This is an old story. Mr. Panchu Dayas of Serampur⁽¹⁾ became a Christian because he was poor. He lived in a period of history when the rice harvests failed in Bengal year after year. One day he was so hungry that he went to the local church out of desperation and asked the padre for something to eat. The padre gave him a huge meal and promptly told the people of Serampur that Panchu had lost his caste. But Panchu disagreed, saying that although he ate the padre’s rice and pulse he didn’t drink a drop of water, so he was still eligible to keep his caste. The Hindu priests didn’t accept his logic. “There’s water in the rice and pulses,” they said, and declared him excommunicated.

Having been driven out of the Hindu society, Panchu had no choice but to become a Christian. He was christened Eric Edward Panchu Dayas with full ceremonial pomp. His new Christian names were more decorative than functional – people still called him Panchu Dayas. Panchu’s wife, Áhladii Dásii, a lady of great virtue, also became a Christian and was renamed Margaret Áhladii Dásii. Áhladii liked her new name, of course, but had great difficulty pronouncing it. So whenever anyone asked her name she would reply, “Áhladii Dásii”.

Dulal Mukherjee was one of Serampur’s drunkards. He was as deficient in intellect as he was advanced in age. One day the local padre found him lying in a gutter, hopelessly drunk. The padre carried him to his church and fed him all the bread, vegetable patties and vegetable cutlets he could eat. This was all Dulal wanted, but the padre wanted more. After the beating of drums the padre announced to the people that Dulal Mukherjee had eaten the forbidden food, and asked for more. The Hindu priests declared during their next meeting that Dulal Mukherjee was too westernized to deserve a place in the Hindu society. He, too, was excommunicated.

Soon after, Dulal was christened Edmond Dulal Mukherjee. Dulal’s father-in-law was horrified and immediately instructed his daughter to return home with her children. He would not permit them to live with a Christian. Dulal tried to get his wife and family back, but was driven away by the heavy stick of his irate father-in-law.

The padre was now faced with the problem of finding Dulal a suitable wife. Dulal boasted to everyone he met that Mother Mary, his saviour of saviours, would certainly grace him with a new wife soon.

Áhladii Dásii quarreled with her husband, Eric Edward Panchu Dayas, at least twice a day. She was angry because even though her daughter had come of age, her husband had not yet arranged her marriage. “What sort of a man are you?” she would shout. “If you don’t take any initiative in this matter I’ll take my daughter and go to my father’s house. I’ll sell my jewelry and organize a traditional marriage myself.” Panchu was in trouble. “Our daughter’s already six years old,” his wife would continue. “She’s grown up. If we don’t arrange her marriage now I hate to think what sort of things the neighbours will whisper behind our backs. This whole affair is becoming an albatross around my neck.”

Panchu asked the padre for help. When the padre heard the story he was beside himself with joy. I must be in heaven, he thought. This is exactly what he was waiting for. “I know someone who’ll make an excellent bridegroom,” he rejoiced. “Edmond Dulal is just the man.”

At the most auspicious moment on the must auspicious day – as suggested by the almanac – Edmond Dulal Mukherjee was married to Panchu’s daughter. It was a perfect ceremony – not a single ritual was omitted. They blew conch shells, walked around the sacred fire seven times, applied vermilion to the parting in the bride’s hair, and so on. The only difference was that the marriage was conducted by a Christian father instead of a Hindu priest.

After the marriage ceremony was over, a relieved Panchu said to his wife, “Áhladii, you’ve been a little unhappy recently, but now everything’s worked out well. It’s very fortunate we became Christians. We found a handsome bridegroom for our daughter. Do you think we would have been so lucky in our previous society? I admit our son-in-law drinks a little, but so does the padre. Even Mr. Bhattacharya, the Hindu priest, drinks bottles of wine on Kálii Pújá night. He says it’s a holy drink. Some people have observed that our son-in-law’s cheeks are a little hollow, but he is still quite young. He’s not even old enough to have one foot in the grave. No, it’s not at all absurd for a six-year-old girl to marry a forty-five year old man whose cheeks still have some life in them. I’ve heard that some high-caste Brahmans marry five-year-old girls when they’re ninety and about to gasp their final breath. The poor girl becomes a widow five minutes after the ceremony. No, there’s nothing to worry about. At least the stigma of having an unmarried daughter has gone. And the purity of caste is maintained, so we won’t become degraded ones. Things are looking very bright, my dear. Let’s prepare a nice Christmas cake for our son-in-law.” “What sort of cake do you have in mind?” asked Áhladii. “I was thinking a sweet molasses cake would be nice,” said Edward Panchu Dayas. Margaret Áhladii Dásii was overjoyed. Sweet molasses cake was her speciality.

Footnotes

(1) In those days Serampur was called Frederick Town. It used to be the capital of the Danish colony and was named after King Frederick of Denmark. The Danes introduced a number of words into the Bengali language, words like panrh (to the limit) and phonta (drop). These words are not pure Danish, but of Iberian origin. Some time ago when I visited Denmark, I noticed that the Danish people have dropped many of the old words from their language and have adopted many English words during the past two hundred years. I didn’t hear anyone use the words panrh or phonta. Perhaps these words are still used in the rural areas. The Bengali word bhaiphonta (brother’s day) is not very old, because phonta was introduced by the Europeans. Other examples of Iberian words are panrh mátál (confirmed alcoholic), panrh peara (ripe guava) and peara (guava). Peara comes from the Iberian word piaro. It has no old Sanskrit equivalent, but is translatedin modern Sanskrit as perukam or biijapúrakam. Even today in the neighbouring provinces of Bengal these words are not used. In northern India brother’s day is called vay-duj (Vhtátrditya in Sanskrit). The actual indigenous Bengali term for phonta is topá (topákul). It is spoken in some parts of rural Bengal. Topáis used widely in Orissa. In Oria dew drops are called káker topá. When the English occupied Frederick Town they renamed it Serampur, which was its original name. Even so it was still colloquially called Frederick Town for some time after.