CHAPTER LIV. MÁDHAVA'S END. The undiscovered country, from whose bourn Hamlet. THE ráiyats of an indigo district will tell you that one of the modes in which the planter punishes those whom he deems most dangerous is to make them "drink the water of seven factories." A ráiyat of some pluck, "some village Hampden," is spirited away, and sent from factory to factory-for one indigo concern has generally several factories-according to the circumstances of the case; and this mysterious translation from place to place ends in his exit from the stage of the world. We must do Mr. Murray the justice to remark that before the affray he had not the slightest intention to spirit Mádhava away, and send him the round of the factories; but the severe wound which he had unfortunately received in the mêlée, left the planter no choice. If Mádhava had been allowed to remain at Durgánagar after having been wounded, it would have been highly prejudicial to the interests of Mr. Murray, as the wound alone would have been sufficient proof of the affray; and if he had died in consequence of the wound, in the course of a few days, the planter's case would have been more serious. Hence the necessity of kidnapping Mádhava away. The first factory to which he was carried was ten or twelve miles distant, but here he was not kept for more than twenty-four hours. The magistrates, believing, on the strength of the Dárogá's representations, that there had been no affray at all, and that the zamindár had hidden Mádhava in some secret place in order to get Mr. Murray into trouble, had issued orders on the zamindár immediately to produce Mádhava, on pain of heavy penalties. Though the zamindár was as innocent in the matter as the unborn babe, he was obliged to take measures for ascertaining the whereabouts of the planter's captive. The police were also active in the search, not so much in obedience to the magistrate's orders as with a view to obtain illegal gratification from the party in whose custody the missing Madhava might be found. The zamindar's spies and the chaukidárs of the Tháná were forthwith set in motion, and they found out that the boat which carried Mádhava on board had sailed towards Kuládaha. On this circumstance being known to the assistant planter, the wounded prisoner was sent to the next factory on the Bhagirathi named Serpaḍá, which, though distant only a few miles from the former one, had the advantage of being situated in a different district, namely, Hooghly. But the spies and choukidárs followed the fugitive to that place; therefore it became necessary to remove Mádhava to some far-off factory in Eastern Bengal. The boat touched at several factories in the way, such as Krishnadhám, Rádhánagar, Chakradwípa, Sárisamudra, at each of which places the prisoner was taken ashore and kept a few hours, till he reached Moulaviganga, on the banks of the Ichhamati, the factory of which was determined to be his prison. Poor Mádhava, how ever, had not long to live. In consequence of his removal from place to place, his wound, which was utterly neglected, festered, and scarcely had he been landed at the ghát of the planter at Moulaviganga, when he died. His remains were neither burnt nor buried, but were simply thrown at night into the river, which carried them to the Bay of Bengal. Such was the end of Mádhava, the victim of the planter's cupidity. It was after a long time that the news of Mádhava's death reached his family at Durgánagar. Immediately after the conclusion of the affray, his wife and mother supposed that he had been carried along with the other captives to the factory at Nildángá; but when all returned excepting Madhava, their grief knew no bounds. Consumed with grief, they waited day after day, and week after week, and yet no tidings came of the object of their affection. Málati wept by day and by night. She broke her silver ornaments and cast them aside; she often dashed her head against the floor through despair; she scarcely ate or drank anything. The mother of Mádhava became almost mad with despair. She became ten times more furious than ever: it was impossible for any human being to approach her. At last a chance traveller announced in the village the news of Mádhava's death. We will not attempt to describe the state into which the women were thrown on hearing the melancholy tidings. Sudhámukhi became insane, and hung herself one night on one of the bamboo rafters of her sleeping hut. Kádambini went to her late husband's relatives, who were not unwilling to support her. Málati sold off the huts and everything else she had, and, taking her son Yádava with her, came to Kánchanpur and took up her abode with her brother. Govinda was ill able to support his sister and her son. Nor was it necessary. By selling her late husband's property she had got about one hundred rupees, with part of which she traded, and part she lent out on heavy interest. The trade which she carried on was this. She bought paddy, turned it into rice, and sold it. The proceeds of this little trade, together with the interest of the money lent out, were sufficient to supply her wants and those of her son. The boy was also able in a short time to earn a little money, about a shilling a month, by tending the cows of neighbours and by gathering cow-dung every day, which Málati turned into cakes and sold as fuel. As in the course of this narrative we shall not have occasion to mention the name of Nava Krishna Banerjea, the zamindár of Durgánagar, we may remark once for all that, though often opposed by the indigo-planter of Nildángá in his honest endeavours to protect his tenants and to ameliorate. their condition, his exertions were crowned with complete success; and there is no name in the layroll of the zamindárs of Bengal which stands higher for philanthropy, liberality, uprightness of conduct, and public spirit than the honoured name of Nava Krishna Banerjea. Concerning Mr. Murray, of whom the reader will not hear again, we may state that the Rob Roy principle which he adopted— "the simple plan that they should take who have the power, and they should keep who can "—did can”-did him little good. His oppression created universal disaffection among the peasantry, and produced an |