Babu Chandra Mohan Bai, or Chandra Babu, as he was usually called, was a rich banker with many obsequious customers. He was a short choleric man, very fond of his hookah, without which he was rarely seen in public. He had no family, except a wife who served him uncomplainingly, and never received a letter or was known to write one except in the course of business. His birthplace, nay his caste, were mysteries. But wealth conceals every defect, and no one troubled to inquire into Chandra Babu’s antecedents. This much was known—that he had come to Kadampur fifteen years before my tale opens with a brass drinking-pot and blanket, and obtained a humbly-paid office as a clerk under a local Zemindar. In this capacity he made such good use of the means it offered of extorting money that he was able to set up as a moneylender at Simulgachi, close to Kadampur. When people learnt that a new Shylock was at their service, they flocked to him in times of stress. His usual rate of interest being only 5 per cent, per mensem, he cut into the business of other moneylenders, and in four or five years had no serious competitor within a radius of four miles from Kadampur itself. Once master of the situation he drew in his horns, lending money only to people who could give ample security in land, government papers, or jewellery. He also started a tejÁrati business (loans of rice, for seed and maintenance during the “slack” months, repaid in kind, with heavy interest, after the harvest). Although few KhÁtaks (customers) were able to extricate their property from his clutches or clear off their debit balances, Chandra Babu continued to be in great request. He was heard to boast that every family in or near Kadampur, except the Basus, were on his books. The rapid growth of his dealings compelled him to engage a gomastha (manager) in the person of Santi Priya DÁs, who had been a village schoolmaster notorious for cruelty. The duties of his new office were entirely to Santi Priya’s liking, and he performed them to Chandra Babu’s unqualified approval.

On a certain morning in late August, Chandra Babu sat in his office to receive applications for money or grain. One of his customers named Karim Sheikh came in and squatted close to the door, after salaming profoundly. On seeing him Chandra Babu at once remembered that his bond had run out on 15th July, and that he owed nearly Rs. 100, principal and interest. He therefore addressed the newcomer in accents of wrath. “What do you want here, you son of a pig?”

“Babuji,” pleaded Karim, “my stars are unlucky. You know how wretched the rice harvest has been.”

“Yes, we know all that,” replied Santi, who sat near his master. “It’s the old story, when people who can pay won’t pay. Have you brought the money, eh?”

Karim was obliged to confess he had not.

“Then why have you come here?” roared Chandra Babu. “To show your face, I suppose. We see hundreds of better-looking fellows than you daily. You have got to pay up at once, you badmÁsh (rascal).”

Karim’s wrath was stirred by this expression. He replied, “Now, Babu, don’t be abusive; I won’t stand it”.

“What, do you want to teach me manners, Maulvie Saheb (doctor learned in Mohammadan law)?” asked Chandra Babu sarcastically.

An exchange of compliments followed which were not altogether to Shylock’s advantage, and at length he roared, “Get out of this office, you rascal, and look out for squalls! I’ll sell you up!” Karim left in high dudgeon, inviting Chandra Babu to do his worst, and the latter forthwith concocted a scheme of vengeance with his manager.

Next day Santi obtained a summons against Karim from the Munsiff (civil judge of first instance) of Ghoria and, by bribing the court process-server, induced him to make a false return of service. In due course the suit came on for hearing, and as the defendant was of course absent, it was decreed against him ex parte. Execution being also granted, Santi accompanied the court bailiff to Karim’s house, where they seized all his movable property and carried it off to the Court, leaving him in bewilderment and tears. He was unable to tear himself away from his gutted home but sat for hours under a tree hard by, pondering on his ill-fortune. Not until the sun had set and village cattle began to file in from pasture, did he cast one lingering look on the scene of his childhood and walk away with a sigh, whither no one cared to inquire.

A week later, however, Karim strode into Chandra Babu’s office attended by two friends, and counted out ten ten-rupee notes, which he handed to the moneylender, with a peremptory request to release his chattels at once. Chandra Babu was greatly surprised by the turn matters had taken, but he was not the man to let property slip from his clutches. So he asked Santi whether the debtor did not owe a bill of costs. The manager referred to his books and declared that Rs. 33 8. 0. were still due. Karim planked down the money without further ado and asked for a receipt, which Santi reluctantly gave him. Then he again demanded the immediate release of his property. On receiving an evasive answer, he remarked that Chandra Babu would hear from him shortly and left the office.

