# The Modern Review/Volume 6/Number 6/The Riddle Solved

Original story (সমস্যাপূরণ) first published in Sadhana, Agrahayan 1300 B.E. (November-December, 1893). This is the original translation, later slightly revised by the original author before publication in the compilation, Mashi and Other Stories.
THE RIDDLE SOLVED
(A Short Story)
(From the Bengali of Ravindra Nath Tagore)
I
BABU Krishna Gopal Sircar, zemindar of Jhikrakota, made over his estates to his eldest son and retired to the holy city of Benares, as befits a good Hindoo, to spend the evening of his life in religious devotion. All the poor and the destitute of the neighbourhood were in tears at the parting. Every one declared that such piety and benevolence were rare in these degenerate days.
His son, Bepin Bihari was a young man well-educated on modern lines, holding the degree of Bachelor of Arts. He sported a pair of spectacles, wore a beard and seldom mixed with others. His private life was unsullied. He did not even smoke and never touched cards. He was a man of stern disposition, though he looked soft and pliable. This trait of his character soon came home to his tenantry in diverse ways. Unlike his father, he would on no account allow a remission of one single pice out of the rents justly due to him. Under no circumstances would he grant any tenant one single day's grace in paying up.
On taking over management of the property, Bepin Bihari discovered that his father had allowed a large number of Brahmins to hold land entirely rent-free and a larger number to hold at rents much below the prevailing rates. His father was incapable of resisting the importunate solicitation of others—such was the weakness of his character.
Bepin Bihari said, this could never be. He could not in this way abandon the income of half his property—and he reasoned with himself thus:—Firstly, the persons who were in actual enjoyment of the concessions and getting fat at his expense were a lot of worthless people and so undeserving of charity. Charity bestowed on such ​objects only encouraged idleness. Secondly, living now-a-days had become much costlier than in the days of his ancestors. Wants had increased apace. For a gentleman to keep up his position had become four times as expensive as in days past. So he could not afford to scatter gifts right and left as his father had done. On the contrary it was his bounden duty to call back as many of them as he possibly could.
So Bepin Bihari lost no time in carrying into effect what he conceived to be his duty. He was a man of strict principles.
What had gone out of his grasp, returned to him little by little. Only a very small portion of his father's grants did he allow to remain undisturbed and he took good care to arrange that those even should not be deemed permanent.
The wails of the tenants reached Krishna Gopal at Benares through the post. Some even made a journey to that place to represent their grievances to him personally. Krishna Gopal wrote to his son intimating his displeasure. Bepin Bihari replied, pointing out, how the times had changed. In former days, he said, the Zemindar was compensated for the gifts he made by the many customary presents he used to receive from his tenantry. Recent statutes had made all such impositions illegal. The zemindar had now to rest content with just the stipulated rent and nothing more. "Unless"—he continued—"we keep a strict watch over the realisation of our just dues, what would be left to us? Since the tenants won't give us anything extra now, how can we allow them concessions? Our relations must henceforth be strictly contractual. We shall be ruined if we go on making gifts and endowments, and the preservation of our property and the keeping up of our position will be rendered extremely difficult."
Krishna Gopal became very uneasy at finding that times should have changed so. "Well—well"—he murmurred to himself—"the younger generation know best, I suppose. Our out of date methods won't do now. If I interfere, my son might refuse to manage the property and insist on my going back. No, thank you—I would rather not. The few days that are left to me—I would much rather devote them to the service of my God."
II
So things went on. Bepin Bihari put his affairs in order after much litigation in the Courts and less constitutional methods outside. Most of the tenants submitted to his will out of fear. Only a fellow called Asimuddin, son of Mirza Bibi, still remained refractory.
Bepin's displeasure was keenest as regards this man. He could quite understand his father having granted rent-free lands to Brahmins, but why this Mohamedan should be holding so much land, some free and some at rents lower than the prevailing rates was a riddle to him. And what was he?—The son of a low Mohamedan widow giving himself airs and defying the whole world, simply because he had learnt to read and write a little at the village school. To Bepin it was intolerable.
