One chilly morning in February a Mohammadan neighbour of Nalini’s named Sadhu Sheikh burst into his parlour crying, “Chota Babu, Chota Babu (lit. ‘little babu,’ used for younger brother, to distinguish him from the elder, styled ‘bara babu’), SirÁji is dying!”

“Who is she?” asked Nalini looking up from a law book which he was studying.

“Surely you know my sister, Chota Babu?”

“Yes, of course, what’s the matter with her?”

“She has been ill for three days, with excruciating internal pains; what am I to do, BÁbuji?”

“Who is treating her?” asked Nalini.

“Abdullah has been giving her the usual remedies.”

“Why, he is a peasant and knows nothing of medicine. You should not have called him in.”

“Sir, we are poor folk. Abdullah is very clever and his fee is a mere trifle.”

“What drugs has he been administering?”

“Homopotik (homoeopathic), they are called.”

“Now you had better return home at once to find out how she is progressing. Let me know if she grows worse and I will send Hriday Doctor. Don’t trouble about his fees; I will pay them myself. Why did you not come to me earlier?”

Sadhu muttered some words, which Nalini could not distinguish, and left the room hurriedly. After waiting for an hour for news, Nalini threw a wrapper over his shoulders and went to SirÁji’s cottage. On nearing it he learnt from Sadhu’s loud lamentations that she was beyond the reach of medicine; so, after a few words of sympathy, he went home.

Presently Sadhu sallied forth to ask the neighbours’ help in carrying the dead body to burial. One and all refused to lay a hand on it because, they said, she had lived with an unbeliever. In dire distress Sadhu again appealed to Nalini, who summoned the chief inhabitants of the MusalmÁnpÁra (Mohammadan quarter) to his house and ordered them to take Siraji’s body to the burial ground. They reluctantly agreed to do so, and assembled at Sadhu’s cottage; but at the last moment all of them refused to touch the corpse. Nalini was puzzled by their behaviour. He asked for an explanation, whereon the Mohammadans whispered together and nudged a grey-beard, who became their spokesman.

“MahÁsay,” he said, “the fact is SirÁji lived with Debendra Babu and was actually made enceinte by him. In order to save himself from exposure and shame, Debendra Babu got Abdullah to administer powerful drugs to the woman. After taking these she was attacked by violent pains in the abdomen and vomiting, which ended in her death. The Chaukidar (village watchman) knows all the facts, and he is sure to give information to the police. You know, sir, that no one would dare to touch a corpse without their permission, if there is any suspicion of foul play.”

Nalini was greatly surprised; he asked SÁdhu whether the old man’s words were true and, getting no reply except a significant silence, said: “You may now go about your business, but mind I shall expect you all to assemble here and carry SirÁji to the burial ground as soon as the police give you leave to do so”.

There was a chorus of assent, and the crowd dispersed. Nalini was about to return home too, when the Chaukidar came in and told him that he had reported SirÁji’s death to the Sub-Inspector of police, who had ordered him not to permit the corpse to be touched by any one until his arrival.

About three o’clock on the same day Nalini heard that the police had come to investigate the cause of SirÁji’s death. He went at once to SÁdhu’s house, where the Sub-Inspector was recording the statements of eye-witnesses. When Abdullah’s turn came, the police officer surveyed him from head to foot, saying:—

“I have heard of you before; what is your occupation?”

“Sir, I am a Hakim (doctor).”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, sir, I have a little cultivation and sometimes lend money.”

“Did you attend the deceased woman?”

“Yes, I was called in by SÁdhu a week ago, and treated her for fever.”

“A nice mess you have made of the case too! Swear on the Quran that you gave her no poison or drug!”

“Sir, I am ready to declare in the name of God and His Prophet that I gave her nothing but homopotik, only nuxo bomicka (nux vomica) in doses which would not have harmed a baby.”

“Now, remember you are on your oath. Did you administer anything else?”

Abdullah’s shaking limbs proved that he was terribly apprehensive of evil consequences to himself. He muttered, “I gave her a little patal-juice too.”

“So I thought,” said the Sub-Inspector. “Now all present will follow me.” With the assistance of his constable and chaukidars, he led them to Debendra Babu’s house. The latter received them in his parlour. He affected to be surprised and shocked by the news of SirÁji’s death.

“That is strange,” retorted the Sub-Inspector. “Abdullah here has sworn that he poisoned her at your request.”

Debendra Babu became ashen pale, but he soon regained self-possession. Turning on Abdullah he shouted:—“How dare you say that I gave you any such orders?”

“Babu,” whined Abdullah, “I never said so. The Darogaji is mistaken.”

The Sub-Inspector perceived that, all the witnesses being tenants of Debendra Babu, there was no hope of getting them to stick to any statement inculpating him. He sulkily told the Mohammadans present that they might bury SirÁji’s corpse, and accompanied Debendra Babu to his house, where he was royally entertained till next morning. However, on taking leave, he hinted that enough evidence had been secured to warrant his reporting the case as one of causing abortion by means of drugs, and that the Pulis Saheb (District Superintendent) would probably order further investigation. Debendra Babu was seriously alarmed by the implied threat. Visions of jail—perchance transportation across the dark ocean—floated in his sensorium. He resolved to submit the case to an astrologer.

