Isn't she correct?

by Lalitha Somathilaka

I just returned from Mrs. Silva's funeral. Some gloomy feelings I had no words to express were bothering me. I washed, changed and lay down on my bed, tired and cheerless.

There was a big crowd at the funeral. Mrs. Silva's three daughters had come from abroad only the previous day. However, everything was in order. They had only to send the necessary instructions to get everything done in the way they wanted. There were many wreaths, some white, some multi coloured. A big posy of big red roses was kept at her feet - the family posy.

Most of the people were in white, but there were some in grey and black too. Whatever the colour was, many were grandly dressed. The only difference from a party was that they were all in mourning colours. They were wearing beautiful necklaces, not gold ones but pearls or white, grey or black fancy ones. Some carried lovely handbags. I felt that most of them wanted to compete with each other as to who was the most elegantly dressed lady. Mr. Silva had been a government servant and his wife was a teacher. All three daughters married to professionals, were living abroad. Thus, a good crowd was expected.

Mourning

Although they were in mourning attire, were they really sad? That was what I felt. Were they talking about Mrs. Silva, what a kind soul she was? No, I knew. Many have met after a long time and as such, they had many things to talk about. They were gossiping about themselves, about family problems, of other rumours they had heard about their colleagues. It had become a meeting place for many to carry on pleasant conversations. How could they be in a pensive mood when they have met after a long time?

The three daughters stood near the body, welcoming the guests and answering their usual questions. The two sisters of Mrs. Silva were actually mourning - that was what I felt. They did not cry aloud, but was looking at their sister whom they would never see again and wiping away their tears. They must be thinking about their life together in one house before they went on their separate ways. Their pranks as young girls, their happy times spent together years ago. Only at the last moment when the body was to be taken away, I saw the daughters covering their mouths with their handkerchiefs to bury their sobs. Their children were there, but none seemed to have felt the loss of their grandmother.

I visited Mrs. Silva about a month ago when I heard that she had a fall and had broken her arm. We were in the same staff for about twenty years until she retired from service. I knew that Mrs. Silva had a soft corner for me. I too had the same. When I heard about her illness, since her daughters were also away, I felt that it was my duty to visit her as soon as I could.

Suffering

She was not in bed. Yet I felt that she was suffering not only from the pain of her broken arm, but also from some kind of loneliness. She held me close and cried. She took me to her room where she lay down comfortably on a cushioned chair one of her daughters had brought from abroad, and asked me to take a seat close to her. She had four framed photographs in the room. The biggest one was of Mr. and Mrs. Silva taken at the wedding of their youngest daughter. The other three were her daughters' families.

She took out her albums and started showing them to me. I felt that she was waiting for some visitor to talk about her grand children. Her face lit up with pride and happiness going through those photographs. I knew that all her daughters were doing well and there was nothing to worry about. I was a patient listener and she seemed to be contented to talk about her grand children with me. She told me about their schools, their achievements and their pranks too.

Then she asked me about mine - my grand children, their schooling, and their achievements and their pranks. She knew that my youngest grandchild was very naughty and she loved to listen to those anecdotes. Suddenly, she started sobbing. I could not surmise why.

"Mrs. Silva, why? Did I say anything to hurt you?"

She pulled me to her, and holding my hands sobbed for a few minutes.

"I was feeling sorry for myself," she finally came out. "How lonely do I feel? Sometimes my neighbours visit me with their small ones. Then I get reminded of my own and yearn to touch them, to fondle them. You do not know how much I suffer within."

She blew her nose and carried on. "In a way I too am to be blamed. When my daughters were young, I used to hear from my friends about their children who were living abroad. They used to tell me what easy lives they had there. They did not have to toil hard like us.

Blamed

They earned enough money to live in comfort. I wanted my children too to lead such lives. When they applied for jobs abroad, I was happy for them. I still do not feel that I have done something wrong by persuading them to leave this country because they are well off there. Yet I feel sorry for myself."

She told me how they used to call her every week and inquire about her health, news about their relations and friends.

When the grand children were small, they too used to come to the phone and jabber which made her happy. However, as time went on, the grand children hardly spoke to her. They were either busy studying or had gone out.

The death of her husband, about three years back had been the turning point in her life. It had made her feel the loss of her children too. At first, she used to visit her own kith and kin to drive away the loneliness. It had been worse. Seeing her cousins enjoying their lives with their own grand children had made her realise what she had missed.

Sorry

"I didn't envy them, my dear," she told me. "I was feeling sorry for myself."When she had the fall and broke her arm, it was the woman who looked after the house, who had to take her to the hospital. For one week, it was she, who had spent the night with her at the hospital.

"I had three daughters," she said. "But none was there to spend a night with me. I know that my children love me. They never shun their duties towards me. I never lacked anything except the love and affection of my own children when I was alone there. I do not blame them.They cannot turn back now. I know that. We were a closely knit family. That is why I feel it so bad now.What is the use of having all these comforts when I can't fondle my own grand children when I want to? Isn't the life lived together with them happier than a life with all these comfortable worldly things?"

"Achchii," I heard the shouts of my two grandchildren as they rushed into my room. "What's there to eat? We are hungry."

I got up from my bed and folded them both in my arms. Both were perspiring after playing in the garden. Their scent, mixed with their sweat pierced through my nose. I was feeling happy. No money or jewels could bring that happiness.

Wasn't Mrs.Silva correct!