I

Raicharan was twelve years old when he came as a servant to his master's
house. He belonged to the same caste as his master, and was given his
master's little son to nurse. As time went on the boy left Raicharan's
arms to go to school. From school he went on to college, and after
college he entered the judicial service. Always, until he married,
Raicharan was his sole attendant.

But, when a mistress came into the house, Raicharan found two
masters instead of one. All his former influence passed to the new
mistress. This was compensated for by a fresh arrival. Anukul had a
son born to him, and Raicharan by his unsparing attentions soon got a
complete hold over the child. He used to toss him up in his arms, call
to him in absurd baby language, put his face close to the baby's and
draw it away again with a grin.

Presently the child was able to crawl and cross the doorway. When
Raicharan went to catch him, he would scream with mischievous laughter
and make for safety. Raicharan was amazed at the profound skill and
exact judgment the baby showed when pursued. He would say to his
mistress with a look of awe and mystery: "Your son will be a judge some
day."

New wonders came in their turn. When the baby began to toddle, that was
to Raicharan an epoch in human history. When he called his father Ba-ba
and his mother Ma-ma and Raicharan Chan-na, then Raicharan's ecstasy
knew no bounds. He went out to tell the news to all the world.

After a while Raicharan was asked to show his ingenuity in other ways.
He had, for instance, to play the part of a horse, holding the reins
between his teeth and prancing with his feet. He had also to wrestle
with his little charge, and if he could not, by a wrestler's trick, fall
on his back defeated at the end, a great outcry was certain.

About this time Anukul was transferred to a district on the banks of the
Padma. On his way through Calcutta he bought his son a little go-cart.
He bought him also a yellow satin waistcoat, a gold-laced cap, and some
gold bracelets and anklets. Raicharan was wont to take these out, and
put them on his little charge with ceremonial pride, whenever they went
for a walk.

Then came the rainy season, and day after day the rain poured down in
torrents. The hungry river, like an enormous serpent, swallowed down
terraces, villages, cornfields, and covered with its flood the tall
grasses and wild casuarinas on the sand-banks. From time to time there
was a deep thud, as the river-banks crumbled. The unceasing roar of the
rain current could be beard from far away. Masses of foam, carried
swiftly past, proved to the eye the swiftness of the stream.

One afternoon the rain cleared. It was cloudy, but cool and bright.
Raicharan's little despot did not want to stay in on such a fine
afternoon. His lordship climbed into the go-cart. Raicharan, between
the shafts, dragged him slowly along till he reached the rice-fields on
the banks of the river. There was no one in the fields, and no boat on
the stream. Across the water, on the farther side, the clouds were
rifted in the west. The silent ceremonial of the setting sun was
revealed in all its glowing splendour. In the midst of that stillness
the child, all of a sudden, pointed with his finger in front of him and
cried: "Chan-nal Pitty fow."

Close by on a mud-flat stood a large Kadamba tree in full flower. My
lord, the baby, looked at it with greedy eyes, and Raicharan knew his
meaning. Only a short time before he had made, out of these very flower
balls, a small go-cart; and the child had been so entirely happy
dragging it about with a string, that for the whole day Raicharan was
not made to put on the reins at all. He was promoted from a horse into
a groom.

But Raicharan had no wish that evening to go splashing knee-deep through
the mud to reach the flowers. So he quickly pointed his finger in the
opposite direction, calling out: "Oh, look, baby, look! Look at the
bird." And with all sorts of curious noises he pushed the go-cart
rapidly away from the tree.

But a child, destined to be a judge, cannot be put off so easily. And
besides, there was at the time nothing to attract his eyes. And you
cannot keep up for ever the pretence of an imaginary bird.

The little Master's mind was made up, and Raicharan was at his wits'
end. "Very well, baby," he said at last, "you sit still in the cart, and
I'll go and get you the pretty flower. Only mind you don't go near the
water."

As he said this, he made his legs bare to the knee, and waded
through the oozing mud towards the tree.

The moment Raicharan had gone, his little Master went off at racing
speed to the forbidden water. The baby saw the river rushing by,
splashing and gurgling as it went. It seemed as though the disobedient
wavelets themselves were running away from some greater Raicharan with
the laughter of a thousand children. At the sight of their mischief,
the heart of the human child grew excited and restless. He got down
stealthily from the go-cart and toddled off towards the river. On his
way he picked up a small stick, and leant over the bank of the stream
pretending to fish. The mischievous fairies of the river with their
mysterious voices seemed inviting him into their play-house.

Raicharan had plucked a handful of flowers from the tree, and was
carrying them back in the end of his cloth, with his face wreathed in
smiles. But when he reached the go-cart, there was no one there. He
looked on all sides and there was no one there. He looked back at the
cart and there was no one there.

