Mrs Merchant's Will

From the time the property dispute between her mother and her maternal uncle took place, little Zeeba promised herself never to allow such a situation to occur with her children. Later she got used to her father taunting her mother whenever he fell short of any other logic to appropriate the current condition to. Zeeba did well in life to get married off to the Merchants of the thread business. On becoming Mrs Merchant, she indulged in a lot of popular, profitable and pious charity. That was her only profession -- to see that charity was well invested in. 

Her husband died a timely death leaving her son, Rustom, at the reign of their business. This was absolutely not a problem if the reign was not made of a silk thread. One had to be careful, very, very careful, lest it gave away. And her daughter Perizaad, was fond of difficult sewing patterns in life with the embellishment of the brocade to hold it. The problem would arise. Definitely arise. 

He had done well to entrust the decision upon the subjection of the mother for the division of the assets and soft properties like the art pieces and antique furniture that the household cherished. They had lavish bungalows in four cities of India, and some farm houses and hill station villas too. No other claim but the children. Mrs Merchant was diagnosed with Leukemia about a year back. It ensured a lavish treatment, and a caring recovery unit. All of this was made to measure. What hit her most, however, was the uncertainty of life and the constant pressure of the promise she made to herself as a child. No child of hers would ever fall apart because of a mismanagement in the will.

Each morning after breakfast, over the next months, whether in Panchgani, or in Dalhousie, Mrs Merchant opened an ivory notepad and decked up herself in her Mont Blanc fountain pen, to try and write the will. She needed to have a draft before she consulted her lawyers. This daily tearing off of the papers and inability to find a mathematical equivalent to peace, was doing her more harm than any cancer germ ever did. She tried, she failed. She tried again, she failed.

Finally, on the afternoon of this day, the Mont Blanc penned this in emerald green:

"August 24, 2015. Monday. Whitefield, Bangalore.

Dearest Rustom & Perizaad,

This must be after my two hundredth failed attempts to design a will, that I write this. Your father was a gentleman, an intelligent business man, a caring husband and a loving father, among other things. He was, however, a coward, I think, or shrewd, to have entrusted this duty entirely on me to share the various assets and other property valuations between you both. Now, this could be easier done if I were to sell everything away and divide the sum equally. But none of us wants Merchants Thread to finish off in a snap, do we? So I thought, and I thought, and I thought. And suddenly I have come to this conclusion.

1. The two of you will be in charge of office for each alternate year, where the proceeds of the profit would go to you, and the other, in equal measure. (Even while the other is not working, yes.)

2. I have carefully drawn a table of contents for the most loved and valuable assets, including the paintings and furniture. As observed, you both have distinct tastes that vary, and thus make my work easy. Upon a discussion to be held this Sunday at brunch in our Lonavala farmhouse, we will mutually accept our shares. 

3. No wife or husband of yours will be entitled to change this decision that you take on Sunday. No claims further can me made by either of you too.

4. Your children will inherit your share of property only.

5. At any cost, Merchant Threads will not stop from making charity its subsidiary business. It will now run in the name of 'Threads of Hope.'

6. All above points will only be put to action after my dissolution from life and limits of living, for which, I can access any bank account, or property, at any time. And most importantly, point one has been drawn with a view to run the company efficiently, burden-free and controversy-free. When one of you is not working, you will of course be accessible for the consideration of a worthwhile decision by the other. 

See you on Sunday, 11.30 am. I will be there.

Love,

Mumma."

She asked her help, Martha, to make copies of this to be sent immediately to Rustom, Perizaad and their lawyer, and asked her to get the tickets for Saturday to Mumbai. All that possessed her now was to see how this would be received, and to live to see it.

Mrs Merchant's Will and Final Testament was published and accepted by her children on Sunday, after her burial. As soon as the will was worded, they saw to it that her medicines were altered so that she she died a dignified death. They received a copy of the letter each, along with the news of her death, together. Before they could arrange for her body to be flown for the fancy burial, they devised a way to share the property to their benefit. Their adamant mother was living way too long without a decision. Most points from Mrs Merchant's letter were turned topsy-turvy. However, the children loved her enough to let No. 5 remain.

They renamed it to 'Merchant of Hope.'