The confession elicited a general laugh, and Sham Babu replied, “It will be a matter of Rs. 200”.

“Two hundred rupees!  Surely that is far too much for a range of huts.”

“True enough.  Your own bamboo clumps, straw-stacks and stores of cordage would provide raw material; and as for labour, all you have to do is to order some of your ryots (tenants) who are behindhand with their rent to work for you gratis.”

“That would be contrary to my principles.  How are these poor people to live while engaged in begar (forced labour) on my behalf?  They must be paid.”

“Very well, then, let us set apart Rs. 20 to meet the cost of market buildings.  But, for the first few weeks, you will have to buy up the unsold stock of perishable goods brought by Farias (hucksters); you must patronise the shopkeepers who open stalls for selling grain, cloth, confectionery, tobacco and trinkets.  Once these people find that they are making fair profits they will gladly pay you rent for space allotted, besides tolls on the usual scale.  At least Rs. 180 must be set apart for these preliminary expenses.”

Kumodini Babu never did anything in haste.  A fortnight elapsed ere he announced to the neighbours gathered in his Chandimandap that he intended starting a bi-weekly market on a vacant plot measuring one Bigha (one-third of an acre), known as the Kamarbari (Anglice, “Abode of Blacksmiths").  On an auspicious day towards the end of April, he inaugurated the new enterprise with some ceremony.  His own ryots were enjoined to attend; shopkeepers, hucksters, and fishermen who had hitherto gone much further afield, came in considerable numbers; and business was amazingly brisk.  Zemindars (landed proprietors) generally have to wait for months and spend money like water before they gain a pice (a bronze coin worth a farthing) from a new market.  Kumodini Babu, however, began to reap where he had sown in less than a fortnight.  Not an inch of space in the Karmarbari remained unoccupied; his Hat-Gomastha, or bailiff, levied rent and tolls for vendors, at whose request the market was proclaimed a tri-weekly one.  His fame as a man of energy and public spirit spread over ten villages, whose people felt that he was one who would give them good counsel in times of difficulty.

There is some truth in the notion that fortune’s gifts seldom come singly.  Kumodini Babu’s success in a business venture was immediately followed by one in his domestic affairs.  It fell out in this wise.  Sham Babu’s daughter, Shaibalini, was still unmarried, though nearly thirteen and beautiful enough to be the pride of Kadampur.  Money was, indeed, the only qualification she lacked, and Sham Babu’s comparative poverty kept eligible suitors at a distance.  For three years he had sought far and wide for a son-in-law and was beginning to fear that he might, after all, be unable to fulfil the chief duty of a Hindu parent.  One evening his wife unexpectedly entered the parlour where he was resting after a heavy day at office.