# The Spoilt Child/Chapter 27

CHAPTER XXVII. The Trial at the High Court.
The cutting of the rice-crops had already begun in the Soonderbunds: boats were constantly coming and going with their loads. There was water everywhere: here and there were raised bamboo platforms to serve as refuges whence the ryots could watch their crops; but, for all their produce the people were no better off. On the one hand there was the mahajan, who made them advances, to be satisfied, on the other, the zemindar's paik with his extortion: if they succeeded in selling their crops well, they might perhaps have two full meals a day, otherwise all they had to depend upon was fish or vegetables, or what they could earn as day labourers. On the higher lands only the autumn rice-crops are grown, the spring crops being generally raised on the lower lands. Rice is very easily grown in Bengal, but the crops have many obstacles to contend with: they are liable to destruction from excess of rain and from want of it; then there are the locusts and all kinds of destructive insects, and the late autumn storms: the rice-crop, moreover, requires continual attention for without very great care being exercised, blight attack the plants.
Bahulya, after looking after his little property all the morning, was sitting in his verandah smoking, a bundle of papers before him. Near him were seated certain scoundrels of the deepest dye, and some persons connected with the courts: the subject of their conversation was the law as administered by the magistrate, and certain suits-at-law ​then pending. One of the men was hinting at the necessity of getting some fresh documents prepared and some additional witnesses suborned: another was loudly applauding his successful devices, as he unfastened rupees from his waistcloth. Bahulya himself seemed somewhat absent-minded and kept looking about him in all directions: now and again, he gave some trivial orders to his cultivators. "Ho there! lift that pumpkin on to the machan" "Spread those bundles of straw in the sun." Then again he would gaze all about him, evidently restless and agitated. One of the company remarked: "Moulvi Saheb! I have just heard some bad news about Thakchacha. Is there not likely to be some trouble?" Bahulya had no wish to tell any of his secrets, so shaking his head from side to side he replied in a light sententious manner: "Man is encompassed about with every danger; why should you be in any fear?" Another man remarked: "That is all very true, but Thakchacha is a very clever man: he will escape from the danger by the mere force of his intelligence. But be that as it may, we shall be very glad if no calamity befalls you: we have no allies, no resources save you, in this Bhowanipore. Talk of our strength, of our wisdom; why, you are all in your own person: if you were not here we should have to remove our abode hence. It was most fortunate for me that you fabricated those papers for me, for I managed to give that idiot of a zemindar a good lesson by their means: he has done me no injury since: he knows very well that all the weight of your influence has been thrown into the scales on my behalf against him." Bahulya, contentedly puffing away at his hooka, with its pedestal of Bidri ware, and letting the smoke out of his eyes and mouth, laughed gently to himself. Another man remarked: "When a man has to take land into his own hands in the Mofussil there are two ways of keeping ​the zemindar and the indigo planter quiet; the first is to get the protection of a man like the Moulvi Saheb here: the second to become a Christian. I have seen a good many ryots, under the protection of the padri, lording it over their fellows, like so many Brahmin bulls among a herd of cows: there is power in the padri's money, in his signature, and in his recommendation. 'People always look after their own' says a proverb. I do not say that the ryots are all really Christian at heart, but those that go to the padri's church get a good many advantages, and in police cases a letter from the padri is of great service to them." Bahulya replied: "That may be all very true but it is a very bad thing for a man to renounce his faith." They all at once said: "Very true, very true, and on this account we never go near the padri."
They were all gossiping away merrily like this, when suddenly a police inspector, some jemadars, and sergeants of police, rushed forward and caught hold of Bahulya by the arms, saying: "You have committed forgery along with Thakchacha: there is a warrant for your apprehension." The men who had been with Bahulya were seized with terror when they heard these words, and ran off as fast as they could. Bahulya appealed to the avarice of the inspector and the sergeant of police, but they would not listen to the offer of a bribe for fear of losing their appointment; they seized him and took him off with them. As the news spread in Upper Bhowanipore, a great crowd collected, and some of the more respectable people in the crowd exclaimed;-- "The punishment of crime must come sooner or later: if people who have been perpetrating crimes pass their lives in happiness, then must the creation be all a delusion and a lie; but such can never be." As Bahulya proceeded on his way, with his head bent low, he met a good many people, but he ​affected to see no one. Some there were who had at some time or other been victimised by him: seeing that their opportunity had now come, they ventured to approach him, and said: "Ah, Moulvi Saheb! how deep in thought you are -- Krishna pining for Brindabun! you must have some very important business on hand." Bahulya answered not a word. After having crossed over from Bansberia Ghât he arrived at Shahganj. Some of the leading Mahomedans of that place remarked when they saw him, "Ah! the rogue has been caught: that is a very good thing, and it will be still better thing if he is punished." All these remarks directed against him seemed so much added to his disgrace: they were as the strokes of a sword upon a dead body. Exceedingly mortified by all the insults he had been exposed to, he at length reached Bhowanipore.
