Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 1/Chapter 30
CHAPTER XXX.
Gobindalal's mother had heard of her son's irregularities. She had noticed his apathetic behaviour to his wife, but she cared not to try to set things to rights again. The fact was she had become jealous and illdisposed towards her daughter-in-law for the reason of her son's share of the property being made over to her. She might have cared to do everything for her had she been able to see that in disposing, as he had done, of Gobindalal's share of the property Krishnakanta had been actuated by nothing but an anxious earnestness to correct his nephew. She thought that henceforth she was to be dependent on her daughter-in-law; that she was to have no will of her own, but to bend in all things to hers, which she could never bear. For this reason she resolutely made up her mind to pass the remaining days of her life in the holy place, Benares. On another occasion when she had expressed a desire to go and live there Gobindalal had opposed. Now when she spoke her mind to him he readily and gladly consented to take her up there.
On the very day that she had a talk with her son, Bhramar went to her father's for a few days. When she expressed her wish to go on a visit to her parents her mother-in-law made no objection, but willingly consented to her going. While his wife was away Gobindalal raised upwards of a lac of rupees by disposing of a few jewels of his own, and also by effecting, under the rose, the sale of a small estate, which he held in his own name. Afterwards having fixed an auspicious day for their departure he wrote to inform his wife of it, asking her to come at once. Bhramar made not a day's delay, but came directly on receipt of her husband's letter. On her arrival she entreated her mother-in-law with tears in her eyes not to leave her alone. She said she was but a raw and ignorant girl and knew nothing of house-keeping, and that if she went she should keenly feel her absence in all things. Her mother-in-law by way of comforting her said that after she was gone her daughter would take care of her and help her with her advice in all household affairs. "Besides," she added, "you have now become the mistress of the house, and you must not flinch from your duty however onerous it may at first seem to you. Come, dry your tears, and don't make yourself miserable for nothing." But Bhramar kept crying and would not be comforted.
Presently she rose and went to seek her husband. A vague fear that this might be their last meeting troubled her very much. Finding him, and falling at his feet, weeping, she said, "You are going to accompany mother; tell me, oh, tell me, I pray, when I may expect you back."
"That I cannot tell. But I have no very great mind to return," he said.
She stifled a pang. She gulped down a sob that rose in her throat. "What do I care?" she said to herself springing to her feet abruptly. "I can take poison and be rid of my trouble for ever."
The day on which they were to start soon came. The railway station where they were to take train was about two miles from their village. The auspicious hour for their departure was at hand, and the porters were busied in taking out the trunks and other baggage to carry them to the station. Such of the servants as were to accompany their mistress were ordered to keep ahead and walk with the porters. The women of the neighbourhood were assembled to see Gobindalal's mother depart; and they shed tears with her daughter because she was going to leave them and her home for ever. It was soon time to depart. She went and bowed down before their household god; and great was her emotion when, kissing her daughter, and bidding her neighbours farewell, she seated herself in the palanquin to be borne to the station, leaving Gobindalal to follow.
Meanwhile Gobindalal went to take leave of his wife. On entering her room he found her in tears. "Bhramar," said he, "I am going to accompany mother."
She quickly brushed away her tears. "Mother is going to live permanently at Benares. And you—are you not going to return?" she said.
Gobindalal made no answer; he was rather surprised at the manner of her putting the question. His wife, receiving no answer, said again, "You have often told me there is nothing like being truthful. Tell me truly when you will get back. I am sure you will not tell me a falsehood."
"Well, I don't like to hoax anyone," he said. "Truth to say, I have no mind to return."
"Why have you no mind? Will you not tell me?"
"Since you ask me I must tell you that I hate to be a hanger-on."
"Oh, how you pain me to talk like this!"
"Maybe I do. But did you ever care to think that you were taking an unadvised step when you went to your father's?"
"I didn't, and I repented for it afterwards. I fell at your feet and craved your pardon. Oh, is it such a great offence that it cannot be forgiven? Will you not forgive and forget? To forgive is divine: you said it yourself."
"Yes; but you are the possessor of the half share of the estate. I shouldn't wonder if you think that you are now free to do as you like."
"Oh, you wrong me to talk like this. But you do not know what I have been doing. Look at this paper, do."
Through her father's help Bhramar had made over the half share of the property to her husband, and the paper she now placed in his hand was a deed of conveyance duly executed and registered.
When Gobindalal had glanced over it he tore up the paper. "I will not accept a gift from you," he said.
"It is useless to destroy it," she said. "There is a copy of it at the Registrar's office, my father has told me."
"I don't care. I will not accept a pie at your hands, that's all. Now good-bye."
"When do you come back?" she asked again.
"I don't know. I may not."
"Oh, how can you be so cruel?"
"I tell you seriously I have no mind to return."
"Is there not One above!" she gasped forth in a piteous wailing tone.
"Spare now your sermon, please. It is getting late,—I must be off."
His words smote heavily on her heart. She felt as if some one had struck her a deadly blow. Tears started to her eyes, but by an uncommon effort she quickly mastered them and sent them back to the source from which they sprung. "Go," she said with agony in her eye, "and return not if that, as you say, be your intention. I am innocent, you know I am, and yet you want to forsake me. But remember there is a God! Remember you will have to repent one day! If you think you can find one who can love you as truly and devotedly as I love you, you are greatly mistaken. But you will find your mistake one day, I am sure you will. Then you will seek me, and you will know the agony of remorse when you think what a grave wrong you have done me. Go; say you will not come again if you like. But if I have been ever faithful to you, as faithful in thought as in deed, I say you will seek me; you will come to me again, and you will call me by my name as fondly as you used to do, and weep bitter tears."
Here her feelings choked her. She could say no more. She fell on her knees, stooped to kiss his feet, then rose and left the room.