Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 2/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III.
Needless to say that Madhabinath had heard all about Gobindalal's illicit connection with Rohini. He was resolved to track them wherever they were; and he said as he left the Roys' house, that he would leave no stone unturned to accomplish his object, though it seemed the fugitives had taken all possible care to avoid everything by which their tracks could be discovered. It suddenly occurred to him that Rohini's uncle was a poor man, and that it was probable he got from Gobindalal a monthly assistance for his maintenance. So thinking he turned his steps in the direction of the post office, which was a few minutes' walk from the Roys' house.
A signboard on the wall of a mean thatched house with very insufficient light showed the post office. The sub-postmaster was seated upon a stool at a clumsy and very discoloured table of mango wood, on winch there were letters, books, files, envelopes, stamps; a pair of scales, a gum-water phial with a brush in it, and a few other things.
The salary of this official was fifteen rupees a month, and that of the postman under him seven rupees. The former wanted often to make his authority felt, but the latter was not of a very yielding temper, and used to think that the difference between them was just what there was between 'seven and fifteen annas.' Therefore whenever his superior officer was harsh and overbearing in his demeanour he told him to his face that he was not to put up with his hard words, and that he was sure he should not have to starve if anything ever happened that might lose him his situation. As the sub-postmaster was reading his subordinate a lecture, and wanting him to know that he was the master there, Madhabinath with the careless air of a man who had great confidence in himself walked up and stepped into the office.
Seeing a strange gentleman the sub-postmaster stopped, and sat staring at his face like one who scarcely knew what to say. For a moment it occurred to him that he ought to speak a word of welcome to the gentleman, but as he had never learnt good manners, which had never been a part of his education, he could do nothing but sit still, looking very near like a dumb creature.
"Such an illbred fellow!" Madhabinath thought to himself. Aloud he said, "A Brahmin, I suppose?"
"Yes," said the postmaster.
He bowed low, and the postmaster invited him to sit down.
Madhabinath looked about him for a seat, but as there was not another saving the one on which the postmaster was seated he looked rather embarrassed. The postman, noticing this, hastened to take a heap of torn rejected books from off an old rickety chair winch stood in one corner, and dusting it, placed it near the gentleman, inviting him very courteously to sit upon it.
"What's your name? I think your face is familiar to me," said Madhabinath, looking complacently at the postman as he took his seat.
"Please, sir, I am the postman. My name is Haridas."
"You are a good soul. I think I will have a smoke. Can't you procure a hookah?"
Madhabinath was not in the habit of smoking, neither had he ever seen the postman before. His wanting him to procure a hookah was a mere pretext for wishing to be alone with the postmaster with whom he meant to have a private talk. Haridas, however, thought that the gentleman was the likely one to give him a four-anna bit or something like it, for he felt sure that he never meant to have his order carried out for nothing.
When Haridas had gone (he did not want to be asked twice) Madhabinath addressed the postmaster and said, "I have come to you for some information."
The postmaster was a Dacca man. However deficient in manners he might be, he understood his business perfectly well. So with a faint smile on his lips he said, "You have come for an information. Well?"
"I dare say you know Brahmananda Ghose?"
"Brahmananda? Yes,—no, not well."
Madhabinath could see at once by his manner of answering the question that it would be pretty hard to draw him on but by a bait.
"Do you have any letters to the address of Brahmananda?" he asked again.
"You know this man, do you?" asked the postmaster.
"What has that to do with what I want to know? I shall thank you to let me know what I want to."
Remembering the dignity of his post, and that he was the master where he was, which fact there was no one to dispute, the postmaster wondered in his mind how an outsider could ever dare to talk to him in that fashion. He was offended. "I am not bound—I mean the post office," he said, assuming a look of gravity, "to give you the information you want." With this he looked more grave, and drawing himself up commenced weighing some letters with an air which showed that he did not like to be disturbed in his work.
Madhabinath smiled. "You must not suppose," said he, "that I have come to ask you for an information gratis."
The words spoken had the effect of thawing him immediately. "No offence, sir," said the postmaster. "We are not to give out anything. That's against the rule. But as you are a gentleman and seem much in need of an information, I think I shouldn't refuse you it. Let me see. What's it again you wish to know?
"Do you have any letters to the address of Brahmananda?"
"Yes," said the postmaster.
"At what intervals?"
"Stop, please, there is no haste. I will tell you after I have been paid for what you know already. I mean no offence. Business is business."
Madhabinath felt greatly offended at his meanness and foolish behaviour. "Do you know who I am?" he said, scanning him with his eyes.
"No; but whoever you may be, the post office is not bound to furnish the information you want. Your name, please?"
"Well, my name is Madhabinath Sircar. And since you do not know me I must tell you that I am wellknown in this part of the country. I have got a band of clubmen under my control. If you be so foolish as to incur my displeasure the consequence of it will not be very pleasant, I can tell you. So you are free to answer or not answer my questions just as you like." As he delivered this speech he looked awfully grave as if to give greater effect to his words. The postmaster had heard that Madhabinath Sircar of Rajagram was a formidable man. He thought to make an apology, but he was so frightened that he could hardly utter a word.
"Look here, man," continued Madhabinath, "I must know what I want to know. If you answer my questions faithfully and promptly I will make you an adequate recompense. But if instead you refuse to tell me what I want to know, as sure as you have a head on your shoulders I will have your office robbed and your house set on fire. And in court I shall know how to prove the charge completely against you. There!"
The postmaster was filled with dismay. He trembled visibly. "Oh, I beg your pardon, sir," he appealed. "I took you for an ordinary gentleman who wanted to pump information out of me. Don't take any offence, sir, I beseech you. I will gladly and readily answer any questions you may be pleased to ask."
"Well, then," said Madhabinath again, "at what intervals do you have letters to the address of Brahmananda?"
"Generally at a month's, sir," said the postmaster.
"Were the letters hitherto received all registered letters?"
"Most of them."
"At what office were they registered?"
"I am sure I do not remember, sir."
"But you can tell me by looking at the receipts."
The postmaster consulted the receipts. "Prosadpur," he said.
"In what district is it?" asked Madhabinath again.
"Jessore," he replied after consulting the list.
"Will you now see," said Madhabinath, "if you had any registered letters to this man's address from any other place?"
He thoroughly examined the receipts and declared that all the letters hitherto received were addressed from Prosadpur.
Madhabinath was satisfied. He gave him a ten rupee note; and he did not forget the postman, for whom, as he came away, he left a rupee, telling the postmaster to give it to him when he returned. But the poor fellow, we are sorry to say, never got it; for his superior, the sub-postmaster, to his shame it may be said, had not the least scruple to appropriate the gift to himself.