X The Babus of Nayanjore
I
Once upon a time the Babus at Nayanjore were famous landholders. They were noted for their princely extravagance. They would tear off the rough border of their Dacca muslin, because it rubbed against their delicate skin. They could spend many thousands of rupees over the wedding of a kitten. And on a certain grand occasion it is alleged that in order to turn night into day they lighted numberless lamps and showered silver threads from the sky to imitate sunlight.
Those were the days before the flood. The flood came. The line of succession among these old-world Babus, with their lordly habits, could not continue for long. Like a lamp with too many wicks burning, the oil flared away quickly, and the light went out.
Kailas Babu, our neighbour, is the last relic of this extinct magnificence. Before he grew up, his family had very nearly reached its lowest ebb. When his father died, there was one dazzling outburst of funeral extravagance, and then insolvency. The property was sold to liquidate the debt. What little ready money was left over was altogether insufficient to keep up the past ancestral splendours.
Kailas Babu left Nayanjore and came to Calcutta. His son did not remain long in this world of faded glory. He died, leaving behind him an only daughter.
In Calcutta we are Kailas Babu’s neighbours. Curiously enough our own family history is just the opposite of his. My father got his money by his own exertions, and prided himself on never spending a penny more than was needed. His clothes were those of a working man, and his hands also. He never had any inclination to earn the title of Babu by extravagant display; and I myself, his only son, owe him gratitude for that. He gave me the very best education, and I was able to make my way in the world. I am not ashamed of the fact that I am a self-made man. Crisp bank-notes in my safe are dearer to me than a long pedigree in an empty family chest.
I believe this was why I disliked seeing Kailas Babu drawing his heavy cheques on the public credit from the bankrupt bank of his ancient Babu reputation. I used to fancy that he looked down on me, because my father had earned money with his own hands.
I ought to have noticed that no one showed any vexation towards Kailas Babu except myself. Indeed it would have been difficult to find an old man who did less harm than he. He was always ready with his kindly little acts of courtesy in times of sorrow and joy. He would join in all the ceremonies and religious observances of his neighbours. His familiar smile would greet young and old alike. His politeness in asking details about domestic affairs was untiring. The friends who met him in the street were perforce ready to be button-holed, while a long string of questions of this kind followed one another from his lips:
“My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Are you quite well? How is Shashi? And Dada—is he all right? Do you know, I’ve only just heard that Madhu’s son has got fever. How is he? Have you heard? And Hari Charan Babu—I have not seen him for a long time—I hope he is not ill. What’s the matter with Rakkhal? And er—er, how are the ladies of your family?”
Kailas Babu was spotlessly neat in his dress on all occasions, though his supply of clothes was sorely limited. Every day he used to air his shirts and vests and coats and trousers carefully, and put them out in the sun, along with his bed-quilt, his pillowcase, and the small carpet on which he always sat. After airing them he would shake them, and brush them, and put them carefully away. His little bits of furniture made his small room decent, and hinted that there was more in reserve if needed. Very often, for want of a servant, he would shut up his house for a while. Then he would iron out his shirts and linen with his own hands, and do other little menial tasks. After this he would open his door and receive his friends again.
Though Kailas Babu, as I have said, had lost all his landed property, he had still some family heirlooms left. There was a silver cruet for sprinkling scented water, a filigree box for otto-of-roses, a small gold salver, a costly ancient shawl, and the old-fashioned ceremonial dress and ancestral turban. These he had rescued with the greatest difficulty from the money-lenders’ clutches. On every suitable occasion he would bring them out in state, and thus try to save the world-famed dignity of the Babus of Nayanjore. At heart the most modest of men, in his daily speech he regarded it as a sacred duty, owed to his rank, to give free play to his family pride. His friends would encourage this trait in his character with kindly good-humour, and it gave them great amusement.
The neighbourhood soon learnt to call him their Thakur Dada. They would flock to his house and sit with him for hours together. To prevent his incurring any expense, one or other of his friends would bring him tobacco and say: “Thakur Dada, this morning some tobacco was sent to me from Gaya. Do take it and see how you like it.”
Thakur Dada would take it and say it was excellent. He would then go on to tell of a certain exquisite tobacco which they once smoked in the old days of Nayanjore at the cost of a guinea an ounce.
“I wonder,” he used to say, “if any one would like to try it now. I have some left, and can get it at once.”
Every one knew that, if they asked for it, then somehow or other the key of the cupboard would be missing; or else Ganesh, his old family servant, had put it away somewhere.
“You never can be sure,” he would add, “where things go to when servants are about. Now, this Ganesh of mine,—I can’t tell you what a fool he is, but I haven’t the heart to dismiss him.”