About a month later, Chandra Babu was aroused from sleep in the dead of night by shouts coming from his inner courtyard. He jumped up and popped his head out of the window, but withdrew it hastily on seeing twenty or thirty men running about his premises, with lighted torches, and shouting—“Loot! loot!” Paralysed by fear, he crawled under the bed and lay in breathless expectation of further developments. Presently the door was forced open, and a crowd poured into the room. Chandra Babu’s hiding place was soon discovered by the dacoits (gang robbers), who dragged him out by the legs and demanded his keys on pain of instant death. Seeing a rusty talwÁr (sword) flourished within an inch of his throat, the unhappy man at once produced them, whereon the dacoits opened his safe and took out several bags of rupees. Then at a signal from their sardar (leader), they bound Chandra Babu hand and foot and squatted round him in a circle. The sardar thus addressed him:—

“Babuji, do you know us?”

“How can I know you?” groaned their victim. “Your faces are blackened and concealed by your turbans. Gentlemen, I implore you to spare my life! I never injured any of you.”

“Indeed!” replied the sardar sarcastically; “you have been the ruin of us all. Look you, Chandra Babu, we are all KhÁtaks (customers) of yours whom you have fleeced by levying exorbitant interest on loans and falsifying our accounts. It’s no use going to law for our rights; you are hand in glove with the civil court amla (clerks) and peons (menials) and can get them to do whatever you wish. So we have determined to take the law into our own hands. We have made up our accounts and find that you have extorted from us Rs. 5,000, over and above advances of rice and cash with reasonable interest. Now we’re going to help ourselves to that sum, besides damages at four annas in the rupee (twenty-five per cent.). This makes just Rs. 6,250 you owe us.”

Thereon the dacoits counted out cash to that amount and no more, which was placed in bags containing Rs. 1,000 each, ready for removal. Chandra Babu heaved a sigh of relief, thinking that he had got off rather cheaply, but his troubles were not at an end. The sardar came close to him and asked:—

“Look at me carefully: do you know me?”

“No bÁbÁ, but you are my son. Pray, spare my life! See, I am half dead already and ruined as well!”

“I am Karim Sheikh,” said the sardar impressively.

“So you are,” replied Chandra Babu, after recovering from his intense surprise; “but why have you turned dacoit?”

“It was owing to your oppression, which drove me from my house, and deprived me of the means of livelihood. All my companions here have been beggared by you, and scores of other families too. The whole of Kadampur and Simulgachi are clamouring for your blood, and Allah has appointed me to be the minister of his vengeance. Time was when I had to cringe to you, just as you are doing to me, but never did I receive mercy from you. Now the tables are turned. I might kill you, and who would dare to inform the police folk?” (Here Karim made a vicious prod with his talwÁr, which passed within half an inch of the terror-stricken victim’s throat.) “I might put you out of caste by slaying one of your cows and forcing you to eat its flesh. You deserve all this and more—but we will be merciful. Swear by your goddesses Kali and Durga that you will never in future demand more than four annas in the rupee yearly for loans of money or rice. Swear that you will never again bribe the amla or peons of the Courts; swear that you will never again falsify the accounts of your KhÁtaks.”

Chandra Babu took the oaths demanded with an appearance of unction and then implored his captors to release him.

“Wait a minute,” was Karim’s reply, “we must collect our belongings.”

So saying he ordered the dacoits to extinguish their torches and follow him with the bags of money. He led them to a ravine on the river bank, about a coss (two miles) distant, where the spoil was equitably divided according to a list of names and amounts due in Karim’s possession. Then after arranging for alibis in case of criminal proceedings, the band dispersed, well satisfied with their night’s work.

Chandra Babu’s neighbours made no sign until the dacoits were well out of hearing, when they flocked in to unloose his bonds and offer hypocritical condolences. The village Chaukidar (watchman) was sent off to the police station, and next day arrived the Sub-Inspector with a posse of constables to investigate the dacoity. After recording the complainant’s statement, they endeavoured to secure additional evidence, but Chandra Babu was so cordially disliked, and the dacoits’ vengeance so dreaded, that not a soul came forward to corroborate his story. Karim was arrested, with half a dozen accomplices named by Chandra Babu. They had no difficulty in proving that they were attending a wedding ceremony five miles away on the night of the alleged dacoity. So the case was reported to headquarters as false; and Chandra Babu escaped prosecution for deceiving the police, by giving a heavy bribe to the Sub-Inspector.

His evil star continued in the ascendant. About a week afterwards, he discovered a heavy deficit in his cash book, kept by Santi Priya, which that rascal failed to explain, and next day the trusty manager did not attend office. Indeed he has never been heard of since. This new calamity was Chandra Babu’s “last straw”. He hastened to realise outstanding debts and left the village, bag and baggage, to the intense relief of its inhabitants, who celebrated his exit by offering pujÁ or namÁz (Mohammadan prayers) according to the religion they severally professed.