Wretchedness Shared


1.

Earth spins on its axis during summer and winter. Night and day even out over the year. Joy and grief take turns and even out over a life time. Perhaps they do for many. They did not for me.

2.

The year was 1950. The year of joy and sorrow. Joy because our son was on his way to a brilliant career that would bring fame and fortune to the family of this lowly civil servant in the government of newly minted Republic of India. Ramesh had graduated with a medical degree from the elite medical school in Lucknow and had won a prestigious scholarship to go to America to specialize as an Oncologist. Sorrow because our only child was going away for who knows how long. Joti was in tears most of the day. Her delight was going so far away, a letter took ten days to get there. When will she hear the voice that makes her body shiver in excitement from head to toe? I promised her to pull the strings and get a telephone. She was still disconsolate; “it will cost a bundle for even the shortest call across seven seas.” Ramesh could not understand her mother’s grief. He told her again and again that he was coming back in two years. He promised to work hard and finish the course earlier if at all possible. He vowed to write a long letter every Saturday. Joti was not consoled. It was as if she had a premonition of disaster. Still, she pulled herself together as the day of departure approached. When he touched her feet at the station before boarding the train for Bombay, she blessed him, “May goddess Saraswati help you with studies, goddess Lakshmi look after your worldly needs and goddess Kali protect you from enemies. May Lord Ganesh fulfill all your wishes.” I pulled Ramesh up as he bent down to touch my feet, embraced him and held back the tear which was going to give my feelings away.

We received letters from him every week for the first few months. Joti gave the mailman a rupee whenever he knocked to hand over a letter from ‘Amrika’. There were at least three people now eagerly waiting for a letter with the bald eagle stamp. However the income of the poor mailman started declining after the New Year and had dropped to an occasional rupee a year later. Joti worried all the time about her son’s health; what he was eating, who was washing his clothes, cleaning his room and if he had started drinking alcohol and eating meat. Her biggest worry was American girls and she was certain that every one of them between the age of fifteen and forty was out to get him. Her relief after every letter could be seen from across the street.

Two years were nearly up. Joti bought new bed, pillows, sheets and blanket for Ramesh and redecorated his old room. She made me promise that we will go to Bombay to see him get off the boat. But his letters, full of news about the acclaim he was receiving from professors and fellow students, made no mention of any travel plans. On the second anniversary of his departure, Joti insisted that I call him on phone and find out the details of his return trip. It took several tries to get him on the line, and when I did get him the line was poor and it was difficult to understand what he said. But one thing was clear. Instead of reserving a place on the ship home, he was planning to stay there for a while longer to get some practical training. He would not be specific on how long his training would be and promised to write us a detailed letter explaining his situation.

It took a month for the letter to arrive. “From my enquiries I have learnt that there are no hospitals in India where my expertise can be useful. My contacts in the profession at home tell me that the people suffering from fatal diseases like cancer go for Ayurvedic treatment or have holy men pray for them rather than call a doctor or go to hospital even when they can afford to. They also confirm my suspicion that the government has no money to properly equip existing hospitals leave alone building new ones. You will not want your America returned son to come back and work as an ordinary doctor. Therefore, I will work here till things improve in India. I can earn more in a year here than I would earn in a long life time in India. I promise that I will come on a holiday next year, and every year after that to be with you. Please give me your blessings as you have done whenever I have taken a major step.”

Joti would like nothing better than to have her only son in town, as a lowly medical orderly if need be, leave alone a doctor. Her disappointment took a new turn. Now she took her frustration out on me, “You wanted Ramesh to be a big success. You spent all my dowry to send him to the doctor school. Now we don’t have a son. We don’t have any body to look after us in our old age. It is all your doing – you wanted your son to be what you didn’t have the brains to be.” This would be followed by two days in bed with headache and mild fever.

Ramesh came home for two weeks the next year. Several relatives had lined up prospective matches for our boy in great families with prospects of six figure dowries. Joti was too week for us to travel to Bombay and I could not leave her alone with the servants. He was shocked to see how thin his mother had become and cancelled plans to travel to Lucknow to renew acquaintance with his old professors and spent most of his time near her. But he refused to see any of the girls we wanted him to choose from. He assured us that there was no one in America he was involved with; just that he was not ready to settle down. It broke Joti’s heart. She became convinced that she had lost her son for good. Smile that had returned to her face when she greeted her son was now replaced by the look of deep sorrow. She took to bed the day before Ramesh left and did not get up to see him off at the door.

