Friday, 7 August 2015

Lost Mothers

Few months ago Kamla’s only son had called up from “Angleterre” to inform his uncle that he and his family have settled there. It was a shock for the family as everybody knew he was in Rodrigues on holiday and would be back in a week. Such deception!  But she was too old to cry. Her heart was heavy with untold sorrows until she spiritually uplifted herself with the help of Raja Yoga.

She practices meditation at home and twice a week goes to the centre. Every time she passes by her friend Laxmi’s house, she drops by to say hello, though Laxmi hardly ever recognises her. Oh! What a pitiable condition she is in. Her son locks her in a room so that she does not roam about and get lost (at least that is what he tells everybody). Laxmi has a barred window access to a square view of the sky or any passing by cloud. But she is oblivious to all this. You ask after her health and she says “You wait; my son will be here any time now.”

Kamla is hardly able to bear the stench of urine and stool coming out of the room. As she turns to leave, she remembers how Laxmi and her husband toiled hard to educate their son. Today, he is an officer working for the government, married with two lovely children, a bungalow and a big car. The bungalow stands right next to the small sheet-metal house where Laxmi lives. Here Laxmi looked after her infant grandchildren while her son and daughter-in-law worked to build the house. After her husband’s death, even though her loss of memory worsened, Laxmi refused to shift to the new house. And Kamla’s eyes welled up as she walked away.

©Indrani Pudaruth 07/08/2015