Gobardhan Chakravarti was an old Brahman neighbour who lived by casting nativities, giving weather and crop forecasts, and prophesying good or evil things in proportion to the fee he received. Debendra Babu paid him a visit next morning and was received with the servile courtesy due to a wealthy client. After beating about the bush for a while he said: “My fate just now seems very unpropitious; when may I expect better times?”

Gobardhan covered a slate with mysterious calculations and, after poring over them for ten or fifteen minutes, he looked up with the remark:—“Your luck is really atrocious and has been so for more than three months.”

“Quite true, but what I want to know is—how long is this going to last?”

“I am afraid that you may expect one misfortune after another; I can’t quite see the end of your evil destiny.”

“Goodness gracious! what shall I do? Are there no means of conjuring it away?”

“Certainly, the ShÁstras prescribe certain Grahasanti (propitiation of planets) processes, which will enable you to counteract the influence of malign stars.”

The cunning bait was swallowed by Debendra Babu, who asked: “How much would these ceremonies cost?”

After thinking out the maximum amount he could decently demand, the astrologer said: “About one hundred rupees.”

“Oh, that’s far too much,” was the reply. “Do you want to ruin me? Can’t you do it for less?”

“Not a pice less. I could perform a jog (sacrifice) for as little as ten rupees; but such maimed rites are quite contrary to the ShÁstras.”

“Will you guarantee definite results for Rs. 100?” asked Debendra Babu anxiously.

“I promise nothing; if you have faith in my ceremonies, you must pay me my own price; if not—I leave you to Fate.”

“I have implicit faith in you,” groaned Debendra Babu, who was now terribly alarmed, “and will pay you Rs. 100 to-morrow, but please don’t delay; the matter is very pressing.”

Gobardhan agreed to the proposal; but seeing that his client was loth to go and evidently had something on his mind, he remarked:—

“When a wise man consults a physician, he always discloses his symptoms. You must be quite frank and tell me how your affairs have been progressing lately, in order that I may address my incantations to the proper quarter. Be sure that I will divulge nothing.”

Thus encouraged Debendra Babu revealed his relations with SirÁji, confessed that he had bribed Abdullah to administer a powerful drug to her, and expatiated on the very awkward predicament in which her sudden death had placed him.

Gobardhan listened with breathless attention and then remarked: “You have acted rightly in telling me the whole truth. I will perform a homa (burnt sacrifice) and verily believe that it will have the desired effect. Let me have Rs. 200 and I will set about it at once.”

Debendra Babu groaned inwardly at the thought of so heavy an expenditure; but after all, the prospect of escaping deadly peril was well worth Rs. 200. So he returned home and thence despatched the amount in currency notes to Gobardhan.

The astrologer spent about Rs. 5 on ghi (clarified butter), rice, and plantains for his homa sacrifice, and completed it in three days. Then he called on the police Sub-Inspector, who received him cordially. After the usual compliments had been, exchanged, Grobardhan asked how his host was faring.

“Things are not going well with me,” was the reply. “Most of the people in those parts are miserably poor; and what I can extract from the well-to-do hardly suffices for my horse-keep. ThÁkurji (a term used in addressing Brahmans), I want you to examine my palm and say when good times are coming for me.”

After poring over the proffered hand for fully a minute, muttering and shaking his head the while, Gobardhan said: “I am delighted to tell you that your good star is in the ascendant. Very soon you will make something handsome.”

“I wish I could think so!” observed the policeman, “but it is impossible. I have only one likely case on my file, and prospects are not brilliant even in that quarter.”

Then, in answer to leading questions from Gobardhan, he told the story of SirÁji’s death—adding that he had decided to send Debendra Babu and Abdullah up for trial, but doubted whether he could adduce sufficient evidence to convict them of murder or anything like it.

Gobardhan asked: “Now, why should you lose such a splendid opportunity of making money?” and seeing the policeman’s eyes twinkle, he went on, “Oh, you need not appear in this transaction yourself. I will do the needful. Tell me frankly—how much money would satisfy you?”

“I could not run the risk of reporting the case as false for less than Rs. 100.”

“That is too much,” was the wily astrologer’s reply. “Mention a reasonable sum, and I will see what can be done.”

“Well, I will take Rs. 75, and not a pice less; and understand, if the money is not paid before this evening, I will send Debendra Babu up for trial.”

“Very good; I will call on him at once and frighten him into paying up; but I must have something for myself.”

“Certainly, if you can get Rs. 75 from the defendant you may keep Rs. 15 as commission.”

Gobardhan returned home, took the required amount from the Rs. 200 paid him by Debendra Babu, and handed it privately to the Sub-Inspector, who swore by all the gods that he would take no further steps against the inculpated men.

Knowing well that the policeman would keep faith with a Brahman, Gobardhan went straight to Debendra Babu with the glad news that the homa sacrifice had been completely successful, and not a hair of his head would be injured. Debendra felt as though a mountain was lifted from his heart; he stooped to wipe the dust from Gobardhan’s feet.

On learning a few days later that the case had been reported to headquarters as false, he was firmly convinced that Gobardhan’s magical rites had saved him from ruin, and presented him with a bonus of Rs. 50. Nalini Babu was not long in ascertaining how the land lay. He was exasperated by the sordid wrong-doing which reached his ears and resolved to report it to the District Magistrate. But in the end he kept silent, because Sadhu came to him with tearful eyes, saying that he had already suffered deep humiliation; and if old scandals were raked up, the community would certainly excommunicate him.