In that first terrible moment his blood froze within him. Before his
eyes the whole universe swam round like a dark mist. From the depth of
his broken heart he gave one piercing cry; "Master, Master, little
Master."

But no voice answered "Chan-na." No child laughed mischievously back;
no scream of baby delight welcomed his return. Only the river ran on,
with its splashing, gurgling noise as before,--as though it knew nothing
at all, and had no time to attend to such a tiny human event as the
death of a child.

As the evening passed by Raicharan's mistress became very anxious. She
sent men out on all sides to search. They went with lanterns in their
hands, and reached at last the banks of the Padma. There they found
Raicharan rushing up and down the fields, like a stormy wind, shouting
the cry of despair: "Master, Master, little Master!"

When they got Raicharan home at last, he fell prostrate at his
mistress's feet. They shook him, and questioned him, and asked him
repeatedly where he had left the child; but all he could say was, that
he knew nothing.

Though every one held the opinion that the Padma had swallowed the
child, there was a lurking doubt left in the mind. For a band of
gipsies had been noticed outside the village that afternoon, and some
suspicion rested on them. The mother went so far in her wild grief as
to think it possible that Raicharan himself had stolen the child. She
called him aside with piteous entreaty and said: "Raicharan, give me
back my baby. Oh ! give me back my child. Take from me any money you
ask, but give me back my child!"

Raicharan only beat his forehead in reply. His mistress ordered him out
of the house.

Artukul tried to reason his wife out of this wholly unjust suspicion:
"Why on earth," he said, "should he commit such a crime as that?"

The mother only replied: "The baby had gold ornaments on his body. Who
knows?"

It was impossible to reason with her after that.

II

Raicharan went back to his own village. Up to this time he had had no
son, and there was no hope that any child would now be born to him. But
it came about before the end of a year that his wife gave birth to a son
and died.

All overwhelming resentment at first grew up in Raicharan's heart at the
sight of this new baby. At the back of his mind was resentful suspicion
that it had come as a usurper in place of the little Master. He also
thought it would be a grave offence to be happy with a son of his own
after what had happened to his master's little child. Indeed, if it had
not been for a widowed sister, who mothered the new baby, it would not
have lived long.

But a change gradually came over Raicharan's mind. A wonderful thing
happened. This new baby in turn began to crawl about, and cross the
doorway with mischief in its face. It also showed an amusing cleverness
in making its escape to safety. Its voice, its sounds of laughter and
tears, its gestures, were those of the little Master. On some days,
when Raicharan listened to its crying, his heart suddenly began
thumping wildly against his ribs, and it seemed to him that his former
little Master was crying somewhere in the unknown land of death because
he had lost his Chan-na.

Phailna (for that was the name Raicharan's sister gave to the new baby)
soon began to talk. It learnt to say Ba-ba and Ma-ma with a baby
accent. When Raicharan heard those familiar sounds the mystery suddenly
became clear. The little Master could not cast off the spell of his
Chan-na, and therefore he had been reborn in his own house.

The arguments in favour of this were, to Raicharan, altogether beyond
dispute:

(i.) The new baby was born soon after his little master's death.

(ii.) His wife could never have accumulated such merit as to give birth
to a son in middle age.

(iii.) The new baby walked with a toddle and called out Ba-ba and Ma-
ma. There was no sign lacking which marked out the future judge.

Then suddenly Raicharan remembered that terrible accusation of the
mother. "Ah," he said to himself with amazement, "the mother's heart was
right. She knew I had stolen her child." When once he had come to this
conclusion, he was filled with remorse for his past neglect. He now
gave himself over, body and soul, to the new baby, and became its
devoted attendant. He began to bring it up, as if it were the son of a
rich man. He bought a go-cart, a yellow satin waistcoat, and a gold-
embroidered cap. He melted down the ornaments of his dead wife, and
made gold bangles and anklets. He refused to let the little child play
with any one of the neighbourhood, and became himself its sole companion
day and night. As the baby grew up to boyhood, he was so petted and
spoilt and clad in such finery that the village children would call him
"Your Lordship," and jeer at him; and older people regarded Raicharan as
unaccountably crazy about the child.

At last the time came for the boy to go to school. Raicharan sold his
small piece of land, and went to Calcutta. There he got employment with
great difficulty as a servant, and sent Phailna to school. He spared no
pains to give him the best education, the best clothes, the best food.
Meanwhile he lived himself on a mere handful of rice, and would say in
secret: "Ah! my little Master, my dear little Master, you loved me so
much that you came back to my house. You shall never suffer from any
neglect of mine."