3.

My grief at the turn of events was no less than Joti’s but I had to put up a brave face to help her. We had long discussions, she in tears and I in a consoling tone. She told all our visitors that her son had turned his face away from his parents who had done their all for him. The expressed opinions divided along gender lines. The ladies agreed with her without exception and some even suggested that he “was in the clutches of a shameless white girl.” Gradually Joti also started believing it. Men, on the other hand, irrespective of what they really believed, told Joti that Ramesh had always been a good son and she should trust him. Her reply was always the same, “You men don’t have a heart, you can not feel and therefore you are taken in by the sweet talk. I can see behind the words of my son. He is in the clutches of the devil. He is not going to come back on his own.”

A renowned sadhu was visiting our town. I approached the organizers and persuaded them to have a prayer ceremony, yagya, “to free Ramesh from the devil.” Yagya was held on the holy day of Dussehera in the month of October. We set cross legged on the carpeted floor in the front row facing the sadhu who was clad in a saffron dhoti with his upper body covered in ash. He recited in a singsong voice Sanskrit shlokas which were mostly incomprehensible to us, and probably to him too. Without interruptions in the recital he threw spoonfuls of ghee in the fire, the flames shooting up dangerously as the offerings were accepted. The pot of concentrated butter lasted till the last shloka was pronounced after an hour. “Hare Ram, Hare Hare, Bhagwan ki jai” shouted the sadhu as he stood up and folded his hands in reverence before the fire. We raised ourselves on our feet with some difficulty, touched sadhu’s feet and he gave us his blessing, “May all your wishes be fulfilled.” Joti looked as if a big load had lifted off her back. Faith in our son had returned and we now jumped for the good news every time phone rang or the mailman announced a letter from ‘Amrika’.

Another year went by. After several perfunctory letters we had one with some news, though not what we had been anticipating. “I will arrive there on November 24 and I have a surprise for you. I am sure you will love it.” We were in suspense. What surprise could he bring? We lost several strands of hair scratching our heads but could not guess what it could be. Joti had a suspicion that it wasn’t any thing good. “Trust your son, he has never disappointed you” I replied every time, though with a little less conviction with each passing day.

4.

Joti was not well enough to go to Bombay this time either. It was unusually cold that day and we splashed to rent a motor car for the evening and drove to the railway station in good time. But the train was late and our suspense built up to an almost unbearable point. What surprise did our son have in store for us? Was it good as I had hoped or evil as his mother was certain? I must admit that by now I was secretly beginning to agree with Joti. Her suspicions are always well-founded and are proven true with only rare exceptions. Here we were, Joti sitting on a bench looking straight ahead with unseeing eyes and I walking up and down the platform, the coolie, a frail elderly man in tattered clothes and bare feet, standing next to Joti fidgeting a little. Suddenly Joti stood up and walked to the edge of the platform. She had heard the whistle of the engine. We looked along the railway track and saw the black smoke from the engine darkening the sky as it lumbered uphill pulling carriages loaded with hundreds of passengers.

The train stopped and I heard the shout of “Pitaji” from the window of a first class compartment fifty feet away. We walked towards him, the coolie following close behind. Ramesh jumped out, ran to us and bent down to touch her mother’s feet as she tried to hold back her tears. When he straightened up I asked him to show coolie the luggage. He went back and pointed out what the old man was to carry. After jumping on to the platform he turned around and held out his hand. What I saw set me shivering as if I was suffering from malaria. There was a tall slender white woman with very short red hair in a clumsily put on saree, ill-fitting blouse and men’s shoes cautiously stepping down the two steps to the platform. I looked at Joti. Her eyes were blank, face as white as that of the young woman leaning on our son’s shoulder to regain her balance. I held her to stop her from collapsing on the platform and whispered, “Have courage, Lord Ram will look after us.”

