The immediate success of Kumodini Babu’s market caused infinite annoyance to Ramani Babu, who owned one long established in the neighbourhood. Hucksters and country-folk found the tolls levied there so much lighter, that the attendance at Ramani’s fell off grievously. It is well known that when a new market is started, proprietors already in the field endeavour to break it up with the aid of paid lÁthiÁls (clubmen). If, as often happens, the daring speculator be a man of substance, he employs similar means in his defence. Free fights occur on market-days, ending in many a broken head—sometimes in slaughter. The battle is directed by Gomasthas (bailiffs) on either side, with the full knowledge of their masters, who keep discreetly aloof from the fray.

Ramani Babu did not foresee that his property would be injured by the new venture, and allowed it to be firmly established without striking a single blow. Finding a lamentable decrease in his receipts, he ordered the bailiff to “go ahead,” and took an early train for Calcutta in order to set up an alibi in case of legal proceedings. A day or two later his bailiff, attended by six or seven men armed with iron-shod bamboo staves, assembled at the outskirts of Kumodini Babu’s market, on a spot where four roads met.

Ere long a cart was descried approaching from eastwards, whose driver bawled snatches of song and puffed his hookah between whiles. When it reached the crossing, the bailiff shouted:—

“Stop! whither so early, friend?”

“To market,” the man replied carelessly.

“Whose market?”

“The new one, started by Kumodini Babu.”

“What have you got in those baskets of yours?”

“Oh, sweet potatoes, brinjÁls (egg-plants), and a lot of other vegetables.”

“Why don’t you attend Ramani Babu’s market?”

“Because it does not pay me to go there.”

“So you used to take your vegetables to Ramani Babu’s market?”

“Yes; but there are hardly any customers left. Now please let me go; the sun is high up.”

“So you won’t obey me!”

“No!” roared the carter, prodding his oxen viciously.

“Stop a minute, I tell you! Whose ryot (tenant) are you?”

“Ramani Babu’s.”

“What, you are his ryot and yet are acting against his interests? If he hears of your perfidy he will certainly turn you out of his estate!”

“Why should he?” asked the fellow, now thoroughly frightened. “I am a very poor man, and Ramani Babu is my father and mother. He cannot object to my selling a few vegetables wherever I please.”

“But he does object,” rejoined the bailiff sternly. “What’s your name and residence?”

“SÁdhu Sheikh, of Simulgachi.”

“Now, do you know who I am?”

“No-o,” replied SÁdhu, hesitatingly.

“I am Ramani Babu’s new bailiff, sent with these men to see that his market is well attended.”

SÁdhu’s tone completely changed. “SÁlam, Babu,” he whined. “I did not know who you were. Please let me pass or I shall be too late.”

“Not so fast, friend,” shouted the bailiff. “Once for all, are you going to obey me or not?”

SÁdhu prodded his bullocks into a lumbering canter; but the bailiff gave a signal to his clubmen, who ran after him, dragged him out of the cart, and thrashed him soundly. Then two of them escorted him, with his wares, to their master’s market, which was being held about three miles away. The bailiff waited at the crossing for new arrivals. They were not long in coming. A fishwoman, heavily laden, passed by. He hailed her, and on learning whither she was bound, ordered his men to drag her to their master’s market, which they did, despite the volume of abuse which she hurled at their heads. In this manner some half a dozen deserters were captured and escorted to the old market.

The story of his tyranny spread like wildfire through neighbouring villages, with many amplifications, of course. Kumodini Babu heard that his rival had arrested a hundred frequenters of his market and was about to destroy the shelters he had erected for salesmen. This information filled him with anxiety and, after consulting friends, he lodged a complaint at the police station. In the remote interior of Bengal policemen are all-powerful. They usurp authority to which they are not entitled by law, and use it for private ends. All classes go in perpetual fear of them; for, by a stroke of the pen, they can ruin reputations and defeat justice. No one has recourse to their dreaded agency who can avoid doing so or has the means of gratifying their greed. By giving a handsome douceur to the Sub-Inspector, Kumodini Babu obtained a promise of support, which he was simple enough to rely upon.

Meantime Ramani Babu’s market bailiff was not idle. Knowing that he had acted illegally, he resolved to “square” the executive. So, one evening, he persuaded his master to accompany him to the police station, provided with a bundle of ten-rupee currency notes. After discussing commonplaces with the Sub-Inspector, they adjourned to an inner room, where they induced him to take their side—for very weighty reasons.

Matters now began to look ugly for Kumodini Babu. Every vendor who approached his market was intercepted. He implored the help of the Sub-Inspector, who, however, observed a strict neutrality, hinting that the complainant was at liberty to defend himself with the aid of clubmen. But Kumodini Babu was a man of peace, and finding the policeman something less than lukewarm, he resigned himself to the inevitable.