From a short distance off it appeared as if there was a crowd of people standing on the left side of the road. When they came nearer, the police sergeant stopped with Bahulya, and asked why there was such a crowd there: then, pushing his way into the circle, he saw a gentleman seated on the ground with an injured man in his lap: blood poured in a continuous stream from his head, and the clothing of the gentleman was all saturated with it. Upon the sergeant asking the gentleman who he was and how the man got injured, he replied:-- "My name is Barada Prasad Biswas: I was coming here on business, and, as it happened, this man was accidentally run over by a carriage, and I have been looking after him. I am trying to find some means of taking him to the hospital at once: I sent for a palki, but the palki-bearers refuse on any consideration to take the man, as he is of the sweeper caste. I have a carriage with me, but the man cannot get into a carriage: if I can only get a palki, or a dooly. I am fully ​prepared to pay the hire, whatever it may amount to." The heart even of the most worthless may be melted by the sight of such goodness. Bahulya marvelled to see this behaviour of Barada Babu's, and a feeling of remorse rose in his mind. The sergeant of police said to Barada Babu: "Sir, the people of Bengal never touch a man of the sweeper caste: it must be no easy matter for you, being a Bengali, to do as you are doing: you must be no ordinary person." As he said this, he put the prisoner in the charge of a constable and went off himself to a palki stand, where by a liberal expenditure of threats and promises, he managed to get a palki, and sent the injured man off to the hospital in charge of Barada Babu.
At one time, criminal cases were tried at the High Court at intervals of three months in the year; now, they are held much more frequently. Two kinds of juries are empanelled for the purpose of deciding upon criminal cases. First, there is the grand jury, who, after due deliberation as to whether an indictment framed by the police or others is a true bill or not, inform the court; secondly, there is a petty jury, who help the judge to come to a decision in cases that have been found to be true bills, in accordance with the deliberate opinion of the grand jury, and find the accused guilty or not guilty. At every sessions of the Criminal Court, twenty-four persons are called on the grand jury: any person with property of the value of two lakhs, or any merchant, may be on it. During the sessions, the petty jury may be empanelled every day, and when their names are called on, the defendants or the plaintiffs may raise objections to them if they please: that is to say, they may have some one appointed on the jury in place of anyone about whom they have any doubts; but when the twelve persons have once been sworn in as the petty jury, no change can be made. ​ On the first day of the sessions, three judges preside, and as soon as the grand jury have been empanelled, the judge, whose turn of duty it may be, charges them, that is to say, explains to them all the cases on for trial at the sessions. After the charge has been delivered, the two other judges, who are not on duty, depart; and the grand jury will then withdraw to record their deliberate opinion on the cases before them, and when they have sent it in to the judge, the trial will commence.
The night had nearly come to an end: a gentle breeze was blowing. At this beautifully cool morning hour Thakchacha was fast asleep and snoring loud, with his mouth wide open: the other prisoners were up and smoking, and some of them hearing the sound of snoring kept whispering into Thakchacha's ears: "Eat a burnt buffalo[62]!" but Thakchacha went on sleeping as soundly as the famous Kumbha Karna[63];--
"Oh! the thunder of a snore; "How it terrifies me sore!"
Not long afterwards the English jailor came and told the prisoners that they must get ready at once, as they were all wanted at the High Court immediately.
Upon the opening of the sessions, the verandah of the High Court was crowded with people, even before the clock struck ten. Attorneys, barristers, plaintiffs defendants, witnesses, attorneys' touts, jurymen, sergeants of police, jemadars, constables, and others were all collected there. Bancharam was pacing up and down with Mr. Butler, and any rich man he saw, no matter whether he knew him or not, he would greet with hands uplifted, in order to parade his Brahmanical degree[64]; but he deceived no one who knew him well by this assumption of courtesy. They would perhaps speak with him for a moment or two, and then on some imaginary plea or ​other slip away from him. Soon the jail van arrived, with sepoys on it before and behind: everybody looked down on it from the verandah above. The police removed the prisoners from the van and placed them in an enclosure in a room below the court-room.
Bancharam hurried below to have an interview with Thakchacha and Bahulya. "You two are Bhima and Arjuna[65]," said he to them; "have no fear; you may put full confidence in me, I am not a child you know."