Ramesh and the girl walked to us holding hands. She bent down and touched Joti’s feet and then mine before being erect again with head modestly bent. Our son now delivered the final blow of his surprise, “Amma, Pitaji, meet your bahu. Sally and I got married last month. I am sure you will love her.” So we now had an American daughter-in-law right out of the blue. Thought in my mind was “Bhagwan ki jai, we don’t have a daughter. Who would have married her?” Joti, I am sure, was thinking, “He will never come back. I have lost my only son.”

The couple spent a month with us. Sally had not learnt any Hindi but Ramesh was a good translator. Bit by bit Sally won us over. The night before they were to leave, after the lights had been turned off and Joti was sure that Ramesh and Sally had gone to sleep, she turned to me, “Are you awake?”
“Yes. How can I sleep when my son is going away again, who knows for how long?”
“He will never come back. We have to get used to our lonely lives. We will never see our grandchildren. Only consolation is that Sally is a good girl. She will look after our Ramesh.”
“Yes, it is better than it could be. He could have married a woman who treated him as an inferior brownie.”
“We should thank Bhagwan for sending Sally to look after him if He was going to keep him there. Only He knows what He has in mind for them.”

Joti’s words calmed my fears and we fell asleep holding the other in our arms.


5.

Joti put up a brave face but she was feeling empty inside. As my luck would have it, flu’ epidemic spread all over India the following spring. People were dying like flies everywhere. It was the time of Holi festival when people splash every one in sight with coloured water. Joti got more than her share and was drenched. I asked her to change her clothes straight away but she was having too much fun to pay attention. In the evening, she started to shiver. During the night her throat became sore and she was feverish. I called the doctor in the morning but pharmacies had run out of the medicines he prescribed. I endured for a week the cries of physical pain and tears of emotional suffering of my beloved wife of thirty years before Lord Ram called her to His side. My grief was made infinitely more unbearable by the absence of Ramesh at cremation ceremonies.

After Joti’s loss I felt all alone. Every so often, at work or home, a vision of what life could be and wasn’t would float in front of me; my eyes would become wet, whole body would tremble and feel drained of all energy. I would ask myself why I was alive. Then the vision would pass, I would pick up what I was doing and carry on with a heavy heart. Must be good deeds in a former life, I kept my sanity through that difficult period.

My son and daughter-in-law visited twice over next ten years, for one month each time. First time they had a baby boy and second time two boys, one an energetic six years old and the other a bouncy toddler. I retired from my job just before their second visit. I loved my grandchildren. I took them to the playground where other nicely tanned children looked enviously at their fair complexion. We went to the circus that was visiting the town and swam in the river Jamuna a walking distance from home. It was the happiest time of my life since Ramesh was a boy.

Those were the days when air travel was becoming popular. I looked into air fares and found that if I managed with just Mohan to cook and clean and let the other servants go and rented out a room in the house, I could save enough in three years to visit my family. I set up a savings account and started putting every extra rupee in it. The time passed slowly but I could see my savings grow. At long last I could write to Ramesh to suggest a good time to visit. His reply would have perplexed most people but I was too pleased with myself to notice this. “Christmas is best for us, a month with us will be enough time” the letter said.

I spent the whole month in Boston indoors because it was freezing outside. But the house was comfortable and I did not need clothing warmer than a sweater. The boys were twelve and nine now. The family was out during the day for their jobs and schools. In the evenings the kids had home work and Ramesh and Sally their social engagements. I spent the time reading local newspaper and watching T.V. There was never any news of what was happening outside Boston and the TV was annoying because just when it got interesting the ads for all the things you don’t need would come on. But I enjoyed being near the family and I was sorry to leave when the month was over.

6.

The letters from America were few and short. I assumed that no news is good news and did not worry about them. I spent my time reading scriptures, praying at home and in the temple. I went for long walks in the evening and swam every day in the river. I looked and felt younger than my seventy years. Then the disaster struck. On my way home from the swim, a horse sprang loose from a horse cart and ran amok towards me. Looking back I was fortunate that it was content with just one kick. It did not kill me but caused serious injuries in the abdomen. The doctor recommended that I hire a nurse. Jaya, a widow my age, looked after me, tenderly replacing the bandages and washing and changing me when necessary.

