Several years passed. The government declared big awards for any information on the dacoits. Experts of the secret police from Europe were invited for this purpose but the robbers were so clever that no strategy worked against them.
However, Ramesh couldn’t live according to his own principles. As the days passed, he realized that discontent was spreading among his followers. The cleverer and more courageous among them would dominate others and wouldn’t give them an equal share of the booty. Some of them, in fact, became jealous of Ramesh. He lived a royal lifestyle. Others would say, ‘What right does he have to spend the money earned by everyone?’ A sense of discontent brewed among them as a consequence.
It was night; black clouds were hovering in the sky. That day they had planned to raid the mail wagon. Everything was pre-decided. Five valiant youths were selected for the purpose.
Suddenly, one young man stood up and said, ‘Why do you pick me again and again? Everyone else gets a fair share, so why should I risk my life time and again?’
Ramesh said firmly, ‘It’s my job to decide who will be sent where. Your job is simply to carry out my orders.’
The young man persisted, ‘If I’m made to do more work, why shouldn’t I be given a greater share?’
Ramesh gauged his attitude, picked up the pistol in his hands and said, ‘This will be decided when you return.’
‘I want it decided before I go.’
Ramesh didn’t reply. He wanted to make short work of him with his pistol when the young man jumped out of the window and fled. There was no one who could beat him at running and jumping. It was an easy job for him to jump from a running train.
He went straight to the chief of the secret police from there.8
After his retirement, Yashwant had started practising law. He was friendly with everyone in the department of justice. His practice looked up in no time and he made lots of money. He also received a pension. Had he wanted, he could’ve spent the rest of his life comfortably in his house. He also had no difficulty in working for the country and the community. One could expect selfless service from such men. But Yashwant had spent his entire life earning money. He couldn’t have done any work that didn’t bring him money.
Though the entire civilized society hated Ramesh, Yashwant hated him the most. He’d say, ‘If a suit is filed against Ramesh, then I’ll fight on behalf of the government without charging any fees.’ He would openly cast aspersions on Ramesh—‘He’s not a man, but the devil himself. He is a demon. One shouldn’t look at such a man’s face! Alas! Good families have been ruined at his hands. Good men have lost their lives, numerous women have become widows and children became orphans. If it was up to me, I’d have him shot or buried alive.’9
Uproar spread throughout the city—Ramesh Babu has been caught! It was true. Ramesh had been caught. That young man who had jumped from the train and run away from Ramesh had spilled the beans. What he revealed about Ramesh’s life appeared to be a sensational, demonic and sinful tale of forceful extraction and murder.
The civilized society heaved a sigh of relief. Buttermilk lamps were lit in the house of the seths. The naked swords that had been hanging over their heads had disappeared. Now they could enjoy their sleep.
Ramesh’s exploits were printed in newspapers—tales that had previously not been narrated out of fear. Reading them, one realized what disasters Ramesh had caused. Many nobles and kings used to give him a monthly tax. He would send them a chit conveying the date and the amount of money he wanted and no one dared disobey him. He extracted money from the rich and spent a part of it in the service of the people. He would write the amount and the rich had to pay off without a demur.
However, if the elite were happy, the common people were sad. Now who would protect them from the tyranny of the police? Who would save them from the exploitation of the seths? Who would open