About twelve o'clock, a space was cleared down the middle of the verandah, and the people all stood on either side of it: the chuprassis of the court commanded silence: all were eagerly expecting the arrival of the judges; then the sergeant of police, the chuprassis and the mace-bearers, bearing in their hands staves, maces, swords, and the royal silver-crowned insignia, went outside the court: the sheriff and deputy sheriff appeared with rods, and then the three judges, clothed in scarlet, ascended the bench with dignified gait and grave faces, and, after saluting the counsel, took their seats on the bench, the counsel making profound obeisance as they stood up in their places. The moving of chairs, the whispering and chattering of people, made a great noise in the court, and the chuprassis of the court had repeatedly to call out: "Silence in the court!" The sergeants of police also tried to keep the people quiet, and then, as the town crier called out: "Oh yes! oh yes!" the sessions opened. The names of the grand jury were then called over, and they were duly empanelled. They then appointed their foreman, that is, their president. It happened to be Mr. Russell's turn to sit as judge: turning to the grand jury he thus addressed them:-- "Gentlemen of the jury, an inspection of the cases for trial shows me that forgery is on the increase in Calcutta: I see that there are five or six ​cases of that kind, and amongst them a case against the two men Thakchacha and Bahulya. It appears from the depositions in their case that they have for some years past been forging Company's paper at Sialdah, and selling it in this city. Take this case first, please, and be good enough to inform me whether it is a true bill or not: it is superfluous for me to bid you do your duty in examining into the other cases for trial."
The grand jury, having received this charge, withdrew. Bancharam looked very despondently at Mr. Butler. After about a quarter of an hour had elapsed, the indictment against Thakchacha and Bahulya was returned to the court as a true bill. Thereupon the jail sentry produced Thakchacha and Bahulya and made them stand within the railed enclosure before the judge. As the petty jury were being empanelled, the court interpreter called out loudly: "Prisoners at the bar! you have been charged with forging Company's paper: have you committed this crime or not?" The accused replied: "We do not even know what is meant by forgery, or by Company's paper: we are only simple cultivators: we do not concern ourselves with things of this kind: that is the concern of our English rulers." The interpreter then said rather angrily to them: "Your language is all very fine: have you done this thing or have you not?" The only reply of the accused was: "Our fathers and our grandfathers never did such things." The interpreter then, in a great rage struck the table with his fist and said: "Give an answer to my question: have you done this thing or not?" "No, we never did such a thing," the accused at last replied. The reason for putting these questions was that, if the accused acknowledged his crime, his trial proceeded no further: he was at once sentenced. The interpreter then said: "Attention! These twelve men, all good and true, who ​are seated here, will try you: if you have any objection to raise against any of them, then speak at once: he will be removed, and another man substituted." The accused, not understanding anything that was being said, remained silent, and the trial then commenced: by means of the depositions of the complainants, and the witnesses, the Crown prosecutor established a clear case of forgery. The counsel for the accused did not produce any witnesses, but did his best, by the ingenious twistings and turnings of cross-examination and by the chicanery of the law, to mislead the jury. When the speech for the defence was finished, Mr. Russell gave the jury a summary of the proofs of the case and explained the evidence of the forgery.
Having received their charge, the petty jury withdrew to consult. Unless the jury are unanimous, they are unable to record a verdict. Bancharam seized this opportunity to draw near the prisoners to encourage them. A few words had passed between them, when there was a sudden stir in the court, caused by the re-entry of the jury. When they had all entered and taken their seats, the foreman stood up: there was at once silence in the court: all craned their necks and strained their ears to catch what was said. The clerk of the Crown, the chief conductor of all criminal cases in the court, put the question:-- "Gentlemen of the jury! Are Thakchacha and Bahulya guilty or not guilty?" "Guilty" was the reply of the foreman of the jury. As soon as the accused heard this, their hearts died within them. Bancharam then hurried up to them, and said: "Ha, ha! what, guilty? Put your trust in me, I am no child as you know: I will petition for a new trial, that is, for another verdict." Thakchacha only shook his head, and said: "Ah, sir! what must be, must: we cannot afford any more expense." ​Bancharam then explained, with some irritation, "How much do you suppose I shall make by binding leaves in an empty vessel? In business like this, is clay to be moistened by tears only?" Mr. Russell then, examining his records very carefully, looked fixedly at the prisoners, as he passed this sentence upon them:-- "Thakchacha and Bahulya, your guilt has been well established, and all who commit such crimes as yours should be heavily punished: I sentence you therefore to transportation for life." No sooner was the sentence delivered then the guards seized the prisoners by their hands and took them below. Bancharam had slipped back and was standing to one side; some people remarked to him, "Is this your case that has been lost?" "You might have known that," he replied; "let me never again have anything to do with so bad a one: I have never cared for cases like this."