Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 1/Chapter 26
CHAPTER XXVI.
We love and admire everything beautiful in nature. You admire the wings of a butterfly. I am delighted when I see a rainbow in the sky. You love flowers because they please you. Why should I not love a pretty young girl if she pleases me? It is no sin to love; and to love is natural.
Thus reasoned Gobindalal in his mind. Thus even will a saint reason on the first setp to ruin. Gobindalal was so fascinated by Rohini's beauty that he thought it was no sin to wish to get her. His passion for her consumed him night and day like a flame. Sigh after sigh broke from him; and he seemed to have no wish, no thought, no hope beyond her. This went on for a time till one day in an evil hour he slipped and sold himself to the devil.
Krishnakanta knew nothing of his going wrong, but after a time it got to his ears. When he heard it he was much grieved, for he dearly loved his nephew. This must not be overlooked, he thought, and it seemed to him that a timely admonition might make him turn and repent. But he had been ill for some days past and consequently was not able to leave his chamber. Gobindalal went everyday to see his uncle, but as the servants were always by Krishnakanta did not like to say anything to his nephew in their presence. But the old man's illness increased. He went from bad to worse; and he thought that if he did not speak to his nephew yet he might never have an opportunity, for he felt that he was not long for the world. One day being on a visit after he had returned very late at night from the garden, Gobindalal said, "How do you feel to-night, uncle?" Krishnakanta said nothing; he signed to the servants to leave the room. "What made you stay away so late as this?" he said. Gobindalal made as if he did not hear him, and only coughed as he took his hand to feel the pulse. He startled; for it seemed to him that his pulse-beat was so faint as to be scarcely perceptible. He abruptly left the room, saying only that he would be back in a little time.
Without losing a minute, Gobindalal hastened to the physician. "Oh, come quick, sir," said he as soon as he saw him, "uncle seems so very bad just now, and I am so afraid." The physician, who had noticed no premonitory symptoms to fear anything of the kind, looked rather amazed. However, he made haste to take a few pills and walked off with Gobindalal with hurried steps. On reaching the house they quickly went and entered Krishnakanta's room. The old man looked rather alarmed. When the physician had felt his pulse, he asked him if he feared anything worse.
"I cannot assure you, sir, that there is no reason for apprehending anything of the kind," said the physician in a serious tone of voice.
Krishnakanta understood the drift of his words. "Do you think my end is near?" he asked again.
"I do not know. I mean to wait and see what effect this medicine has on you, and then I may be able to give my opinion," he returned, offering him a pill which he wished him to swallow in a little water. But Krishnakanta instead of taking the pill dropped it into the spit-box at his side.
The physician looked up with some surprise.
"You need not mind my not wishing to take any medicine," said Krishnakanta. "It won't—it can't do any good to an old man like me whose last hour is at hand. I would rather wish all of you to chant the praise of God as the only remedy that can do any real good to me now."
There was an awful silence in the room. No one spoke a word, nor stirred hand or foot. Krishnakanta alone sang a hymn, one he loved to sing, and his face betrayed no signs of fear. After a while he said to Gobindalal, "Open the drawer and take out my will. The key is there."
Gobindalal took out the key from underneath the pillow where it used to be kept, opened the drawer, and taking out the will handed it to his uncle.
"Call my clerks here and all the respectable men of the village," said he to Gobindalal.
In a little time the room was crowded; and Krishnakanta told one of his clerks to read out the will. When he had finished he declared that he wished to change the will, and ordered the clerk to write a fresh one.
"A fresh will?" said he, looking up to his master's face.
"I do not mean any changes in the wording of the will," said Krishnakanta. "Only—" Here he paused, and the clerk looked inquiringly at him.
"—Only," he continued, "you are to leave out Gobindalal's name, and in its stead to put his wife's. Write also that after her death her half share of the estate will go to her husband."
All were silent, and no one dared to speak a word. The clerk looked significantly at Gobindalal, who by a motion of his head told him to write as he was bid.
When the writing was finished, Krishnakanta signed the will and asked the witnesses to put their signatures to it. After which he took up the will again and signed as one of the witnesses.
In the will Gobindalal had not a farthing. To his wife was given his half share of the property.
That day toward the small hours of the morning Krishnakanta breathed his last; and even to his last moments the name of God dwelt upon his lips.
(To be continued)
Translated by D. C. Roy