Krishna Kanta's Will (Chatterjee, Knight)/Part 1/Chapter 28

by Bankim Chandra Chattopadhyay

 

CHAPTER XXVIII.

After this the ceremonies of Krishna Kanta Râi's srâddha^[1] were performed on a magnificent scale. His enemies said, "Oh, yes! it was a grand affair indeed, but only some five, seven, or perhaps ten thousand rupees were spent upon it." His friends averred that the cost amounted to quite a hundred thousand rupees. Krishna Kanta's heirs mentioned privately to friends that the cost had been about fifty thousand rupees. We have seen the accounts. The total expense: 32,356 rupees, 5 annas, and 12 1/2 gandas (20 gandas make 1 anna).

Be that as it may, for some days there was great uproar. Hara Lâl, as eldest son, came to perform the srâddha. For days nothing could be heard in the village but the buzzing of flies, the jingling of brass dishes and cooking-pots, the tumult of beggars and the disputes of the logicians. There was the arrival of loads of sweetmeats of various kinds, the arrival of beggars, arrival of Brahmans with a single tuft of hair, and others wearing a nâmâbali (see Glossary), arrival of relations, relations' connections, relations of every degree. The children began to play at ball with the sugar-balls, the women, seeing that cocoanut-oil had become dear, smeared their hair with the ghee used for frying cakes; the opium-smoking shops were closed, for all the opium-smokers had gone to the feast of fruit and sweetmeats. The liquor (drinking) shops were closed, for all the frequenters of those shops had assumed the Brahminical tuft of hair, and bought nâmâbalis, and had gone to the srâddha to receive the customary presents. Rice became dear, for not only was a great deal used in cooking, but flour also was so much in request that the demand for it could not be made good by the admixture of ground rice.^[2] So much ghee was needed that sick men could no longer obtain castor oil. If any one went to buy skimmed milk, the milk-sellers said that the little they had remaining had, by the blessing of the Brahmans, been turned into curds.

In some fashion the tumult of the srâddha was silenced, and the torment of reading the last will began. Hara Lâl, on reading it, perceived that it had been signed by many witnesses, and that there was no chance of upsetting it, so after the srâddha he returned to his home. After the reading, Gobind Lâl came to Bhramar and asked, "Have you heard what was in the will?"

"What is it?"

"A half-share to you."

"It is not mine, but yours."

"You and I are now apart. It is not mine, but yours."

"Even so, it is yours."

"I will not enjoy your property."

Bhramar had a strong desire to weep, but from pride repressed her tears and said, "What will you do then?"

"I will find some way by which I may earn a few coppers to keep me going."

"In what way?"

"I will go from place to place seeking work."

"My property is not the uncle's property, but my father-in-law's. You are his heir, not I. The uncle had no power to will that property. The will is not valid. At the time of the srâddha my father went by invitation and explained this. The property is yours, not mine."

Gobind.   "My uncle knew what he was about. The property is yours, not mine. From the moment that he passed away leaving it to you, it became yours, not mine."

Bhramar.   "If there is any doubt about the matter, I will, if you like, make it over to you in writing."

Gobind.   "Do you think I can endure to live on a gift from you?"

Bhramar. "What harm is there in that? Am I not your devoted slave?"

Gobind.   "That sort of speech is not suitable nowadays, Bhramar."

Bhramar.   "What have I done? Except you I know no one in this wide world. I was married at eight years old, and I am now in my seventeenth year. In these nine years I have known nothing but you. I am your cherished one, your doll to play with; what is my fault?"

Gobind.   "Reflect and see."

Bhramar.   "I went home at the wrong time; I have been remiss; I have committed a hundred thousand faults. Forgive me all. I know nothing; I know no one but you. I did it in an angry moment."

Gobind Lâl did not speak. Before him was his wife—that girl of seventeen, with disordered hair, in floods of tears, helpless, miserable, stunned, on the floor at his feet; but he spoke not; he was thinking.

"This one so dark, Rohini so beautiful; this one has virtues, the other beauty. Hitherto I have worshipped virtue, now I will serve beauty. I will spend as I choose this worthless, hopeless, motiveless life of mine; then, when I please, I will destroy this earthly frame."

Bhramar lay, clasping his feet, weeping—"Forgive! forgive—I am but a girl."

He, the infinite, all-pervading dispenser of joys and sorrows, the friend of the distressed, must surely have heard this petition; but Gobind Lâl would not; he stood silent; he was thinking of Rohini—that lovely, fickle Rohini—whose beauty shone, dazzling and ever brilliant, like that of Venus the morning star.

Getting no reply, Bhramar asked, "What do you say?"

Gobind Lâl answered, "I will forsake you."

Bhramar released his feet, arose, and went out. Stumbling at the threshold, she fell senseless on the floor.

 

1. See in Appendix, Note 7.
2. In this and following sentences the author is humorously exposing the frauds of shopkeepers in selling ground rice as flour, in mixing castor oil with ghee, and in selling skimmed milk as curds, when the demand for these articles exceeded the supply, as on the present occasion.