He made enquiries of his officers about Asimuddin's holdings. All that they could tell him was that Babu Krishna Gopal himself had made these grants to the family many years back, but they had no idea as to what his motive might have been. They imagined however that perhaps the widow won the compassion of the kind-hearted zemindar by representing to him her woe and misery.
To Bepin these favours seemed to be utterly undeserved. He had not seen the pitiable condition of these people in days gone by. Their comparative ease of the present day and their arrogance drove him to the conclusion that they had impudently swindled his tender-hearted father out of a part of his legitimate income.
Asimuddin was a stiff-necked sort of a fellow, too. He vowed that he would lay down his life sooner than give up an inch of his land. Open hostilities ensued.
The poor old widow tried her best to pacify her son. "It is no good fighting with the zemindar"—she would often say to him.—"His kindness has kept us alive so long, let us depend upon him still, though he may curtail his favours. Surrender to him part of the lands as he desires."
"O, mother!"—protested Asimuddin—"What do you know of these matters pray?"
One by one, Asimuddin lost the cases instituted against him. The more he lost ​his zid increased the more. For the sake of his all, he staked all that was his.
One afternoon, Mirza Bibi collected some fruits and vegetables from her little garden and unbeknown to her son went and sought an interview with Bepin Babu. She looked at him with a tenderness maternal in its intensity and spoke—"May Allah bless you, my son. Do not destroy Asim—it wouldn't be right of you. To your charge I commit him. Take him as though he were one whom it is your duty to support—as though he were a ne'er-do-weel younger brother of yours. Vast is your wealth—don't grudge him a small particle of it, my son."
This assumption of familiarity on the part of the garrulous old woman annoyed Bepin not a little. "What do you know of these things, my good woman?"—he condescended to say—"If you have any representations to make, send your son to me."
Being assured for the second time that she knew nothing about these affairs, Mirza Bibi returned home wiping her eyes with her apron all the way and offering her silent prayers to Allah.
III
The litigation dragged its weary length from the Criminal to the Civil Courts and thence to the High Court, where at last Asimuddin met with a partial success. Eighteen months passed in this way. But he was a ruined man now—plunged in debts up to his very ears. His creditors took this opportunity to execute the decrees they had obtained against him. A date was fixed for putting up to auction every stick and stone that he had left.
It was Monday;—the village market had assembled by the side of a tiny river, now swollen by the rains. Buying and selling was going on partly on the bank and partly in the boats moored there. The hubub was great. Among the commodities for sale, jack-fruits preponderated, it being the month of Asadh. Hilsa fish were seen in large quantities also. The sky was cloudy. Many of the stall-holders, apprehending a downpour, had stretched a piece of cloth overhead, across bamboo poles put up for the purpose.
Asimuddin had come too—but he had not a copper with him. No shopkeepers allowed him credit now a days. He therefore had brought a brass thali and a dao with him. These he would pawn and then buy his necessaries.
Towards evening, Bepin Babu was out for a walk attended by two or three retainers armed with lathis. Attracted by the noise, he directed his steps towards the market. Getting there, he stepped awhile before the stall of Dwari the oilman, and made kindly enquires about his business. All on a sudden Asimuddin raised his dao and ran towards Bepin Babu, roaring like a tiger. The market people caught hold of him half way and quickly disarmed him. He was forthwith given in custody of the Police. Business in the market then went on as usual.
We cannot say that Bepin Babu was not inwardly pleased at this incident. It is intolerable that the creature we are hunting down should turn round and show fight. "The budmash"—Bepin chuckled—"I have got him at last."
The ladies of Bepin Babu's house, when they heard the news, exclaimed with horror,—"O the ruffian! What a mercy they seized him in time." They found consolation at the prospect of the man being punished as he richly deserved.
In another part of the village the same evening the widow's humble cottage, devoid of bread and bereft of her son, became darker than death. Others dismissed the incident of the afternoon from their minds, sat down to their meals, retired to bed and went to sleep, but to the widow the event loomed larger than anything else in this wide world. But alas, who was there to combat it—only a bundle of wearied bones and a helpless mother's heart trembling with fear.
IV
Three days have passed in the meanwhile. To-morrow the case will come up for trial before a Deputy Magistrate. Bepin Babu will have to be examined as a witness. Never before this did a zemindar of jhikrakota appear in the witness-box, but Bepin did not mind.