Twelve years passed away in this manner. The boy was able to read and
write well. He was bright and healthy and good-looking. He paid a
great deal of attention to his personal appearance, and was specially
careful in parting his hair. He was inclined to extravagance and
finery, and spent money freely. He could never quite look on Raicharan
as a father, because, though fatherly in affection, he had the manner of
a servant. A further fault was this, that Raicharan kept secret from
every one that himself was the father of the child.

The students of the hostel, where Phailna was a boarder, were greatly
amused by Raicharan's country manners, and I have to confess that behind
his father's back Phailna joined in their fun. But, in the bottom of
their hearts, all the students loved the innocent and tender-hearted
old man, and Phailna was very fond of him also. But, as I have said
before, he loved him with a kind of condescension.

Raicharan grew older and older, and his employer was continually finding
fault with him for his incompetent work. He had been starving himself
for the boy's sake. So he had grown physically weak, and no longer up
to his work. He would forget things, and his mind became dull and
stupid. But his employer expected a full servant's work out of him, and
would not brook excuses. The money that Raicharan had brought with him
from the sale of his land was exhausted. The boy was continually
grumbling about his clothes, and asking for more money.

Raicharan made up his mind. He gave up the situation where he was
working as a servant, and left some money with Phailna and said: "I have
some business to do at home in my village, and shall be back soon."

He went off at once to Baraset where Anukul was magistrate. Anukul's
wife was still broken down with grief. She had had no other child.

One day Anukul was resting after a long and weary day in court. His
wife was buying, at an exorbitant price, a herb from a mendicant quack,
which was said to ensure the birth of a child. A voice of greeting was
heard in the courtyard. Anukul went out to see who was there. It was
Raicharan. Anukul's heart was softened when he saw his old servant. He
asked him many questions, and offered to take him back into service.

Raicharan smiled faintly, and said in reply; "I want to make obeisance
to my mistress."

Anukul went with Raicharan into the house, where the mistress did not
receive him as warmly as his old master. Raicharan took no notice of
this, but folded his hands, and said: "It was not the Padma that stole
your baby. It was I."

Anukul exclaimed: "Great God! Eh! What! Where is he ? "Raicharan
replied: "He is with me, I will bring him the day after to-morrow."

It was Sunday. There was no magistrate's court sitting. Both husband
and wife were looking expectantly along the road, waiting from early
morning for Raicharan's appearance. At ten o'clock he came, leading
Phailna by the hand.

Anukul's wife, without a question, took the boy into her lap, and was
wild with excitement, sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, touching
him, kissing his hair and his forehead, and gazing into his face with
hungry, eager eyes. The boy was very good-looking and dressed like a
gentleman's son. The heart of Anukul brimmed over with a sudden rush of
affection.

Nevertheless the magistrate in him asked: "Have you any proofs?
"Raicharan said: "How could there be any proof of such a deed? God
alone knows that I stole your boy, and no one else in the world."

When Anukul saw how eagerly his wife was clinging to the boy, he
realised the futility of asking for proofs. It would be wiser to
believe. And then--where could an old man like Raicharan get such a boy
from? And why should his faithful servant deceive him for nothing?

"But," he added severely, "Raicharan, you must not stay here."

"Where shall I go, Master?" said Raicharan, in a choking voice, folding
his hands; "I am old. Who will take in an old man as a servant?"

The mistress said: "Let him stay. My child will be pleased. I forgive
him."

But Anukul's magisterial conscience would not allow him. "No," he said,
"he cannot be forgiven for what he has done."

Raicharan bowed to the ground, and clasped Anukul's feet. "Master," he
cried, "let me stay. It was not I who did it. It was God."

Anukul's conscience was worse stricken than ever, when Raicharan tried
to put the blame on God's shoulders.

"No," he said, "I could not allow it. I cannot trust you any more. You
have done an act of treachery."

Raicharan rose to his feet and said: "It was not I who did it."

"Who was it then?" asked Anukul.

Raicharan replied: "It was my fate."

But no educated man could take this for an excuse. Anukul remained
obdurate.

When Phailna saw that he was the wealthy magistrate's son, and not
Raicharan's, be was angry at first, thinking that he had been cheated
all this time of his birthright. But seeing Raicharan in distress, he
generously said to his father: "Father, forgive him. Even if you don't
let him live with us, let him have a small monthly pension."

After hearing this, Raicharan did not utter another word. He looked for
the last time on the face of his son; he made obeisance to his old
master and mistress. Then he went out, and was mingled with the
numberless people of the world.

At the end of the month Anukul sent him some money to his village. But
the money came back. There was no one there of the name of Raicharan.