The immediate success of Kumodini Babu’s market caused infinite annoyance to Ramani Babu, who owned one long established in the neighbourhood.  Hucksters and country-folk found the tolls levied there so much lighter, that the attendance at Ramani’s fell off grievously.  It is well known that when a new market is started, proprietors already in the field endeavour to break it up with the aid of paid lathials (clubmen).  If, as often happens, the daring speculator be a man of substance, he employs similar means in his defence.  Free fights occur on market-days, ending in many a broken head—­sometimes in slaughter.  The battle is directed by Gomasthas (bailiffs) on either side, with the full knowledge of their masters, who keep discreetly aloof from the fray.

Ramani Babu did not foresee that his property would be injured by the new venture, and allowed it to be firmly established without striking a single blow.  Finding a lamentable decrease in his receipts, he ordered the bailiff to “go ahead,” and took an early train for Calcutta in order to set up an alibi in case of legal proceedings.  A day or two later his bailiff, attended by six or seven men armed with iron-shod bamboo staves, assembled at the outskirts of Kumodini Babu’s market, on a spot where four roads met.

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.  “What’s your name and residence?”

“Sadhu Sheikh, of Simulgachi.”

“Now, do you know who I am?”

“No-o,” replied Sadhu, hesitatingly.

“I am Ramani Babu’s new bailiff, sent with these men to see that his market is well attended.”