Nusserwanji, 74, instructed his amused solicitor to insert a caveat in his will that should his wife of 45 years, aged 72, remarry, she would stand instantly disinherited; and then stunned the lawyer by instructing that the same clause should apply to his mother, aged 98!
Darashaw, a merry widower, willed Rs 30,000 (USD 360) each to his seven nephews and nieces, two crore rupees (USD 240,628) to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, five crores (USD 601,572) each to his two long-time girlfriends who had given him sponge baths when he inexplicably fractured his femur, one crore (USD 120,314) to his cook who conjured up the most delicious dhansak dar laced with smokey single malt, and Rs 15 crores (USD 1.8 million) to his maid who had comprehensively served him for 28 years — resulting in a mini riot when his will was read.
Piloomai directed in the seventh codicil to her will that the corpus be distributed to her three bachelor sons only after her favorite young mobed had joined her in the exclusive heaven reserved for Parsi Zoroastrians ("or else they will never come to the agiary for my prayers!”).
Tehmul created four testamentary trusts having a corpus of rupees one crore (USD 120,314) each under his will for Eddie, Jimmy, Rutty and Thrity. He passed away soon thereafter. His second cousin in Indore, his closest surviving relative, challenged the validity of these trusts on the ground that the four beneficiaries were not human but pomeranians from the same litter. For a private trust to be valid, the beneficiary had to be human. Cawas, a solicitor of repute, as executor of Tehmul’s will, argued that a trust for animal welfare was a permissible object. A charitable public trust for a class of animals maybe, but not for individually named dogs, countered the cousin’s lawyer. Tehmul’s probate petition was converted into a testamentary suit. A few months later Eddie, Jimmy, Rutty and Thrity died within weeks of each other. An interesting point of law remains undecided.
Illustration by Farzana Cooper
How devastated their legatees will feel gives a great high to many a Parsi testator and testatrix. Some deliberately create Hitchcockian suspense amongst their legal heirs by frequent visits to lawyers ["Mamma dar Behram roz é Payne & Co ma jaaich! (Mother visits the legal firm of Payne & Co every Behram roz).”] A will is the favorite stick and carrot of the Parsi parent. Unlike a trust, which cannot in the normal course be changed, the ability to alter a will as many times as one chooses, gives a sense of power to the maker. To continue fomenting trouble even after one has reached Kemps Corner, as one’s legatees fight over outrageous clauses in one’s will, gives rise to delusions of immortality.
Contrary to popular belief, a will requires no stamp duty, no registration, no listing of assets, no formalities. Name your executors and get two witnesses who are not legatees to attest to your signature. There is no need to consult a lawyer. No need to even type out the will; as a matter of fact, a handwritten will is of far greater evidentiary value. Bad handwriting can, of course, create even more problems for the hapless heirs and make for great conversations at future family gatherings. (Doctorkaka’s long-time compounder had to be called to testify about his will!) It is logical, however, to appoint persons younger than one as executors or witnesses. For the simple reason that candles lit together are generally extinguished together.
Some Parsis think it is an honor to be named an executor; a few are thrilled to attest wills. We knew of one Mr Bamboat, a good and honest man who would plead with us for an opportunity to attest wills. Then, in contested testamentary matters, he would proudly narrate how unscathed he emerged from a vicious cross examination. One day, however, a nasty lawyer asked him whether he was a professional witness. This devastated Bamboat who felt as if he had been accused of selling his soul; he gave up his pastime.
Many are superstitious and believe that if they make a will they will soon die. Jamshedji prepared more than 50 draft wills but never signed one and died intestate. He could have taken consolation from the case of the world’s most famous English testamentary lawyer Thomas Jarman who, after advising the world about wills, died without making one himself. As many Parsis are single or childless, not making a will leads to strange consequences beyond the contemplation of both the testator and the legatee. Rustom from Minneapolis was shocked to receive a large bungalow in Ahmedabad from his second cousin whom he had never met.
The Indian Succession Act is nearly 100 years old and contains many archaic provisions. Marriage of the testator nullifies his will, says Section 69 of the Act. Pestonjee, a childless widower aged 75, made a will in favor of his brothers whom he dearly loved. He was ensnared into marriage by 44-year-old Aban, known for her extraordinary prowess. He not so surprisingly perished on his honeymoon and his wife of a fortnight inherited his entire estate worth crores. At least Pestonjee went on a high.
And, finally, Behram who retired after a lifetime in Aden created testamentary trusts under his will for the upkeep and medicare of each of his seven African parrots, a species known to have a very long lifespan; and bequeathed the balance of his estate to the seven trustees of the Bombay Parsi Punchayet!
Berjis Desai, lawyer and author of Oh! Those Parsis and Towers of Silence, is a chronicler of the community.