No more tears to shed

by Lalitha Somathilaka

I looked at Medha. She wasn’t crying. Maybe her tear glands had dried up after crying for days over her lost daughter. These last few days she had known nothing but crying, I realized. Medha and I worked in the same staff for years. When I heard about the death of Roshini, Medha’s only daughter I could not believe it. Due to ill health I could not attend Roshini’s funeral, and visited Medha only today. Her daughter’s pathetic story that she related was unbelievable.

Roshini was a pleasant girl,though not a beauty. She did not excel in her studies, but was above average. She was a calm and quiet girl who never quarrelled with or criticized others. After leaving school Roshini worked in a private firm. She was given in marriage in her late twenties, which was arranged by her parents.

“Roshini had no babies at first,” Medha told me. “We had to seek the help of doctors, soothsayers as well as exorcists. Then, her son, Suren was born after seven years of marriage,” she said and added with a deep sigh, “that was the beginning of all her troubles, too.”

“Why?”

“The baby was not normal,” she said looking sadly at the framed photograph on the wall, of Roshini carrying her baby.

Wet with saliva

Even after returning home I could not help recalling what Medha told me - the pathetic story of her daughter.

Suren was sleeping. His pillow was wet with saliva, dripping from the corner of his mouth. Roshini took a napkin to wipe it away.

“No,” she said after a moment. “It might disturb his sleep.” Instead she sat down on the bed and kissed him softly. As she watched her son, tears started flowing down her eyes.

“How unfortunate we are my innocent darling!” she said softly. “It is not you my love,” she said again. “It’s I, your mother. I am the one who gave birth to you. You are mine, mine, mine,” she started crying covering her face with her hands. “Why can’t Piyal love you my darling? You belong to him too. He is your father.”

Hearing her daughter’s sobs Medha peeped through the half open door. “It’s better that she cries rather than bottle up her feelings,” she said to herself turning back. Medha knew her daughter hardly gave vent to her sorrow.

Roshini’s husband started changing his attitude towards her when he realized that there was hardly any chance of having any more children. He started spending the nights at his mother’s home, giving various excuses.

“Piyal’s parents should have taken the initiative to bring them together,” Medha told me. “Do you know what they did, instead? They spread a rumour that the child’s horoscope had ill effects on all his male relatives living with him, especially, the father. That was why he was trying to stay away from home. We also had the horoscope examined, but no one had ever told us that. It was a fabrication.”

Piyal still visited his wife once in a blue moon. But hardly petted his son.

“Do you know another tactic they used?” said Medha. “They were waiting for us to file divorce papers against their son for malicious desertion. In fact, there were some who approached us with that advice. I told them we have no idea of getting a divorce. My daughter never did anything to hurt her husband or his relatives. She had been very friendly with them. The sick child is not only hers, but Piyal’s too. He too has a responsibility over the child. They knew they had no chance if they went to courts. That was why they wanted us to initiate.”

Both, Medha and her husband had retired from their jobs to look after the baby, to make it easy for Roshini to carry on with her job. Suren had been sent to a Kiddy’s school, hoping it might help, but, it was of no use.

“Unfortunately, Roshini did not conceive again. So when Piyal left her she blamed herself and not her husband,” said Medha.

The grandparents spent their whole time with Suren. The child was thin and weak. He called his grandfather “See” and he was Suren’s hero. They used to walk around the garden and play.

Medha tried to teach him nursery rhymes, letters and other things, but it was in vain. Suren could not keep in mind even the names of the objects at home.

Health condition

Suren started getting fits when he was about five years.

“We took him to a specialist who wanted to keep the child in hospital for some tests. We sent messages, but neither Piyal nor his parents visited the child.”

“We could have sent him to a special school if not for this health condition,” said Medha. “Sometimes he did not get fits for days, but sometime he had it almost every day. So we had to spend the whole day with the baby.”

The sudden death of his beloved grandfather was a sad blow for the child. He did not know what death was, and started going around the house calling, “See, See.”

“That must have worsened his health,” I said.
“Sure. He had to be taken to the doctor often.”
“Did Piyal come for the father’s funeral?”
“Yes, his parents too. But do you know what they did the next day?”

“They collected all Piyal’s belongings that were in the house and went away saying that what the soothsayer said was true, and that Suren’s horoscope has bad effects on his male relatives who lived with him.”

How inhuman! How much would it have hurt the grieving wife and daughter?

“It was the only day that Roshini had opposed anybody in her life! I was stunned at the way she shouted. Even Piyal’s parents were shocked at her outburst,” said Medha. “My father had a good life and died at the end of his life span,” she shouted at them. “It had nothing to do with the horoscope of the innocent child.

Having no father’s love is worse than the death of a grandfather.” Realizing that the workload was too much for Medha now, Roshini too gave up her job. Maybe she had thought there was no future for her now, with no husband, and only a very sick child. She felt that her baby’s life was far more important than her career.

After the death of the grandfather Suren’s condition became worse, and he had to be hospitalised. Not even once did Piyal visit the hospital to see his child. Two long years dragged, and nothing could save the child’s life.

“Did Piyal attend his son’s funeral?”

“Yes. Medha sent a message when the child’s condition worsened. He came to the hospital and stayed a few minutes looking at the baby. We did not speak to him. He gave some money to Roshini but she did not accept it.”

Chest pain

I could not imagine what Roshini’s life must have been after Suren’s death. She started sitting alone under the big mango tree in the front garden, looking blankly at the sky. Medha had tried her best to send her back to work.

“What life for me, now?” Roshini would reply.

She was not strong enough to bear what she had to face. One night, she complained of a chest pain and was rushed to hospital. For three long days she was just lying on the hospital bed staring at the ceiling. Medha never left her side. Sometimes Roshini would grope her hand for something and then feeling her mother’s hand she would try to pull away.

“She must have hoped for her son’s or her husband’s hand,” was the thought that came to my mind.

That was the only action other than breathing that revealed she was still alive.

At the end of the third day she opened her eyes slightly and tried to speak. Nobody understood what she wanted to say, and she had breathed her last holding her mother’s hand.

The husband did not attend the funeral.

“His guilty conscience must have stopped him from looking at the inert body of the mother of his child,” was what I thought.

The song by Master Amaradeva, with lyrics composed by the great Indian independence activist and poet Sarojini Nayidu, “sannaliyane, sannaliyane--------,” portraying the three phases of life – birth, marriage and death trailed through my open window, completing the pathetic story.