Tapeshwari told him, ‘Beta, I am happy with whatever God has given me. I don’t want land and property. I’m not wealthy enough to go to court.’
‘I will put up the money; you just have to lodge a claim.’
‘My brother will drag you into court and leave you penniless.’
‘I can’t bear to stand by and watch while he enjoys what is rightfully ours. I will pay for the case. I am ready to sell myself rather than let go of his throat.’
‘Even if I get the land you will take it from me in exchange for all the money you spend. What will I be left with? Why should I do my brother ill?’
‘You take the land. All I want to do is break chacha’s pride.’
‘Very well, go and file a claim on my behalf.’
Jogeshwar thought that once the land was freed from his uncle’s clutches he would rent it from his aunt for five or ten rupees a year. At present she didn’t even earn a cowrie. Whatever she got would seem a lot to her. The following day he lodged a claim. The case came up before the munsif magistrate.
Vishweshwar Rai proved that Tapeshwari was not even Siddeshwar Rai’s daughter.
The villagers could be pressurized by Vishweshwar. They all borrowed money from him and took his advice on legal matters and disputes. They all stated in court that they had never seen Tapeshwari and that Siddeshwar Rai never had a daughter. Jogeshwar employed senior advocates to argue his case and spent a great deal of money but the magistrate ruled against him. The poor man was in despair. Vishweshwar Rai knew everyone at the courts. The work that cost Jogeshwar fistfuls of money people did for Vishweshwar simply out of personal regard.
Jogeshwar decided to appeal. He had no money left, so he sold his cart and bullocks. The appeal was filed. The case dragged on for months. Poor Jogeshwar would spend every day from dawn to dusk flattering the court officials and lawyers; he spent all his money and kept taking loans from moneylenders. Finally, this time, the decision went in his favour. He had a debt of five hundred rupees on his head but now victory wiped away his tears.
Vishweshwar appealed to the high court. This time Jogeshwar was unable to raise the required money. Helpless, he mortgaged his own piece of land. Then he mortgaged his house. He even sold his wife’s jewellery. Finally, he won in the high court too. Whatever capital he had left disappeared in a joyous celebration. A thousand rupees had gone down the drain. But there was the satisfaction of winning all five bighas. How could Tapeshwari be so unkind as to pull this platter away from him?
But the moment the land was in her name Tapeshwari changed her tune. When she went to the village one day she discovered that she could rent out the five bighas for one hundred rupees. The land revenue due was only twenty-five rupees; seventy-five rupees was the annual profit. This sum transformed her. She summoned the tenants and made arrangements with them. Jogeshwar was left rubbing his palms. No longer able to contain himself, he went to her and said, ‘Phoophiji, you have given the land to other people, now where do I go?’
‘Beta, first you light a lamp in your own home and then you go and light one in the mosque. Now I have so much land, I have a connection with my father’s house. Before this, no one cared for me.’
‘But I’m ruined.’
‘Why don’t you rent some cheaper land for a few rupees less than these people are paying?’
Tapeshwari left a few days later. It was as if Rameshwar Rai had been struck by lightning. In his old age he was reduced to being a daily-wage labourer. His hands were washed of honour and respect. He was living hand to mouth. The cooking fire was only lit in their house if both father and son laboured from dawn to dusk. They argued with each other most of the time. Rameshwar put all the blame on his son’s head. Jogeshwar said that if Rameshwar had tried to stop him he would not have been trapped in this disastrous situation. Meanwhile, Vishweshwar egged the moneylenders on. Before a year had passed they were left with nothing—they lost their land, their house was auctioned. They had a dozen or so trees—those were auctioned too. As they say, a Chaube Brahmin couldn’t raise his status to a Dube Brahmin, he became a pauper instead.
At this point Vishweshwar’s taunts became even crueller. In their misfortunes this was the sharpest thorn of all, the most merciless blow he could inflict.
For two years, members of this afflicted family knew what they suffered. They never had a full meal. But their pride was unbendable. Poverty did everything to them but crush their spirit. All sufferings can be endured in the name of family honour.
One evening, father and son were sitting warming their hands in front of a fire when all of a sudden a man came up to them and said, ‘Thakur, come, Vishweshwar Rai is calling for you.’
Rameshwar replied indifferently, ‘Why should he call for me? Who am I to him? Does he want to start another fight?’
Meanwhile, a second man came and said, ‘Thakur, come quickly, Vishweshwar Rai is in a bad way.’
Vishweshwar Rai had been suffering from a fever and cough for several days but people never fear that any harm may come to their enemies. Rameshwar and Jogeshwar never even went to ask how he was. They would say, ‘There’s nothing wrong with him. Rich people get rich people’s diseases. Whenever they want to rest they lie down, eat boiled sago with milk mixed
