Continued from: A Piece of Raw Ginger (I)
The storm of her grief shook us both as she clung to me, sobbing. I held her, feeling at once stoic and sympathetic. Grief like that just makes you take a deep breath. You know it needs to be dealt with, one way or another. I held her, letting her create space for it inside her.
A few minutes and she had composed herself, as I expected. She was a strong woman, not one to give way to futile laments.
In the next three hours, she poured out her story. There were times when, in her excitement and agitation, she would lapse into pure Marathi, unaware that she had done so. The flow of her words furious and tumultuous, emotions flitting across her face rapidly, hands gesturing emphatically, she poured out her tale. I listened to her eyes… and sometimes to her words.
She was the only child (like me) of her parents. She came from a village near Akola and was a farmer’s daughter. Her father had passed away a few years ago leaving her mother in-charge of their land. One of her mother’s sisters (maushi) cunningly persuaded the mother to sell her land to her (maushi). For 30% of the market value, the mother sold off the land. The next part was spoken in rapid Marathi so I didn’t understand what was done with the money so obtained.
The woman lived with her husband at Akola city. (It never occurred to me to ask her for her name. It seemed so irrelevant.) She had three kids: two daughters and a son. The daughters were both married off. The older one was married to an idiot of a man (and a drunk to boot), the younger to a good boy. The son was yet to be married. He was the reason she was sitting on a forlorn stone bench on a railway platform, asking strangers to help her find work.
When she began speaking of her son, she glowed. He found formal education useless it seems. Though he had not even finished primary school, there was no electronic device he couldn’t repair. He could repair the latest LCD TVs she told me proudly. As for frost-free refrigerators, they were to him the work of a jiffy. Currently he had a contract with a cable operator and was doing well.
He made very good money which- like an obedient son- he handed over to her. She didn’t say much about her husband. She just said that he was in a regular job, though he didn’t give her much money- which she was quick to justify. As she spoke of her husband, her hand strayed to her mouth which had no front teeth. I wondered why but didn’t ask her anything. There’s no way I could intrude on her privacy that way.
“My son is a good, hard-working boy”, she said, her eyes misty. “He is twenty-eight years old and ought to have been married by now.”
“So why haven’t you arranged his marriage yet?” I asked.
“In our part of the country”, she said sadly, “they ask you how much land you have. I don’t have any land. I tell people of the land my mother sold off, but that doesn’t signify anymore. No one wants to give a daughter to a man whose family has no land. That is why my poor son is still unmarried.
“But, three days ago I told my son- I hugged him and cried and told him. (Holds out her hands, palms up) I told him that as long as his mother was alive, she will work hard to earn some money. I told him we will surely buy land soon. The next day I left home. Let me see where my destiny takes me. I have to earn money so my son can get married. He really is a good boy, you know?”
I nodded, mesmerized by the ferocious love I saw in the eyes of this tigress.
It never failed to amaze me how the most ordinary day could be catapulted into the extraordinary in the blink of an eye.
~ Jodi Picoult
“But”, I said, rather foolishly, “how did he let you go alone like this?”
“He let me go because I insisted. He knew it is better for me to be doing something than to sit still and worry. But I know he will worry about me. He is a loving boy.” She said that with such simple, unshakable faith, that I felt humbled. It was as if I had questioned the wetness of water. Silly, so silly!
We sat silent for a while. Her words lay scattered about us like twinkling gems, each holding a precious drop of her ordinary life. The gems were like many other- neither more precious nor less. What set them iridescent was the light of her spirit.
I sat thus for a while, in the midst of her glowing treasures.
To be continued…
A Piece Of Raw Ginger (II)
Sometimes the ‘treasures’ are not materialistic in nature 🙂
Or rather, the real treasures are not materialistic !
I must also hastily add – I can’t help but admire her spirit. She seems like a remarkable person. And I’m eager to know what happens next.
Real treasures never are, of course. Her spirit is indeed admirable. She taught me many a lesson with her story. I am richer now than when I met her. She has imbued me with her iridescence.
What a fiercely loving mother, and son too, though I wonder if the son had insisted a little more, if the mother would have given in 🙂 Her tale is a moving one, and I wonder what happened next. Kind of shows that even real stories are engrossing sometimes 🙂
Real stories are engrossing though they are ordinary. There is no fantasy in them; no larger than life heroes. Yet, they have magic… the magic of everyday courage. The most potent magic of all. 🙂
She is a caring mom, although I wish she would understand that her earning would not get her a piece of land.
Difficult to utter practical piece of advise when emotions are high!
Waiting to read the third part…
The point, I think, isn’t about the land. She was so practical and sensible that probably knew she won’t earn enough to buy land. But she needed to be up and doing, to show her son that she hasn’t lost hope. Sometimes when you are faced by terrible adversity, it helps just to put one foot in front of another. 🙂
Yeah! you are right. Hope is bigger than fear, and can help over-rule many things.
Thank you Ruchira! 🙂
A mother’s love is unconditional and she has proved it. Waiting to hear more from you.
More coming up soon Kalpana. Thanks! 🙂
Hmm – Ambivalent this time. Very moved by the mother; not very sympathetic to the son.
I can well believe that. I wasn’t too pleased with the son either. 🙂
What a woman! I feel like hugging her now 🙂 As much as I admire her spirit, I think she couldn’t have found a better listener than you to tell her story. Not that she was looking to tell her story. But in a way the truth of her spirit and character has in a way become truer because of the way you listented to her, really heard her and saw her. In those eyes, in that smile, in those words and silences. You really were present there as a gatherer of the gems she had been carrying within.
As you said Beloo, she wasn’t looking to tell her story. For her to trust me with it, when people are usually so fearful of strangers, was very humbling to me. She enriched me by sharing her life with me. Thank you for your generous words! You are always so encouraging! 😀
my goodness….what spirit….
Absolutely! And there’s more to come.
Next part please! Jaldi!
Coming, coming! 🙂
Human stories of resilience and faith – my favorite kind!
You have a way with words – you have woven such a beautiful story from your chance encounter with this remarkable mother. Can’t wait for more!!!!!
Thank you Shachi! I’m happy you liked the story so far! 😀
I admire her courage, her feisty spirit that wants to take charge, to battle the odds. I understand that part very well. Waiting to see what unfolds further.
Such simple courage Rachna. The courage to accept that as long as you have breath in your body, it is your duty to try, win or lose. Humbling, really!
This seems to be such an impossibly difficult situation! Waiting for the next part!
Why difficult Roshni? Hope you like the next part… on upto the end. 🙂