Bardababu, along with Benibabu and Ramlal, has spread a blanket under a tree and is sitting there. Now and then, a couple of clerks approach him, speaking in hushed, conspiratorial tones about settlements, but Bardababu pays them no heed. To intimidate him, they say, “The Sahib’s orders are very strict—all the work is in our hands—we can do whatever we wish. Taking statements is our job—with a flick of the pen, we can turn everything upside down. But you need influence—if you want to make a move, now is the time. Once an order is passed, even we can do nothing to help.”

Hearing all this, Ramlal feels a twinge of fear now and then, but Bardababu, utterly fearless, replies, “Do what you must—I will never give a bribe. I am innocent—I have nothing to fear.” The clerks, annoyed, wander off to their own corners.

A couple of lawyers approach Bardababu and say, “We can see, sir, that you are a very respectable gentleman—certainly you have fallen into trouble. But make sure the case doesn’t go against you. If you need witnesses, we can arrange them right here—a little expense, and all conveniences can be managed. The Sahib is about to arrive—whatever needs to be done, do it now.”

Bardababu replies, “I am grateful for your kindness, but even if I have to wear shackles, so be it—it will not trouble me. I will indeed be humiliated, but I am prepared to accept that humiliation. But even if my life is at stake, I will not walk the path of falsehood.”

“Ah! Sir, you must be a man of the Golden Age—perhaps King Yudhishthira has been reborn!” they say, mocking him with a slight laugh, and then walk away.

In this manner, two o’clock passes—still no sign of the Sahib. Everyone is waiting with the longing eyes of pilgrims at a holy place. Someone asks a learned Brahmin, “Hey, astrologer, tell us, will the Sahib come today or not?” Immediately—

The Acharya is saying—“Name a flower, let’s see?” Someone says hibiscus—The Acharya, counting on his fingers, replies, “No, the sahib won’t come today—there’s work at home.” Trusting the Acharya’s words, everyone began packing up their books and exclaimed, “Thank heavens! Let’s go home and be at ease.” Thakchacha was sitting amidst the crowd, with three or four people around him—a paper bundle tucked under his arm, a cloth over his mouth—his eyes blinking rapidly, his beard hanging down, his head bowed as he walked along. At that moment, Ramlal’s gaze fell upon him. Ramlal immediately said to Borda and Beni Babu, “Look, Thakchacha is here—perhaps he’s involved in this case—otherwise, why would he turn his face away when he sees me?” Borda Babu looked up and replied, “I was thinking the same thing—he glances at us sideways, and if our eyes meet, he turns his head and starts talking to someone else—maybe Thakchacha is the ghost in the mustard seeds.” Beni Babu, ever the smiling face, often probed mysteries with