Ganesh, for the credit of the family, was quite ready to bear all the blame without a word.
One of the company usually said at this point: “Never mind, Thakur Dada. Please don’t trouble to look for it. This tobacco we’re smoking will do quite well. The other would be too strong.”
Then Thakur Dada would be relieved and settle down again, and the talk would go on.
When his guests got up to go away, Thakur Dada would accompany them to the door and say to them on the door-step: “Oh, by the way, when are you all coming to dine with me?”
One or other of us would answer: “Not just yet, Thakur Dada, not just yet. We’ll fix a day later.”
“Quite right,” he would answer. “Quite right. We had much better wait till the rains come. It’s too hot now. And a grand rich dinner such as I should want to give you would upset us in weather like this.”
But when the rains did come, every one was very careful not to remind him of his promise. If the subject was brought up, some friend would suggest gently that it was very inconvenient to get about when the rains were so severe, and therefore it would be much better to wait till they were over. Thus the game went on.
Thakur Dada’s poor lodging was much too small for his position, and we used to condole with him about it. His friends would assure him they quite understood his difficulties: it was next to impossible to get a decent house in Calcutta. Indeed, they had all been looking out for years for a house to suit him. But, I need hardly add, no friend had been foolish enough to find one. Thakur Dada used to say, with a sigh of resignation: “Well, well, I suppose I shall have to put up with this house after all.” Then he would add with a genial smile: “But, you know, I could never bear to be away from my friends. I must be near you. That really compensates for everything.”
Somehow I felt all this very deeply indeed. I suppose the real reason was, that when a man is young, stupidity appears to him the worst of crimes. Kailas Babu was not really stupid. In ordinary business matters every one was ready to consult him. But with regard to Nayanjore his utterances were certainly void of common sense. Because, out of amused affection for him, no one contradicted his impossible statements, he refused to keep them in bounds. When people recounted in his hearing the glorious history of Nayanjore with absurd exaggerations, he would accept all they said with the utmost gravity, and never doubted, even in his dreams, that any one could disbelieve it.
II
When I sit down and try to analyse the thoughts and feelings that I had towards Kailas Babu, I see that there was a still deeper reason for my dislike. I will now explain.
Though I am the son of a rich man, and might have wasted time at college, my industry was such that I took my M.A. degree in Calcutta University when quite young. My moral character was flawless. In addition, my outward appearance was so handsome, that if I were to call myself beautiful, it might be thought a mark of self-estimation, but could not be considered an untruth.
There could be no question that among the young men of Bengal I was regarded by parents generally as a very eligible match. I was myself quite clear on the point and had determined to obtain my full value in the marriage market. When I pictured my choice, I had before my mind’s eye a wealthy father’s only daughter, extremely beautiful and highly educated. Proposals came pouring in to me from far and near; large sums in cash were offered. I weighed these offers with rigid impartiality in the delicate scales of my own estimation. But there was no one fit to be my partner. I became convinced, with the poet Bhabavuti, that,
In this world’s endless time and boundless space
One may be born at last to match my sovereign grace.
But in this puny modern age, and this contracted space of modern Bengal, it was doubtful if the peerless creature existed as yet.
Meanwhile my praises were sung in many tunes, and in different metres, by designing parents.
Whether I was pleased with their daughters or not, this worship which they offered was never unpleasing. I used to regard it as my proper due, because I was so good. We are told that when the gods withhold their boons from mortals they still expect their worshippers to pay them fervent honour and are angry if it is withheld. I had that divine expectance strongly developed in myself.
I have already mentioned that Thakur Dada had an only grand-daughter. I had seen her many times, but had never mistaken her for beautiful. No thought had ever entered my mind that she would be a possible partner for myself. All the same, it seemed quite certain to me that some day or other Kailas Babu would offer her, with all due worship, as an oblation at my shrine. Indeed—this was the inner secret of my dislike—I was thoroughly annoyed that he had not done so already.
I heard that Thakur Dada had told his friends that the Babus of Nayanjore never craved a boon. Even if the girl remained unmarried, he would not break the family tradition. It was this arrogance of his that made me angry. My indignation smouldered for some time. But I remained perfectly silent and bore it with the utmost patience, because I was so good.
As lightning accompanies thunder, so in my character a flash of humour was mingled with the mutterings of my wrath. It was, of course, impossible for me to punish the old man merely to give vent to my rage; and for a long time I did nothing at all. But suddenly one day such an amusing plan came into my head, that I could not resist the temptation of carrying it into effect.