The next day at the appointed hour, Bepin Babu arrived at the Court in a palanquin in great state. He wore a turban on his head and a watch-chain dangled on his ​breast. The Deputy Magistrate invited him to a seat on the dais, beside his own. The Court-room was crowded to suffocation. A sensation of this magnitude had not been witnessed in this Court for many years.
When the time for the case to be called on drew near, a chuprassi came and whispered something in Bepin Babu's ear. He got up very much agitated and walked out begging the Deputy Magistrate to excuse him for a few minutes.
Coming outside, he saw his old father a little way off, standing under a banian tree barefooted and wrapped in a piece of namavali. A string of beads was in his hand. His slender form shone with a gentle lustre and tranquil compassion seemed to radiate from his forehead.
Bepin, hampered by his close-fitting trousers and his flowing chupkan, touched his father's feet with his forehead. In doing so his turban came off and kissed his nose and his watch popped out of his pocket and swung to and fro in the air. Bepin adjusted his attire hurriedly and begged his father to come to his pleader's house close by.
"No thank you"—Krishna Gopal replied—"I will tell you here what I have got to say."
A curious crowd had gathered there by this time. Bepin's attendants pushed them back.
Krishna Gopal then said—"You must do what you can to get Asim acquitted and restore him the lands that you have taken away from him."
"Is it for this, father"—said Bepin very much surprised—"that you have come all the way from Benares? Would you tell me why you have made them the objects of your special favour?"
"What would you gain by knowing it, my boy?"
But Bepin persisted. "It is only this father;" he went on—"I have revoked many a grant because I thought the parties were not deserving. There were many Brahmins amongst them—but you never said a word then. Are you so keen about these Mohamedans now? After all that has happened, if I drop this case against Asim and give him back his lands, what shall I say to people?"
Krishna Gopal maintained a silence for some moments. Then, passing the beads through his shaky fingers with rapidity, he spoke with a tremulous voice—"Should it be necesary to explain your conduct to people, you may tell them that Asimuddin is my son—and your brother."
"What?"—exclaimed Bepin in painful surprise—"By the Mohamedan woman?"
"It is so, my son"—was the calm reply.
Bepin stood there for some time in mute astonishment. Then he found words to say—"Come home, father—we shall talk about it afterwards."
"No, my son"—replied the old man—"Having once relinquished the world for serving my God, I cannot go home again. I return from here. Now I leave you to do as your sense of duty may suggest to you". He then blessed his son and checking his tears with difficulty walked off with tottering steps.
Bepin was dumb-founded, not knowing what to say and what to do. "So,—such was the piety of the older generation"—he said to himself. He reflected with pride how superior he was to his father in point of education and morality. This was the result, he concluded, of not having a principle to guide one's actions.
Returning to the Court he saw Asimuddin outside between two constables, awaiting his trial. He looked emaciated and worn out. His lips were pale and dry and his eyes unnaturally bright. A dirty piece of cloth gone into shreds, covered his person. "This, my brother!"—Bepin shuddered to think.
The Deputy Magistrate and Bepin were friends, so the case ended in a fiasco. In a few days Asimuddin was restored to his former condition. Why all this happened, he could not understand. The village people were greatly surprised also.
The news of Krishna Gopal's arrival just before the trial soon got abroad however. People began to exchange meaning glances. The pleaders in their shrewdness guessed the whole affair. One of them, Babu Ram Taran, was beholden to Krishna Gopal for his education and his start in life. Somehow or other he had always suspected that the virtue and the piety of his benefactor was all sham. Now he was fully convinced that if a searching enquiry were made, all "pious" men might be found out. "Let ​them tell their beads as much as they like"—he thought with glee—"everybody in this world is just as bad as myself. The only difference between a good and a bad man is that the good practise dissimulation while the bad don't." The revelation, however, that Krishna Gopal's far-famed piety, benevolence and magnanimity were nothing but a cloak of hypocrisy solved a problem that had puzzled Babu Ram Taran for many years. By what process of reasoning, we do not know, the burden of gratitude was greatly lifted off his mind. It was such a relief to him!
Translated by Prabhat Kumar Mukerji.