Dr.Shiben Krishen Raina
This time, during the summer vacations, I couldn’t resist the desire to go home for a week or two. There was a time when I used to go home twice a year, but as the responsibilities of family life grew up, my visits to my home town reduced over time. Now, I hardly got time to go home for three to four years at a stretch. Sometimes, it used to be the children’s exams, sometimes my own work, sometimes there were no reservations, and sometimes I would not keep well. With the passing years, along with growing responsibilities, it looked as if restrictions were laid on my outgoing journeys.
This time, the decision to go home during these summer vacations was largely influenced by my wife. Actually, my mother, Bhabi, had appeared in her dream and said, “I haven’t seen you all for a long time… come during these summer vacations, both of you come. I miss you all a lot.” My parents had moved to Jammu after they migrated from Kashmir in 1990 and were living with my younger brother at Shakti Nagar.
The next day, when my wife emotionally told me about it, my mother’s image came vividly to my mind. I made reservations and reached home the following week. Seeing us, my mother’s face glowed with inexplicable joy. It was a joy that couldn’t be measured or replaced. It was a direct encounter of two souls or perhaps the union of fragmented parts. In her silence, my mother conveyed a lot – the story of her life’s struggles, her own pains, my story, her story, everything!
Knowing that my mother loved hot Samosas, my wife had bought samosas for my mother. We all had Samosas with tea, and shared some wonderful time chatting about various topics: neighbors, relatives, weddings, and so on. I could feel that my mother had been longing for this joyful and talkative environment for a long time. Amidst all this, I felt that she was trying to convey something to me through her silent expressions, which I couldn’t fully comprehend at that moment. I felt that in her expression, there was contentment and the joy of being able to meet her loved ones. My wife presented her a Saree, and the moment she held it up, my mother’s face lit up with indescribable happiness. Touching the Saree to her eyes, she said, “Oh, your husband has brought it for me from Hyderabad! The color is so beautiful. Though I go nowhere now at this old age but I will still wear it on some auspicious occasion.”
This time, my father seemed a bit weak to me. However, he was also delighted to have us at home. In the evening, we all gathered and recited Bhajans. The sound of the claps filled the entire atmosphere, and the devotional songs created a divine ambiance. Seeing my father completely immersed in this state after many years, surprised me. My mother was deeply engrossed in singing Bhajans with Mona, granddaughter by her side. At times, she looked at me with tender smiles, and sometimes she gazed at the picture of God hanging on the wall, and sometimes again at me… This sequence continued. At the end of the Bhajan, I saw immense peace and contentment on my mother’s face. She conveyed emotions that were beyond expression.
We had dinner together. I recall, my mother served us all herself. Sitting amidst us after so many years and having dinner together, filled her with immense joy. She moved around the room, serving dishes like curries, vegetables, and rice to all of us, not stopping even when asked to rest. Amidst all this, whenever our eyes met, she would smile slightly. I felt a flood of boundless affection and compassion in that smile.
Around midnight, my younger brother woke me up. My mother had suddenly fallen sick and was in severe pain. She gestured towards her stomach and then towards her chest. Her forehead was covered in sweat. I held her head in my lap. Every moment, her pain increased, and she began to gasp for breath. We all gathered around her helplessly. With her eyes almost closed, my mother seemed to be observing all of us. She looked at my father intently and then at all of us one last time before closing her eyes forever.
Some days passed by, and when my wife gave away that Saree to the priest/Guruji along with other donations, everyone’s eyes welled up with tears. I couldn’t hold back my tears either. My mother’s words came to my mind, “Alright, I will wear it on some auspicious occasion.”
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