I have already said that many of Kailas Babu’s friends used to flatter the old man’s vanity to the full. One, who was a retired Government servant, had told him that whenever he saw the Chota Lât Sahib he always asked for the latest news about the Babus of Nayanjore, and the Chota Lât had been heard to say that in all Bengal the only really respectable families were those of the Maharaja of Cossipore and the Babus of Nayanjore. When this monstrous falsehood was told to Kailas Babu he was extremely gratified and often repeated the story. And wherever after that he met this Government servant in company he would ask, along with other questions:
“Oh! er—by the way, how is the Chota Lât Sahib? Quite well, did you say? Ah, yes, I am so delighted to hear it! And the dear Mem Sahib, is she quite well too? Ah, yes! and the little children—are they quite well also? Ah, yes! that’s very good news! Be sure and give them my compliments when you see them.”
Kailas Babu would constantly express his intention of going some day and paying a visit to the Lord Sahib. But it may be taken for granted that many Chota Lâts and Burra Lâts also would come and go, and much water would pass down the Hoogly, before the family coach of Nayanjore would be furbished up to pay a visit to Government House.
One day I took Kailas Babu aside and told him in a whisper: “Thakur Dada, I was at the Levee yesterday, and the Chota Lât Sahib happened to mention the Babus of Nayanjore. I told him that Kailas Babu had come to town. Do you know, he was terribly hurt because you hadn’t called. He told me he was going to put etiquette on one side and pay you a private visit himself this very afternoon.”
Anybody else could have seen through this plot of mine in a moment. And, if it had been directed against another person, Kailas Babu would have understood the joke. But after all that he had heard from his friend the Government servant, and after all his own exaggerations, a visit from the Lieutenant-Governor seemed the most natural thing in the world. He became highly nervous and excited at my news. Each detail of the coming visit exercised him greatly,—most of all his own ignorance of English. How on earth was that difficulty to be met? I told him there was no difficulty at all: it was aristocratic not to know English: and, besides, the Lieutenant-Governor always brought an interpreter with him, and he had expressly mentioned that this visit was to be private.
About midday, when most of our neighbours are at work, and the rest are asleep, a carriage and pair stopped before the lodging of Kailas Babu. Two flunkeys in livery came up the stairs, and announced in a loud voice, “The Chota Lât Sahib has arrived!” Kailas Babu was ready, waiting for him, in his old-fashioned ceremonial robes and ancestral turban, and Ganesh was by his side, dressed in his master’s best suit of clothes for the occasion.
When the Chota Lât Sahib was announced, Kailas Babu ran panting and puffing and trembling to the door, and led in a friend of mine, in disguise, with repeated salaams, bowing low at each step and walking backward as best he could. He had his old family shawl spread over a hard wooden chair and he asked the Lât Sahib to be seated. He then made a high-flown speech in Urdu, the ancient Court language of the Sahibs, and presented on the golden salver a string of gold mohurs, the last relics of his broken fortune. The old family servant Ganesh, with an expression of awe bordering on terror, stood behind with the scent-sprinkler, drenching the Lât Sahib, and touched him gingerly from time to time with the otto-of-roses from the filigree box.
Kailas Babu repeatedly expressed his regret at not being able to receive His Honour Bahadur with all the ancestral magnificence of his own family estate at Nayanjore. There he could have welcomed him properly with due ceremonial. But in Calcutta he was a mere stranger and sojourner,—in fact a fish out of water.
My friend, with his tall silk hat on, very gravely nodded. I need hardly say that according to English custom the hat ought to have been removed inside the room. But my friend did not dare to take it off for fear of detection: and Kailas Babu and his old servant Ganesh were sublimely unconscious of the breach of etiquette.
After a ten minutes’ interview, which consisted chiefly of nodding the head, my friend rose to his feet to depart. The two flunkeys in livery, as had been planned beforehand, carried off in state the string of gold mohurs, the gold salver, the old ancestral shawl, the silver scent-sprinkler, and the otto-of-roses filigree box; they placed them ceremoniously in the carriage. Kailas Babu regarded this as the usual habit of Chota Lât Sahibs.
I was watching all the while from the next room. My sides were aching with suppressed laughter. When I could hold myself in no longer, I rushed into a further room, suddenly to discover, in a corner, a young girl sobbing as if her heart would break. When she saw my uproarious laughter she stood upright in passion, flashing the lightning of her big dark eyes in mine, and said with a tear-choked voice: “Tell me! What harm has my grandfather done to you? Why have you come to deceive him? Why have you come here? Why——”
She could say no more. She covered her face with her hands and broke into sobs.
My laughter vanished in a moment. It had never occurred to me that there was anything but a supremely funny joke in this act of mine, and here I discovered that I had given the cruellest pain to this tenderest little heart. All the ugliness of my cruelty rose up to condemn me. I slunk out of the room in silence, like a kicked dog.