His evil star continued to prevail, for, soon after these untoward events, it brought him into collision with the police. In consequence of an understanding with Ramani Babu, the Sub-Inspector took to buying provisions from the few shopkeepers who still attended Kumodini Babu’s market and referring them to him for payment. His constables, too, helped themselves freely to rice and vegetables without even asking the price, and had their shoes blacked gratis by Kumodini Babu’s muchis (leather-dressers). His bailiff put up with their vagaries, until the shopkeepers came in a body to say that unless they were stopped, the market would be entirely deserted. The luckless Zemindar was staggered by the tale of oppression. He paid for every article extorted by the police, but strictly forbade the vendors to give any further credit. The Sub-Inspector was deeply incensed in finding this source of illicit profit cut off, and his vengeance was perpetrated under the pretence of law.

One evening, while Kumodini Babu was conning the MahÁbhÁrata (an ancient epic) in his parlour, the Sub-Inspector came in, armed with a search warrant issued by the Deputy Magistrate of Ghoria, which he showed the astonished master of the house. A charge of receiving stolen property brought against him was indeed a bolt from the blue; but when Kumodini Babu regained his scattered wits, he told the Sub-Inspector scornfully that he might search every hole and corner of his house. For half an hour the police were occupied in turning his furniture and boxes topsy-turvy; and at last the Sub-Inspector went alone into a lumber-room, while his head constable kept Kumodini’s attention fixed on the contents of an almeira (ward-robe) which he was searching. Shouting, “I have found the property!” he emerged from the room with a box containing various articles of gold and silver, which he said were hidden under some straw. On comparing them with a list in his possession he declared that they exactly tallied with property reported as part of the spoils of a burglary in the neighbouring village. In vain Kumodini Babu protested his entire innocence and asked whether he, a respectable Zemindar, was likely to be a receiver of stolen goods. He was handcuffed and taken to the police station on foot, while the Sub-Inspector followed in a palanquin. Kumodini Babu’s women-folk filled the house with their lamentations; and his eldest son, Jadu NÁth, was the first to recover from the prostration caused by sudden misfortune. He had a pony saddled and galloped to the railway station, whence he telegraphed to his uncle, GhaneshyÁm Babu, the pleader, “Father arrested: charge receiving stolen goods”. GhaneshyÁm arrived by the next train, and after hearing the facts returned to Ghoria, where he applied to the Deputy Magistrate for bail. There was a strong disinclination to grant it, owing to the gravity of the charge; but finally an order was issued, releasing the prisoner on personal recognisance of Rs. 10,000 and two sureties of Rs. 5,000. The necessary security was immediately forthcoming, and Kumodini Babu found himself temporarily a free man, after enduring nearly forty-eight hours of unspeakable misery in the station lock-up.

In due course his case came on for hearing before the Deputy Magistrate. GhaneshyÁm Babu secured the services of a fighting member of the Calcutta bar and was indefatigable in his efforts to unearth the nefarious plot against his brother. Proceedings lasted for four days in a court packed with spectators. The Sub-Inspector and his accomplices told their story speciously enough. A burglary had really been committed and the jewellery found in Kumodini Babu’s outhouse was proved to have been part of the stolen goods. The issue was—who placed them there? On this point the Sub-Inspector’s evidence was not by any means satisfactory. He finally broke down under rigorous cross-examination, and was forced to admit that it was quite possible that some one acting on his behalf had hidden the property in Kumodini Babu’s lumber-room. The battle of the markets was related in all its dramatic details. Shopkeepers and ryots alike, seeing that justice was likely to prevail, came forward to depose to acts of tyranny by Ramani Babu’s servants and their allies, the police. Evidence of the prisoner’s high character was forthcoming, while his age and dignified bearing spoke strongly in his favour. The Magistrate saw that he had been the victim of an abominable conspiracy and released him amid the suppressed plaudits of the audience. His reasons for discharge contained severe strictures on the local police, and even suggested their prosecution. Thus, after weeks of agonising suspense and an expenditure on legal fees running into thousands of rupees, Kumodini Babu was declared innocent. He took the humiliation so much to heart, that he meditated retiring to that refuge for storm-tossed souls, Benares. But GhaneshyÁm Babu strongly dissuaded him from abandoning the struggle, at least until he had turned the tables on his enemies. So Kumodini Babu moved the District Magistrate to issue process against Ramani Babu and the Sub-Inspector. He met with a refusal, however, probably because the higher authorities thought fit to hush up a glaring scandal which might “get into the papers,” and discredit the administration. Ramani Babu, therefore, was not molested, but his accomplice was departmentally censured, and transferred to an unhealthy district. Kumodini Babu also thought of discontinuing the market which had been the fount and origin of his misfortunes. Here again his brother objected that such a course would be taken to indicate weakness and encourage further attacks. His advice was followed. The new market throve amazingly, while Ramani Babu’s was quite deserted.