The Modern Review/Volume 10/Number 5/The Innocent Injured
THE INNOCENT INJURED
A short story.
(Translated from the Bengali of Srijut Rabindra Nath Tagore).
A maid-servant, named Pyari, had been newly appointed in the house of Girish Basu, the Naib of the Zamindars. She was yet in her teens, and of good morals. Ere she had been long in the house, she approached the mistress one day and besought her with tears to be saved from the insidious addresses of the master. The mistress said, "Go hence, dear one, thrive by other means; you come of good parents, it won't suit you to stay here any longer." With this she gave her some money in secret and let her go.
But it was not very easy to get away. She ran short of pocket and had not money enough to travel far. So Pyari found shelter with Harihar Bhattacharyya of the same village. The more considerate among the youngsters of the house said, "Father, why wilfully provoke dangers?" "When misfortune itself craves shelter, it can not be shaken off," rejoined Harihar.
Girish Basu came, prostrated himself before the Bhattacharyya in utter humility, and said, "Sir, why have you taken over my maid-servant? I am in a fix without her." In reply Harihar spoke a few sharp and unpleasant truths. He was an honourable man, frank and outspoken. It was quite foreign to him to speak circuitously for fear or favour. The Naib mentally likened him to a new-fledged ant, and taking the dust of his feet in a solemn, reverential manner, wended his way. Erelong there was a sudden influx of the police in the Bhattacharyya's house. A pair of ear-rings belonging to the Naib's consort was discovered lying beneath the pillow of the Brahmin's wife. The servant-maid Pyari was hauled up as the thief and sent to jail. Bhattacharyya Mahashay, by virtue of his reputation, got off scot-free from the charge of receiving stolen property. The Naib came again, took the dust of the Brahmin's feet, and departed. The Brahmin regretfully thought that it was he who had brought peril on the poor servant-girl by giving shelter to her. A great anguish, like a sharp javelin, stuck to his mind. The young folks of the house counselled their old father again that they should rather sell off all their lands and migrate to Calcutta, for there might be more dangers in store for them. Harihar said, "Whatever betide, I will in no wise quit my ancestral homestead; misfortunes may come anywhere if ordained by Fate."
Meanwhile, the Naib's constant efforts to highly enhance the rent made the tenants refractory. Harihar had nothing to do with the landlord as all his lands were Brahmottar (freehold tenures). The Naib apprised the Zamindar that it was Harihar who had stirred up the tenants by his artful machinations. The Zamindar ordered that the offender should be brought to book by all means. The Naib came again, bowed to the Bhattacharyya, and said, pointing to a plot of land lying not far off, that it fell within the boundary-limits of the Zamindar's Pargannah, and that he must relinquish it. "How is that?" exclaimed Harihar all amazed, "it has been a rent-free holding in my family from time immemorial!" However, a suit was instituted that the land next to the court-yard of Harihar's house fell within the ancestral Zamindari of the Babus. Harihar said, "This plot of land I must give up, I can't appear in Court to give evidence in this decrepit old age." The youthful inmates told him, "How shall we stay in the house if we are to abandon the land just contiguous to it?"
Out of deep attachment for the ancestral heritage, which he valued more than life itself, the old man stood in the court-dock with trembling knees. The Munsiff, Navagopal Babu, dismissed the suit on the basis of his evidence alone. The Khas tenants of the Bhattacharyyas made a great rejoicing over the matter. Harihar stopped "the jocund din" in no time. The Naib came to the Bhattacharyya, took the dust of his feet with great ceremony, smeared it all over the body, and filed an appeal against the decree of the Munsiff. The lawyers took nothing from Harihar, did service for him gratis. They gave great hopes to the poor Brahmin that there was no chance of his losing the case. They said "Can day ever become night? Can truth be ever falsified?" These hopeful words allayed Harihar's anxieties and inspired great hopes in him.
Time rolled on. Once suddenly the village rang with an outburst of the music of drums tabors and cymbals; in the Zamindar's Cutchery, the Goddess Kali was to be worshipped with the sacrifice of goats, with great pomp and circumstance. What was the matter? The Bhattacharyya heard that the appeal had been decreed against him. He beat his forehead in great anguish and said to the pleader confoundedly,—"Just see what you have done, Basanta Babu! What would now become of me?"
Basanta Babu took upon himself to explain how mysteriously the day had become night, the improbable probable:—he who had recently come as the Additional Judge, was at loggerheads with the Munsiff Nabagopal Babu when he was himself yet a Munsiff. He could not do anything then against Nabagopal Babu. But now sitting on the Judge's Bench, he, invariably and, as it were, in retaliation, decreed all appeals against Nabagopal Babu's judgments. That is why the poor Brahmin had lost the case. Harihar interrogated impatiently and eagerly, "Does no appeal lie to the High Court?" Basanta Babu said, "The Judge has left you no chance of success in the High Court too. He has discredited the evidence of your witness and put faith in that of the appellants. There will be no examination of witnesses before the High Court."
With tearful eyes the old man broke out,
"Oh what will become of me? I am undone!"
The Vakil rejoined:—"No help."
Next day Girish Babu came with a large retinue of underlings, solemnly took the dust of the Brahmin's feet, and, as he left, fetched a deep sigh, and said,—"Good Lord, thy will be done!"