I became very fond of Jaya and we continued to meet after I had completely recovered. I looked forward to being with her. When I prayed for wisdom from Goddess Saraswati it was Jaya’s image that would appear in front of me. The loneliness that was my constant companion since Joti left me was now replaced by longing to be with Jaya. I now wanted to live and make her part of what little was left of my life. One evening we were sitting on a rock on the bank of the river. It was a beautiful sunset, glowing clouds tinged with red and purple and a huge red ball sinking beyond the horizon. I nervously expressed my feelings while throwing pebbles in the water. The silence after I stopped speaking lasted an eternity. When she spoke I could barely hear her.
“I do not know what you see in me, a poor widow who has to work to make ends meet even at my age. More important, I am not as strong as I look. I had breast cancer ten years ago. Fortunately, it was detected early, the tumour was small and I did not need an operation. But the shock of my disease is what killed my husband; the poor man had always thought I was indestructible. Cancer is never cured for good. It returns after a few years and the older body often gives in to the disease. I am sorry my response to your affection has encouraged your feelings to become so deep. I was lonely and selfish and did not have the courage to stop when I should have. Also, the dictum of Tolstoy – Wretchedness shared makes one doubly wretched- is never far from my mind and it added to my reluctance to share my misery. You want to share what little of our lives is left. I do too. Only I know how miniscule it could be and how much grief it could cause you. I have killed one husband. That is enough.”
“I am sorry to learn of your sorrow. But I can handle my grief now that I have been forewarned. I will not give up on you. Why don’t we arrange for an oncologist to examine you and discuss the issue after his verdict? We have to die one day, whether it is tomorrow or in ten years. I am prepared to take my chances. But if my suggested course will make you feel better, we should proceed with it without delay.”
“All right, I will arrange the medical appointments and we will discuss it when the results are in. In the meantime please do not take my response as yes. I have several emotional issues to resolve. We carry a lot of baggage on our backs and we need to work out how to reduce its weight. May be men are different, they can consider the future without being bothered by the past. But I am a woman, frail one, and my past haunts me. Please understand my dilemma. I will be able to express myself better when I have thought a little more about it.”
“I understand. We will not talk about it any more till you are ready. You know what will make me happy; but only if you are happy as well. Martyrdom does not behoove people our age.”
We were silent for rest of the walk. It was pitch dark when we turned on her street.

7.

I lay in bed that night considering what could be done to raise Jaya’s spirits. My mind kept returning to the idea of whisking Jaya far away from the daily grind for a few weeks. I wrote to Ramesh the next day. I told him about her and asked whether we could spend a while with them. It was a couple of weeks before I received his reply. “Sally and I don’t think it will be a good idea to bring a cancer patient to the U.S. She won’t have any insurance and the treatment costs the earth here. Of course, you are most welcome any time that suits you. Kids love you and miss you. It is about time they got to renew bond with their Indian grandpa.”

I was disappointed. While it would be good for me and the kids, the purpose of the whole exercise was defeated by my going alone. I did want to see my family but I did not want to be away from Jaya either. Not after what she had told me about her apprehension of recurrence of cancer. I could not decide what to do. Ramesh did raise a valid point; it would have been horrible to watch Jaya suffer and not be able to get her treatment. After tossing and turning in bed on several nights I was feeling quite run down. Jaya noticed it and asked, “You are looking thin and tired. What is worrying you?”
“Oh, it is nothing, just can’t sleep in the night; may be the heat.”
“It has been quite cool of late. You are hiding something from me. You can tell me. May be I can help you.”
“Ramesh and Sally want me to visit them. They don’t think it will be wise for you to travel with your health concerns. I would love to see my family but I don’t want to be away from you for so long.”
“You are being silly. We are not teenagers; let us not behave like them. I will be all right. I will get checked up when you are away and the good news will be waiting for you on your return. You must go. As you said yourself, we are getting old. We don’t know how much time we have before our bodies give out. You have to go. I won’t have it any other way.”

It took a month to organize the papers and book the seat on the plane. We spent as much time as we could together. Jaya was able to book the appointments for her examination and the tests during the period of my absence. I was not comfortable with the plan but Jaya did not seem least bit perturbed. She was waving a green scarf cheerfully when the train for Delhi took off. I could barely hold back my tears.