Hitherto I had only looked upon Kusum, the grand-daughter of Kailas Babu, as a somewhat worthless commodity in the marriage market, waiting in vain to attract a husband. But now I found, with a shock of surprise, that in the corner of that room a human heart was beating.
The whole night through I had very little sleep. My mind was in a tumult. On the next day, very early in the morning, I took all those stolen goods back to Kailas Babu’s lodgings, wishing to hand them over in secret to the servant Ganesh. I waited outside the door, and, not finding any one, went upstairs to Kailas Babu’s room. I heard from the passage Kusum asking her grandfather in the most winning voice: “Dada, dearest, do tell me all that the Chota Lât Sahib said to you yesterday. Don’t leave out a single word. I am dying to hear it all over again.”
And Dada needed no encouragement. His face beamed over with pride as he related all manner of praises which the Lât Sahib had been good enough to utter concerning the ancient families of Nayanjore. The girl was seated before him, looking up into his face, and listening with rapt attention. She was determined, out of love for the old man, to play her part to the full.
My heart was deeply touched, and tears came to my eyes. I stood there in silence in the passage, while Thakur Dada finished all his embellishments of the Chota Lât Sahib’s wonderful visit. When he left the room at last, I took the stolen goods and laid them at the feet of the girl and came away without a word.
Later in the day I called again to see Kailas Babu himself. According to our ugly modern custom, I had been in the habit of making no greeting at all to this old man when I came into the room. But on this day I made a low bow and touched his feet. I am convinced the old man thought that the coming of the Chota Lât Sahib to his house was the cause of my new politeness. He was highly gratified by it, and an air of benign serenity shone from his eyes. His friends had looked in, and he had already begun to tell again at full length the story of the Lieutenant-Governor’s visit with still further adornments of a most fantastic kind. The interview was already becoming an epic, both in quality and in length.
When the other visitors had taken their leave, I made my proposal to the old man in a humble manner. I told him that, “though I could never for a moment hope to be worthy of marriage connection with such an illustrious family, yet... etc. etc.”
When I made clear my proposal of marriage, the old man embraced me and broke out in a tumult of joy: “I am a poor man, and could never have expected such great good fortune.”
That was the first and last time in his life that Kailas Babu confessed to being poor. It was also the first and last time in his life that he forgot, if only for a single moment, the ancestral dignity that belongs to the Babus of Nayanjore.
Words to Be Studied landholder. This method of forming compound words from two original English words should be studied. Compare the following words which have “land” for one of their parts: landlord, landowner, landlady, landslip, landfall. When the second word is not very closely attached to the first word, a hyphen is put between, thus land-grabber, land-shark.
extinct. From the Latin “stinguere,” to quench. Compare distinct, instinct, extinguish, distinguish.
cheque. This word is the same as “check,”—only in this case the original French form has been kept. The verb to “check” came into English originally from the game of chess. In Eastern lands when the chess king was in danger the word “Shah!” was called out, and when the chess king could not move, “Shah mata!” These were corrupted into “Check!” and “Checkmate!”
bankrupt. This word is a curious mixture of the old French “banque” (compare bench, banquet) and the Latin “rumpere,” to break (compare corrupt, disrupt). It is thus a hybrid word in modern English.
filigree. From two Latin words, “filum,” a thread, and “granum,” a grain.
otto-of-roses. A corruption of attar. The word is originally Arabic and Persian.
turban. This word has now taken its place in most of the European languages. It has come to Europe from the Turkish “tulbend” and the Persian “dulband.”
tobacco. This word came originally from Central America. It was brought to Europe by the Spaniards, who pronounced it “tabaco.” It has now travelled all round the world, and has gained a place in all the Indian vernaculars as well as in the Further East.
boon. The Old English word “ben” meant a prayer, and this was the original meaning of “boon.” But a new word appeared in English, viz. the adjective “boon” from the French “bon,” meaning “good.” (Compare boon companion). This influenced the earlier word, which thus gained its present meaning of a “blessing” or “gift.”
smoulder. “Smolder” is an Old English word meaning “smoke.” Cognate words in English are smother and small, which come from the same root.
gingerly. The origin of this word is very doubtful. Some connect it with “ging” or “gang,” meaning “to go.” Others with “gent-” meaning “gentle” or “graceful.” The word has no relation to “ginger” which is an Eastern word coming originally from the Sanskrit çraga-vera and the Hindustani zunjubil.
fantastic. From the Greek “phainō,” to manifest. Compare emphasis, emphatic, fantasy, fancy, phenomenon.
