Representative image of a bank.
Credit: Reuters Photo
Ours was a joint family residing in our ancestral home in a remote village in Bengal. More than thirty members shared the same roof. Except for my grandfather, a high school headmaster, every adult in the family was engaged in the wholesale business of conch shell materials.
Needless to say, our family was a comfortably rich one in the village. Even during the great Bengal famine, popularly known as Panchasher Mannantar, the family was neither scorched nor singed by the heat of poverty and starvation. We possessed enough wealth in the form of gold ornaments, which were under the safe custody of my great-grandmother.
Before the nationalisation of banks in 1969, public trust in the banking system in India plummeted woefully. Wealthy and well-to-do families lived under constant insecurity and the threat of losing their chattel. Robbery was so prevalent in rural areas that miscreants would barge into houses and plunder everything with impunity. In our ancestral village home, however, robbers dared not enter forcefully, as the family consisted of several strong and stout young men who had foiled multiple burglary attempts.
I once heard my father recall an interesting incident involving our great-grandmother. My father was then a boy, not yet in his teens. On one occasion, the entire family had to travel to the district town and stay there for a few days to attend a post-funeral ceremony of a close relative. It was the first time the house had been left without a single family member.
When everyone returned after a few days, no sooner had my great-grandmother stepped into the courtyard of the house than she began searching nervously for something on the front porch. Suddenly, she picked up a small crowbar and started digging the soil frantically. Other members of the household joined her digging, mechanically unaware of what they were looking for.
When my great-grandfather noticed this, he scolded her sharply and demanded an explanation. With trembling lips, my great-grandmother revealed that she had packed all her gold ornaments in a small brass jewel case and buried it in the courtyard before leaving. She added that she had placed a stone to mark the spot. To her utter bewilderment, she could no longer locate her valuables.
My great-grandfather then took charge. He began tapping the ground lightly with the flat end of the crowbar until it sank slightly at one particular spot where the soil felt softer. He dug a little more, and a faint clink was heard. The tip of the crowbar had unmistakably touched the brass coffer.
My great-grandmother heaved a sigh of relief as she examined its contents and found them intact. My great-grandfather calmly explained that the stone must have been displaced somehow.