Standing aside, he waited—someone said to him, “What’s this? Has your lawsuit gone up in smoke?” He replied, “That was only to be expected—I never get involved in such hopeless cases. I never take up lawsuits like these for anyone.”

28. The Honesty and Distress of Borda Babu Revealed to Beni and Becharam Babu, and a Conversation about Uncle Thok and Excess.

The house at Baidyabati gradually fell into darkness—there was no guardian left to look after it. The family members fell into dire straits—daily life became a burden. The villagers began to say, “How long can a sand embankment last? If this were a righteous household, the walls would have been built of stone.” Meanwhile, Motilal had disappeared—his whole retinue vanished too—no more pomp and circumstance could be heard. Premnarayan Majumdar was in high spirits—sitting on the veranda of Beni Babu’s house, snapping his fingers and singing, “Babla’s flowers have bloomed, O darling, you’ve named your puffed rice cakes golden and fair.”

Inside the house, Beni Babu, tuning his tanpura, was weaving a Hamir raga, singing with flourish and feeling, “Jasmine blooms, so does the champa,” his voice rising and falling with ornament and emotion. Meanwhile, Becharam Babu, taking up a song of Norchandri, was striding down the road, teasing all the street boys with, “Having come into the world, at first I found only a cage.” The boys cheered and clapped their hands. Becharam Babu, growing annoyed, shooed them away with a “Go on, now!”

Back in the days when Nadir Shah attacked Delhi, Emperor Muhammad Shah was so absorbed in music that even when Nadir Shah appeared before him, sword in hand, Muhammad Shah did not pause his musical revelry for even a moment—nor did he utter a word, but simply surrendered his throne without protest. But when Becharam Babu arrived, Beni Babu did not act so indifferent—he immediately set aside his tanpura, rose quickly, and respectfully offered him a seat.

After a few moments of polite conversation, Becharam Babu said, “Beni brother, after all these days, the deluge has come—Uncle Thok has fallen by his own misdeeds, and your Motilal too has been ruined by his own foolishness. Brother! You always used to tell me, unless a boy is taught wisdom and religion from childhood, disaster is sure to follow—Motilal is living proof of that. What more can I say of this sorrow? All this is Baburam’s fault—he had only the cunning of a clerk—clever with old women, but half-blind in everything else, bah!”

Beni: And what’s the use of lamenting over all this now? The decision was made long ago—when there was such neglect in Moti’s education and no way to keep him from bad company, that’s when the Ramayana was written from Ram himself. Whatever the case, it’s Bancharam who’s left to guard the house—Bakreshwar is all fuss and no substance. Never have I seen anyone so eager to flatter the sons of the rich under the guise of teaching—actual education for the children