Notes
I — The Cabuliwallah
“The Cabuliwallah” is one of the most famous of the Poet’s “Short Stories.” It has been often translated. The present translation is by the late Sister Nivedita, and her simple, vivid style should be noticed by the Indian student reader. It is a good example of modern English, with its short sentences, its careful choice of words, and its luminous clearness of meaning.
Cabuliwallah.] A man from Cabul or Kabul, the capital of Afghanistan.
embarked.] Like a ship putting out to sea on a new voyage.
Bhola.] Mini’s attendant.
Protap Singh.] Rabindranath Tagore pictures himself as engaged in writing a novel, full of wild adventures. These names are made up to suit the story.
so precarious.] The writer amusingly imagines the hero and heroine actually swinging by the rope until he can get back to his desk and finish writing about how they escaped.
Abdurrahman.] The Amir of Kabul.
Frontier policy.] The question about guarding the North-West of India against invasion.
without demur.] Without making any objection, or asking for more money.
judicious bribery.] He gave her little presents, judging well what she would like best.
new fangled.] The parents had not talked about such things, as old-fashioned people would have certainly done.
euphemism.] This means, in Greek, “fair speech.” Here it means a pleasant word used instead of the unpleasant word “jail.”
kings went forth.] During the hot weather the kings of ancient India used to stay at home: they would begin to fight again at the beginning of the cold weather.
my heart would go out.] That is to say, he would long to see such places.
fall to weaving.] This is an English idiom, like “set to”: it means to begin.
conjure themselves.] Just as the conjurer makes all kinds of things appear before the eyes.
vegetable existence.] Vegetables are rooted to the ground. So Rabindranath is rooted to his desk and cannot make long journeys.
As it was indefinite.] Because there was no actual reason for it. Indefinite here means vague.
forbid the man the house.] This is a brief way of saying forbid the man to enter the house.
bebagged.] This word is made up for the occasion, and means “laden with bags.” Compare the words bedewed, besmeared.
just where.] The word “just” has become very commonly used in modern English. It means “exactly,” “merely” or “at the very moment.” Compare “He had just gone out.” “It was just a joke.”
Scarcely on speaking terms.] Rabindranath Tagore is here making a joke; “not to be on speaking terms” means usually “to be displeased with.” Mini had become so eager to talk with her girl friends that she had almost neglected her father.
Durga.] The Durga Festival in Bengal is supposed to represent the time when Parvati, or Durga, left her father’s home in the Himalayas, called Kailas, and went to live with her husband, Siva.
Bhairavi.] One of the musical tunes which denotes separation.
chandeliers.] The glass ornamental hangings on which candles were lighted in great houses at weddings.
better-omened.] It was not considered a good omen, or good fortune, to meet a criminal on a wedding day.
dispersed.] Used up.
Parbati.] Another allusion to the Goddess Durga and her home in the Himalayas.
apparition.] This word comes from the same root as the word to “appear.” It means a sudden or strange sight. It often means a ghost. Mini had so changed that when she appeared in her wedding dress she startled him, as if he had seen a ghost.
make friends with her anew.] His own daughter would not know him at first.
Saw before him the barren mountains.] His memory was so strong that it made him forget the crowded Calcutta street and think of his home in the mountains.
II — The Home-Coming every one seconded the proposal.] All were so eagerly in favour that they wanted to speak at once in support of it.
regal dignity.] His position as a king of the other boys.
fertile brain.] Full of inventions and plans.
manoeuvre.] A French word meaning a plan of battle.
point of honour.] He would feel himself disgraced if he gave way.
Mother Earth.] Earth is here pictured as a person. There is a well-known story of a giant who gained fresh power every time his body touched the earth, which was his Mother.
Furies.] These were supposed to be certain demons, who pursued guilty men with loud cries.
the servant was master.] Notice the play of words here. The “servant” and “master” change places.
critical juncture.] At this exact moment when things were so dangerous.
Dada.] The usual Bengal word for “Brother.”
no love was lost.] This is a mild way of saying that they disliked one another.
on pins and needles.] Exceedingly restless; like some one standing on sharp points.
in perpetuity.] The phrase is a mock legal one, meaning “for all time.”
by no means pleased.] She was very displeased, because she had already children of her own. In English a phrase is often put in a negative way to imply a very strong positive statement. Thus “by no means happy” may mean “very unhappy.”
committing such an indiscretion.] Doing such an unwise thing.
indecent haste.] A mock humorous expression, meaning “very quickly.”
craves for recognition.] Wishes to be noticed and loved.
physical love.] Just as a young animal clings to its mother for protection.
animal instinct.] The phrase repeats in another form what was said before, in the words “a kind of physical love.”
pursed her lips.] Drew her lips tight like the mouth of a purse which is tightened by pulling the string.
as if expecting some one.] He was looking for his mother.
very critical.] Very dangerous. The danger point of the illness might be reached at any moment and death might come.