It was autumn and the trees were laden with glorious golden leaves. Ramesh and Sally had more time for me than on previous visits and showed me around the attractions of the area. Grandchildren were now fully grown up, both taller than Sally, leave alone Ramesh and me. We played chess and ping pong and went for walks along the sea. The month in Boston flew by and soon it was time to leave. I was a bundle of mixed up emotions; sorry to be leaving my family but at the same time excited about being with Jaya again. For the last night in Boston and during the naps on the plane I dreamed of her smiling face greeting me at the station and her blabbering in excitement all the good results of the tests.

8.

The sun was making its way to the top as the train crept towards the station. Storm clouds, if any, were invisible from the train. I felt lively even after twenty four hours on planes and airports and twelve hours on the train as I peeped out of the window looking for Jaya in the milling crowd on the platform. “There couldn’t be confusion about the dates. May be I can’t see her in the crowd. May be she got held up in the traffic.” I got out, hired a coolie for my suitcase and waited near the exit for half an hour. The train left and arriving passengers made their way to their destinations. I was the only passenger left on the platform. The coolie was getting impatient, “Sahib, I need to be ready for the next train in a five minutes.” I gave in and followed him to a rickshaw to take me home.

Mohan took the suitcase inside and I carried on to Jaya’s house in the rikshaw. The house was locked. I knocked on the door of the neighbour. The kindly middle aged woman opened the door, looked at me, turned sombre and before I could open my mouth said, “Jaya had excruciating pain in the chest yesterday morning. She is in the hospital.”
“What kind of pain is it? How did they treat her? How is she feeling?”
“I don’t know. My husband called the ambulance that took her to the hospital. Visitors were not allowed to see her yesterday. We hope to see her in the evening.”
I thanked her and ran to the rickshaw. In spite of my constant urging to go faster, it took for ever to get to the hospital. Rickshaw wallah knew that I did not have time to bargain and asked for fifty rupees instead of the normal twenty. I gave him some ten rupee notes without counting and rushed to the reception desk. The receptionist was chatting on the phone and took her own sweet time to give me the directions to Jaya’s room. I ran to the ward shoving doctors, nurses, visitors and patients aside. The attending nurse looked blankly when I reached the nursing station. After many entreaties, she condescended to take me to Jaya. On our way to the room I learnt that Jaya had a double mastectomy last night, the operation had gone well but they were not sure all the affected parts were taken out. She told me to be gentle and not to cause any excitement. If I behaved I could have fifteen minutes with the patient.

At first glance Jaya looked as if she was asleep. When we got closer she heard our steps and opened her eyes. She was obviously in pain but forced a smile when she saw me. I sat down on a stool next to her and held her hand. She opened her mouth as if to say something. I had to put my ear almost on her mouth to hear her whisper “You see I was right. I am not here for long.”
“Don’t be so downhearted. It will be all right. Nurse told me that the operation was a success. You will be recovered enough to come home with me in a week. In a month we will be able to go for a walk along the river. I will take care of you.”
I don’t know how much of this registered with her. She waved to me and I leaned my ear over her, “Promise me you will find some one to love soon after I am gone. Remember what you said about us not having long to live.”
“We have, both you and me, many years yet. These will be good years. We will make a list of things we always wanted to do and do them together. You can’t give up. I am not going to let you leave me.”
“It is not in our hands. Whatever happens you have to live with it. I am so sorry our happiness was cut short like this.”
“Jaya, listen to me. You will be well again soon. We will be happy together. Think positively. It is all these painkillers that are making you downhearted. When I come tomorrow I want to see the smile that makes my heart jump with joy.”

The nurse returned with a tray of medication. My time was over. I gave her my address and requested her to promptly let me know if I could be useful. My head bowed, I made my way back home. I took my shoes off and lay down on the bed. I heard Mohan ask what I would like for dinner. I turned the other way without answering and sobbed till sleep took me out of my misery, albeit temporarily.

9.

Mohan woke up me when it was still dark outside. “Sahib, there is a message for you” and handed me an envelope. I looked at the envelope and jumped out of bed. It was from the hospital. I tore open the envelope. The message was short, “Jaya Malini passed away in her sleep. The cause of her death is being investigated.”

The sun did not rise that morning. Nor on any morning after.

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