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I will lend you some money with which you can do a bit of peddling and return it me little by little." Panchu was not excessively pleased was there then no such thing as charity on earth? And when my master asked him to write out a receipt for the money, he felt that this favour, demanding a return, was hardly worth having.
"Respect given and taken truly balances the account between man and man," was the way he put it, "but veneration is overpayment." Panchu began to buy cloth at the market and peddle it about the village. He did not get much of cash payment, it is true, but what he could realize in kind, in the way of rice, jute, and other field produce, went towards settlement of his account.
If someone, who could see right into me, were to write my biography, he would make me out to be no different from that lout of a Panchu, or even from Nikhil! Last night I was turning over the pages of my old diary ... I had just graduated, and my brain was bursting with philosophy.
"Fate seems bent on writing Paradise Lost in blank verse, in my case, and so has no use for a rhyming friend!" I remarked, pursuing his conceit. "But what of Panchu?" resumed my master. "You say Harish Kundu wants to eject him from his ancestral holding. Supposing I buy it up and then keep him on as my tenant?" "And his fine?" "How can the zamindar realize that if he becomes my tenant?"
"Anyhow, I must stay on a few days at Panchu's even after the woman leaves, for Harish Kundu may be up to any kind of devilry. He has been telling his satellites that he was content to have furnished Panchu with an aunt, but I have gone the length of supplying him with a father. He would like to see, now, how many fathers of his can save him!"
In two month's time he was able to pay back an instalment of my master's debt, and with it there was a corresponding reduction in the depth of his bow. He must have begun to feel that he had been revering as a saint a mere man, who had not even risen superior to the lure of lucre. While Panchu was thus engaged, the full shock of the Swadeshi flood fell on him.
"Well, Panchu," said I. "What is all this for?" I had got to know Panchu through my master. He was extremely poor, nor was I in a position to do anything for him; so I supposed this present was intended to procure a tip to help the poor fellow to make both ends meet. I took some money from my purse and held it out towards him, but with folded hands he protested: "I cannot take that, sir!"
"Very well, I will take charge of your children," said my master. "You may go on with any trade you like. They shan't touch you." That very day I bought up Panchu's holding and entered into formal possession. Then the trouble began. Panchu had inherited the holding of his grandfather as his sole surviving heir. Everybody knew this.
But at this juncture an aunt turned up from somewhere, with her boxes and bundles, her rosary, and a widowed niece. She ensconced herself in Panchu's home and laid claim to a life interest in all he had. Panchu was dumbfounded. "My aunt died long ago," he protested.
The community has calculated and informed him that it will cost one hundred and twenty-three rupees. "How absurd!" I cried, highly indignant. "Don't submit to this, Panchu. What can they do to you?" Raising to me his patient eyes like those of a tired-out beast of burden, he said: "There is my eldest girl, sir, she will have to be married. And my poor wife's last rites have to be put through."
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