Agony that took her life

by Ashi Liyanaarachchi

“Nimali will get an ‘A’ for English this time”, I thought. I was overjoyed when I read through her monthly test paper in which I marked 85%.

Nimali, though dark in complexion, was charming and beautiful, and lots of guys seemed to admire her, but she was adamant. She was the only child in the family, her father had died in an accident when she was in Grade one.

All the teachers in the school praised Nimali as she was bright in all the subjects. Her personality and her well mannered behaviour caught everyone’s eye in school and the teachers always used to say “be like Nimali” to the other girls.

It was a Monday, so we all gathered for the morning assembly. After the Principal’s speech, it was time for presentation of certificates and awards to students who won places at the Zonal level English Day competitions. “The first place in the Dictation competition goes to N.P. Ni......” A round of applause went through the assembly so that the announcer could hardly finish her words. The winner was Nimali.

Soon the assembly was over; the bell rang for the first period. I rushed off because I had a class. “Teacher, teacher”! A voice called out in the distance. I looked back; it was Nimali, following me.

“Congratulations Nimali, you won the first place.” I told her smilingly.

“Oh, teacher! It was because of you that I got this.” She knelt before me with tears in her eyes. I raised her with both hands. “Oh Nimali, I’m so happy. Next is the provincial level, get ready for that”, I said, and left for the class.

The days passed as usual. There were four more months for the O/L examination. Students as well as teachers worked hard. Mathematics, Science, English, Sinhala, Geography, Literature and all the other subjects were taught day after day, and even after school hours. There was hardly a day without after class lessons for Grade eleven students in the school.

One day, when I went for a lesson in the class, Nimali was not in her seat.
“Where’s Nimali?” I asked the students.
“She is out for netball practices, teacher”. Her friend replied.

As the days of the week rolled by, Monday,Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and so on, I was vigilant about Nimali’s continuous absence from school. I asked some students about Nimali, but their responses were not satisfactory. They said, she had also been absent for Dhamma school on Sundays.

One afternoon, when I hurried to my boarding after school, I caught a glimpse of a lady who stood by the gate. Her face was familiar, but I could not figure out who she was. As I passed her, “Teacher, teacher” a voice said. She seemed to be in her late thirties or early forties. She was good looking, but long hours of toiling outdoors in the scorching sun had affected her complexion.

“Teacher, I am Nimali’s mother, she said. “You are Nimali’s mother?” I said surprised. “What has happened to Nimali?” Why is she getting absent these days?” She seemed to be disturbed by my series of questions.

“She is not well teacher; she is sleeping all the time. When I ask her to go to school, she says she can’t go to school because she is suffering from a headache” she replied.

“Didn’t you take her to a doctor? Please consult a doctor.

There’s no point in making her stay at home”. My voice became loud as if I was blaming her for not taking action about Nimali’s illness. Two days passed, still no news about Nimali. One afternoon, Nimali’s mother stood by the gate. She was waiting for me. I ran to her and stood in front of her asking “What happened? Is Nimali ok now?” Nimali’s mother was speechless, and suddenly burst out crying holding my hands tightly.

“Why? What’s wrong?” I cried.
“Teacher, my daughter....my daughter...” She stammered.
“Yes, Nimali, what has happened to her?” My voice became impatient.
“My daughter.... she is with child.”
“What? Nimali?” I queried.

“Yes teacher, the doctor asked me to take her to a VOG! What shall I do now? The whole village will see this. How can I face the villagers? Why does this child...?” Her pain inside gushed and she could not carry on. She was lamenting like a small child. I couldn’t believe this. “ Am I in a dream?” I thought. “Nimali? Such a child?” various questions flowed into my mind. “Here, listen mother”. I managed to speak to her. I knew that she was not listening to whatever I said to her. Yet, I tried my best to console her. What else could I do now, than console her?

“Mother, listen to me please, now there is no point in crying. What we have to do is, take care of the child and Nimali. Don’t care about what other people say.” She just nodded as if she agreed with me and off she went. I saw her going in the distance sobbing. Finally, she disappeared from my sight. My heart was heavy. I stood there motionless, not knowing what to do, or where to go. “Hey, what are you doing? Aren’t you going?” It was my friend who slapped me on my shoulder. As the following day was Saturday, I rushed to catch a bus to my home town. After the weekend, when I was on my way to school, I met a girl in Nimali’s class. She was standing beside me.

“Don’t you know about the funeral, teacher?” she asked astonishingly.
“Funeral? What funeral?” I questioned.
“Teacher, Nimali’s mother hung herself from a rope. No one knows why.”

(Names and characters are fictitious)