# Krishnakanta's Will (Chatterjee, Roy)/Part 1/Chapter 27

CHAPTER XXVII.
KRISHNAKANTA'S death was lamented by young and old; for although like most rich men he was proud of his wealth and power, he was charitable, kind and well-meaning, and always ready to help any one in trouble. So his death, as might be expected, produced a great sensation in the village. A great man had passed away, said some. Others declared that the village had lost in him a friend and protector. There was one, an old man, who in somewhat poetic language observed that in time of trouble he was their chief refuge while generally speaking he might be compared to the charitable banian whose thick foliage and long out-spreading branches afford a cool shade to weary and sun-smitten travellers on the way.
Krishnakanta's loss was greatly felt by his relations; most of all by Bhramar. She was sent for by her mother-in-law a day or two after this sad event, for she must not now be allowed to stay away at her father's. When she arrived she wept aloud for Krishnakanta.
On any other occasion Bhramar would have resolved to have that unpleasant matter—the matter touching Rohini—out of her husband even though it might have been thought likely to lead to a scene, but this was not the time, and her heart was full of sorrow. On her arrival she was crying, and she cried bitterly when she saw her husband. Gobindalal too shed tears plentifully, for by his uncle's death the family sustained a heavy domestic loss.
Both Bhramar and Gobindalal concluded that before the matter could be settled they must wait until the customary period of mourning was over. "Bhramar," said Gobindalal one day in tones of great regret, "I want to talk to you, but we must wait a few days."
She felt as though she would cry. With an effort, however, she checked her emotion. "Just as you please," she only said.
That day passed. The sun rose and sank and rose and sank again, and many times after that. But no one perceived that a change had come over Bhramar. No one knew that a cloud hung over her mind, that a cankerworm had got into her to eat into her vitals. She was very different from what she used to be. On her face was missed that smile which was once her own. Yet she smiled, and Gobindalal smiled. But where was the smile which belonged to them in the days past, and which seemed to spring from the very core of their hearts? Where was the smile which at one time seemed to say they were very happy and could never be more happy? Then Bhramar was proud that she had a husband so handsome and so very kind and loving. Then Gobindalal was thankful and happy in the thought that he had a wife so devoted and so very good. But these feelings were replaced by a coolness to which they had been strangers before.
They were not what they used to be. There was something strange in their behaviour in all things. They talked little if at all, and were often at a loss to know what to say, though not long before they had a world of things to say and never tired of talking. There was now to be marked an absence of that love which was strikingly noticeable in all their actions before. Often from his gloom, which was so trying to him, Gobindalal loved to seek refuge in the comforting thought of Rohini. Poor Bhramar! she in her anguish called ​upon Death to take her, for she had no peace, no happiness in her.