By the mark.] When a shallow place comes at sea, or on a great river, one of the sailors throws a piece of lead, with a string tied to it, into the water, and then looks at the mark on the string. He calls out that the depth is “three” or “four” fathoms according to the mark.
plumb-line.] The line with a lead weight.
plumbing.] To plumb is to get to the bottom of a piece of water. Here Phatik is pictured as himself going deeper and deeper into the sea of death, which none can fathom.
the holidays.] The Bengali word for “holiday” means also “release.” It is as though he were saying, “My release has come.” This cannot be represented in the English.
III — Once there was a King
In this story Rabindranath Tagore begins with some amusing sentences about the dull, matter of fact character of modern scientific people, who cannot enjoy a fairy story without asking “Is it true?” The Poet implies that there are deeper truths than modern science has yet discovered. The ending of the present story will show this more clearly.
sovereign truth.] There is a play upon the word “sovereign” which can mean “kingly” and also “supreme.”
exacting.] There is further play here with the words “exact” and “exacting.” “Exact” means precise and “exacting” means making others precise.
legendary haze.] The ancient legends are very obscure, just like an object seen through a mist.
knowledge.] Mere book knowledge,—knowledge of outside things.
truth.] Inner truth such as comes from the heart of man and cannot be reasoned or disputed.
half past seven.] The time when his tutor was due.
no other need.] As if God would continue the rain merely to keep his tutor away!
If not.] Though it might not have been caused by his prayers, still for some reason the rain did continue.
nor did my teacher.] Supply the words “give up.”
punishment to fit the crime.] An amusing reference to the doctrine of karma, which states that each deed will have its due reward or punishment.
as me.] Strictly speaking it should be “I” not “me” but he is writing not too strictly.
I hope no child.] The author here amusingly pretends that the child’s way of getting out of his lessons was too shocking for young boys in the junior school to read about.
I will marry my daughter to him.] The verb to “marry” in English can be used in two senses:—
(1) To wed some one: to take in marriage.
(2) To get some one wedded: to give in marriage.
The later sense is used here.
in the dawn of some indefinite time.] In some past existence long ago.
If my grandmother were an author.] Here Rabindranath returns to his mocking humour. A modern author, he says, would be obliged to explain all sorts of details in the story.
hue and cry.] This is a phrase used for the noise and bustle that is made when people are searching for a thief.
Her readers.] Referring back to the Grandmother.
in an underhand way.] Under the disguise of a fairy story.
grandmother again.] That is, in the old conditions when people were not too exacting about accuracy.
luckless grandson.] A humorous way of referring to himself. The author had the misfortune to be born in the modern age of science.
Seven wings.] The word “wings” is here used, not for “wings” like those of birds, but for the sides of a large building, projecting out at an angle from the main building.
But what is the use....] The author here breaks off the story, as though it were useless to go on any further in these modern days when every thing has to be scientifically proved.
Some “what then?”] Some future existence about which explanations might be asked.
no grandmother of a grandmother.] No one, however old.
never admits defeat.] Refuses to believe in death.
teacherless evening.] Evening on which the teacher did not come.
chamber of the great end.] Death itself is referred to; it is the end of human life on earth and what is beyond death is shut out from us.
incantation.] Sacred verses or mantras.
IV — The Return of the Child found two masters.] The wife was his master now, as well as her husband.
make for safety.] Get to some place where he could not be caught.
will be a judge some day.] The baby seemed so wise to Raicharan, that he thought he would certainly grow up to be a judge.
epoch in human history.] It seemed to Raicharan as though some great event had happened which ought to be recorded.
wrestler’s trick.] The writer, in fun, makes Raicharan’s skill depend on doing just what the wrestler tries to avoid, i.e. being thrown on his back.
swallowed down.] Washed them away in a flood.
little despot.] The baby, who was able to make Raicharan do exactly what he liked.
The silent ceremonial.] The author pictures the sunset as like some splendid kingly ceremony, where every gorgeous colour can be seen.
“Pitty fow.”] “Pretty flower.” The baby can only lisp the words.
He was promoted from a horse into a groom.] He was no longer asked by the baby to be a “horse” in his games, but to look after this toy carriage, as a groom would.
with all sorts of curious noises.] He began to imitate the sounds of birds.
destined to be a judge.] The baby could see through Raicharan’s attempts to deceive, as a judge would see through false evidence.
wavelets.] The little waves seemed like so many thousand little children running away in fun or mischief.
there was no one there.] These words are repeated again and again to give the sense of utter loss and desolation.
overwhelming resentment.] His own baby seemed to have been given to him in order to tempt him to forget his little Master. Raicharan was angry to think that any one could imagine such forgetfulness to be possible.
