Krishna Kanta's Will (Chatterjee, Knight)/Part 1/Chapter 2

by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay

CHAPTER II.

AFTER his bath and meal, Brahmânanda was preparing to sleep, when, to his astonishment, he saw Hara Lâl Râi before him. Hara Lâl advancing, sat down at his side by the head of the bed.

Brahm.   "Why, I declare, here is the young master! When did you come home?"

Hara.   "I have not been home yet."

Brahm. "You have come straight here? How long is it since you came from Calcutta?"

Hara.   "I came from Calcutta two days ago, and have been in hiding here. So there is to be a new will written. Eh!"

Brahm.   "So I hear."

Hara.   "This time I am to have nothing?"

Brahm.   "The Kartâ says so now he is angry. But that won't last."

Hara.   "It is to be written this evening, isn't it? And you are to write it?"

Brahm.   "How can I help that? I can't refuse the Kartâ."

Hara.   "You are not to blame. Do you feel disposed to earn something?"

Brahm.   "In the way of a beating, do you mean? Then why don't you strike me?"

Hara.   "Not that. A thousand rupees."

Brahm.   "By your marrying a widow, I suppose." [That is, marrying for money.]

Hara.   "Just so."

Brahm.   "You are too old for that."

Hara.   "Well, I have other matters to speak of. Let us begin. Take something in advance."

Thus saying, Hara Lâl put a note for five hundred rupees into Brahmânanda's hand.

Brahmânanda turned the note over and over. "What am I to do with this?"

Hara.   "Invest it. Give ten rupees of it to Moti, the milkwoman."

Brahm.   "I have nothing to do with milkwomen. Tell me what you want me to do."

Hara.   "Prepare two pens. Let them be exactly alike."

Brahm.   "Very good. I'm listening." As he spoke, Ghosh Mahâshay took two reed pens and cut them exactly alike. Then, trying them, he saw that they produced precisely similar writing.

Hara.   "Well, you must keep one of the pens in your box. Use it when you are writing the will. Write something now with the other pen. Have you good ink?"

Brahm.   "Are there not pens and ink in your house that I should have the bother of taking these?"

Hara.   "I have an object in view, else why should I give you that money?"

Brahm.   "I thought as much."

Hara. "Well, they may wonder at your taking your own pen and ink. In that case all you have to do is to find fault with the office ink and paper."

Brahm.   "I'll find fault with the Government itself if you like, let alone official pens and ink."

Hara.   "There is no need to go so far as that. Now to the point."

Then Hara Lâl placed two sheets of general letter paper in Brahmânanda's hand, who exclaimed, "Why, this is Government paper!"

Hara.   "Not Government paper. It is the paper used in attorneys' offices. I know the Kartâ has his wills written on this paper. That is why I have got some of it. Now, write on this paper, and with this ink what I shall tell you."

Brahmânanda began to write. Hara Lâl dictated a form of will, of which the substance ran thus: "This is the last will and testament of Krishna Kanta Râi. Whatever property stands in his name shall, after his death, be divided thus—To Binod Lâl, three-sixteenths; to Gobind Lâl, to the widow, to Shoilabati, and to Hara Lâl's son, each a sixty-fourth part; and to Hara Lâl, the eldest son, the remaining twelve-sixteenths—or three-fourths."

The writing finished, Brahmânanda said, "Now the will is written, who signs it?"

"I do," said Hara Lâl, adding the names of Krishna Kanta Râi, and four witnesses to the will.

Brahm.   "A pretty stroke of forgery, this!"

Hara.   "This is the genuine will, the forged will is the one that is going to be written this evening."

Brahm.   "How can that be?"

Hara.   "When you go to write the will you must take this one concealed in the pocket of your pirân. When there, you must, with this pen and ink, write what they tell you. Paper, pen, ink, and writer will all be the same, so the two wills will, to all appearance, be alike. Then when you have read out the will and got it signed, you must take it back to add your own signature. You must sign it with your back turned to them. Then will be the opportunity to change the wills. You must give this will to the Kartâ, and bring his to me."

Brahmânanda Ghosh was deep in thought. He said to himself, "What is the use of my saying anything? A masterpiece of ingenuity, this, to be sure!"

Hara.   "What are you thinking about?"

Brahm.   "I should like to do it, but I am afraid. Take back your money, I won't be mixed up in a forgery."

"Give me the money," said Hara Lâl, stretching forth his hand. Brahmânanda returned the note. Note in hand, Hara Lâl was going away, when Brahmânanda called him back, saying, "What! going already?"

Hara (returning).   "Not yet."

Brahm.   "You just now gave Rs. 500, what more will you give?"

Hara.   "When you bring me that other will another 500."

Brahm.   "Five hundred — rupees! I can't let it go."

Hara.   "Then, do you consent?"

Brahm.   "What can I do but consent? But how am I to change the will? They are sure to see me."

Hara.   "Why should they see? I will change it before you, and you see if you can detect me."

If Hara Lâl was not clever in other respects he certainly had acquired some amount of skill in sleight of hand. He placed the will in his pocket, and, taking a sheet of paper, prepared to write upon it. During this process how the will got from the pocket into the hand, and the paper from the hand into the pocket, Brahmânanda failed to detect. He praised Hara Lâl's dexterity. "I will show you the trick of it," said Hara Lâl, and forthwith began to initiate Brahmânanda in the practice of that unaccustomed art.

It took the elder man some time to acquire the knack, and then Hara Lâl said, "Now I'm off. When the evening is over I shall bring the rest of the money." And he took his leave.

When Hara Lâl was gone Brahmânanda became terribly frightened. He saw that what he had consented to do was a great crime in the eyes of the law. Who knows but that he might be imprisoned for life. Suppose some one were to find him out in the act of changing the papers! Then why do it at all? But if he didn't he would have to give up the money already received. This he could not possibly do; no, not as long as he lived.

Alas! Vegetable diet! on how many poor Brahmans hast thou inflicted deadly suffering! Vegetable diet for one subject to fever! Then at the sight of a brass dish or a plantain leaf filled with appetising sweetmeats what can a poor Brahman do? Shall he leave it or eat it? I can take my oath that should the Brahman sit for a thousand years before a dish thus adorned, discussing the matter, he could not solve this difficult question, and, not being able to solve it, would, in sheer absence of mind, swallow them up.

Thus felt Brahmânanda Ghosh Mahâshoy. Hara Lâl's money was difficult of digestion; there was fear of the gaol, yet he could not give it up. His covetousness was great, so also his fear of consequences. Brahmânanda could come to no decision, and so, like the poor Brahman, he turned his thoughts towards feasting on the money.