Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 1/Chapter 28
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Krishnakanta's sraddha[1] went off happily. It was performed in a grand style. Heaps of money were expended. Feasts were held for days together, and largesses were given to Brahmans in a bountiful manner. To poor people cloths were distributed, and lots of money were given away in alms. Those who were friends of Krishnakanta declared that not less than a lac of rupees was spent; some again, who were not very well disposed towards him, observed that the expenditure could not have exceeded twenty thousand rupees, even taking the most liberal view of it. The actual sum expended, however, was a little over fifty thousand.
For some days there was great bustle and excitement in the village. Haralal had come home; and being the eldest son of his father, according to the rule the sraddha ceremony was gone through by him.
After it was over Haralal wanted to look at the fresh will made by his late father. The will was read out in the presence of a few friends and relations. Although it seemed that Haralal had a design, there were so many witnesses to the will that it was useless for him to try to carry it out. So one day without any more ado he left the house and was gone.
"I bring you good news," said Gobindalal to his wife.
"What good news?" asked Bhramar as she looked up, wondering what was coming.
"You have had the half share of the property. It has been given you by will."
"No! You are the lord of it."
"Properly speaking I have nothing to do with it," said Gobindalal.
"But what is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine; you cannot deny it," she said.
"It won't do for you to talk like this, Bhramar. There is a deal of difference between you and me nowadays."
"Oh, how could you say so!" she said. "You pain my heart to talk like this."
"But the property is yours," he said. "I will not live on your bounty. I will not be a burden on you, I say."
His words pained her extremely; but presently she felt a pride swelling in her heart. "What do you mean to do then?" she said, looking up to his face.
"I will earn my own bread," said Gobindalal.
"Earn your bread! what do you mean?"
"I mean I will work for my bread, and I do not mind going to any distant part of the world to earn it."
"But the property," said Bhramar, "was acquired by your father, and as you are his heir, not I, your uncle had no right to dispose of it in the way he had done. The will is illegal and cannot stand. I do not speak my own views on the subject, but this is the opinion of my father who asserted that the will was illegal."
"Why, do you mean to say that my uncle's procedure was illegal and wrong? I am sure he knew better. And since he has given the property to you, it is properly and legally yours, and I have no right whatsoever to it."
"Well, if you think so I am ready to make it over to you in writing," she said.
"And am I sneakingly to accept the gift at your hands?"
"Sneakingly! Oh, what is this you say! You know that I am but your servant."
"It is all very fine to say that; but words will not mend matters now, I tell you."
"Oh, what have I done! I was given in marriage to you when I was a little girl, and now I am seventeen. And all these years I have been with you, knowing nothing but you. Under your tender care I have grown and you have been ever so fond of me. What have I done that you are so hard upon me? Oh, tell me what I have done."
"You know—you remember it well," said Gobindalal.
"Oh, I am very sorry I went to my father's. I went because I was angry with you—my own husband. But I am very sorry for it. I ask a thousand pardons. Will you not forgive me? Oh, I know nothing beyond you."
And Bhramar fell at her husband's feet and wept.
Gobindalal spoke not a word. There was his wife, a supplicant at his feet, entreating him to take pity and forgive her, but he spoke not a word. He was thinking of Rohini. How beautiful and clever she was! And what was Bhramar by her side? What recommendation had she save that she was a good and gentle girl? But he did not mean to forsake her; he wanted only to live apart from her for a time. And Rohini—he could throw her over any moment when he had got tired of her.
"Oh, have pity on me," entreated Bhramar, her eyes bathed in tears. "Speak a kind word, oh, do! O God! and this was in store for me!"
Her appeal surely rose to heaven, but Gobindalal paid no heed to it.
"Oh, speak but one kind word," she urged again. "Will you not?"
"I want to leave you," said Gobindalal deliberately, and steeling his heart against all pity.
She was stunned. She said no more. She rose from her lowly position; paused; moved up to the door. Going out she stumbled, fell down and swooned away.
- ↑ A rite or ceremony in which balls of rice are offered to the dead man, and a feast is given to fellow-castemen and others.