The little Master could not cast off the spell.] Could not keep away from the servant who loved him so much. He fancies his little Master has come back to life again in this new little baby, drawn as it were by some enchantment of love.
accumulated.] Gathered together: referring to the idea of karma.
personal appearance.] He spent a long time in arranging his clothes and making himself look handsome.
country manners.] Country people have habits and ways of speaking which seem absurd to town people.
a kind of condescension.] As if he were superior and Raicharan were beneath him.
mendicant quack.] A beggar dealing in herbs and medicines and charms.
hungry, eager eyes.] As if she could never gaze long enough upon him.
the magistrate in him.] The magistrate’s way of looking at things.
magisterial conscience.] His instincts as a judge, who must condemn the guilty.
V — Master Mashai
Ratikanta.] He is represented throughout as a typical hanger-on of the rich family, selfish and flattering.
Victor Hugo.] The most famous of Victor Hugo’s stories is called “Les Miserables.” Its opening scene of San Valjean and the saintly Bishop is very well known in literature.
deep-laid plot.] Notice how throughout this story the different members of this wealthy house appear to be unable to take account of unselfish motives.
this is sheer kidnapping.] Adhar Babu believes that Haralal has acquired some hypnotic influence over Venu and is trying to rob him of his money.
brokers and middlemen.] Those who bought the grain from the peasants and sold it to the English firm.
any security.] A money payment which would be forfeited if anything went wrong.
a note of hand.] A paper signed by Venugopal saying that he owed so much money.
filed a suit.] Brought an action in the law courts against the father to recover the money lent to the son.
Currency notes.] Notes of twenty, fifty, a hundred rupees,—such as could be changed for money.
theft the night before.] Adhar Babu had already missed the things that Venu had taken away.
it’s a paying business.] Adhar Babu imagines that Venu and Haralal have become partners in order to swindle other people.
with your connivance.] With your secret knowledge and approval.
Deliverance was in the infinite sky.] He felt that all the evils, which were pressing close around him, were broken through and that he had come out beyond them into the clear light of truth. It was like coming out of some narrow confined place into the open sky.
VI — Subha
Subhashini.] Sweetly speaking.
Sukheshini.] With lovely hair.
Suhashini.] Sweetly smiling.
process of translation.] To change the unspoken language of thought into the spoken language of words is like translating the mother tongue into a foreign language. Much of the beauty is lost.
that speech of the dark eyes.] Nature was speaking in every part of her own great being, in the same silent way as those dark eyes of Subha were speaking.
without any common language.] The cows had the common language of looks with which to talk to Subha. But Pratap, who could speak, had not learnt Subha’s language of looks.
they become public property.] Everyone can amuse himself by talking with them in idle moments.
water nymph.] Referring to the legends, common in all countries, of water fairies or mermaids living at the bottom of a river or beneath the sea and dwelling in wonderful palaces.
tide from the central places of the sea.] When the moon is full, the tide rises to its highest point: it seems to start from some central place far out at sea and to come rolling and surging in.
silent troubled Mother.] Nature, with her full tide and full moon, seems troubled and longing to break out into speech, just as Subha longed to do.
they have caught your bridegroom.] Pratap employs the word “caught” from his favourite pursuit of fishing. The bridegroom has been caught just like a fish.
did her best to kill her natural beauty.] Her hair was much more beautiful when left in its natural way, instead of being all bound up in a net.
The God... the great man.] These words refer to the bridegroom himself, who wields such mighty powers of choice or refusal. They are ironical.
VII — The Postmaster like a fish out of water.] Completely out of place, because he was used to city life.
macadamised road.] He would have infinitely preferred the streets and shops and crowded markets of Calcutta.
smoke... from the village cowsheds.] Such as is used to drive away the mosquitoes.
Baül.] A religious sect in Bengal whose members sing songs and often go about begging.
No more of this.] He was afraid he might become too deeply attached to Ratan if he stayed.
Its fond mistakes are persistent.] We continually try to deceive ourselves that what we wish to be true is true. When at last we find out the truth, we could almost wish we had not done so.
VIII — The Castaway
Like a rudderless boat.] Notice how the metaphor is kept up to the end of the sentence.
