Ere long a cart was descried approaching from eastwards, whose driver
bawled snatches of song and puffed his hookah between whiles. When
it reached the crossing, the bailiff shouted:--
"Stop! whither so early, friend?"
"To market," the man replied carelessly.
"Whose market?"
"The new one, started by Kumodini Babu."
"What have you got in those baskets of yours?"
"Oh, sweet potatoes, brinjals (egg-plants), and a lot of other
vegetables."
"Why don't you attend Ramani Babu's market?"
"Because it does not pay me to go there."
"So you used to take your vegetables to Ramani Babu's market?"
"Yes; but there are hardly any customers left. Now please let me go;
the sun is high up."
"So you won't obey me!"
"No!" roared the carter, prodding his oxen viciously.
"Stop a minute, I tell you! Whose ryot (tenant) are you?"
"Ramani Babu's."
"What, you are his ryot and yet are acting against his interests? If
he hears of your perfidy he will certainly turn you out of his estate!"
"Why should he?" asked the fellow, now thoroughly frightened. "I am
a very poor man, and Ramani Babu is my father and mother. He cannot
object to my selling a few vegetables wherever I please."
"But he does object," rejoined the bailiff sternly.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52