Nearby lived a certain scholar—he declared there was no need to introduce Motilal. “That boy is a rare gem—if he lives, he’ll rule the world one day.”

Soon after, Baburam Babu began searching for a munshi to teach his son Persian. After much inquiry, he hired Habibullah Hossain, the grandfather of Aladi the tailor, for the princely sum of 140 rupees a month, plus oil and firewood. The munshi sahib had no teeth, a beard as white as ripe cotton, a moustache like hemp, and when teaching, his eyes would redden as he barked, “Arre, read, boy!” His mouth would twist into grotesque shapes as he pronounced “kaaf, gaaf, aayen, gaayen.” He had no particular passion for teaching, and with such a teacher, Motilal’s Persian lessons went about as well as you’d expect.

One day, Munshi Sahib was hunched over, poring over a book, waving his hands and chanting verses from the Masnavi in a sing-song tone. Meanwhile, Motilal crept up behind him and dropped a burning cigar stub onto his beard. Instantly, the beard went up in flames. Motilal shouted, “How’s that, you old glutton? Still want to teach me?” Munshi Sahib, slapping at his beard and crying “Toba! Toba!” fled the scene, shrieking in pain, “Never in my life have I seen such a rude and wicked boy—what kind of place is this? Even the air here is haram—toba, toba, toba!!!”

Motilal’s Attempt to Learn English and Baburam Babu’s Journey to Bally

Hearing of the munshi’s misfortune, Baburam Babu said, “Motilal isn’t really that sort of boy—he’s just a bit mischievous. He’ll turn out fine, you’ll see.” Then he thought to himself, “No one studies Persian anymore; better to have him learn English.” Just as a madman sometimes has flashes of sense, so too does the ignorant man occasionally stumble upon wisdom. Baburam Babu resolved to seek advice from someone learned. “I know English as well as the Baranasi Babus—‘Sarkar come, speak not’—and my associates are equally learned, so it’s best to consult a true expert.” As he ran through the names of his relatives and acquaintances, he remembered that the elder Babu of Bally was a most capable man. When business is at stake, one becomes diligent. So without delay, he took a servant and a guard and set off for the Baidyabati ghat.

In the months of Asharh and Shravan, the boatmen cast their nets for hilsa fish, and two...

At this hour of the day, most boatmen go to eat, so there was neither a ferry nor a passing boat at the Baidyabati ghat. Baburam Babu, with his nose marked with sandal paste, a tilak on his forehead, dhoti tied just so, shoes from the flower pond on his feet, a belly like Ganesha, a knotted chadar draped over his shoulder, and a cheek full of betel leaf, wandered about here and there, telling his servant, “O Hari! We must get to Bali quickly. Go hire a passing panshi boat for a few pice.”

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