The writ of Fate.] They said that if she was to die, she was to die, and nothing could prevent it.
profiting their Brahmin guest.] She would believe this to be an act of merit for which she would be rewarded.
out of his repertory.] Out of the stock of plays he recited when he belonged to the theatrical troupe.
hearing sacred names.] This also, she believed, would bring her merit.
forcing house.] Like some glass conservatory used for exotic flowers.
exact stature.] The manager wished him to take the parts of women who are smaller than men.
came to adequate revelation.] Were now abundantly apparent.
twice-born bird.] Once born in the egg and once after the breaking of the egg. The goose in the story was the messenger between Nala and Damayanti.
the tiger has no wish to become a mouse.] A reference to a folk story of a saint who turned a pet mouse into a tiger.
German silver.] A kind of cheap silver containing much alloy in it.
to look for your Damayanti.] To find Satish a wife.
IX — The Son of Rashmani do the duty of the father.] By disciplining and punishing the child.
crippling his patrimony.] Injuring the estate.
this is preposterous.] The natural thing would be for the property to be divided between the two brothers and their descendants, but by this will only one son was recognized and one set of grandsons.
given to the grandsons.] To Shyama Charan’s and Bhavani’s sons. According to this preposterous will Bhavani was left out altogether, and also his son.
Shyama Charan’s treachery.] She fully believed that he had stolen the will and put this false one in its place.
Noto used to get reprimands.] Used to be blamed for wishing to save this waste of money. Of course the whole thing was imaginary, but it gave Bhavani the pleased feeling of being generous.
traditional extravagance.] Such as had always been displayed in former days when the family was prosperous.
Some imaginary dog.] She would say that some dog had run off with the food which she had prepared.
Bhavani had confessed.] Rashmani, Noto and Bhavani himself were all alike ready to keep up the illusion that the old magnificence was still there, if only this or that accident had not deprived them of its display.
invisible ink.] Ink which is invisible when first written with, but when heated becomes visible.
Baba, wait a little.] In Bengal daughters are often called Ma (mother) and sons Baba (father).
it became absurdly easy.] Because, after this, both the mother and her son could join in the pretence together.
lacking in proper enthusiasm.] Did not care much about the subject.
more than compensated.] The pleasure of telling the news was greater than the pain of knowing that such a sacrilege was going to take place.
with all the more deadly force.] The thrower being up above, the speed would increase all the more on the downward flight of the missile.
requiring expensive fodder.] Vanity can feed itself on the idea of self importance.
to graze at large.] Merely to feed on what is before it. He gave it extra food by paying for a number of flatterers, just as a horse is stall-fed with extra supplies of food.
turned round on him.] His vanity would be offended and he would be his enemy instead of his helper.
forced extravagance.] Kalipada had been forced by the sneers of the students to give far more than he could afford.
draw tears from the eyes.] An amusing way of saying that no burglar would ever dream of trying to rob such a room.
laid their impious hands.] Had grossly insulted.
let him climb down first.] An English metaphor meaning “let him be humble.”
he discovered the truth.] The truth that he was a near relative of Kalipada.
grandchild’s privilege.] Especially in Bengal, a grandchild is allowed the liberty of making jokes with his grandfather.
he found it easy.] He loved his mother so much that when he found anyone pleased with things which she had made he enjoyed seeing them use these things rather than himself.
X — The Babus of Nayanjore the days before the flood.] The word “antediluvian” meaning “before the flood,” is used sometimes in English for things very ancient and out of date. There is a play upon this here.
dazzling outburst.] Just as, at a firework display, pitch darkness follows the last firework.
drawing his heavy cheques.] To “draw a cheque” is to take so much from a credit account in the bank. The words are humorously used here of taking something from the public belief about the greatness of the Babus of Nayanjore.
and er-er.] He hesitates a little as he mentions the ladies.
Thakur Dada.] Grandfather.
my moral character was flawless.] Note how the author shows the conceit of this young man. Compare, lower down, the phrase “because I was so good.”
poet Bhabavuti.] The poet means that there must be some one in this vast universe of time and space who is the match for the hero of his poem.
Chota Lât Sahib.] The story refers to the time when Calcutta was the Capital of India. The Burra Lât Sahib was the Viceroy, the Chota Lât Sahib was the Lieutenant-Governor.
walking backward.] As a mark of respect. He was continually bowing and then stepping back. This kind of ceremonial bowing was commoner in earlier days than it is now.
tall silk hat.] These were only worn in India at State functions and their use in this country by Englishmen is becoming more and more rare. But in earlier days they were not uncommon. They are black in colour and shining.
ugly modern custom.] The author dislikes the passing away of an old beautiful custom of reverence towards old men.
becoming an epic.] Becoming legendary by its additions. An epic poem often goes on describing an incident with all kinds of marvellous events added to it, till it becomes a very long story.