now that that old wretch of a Mussulman has gone, our destiny after all these days has changed its course!" And so these poor empty-handed, empty-stomached and poverty-stricken tenants came with joyous and confident faces, to offer him the customary gifts, making profound obeisance the while. Matilall, enraptured by the jingling sound of the silver, smiled softly to himself. Then the ryots, seeing the Babu so happy and cheerful, began to shout out their various grievances. "Somebody has removed my boundary mark, and ploughed up my land," said one. "Somebody has put his own pots on my date palm, and stolen all my toddy," said another. "Somebody has loosed his cattle into my garden," exclaimed another, "and they have done a lot of damage in it." "My grain has all been eaten up by somebody or other's ducks," cried another. Another said, "I have brought back the money I borrowed upon a promissory note; please give me my bond back." "I have cut down and sold some babul trees" said another, "and as I wish to repair my house, please pass an order to have the fourth part of the price remitted to me." Another said, "My land has not been properly made over to me yet: the old tenant's name has not been cut out of the deed: I shall be unable to give the customary offering till this is done." And another cried out, "The present measurement of the land in my occupation is short: allow me to pay rent in proportion, or else let another measurement be made." Such were some of the grievances the ryots gave vent to, but Matilall, not understanding in the least their purport, remained sitting like a painted doll. The young Babus, his companions, made fan of the strange sounds, which they had never heard the like of before, and made the office ring with their laughter, striking up a song the refrain of which ran:--
"A bird is soaring in the air:
"Oh, let me count its feathers rare!"
The naib was like a log, and the ryots sat round in utter dejection, resting their heads on their hands. Where the master is a competent man, there is not much chance of the servant carrying on his tricks. The naib, seeing how utterly dense Matilall was, soon began to show himself in his true colours. The proprietor being altogether incompetent to enter into the numerous cases that had come before him, his agent threw dust in his eyes, to effect his own ends; and the ryots soon got to know that to have an interview with the Babu was a mere waste of breath. The naib was wholly master.
The high-handedness of the indigo planters of Jessore had greatly increased at this time. The ryots had no mind to sow indigo, as more profit was to be got out of rice and other crops, and besides, any of them who chanced to go to an indigo factory to get an advance, was ruined once for all. True, the ryots cultivating indigo at their own risk might clear off the advances made to them, but their accounts would go hanging on and increase, yearly and the maw of the planter's gomashtha, and the other people about the factory, was never satisfied with a little. Any ryot therefore who had once drank of the sweet waters of an advance from the factory, never, to the end of his life, got out of its power. But it would be a heavy calamity to the planter if his indigo were not ready: the working expenses of the factory were annually advanced by one or other of the merchant firms in Calcutta, and if his wares were not forthcoming, his expenses would be very largely increased: the factory might even have to be closed, and the planter be compelled to retire from the concern. These English managers might be very ordinary sort of people in their own country, but at their factories they lorded it like kings. Their great fear was lest obstacles should be put in the way of the working of their concerns, and they, in consequence, should become as mean as mice[58] again: naturally, therefore, they exerted themselves to the utmost, by all the means in their power and at all seasons, to have their indigo ready in time.
One day, Matilall was amusing himself with his companions. The naib, with spectacles on his nose, had just opened his office, and was busily engaged in writing, drying the ink on his papers with lime, when suddenly some ryots came running up, shouting: "Sir! those brutes from the factory have ruined us entirely! the manager has come on our land in person, and is now ploughing over some of our sown lands, and he has taken off our draught cattle. Oh sir! the brute is not content with destroying all our seed, he must needs too have his barrows drawn over our ripe paddy." The naib at once assembled about a hundred paiks, and, hurrying off to the scene, saw the planter, with his sun-helmet on his head, a cheroot in his mouth, and a gun in his hand, standing there, and, urging on his men. Upon the naib approaching him, and gently remonstrating, the planter only called out to his men: "Drive them all off, and beat them well." The men on both sides thereupon wielded their clubs, and the planter himself hurried forward, quite prepared to fire. The naib slipped off, and concealed himself in a hedge of wild cotton.
After the fight had lasted a considerable time, the zemindars' people fled, some of them badly wounded. The planter, after this exhibition of his might went off to his factory in great glee, while the ryots returned to their homes, crying out for justice, and exclaiming, amid their tears: "We are ruined: we are utterly undone." The indigo planter proceeded home to his factory after the row, his dog running before him and playing, poured himself out some brandy and soda, and drank it, whistling the while, and singing -- "Taza ba Taza". He knew that it was hard to control him; the magistrate and the judge constantly dined at his house, and the police and the people about the courts held him in great awe because of his associating so much with them! Besides even if there was any investigation made, in a case of homicide, his trial could not take place in the Mofussil courts. Any black people accused of homicide or any other great offence, would always be tried and sentenced in the local courts; whereas any white man accused of such offences would be sent up to the Supreme Court; in which case the witnesses or complainants in the case being quite helpless owing to the expense, trouble, and loss their business that would be entailed, would fail to put to in an appearance; and naturally, when the cases against such persons came on for trial at the High Court, they would be dismissed.
It happened just as the indigo planter had anticipated. Early next morning the police inspector came and surrounded the zemindar's offices. Weakness is a great calamity: in the presence of a man of might, the poor man is powerless. When Matilall saw the state of affairs, he withdrew inside his house, and secured the doors. The naib then approached the inspector, and having arranged matters by a heavy bribe, got most of the prisoners set free. The inspector had been blustering loudly, but as soon as he received the money, it was as though water had fallen on fire: having completed his investigation, he made a report to the magistrate, exonerating both parties -- actuated on the one hand by avarice, on the other by fear. The planter was at the same time busily engaged in arranging the affair, and the magistrate for his part was firmly convinced that the indigo planter, being an Englishman, and a Christian to boot, would never do what was wrong; it was only the black folk who did all the mischief. This was an opportunity the sheristadar and the peshkar did not neglect: they took a heavy bribe from the indigo planter, and suppressing the depositions of the opposite party, read only the depositions of the party they favoured themselves: thus by very delicate and skilful manoeuvring, they succeeded in their object. The indigo planter seized the opportunity to address the court:-- "Ever since I came to this place, I have been conferring endless benefits on the Bengalis: I have spent a great deal upon their education and upon medical treatment for them; how can such an accusation be brought against me? The Bengalis are very ungrateful, and very troublesome." The magistrate, having heard everything, proceeded to tiffin: he drank a good deal of wine after tiffin, and came into court again, smoking a cheroot. When the case came on again, the magistrate looked at the papers before him as if they had been so many tigers, evidently wishing to have nothing more to do with, them, and said all at once to the sheristadar: "Dismiss this case." The planter's face beamed again with delight, and he glared at the naib, who went slowly away, his head bent low, and his whole frame trembling, exclaiming as he went: "Ah, it has become very difficult for Bengalis to retain their zemindaries! the country has been ruined by the violence of the brutal planter: the ryots are all calling out in fear for protection: the magistrates are entirely under the influence of their own countrymen, and the laws are so administered as to provide the indigo planter with many paths of escape. People say that it is the oppression of the zemindars that has ruined the ryot: that is a very great error. The zemindars may oppress the ryot, but they do keep him alive after their fashion: his ryots are to the zemindar his field of beguns. Very different is the action of the indigo planter; it does not much matter to him whether the ryots live or die: all he cares about is to extend the cultivation of indigo: to him the ryots are but a common field of roots."