A struggle for self-esteem (A short story I wrote 24+ years ago)
“Master sahib, will you help me please?” I heard a shivering voice from behind. I raised my head from the book and turned back. It was Kashi ma, my domestic help. I was a school teacher and was just transferred to that small village a month ago. With some crazy ideology in the back of my mind, I decided to work as a school teacher in a small village in India. The handsome income of private tuition could never attract my impractical idealism. I thought she might want some money. ”Do you want some money? But, I have already paid this month’s salary in advance.” I asked. “No, it’s not about money.” I could feel rather than see her wrinkled face glowing with self-esteem. “Shamu, my son, he is there in America. I want you to write a letter to him.” I had heard her story from my neighbor. When her husband died, she was thirty, and Shamu was only ten. Her only goal in life then was to make Shamu a learned ‘sahib’, and she thought that will be the end of her lifelong struggle, but unfortunately, it wasn’t. Her husband was a poor farmer and they even became poorer after he died. But she never gave up. Old people of the village still remembered Kashima plowing her field while listening to Shamu’s table recital.
Shamu went to the city for higher study. And when he returned with a degree in engineering, Kashima was almost flying. And then he asked, if he could go abroad for higher study but...money..what about that? His proud mother said “money! That is not the problem, we will sell our farms.” Shamu hesitated as farms were their only asset apart from a clay-plastered house. But Kashima was brave enough to do that and she did that. “Have faith in God, son.” She told Shamu while seeing him off to America. People say that was the first time when they saw that the corners of her eyes were a bit wet. And, Kashima’s struggle continued as she started sewing clothes for people for a living. After that Kashima had a letter from America about twenty years ago, but that was the first and the last message from Shamu, he never called back after that. The mother of my neighbor once told me that after receiving that message from her son, she was perhaps so happy that she remained in her home for three days. Perhaps she did not want to share her happiness with anybody. Time passed at the speed of light, but Shamu did not return. Kashima’s eyes were getting weaker and weaker. She could no longer sew clothes and she started working as a maid in people’s houses. She was always respected as a Sati - the Goddess of purity and character in the village. Villagers tried their level best to convince her to accept help from them, but she refused the proposal politely and firmly. Her struggle still continued.
Knowing all this story, I also respected her very much. I brought Kashima a chair and asked, what she wanted me to write. “Dear son Shamu, may god bless you. Hope you are fine there. Please take your food regularly, I know how unpunctual you are in that matter. Here I am very much fine. The whole day I keep on sewing clothes. All others in the village are fine. Please take care of your health. Do not forget to drink milk regularly. Reply soon. With lots of love........”
She said,” stop”. She took the pen from my hand and signed with a quivering hand. “KASHIBEN”. Because of the suffering of about seven decades her hand was trembling very much. Then she gave me an address written in Gujarati, he was in Boston somewhere. She put her hand on my head, said,” be happy”, took the letter, and went away. In the evening when I shared this with my neighbor, Mr. Parikh, he sighed and told me that Kashima was writing letters to her son regularly for the last twenty years. When she was no longer able to write because of old age, she used to make someone write letters for her. I was stunned. I felt terribly sorry for her. She had an infinite tolerance power, and, that hopeless fellow, for whom she had devoted whole her life...he never had time even to write a single line back to her. I had started developing an immense desire to deliver him a punch, right on his nose if I would find him someday. I decided to do something to lessen her pain.
And one fine morning I almost ran to Kashima’s place.
“Kashima, look, Shamu’s letter for you, and a money order is also attached with it.” For a moment she stared at me with bemused eyes and then smiled...and smiled...and smiled. I could see tears running down her cheeks, through the wrinkles. She took my face in both her hands and asked, ”what does he write?” I unfolded the letter and started reading...
“My dear dear Ma, sorry for not writing to you for long. But, I was too busy with my job and most of the time was traveling for work. Anyway, from now onwards I promise you that I will write to you without fail. So, how is your health? You must take rest, you are no longer young, ma. How are others in the village? Write me soon. Please, do not take much strain. Please...please.
I love you, ma.
- Your Shamu.
PS: With this letter, I am sending a money order of 500 Rs. I will send you money regularly. Very soon I will come back to take you with me.”
“He really cares for you,” I said. ” Yes, he really does.” She replied rather mysteriously. “Use this 500 Rs for the construction of the new school building.” She added calmly. “But...but.., Kashima you will need them.” I almost screamed. “I said just do it.” She said firmly.
And after that Kashima made me write many letters to Shamu, and each time reply came with a money order of 500 Rs. But she never accepted the money and donated them to the construction of a new school building. Now, she was no longer a domestic help to me. She was a very respected elder to me. And, I made her call me by my first name. But as she wasn’t comfortable with ‘Swapnil’ she made it ‘Swapn’..short and sweet. Sometimes suddenly she turned up and said,” You should get married.” And she added,” You must.” I laughed, but I could realize she was very much serious about it.
But, I was afraid..... maybe I was playing with her sentiments. What would be the end of this whole game? I was feeding her flame of hope with false consolations. Perhaps, she had started waiting for the day, when Shamu would return, and with more eagerness and desperation than ever. Yes, I was very much afraid.
And one day Kashima was sick....she was really sick. Doctors had given up. She wanted to write a will. I brought a local lawyer and made arrangements. And I left for the city to arrange for her medicines. When I returned.....
That night was a really very heavy one. I just wanted to stop thinking about the inevitable. Because I had started anticipating something which I never wanted to take place, her wrinkled face was still glowing with self-esteem. I was holding her feeble hands. “I am satisfied with my life. I know this going to be the end of all.” She said with her usual calm. “You just take rest Kashima, everything will be fine.” I said.
Mrs. Parikh added,”Kashi ma, just try to have a sleep.” But, Kashi ma was right. She was breathing faster and deeper. I could hear her heart and lungs struggling. She said,”Swapn, read Bhagvat Gita.” She used to read Gita daily.
I almost screamed,” Nothing is going to happen to you, do you understand...you can’t go like that....Shamu will return soon. Why don’t you understand?” I sobbed. She smiled and drew my face to hers. "Shamu has already returned, Swapn. He is with me right now. It's you....you are my Shamu, Swapn..” I cried out. I was crying like a baby. She stopped me and cleaned my face with the border of her saree.”GIta, Swapn..Bhagvat Gita.” And I started reciting her favorite shlokas from Gita, which she loved to hear from me daily.
न जायते म्रियते वा कदाचि
नायं भूत्वा भविता वा न भूय: |
अजो नित्य: शाश्वतोऽयं पुराणो
न हन्यते हन्यमाने शरीरे ||
“Soul has neither birth nor death. It is not like it was in past and it won’t be in the future. And that is why it is birthless and deathless. Its existence is permanent. It is eternal. It is ageless. And it can not be killed by the killing of this physical body.”
I could feel her hands getting colder. She had closed her eyes. Her breathing was getting slower and slower. Tears were running down from my eyes. But she was looking quite comfortable and unassumingly peaceful. Her face was glowing with some mysterious divine light. And a moment......it was all over...soul had left the body. My Kashima was dead. Her lifelong struggle had ended up, peacefully and gracefully.
On that eve, after I gave her funeral, I took a small metal box, which she had left for me according to the will. She had made her small house in a needful widow’s name. I opened the box, and found a hand-sewn small shirt, with a chit saying “for small Swapn”. I also found a creased old letter.....I opened it...it was dated almost twenty years back....it was written in Gujarati.. It was from a friend of Shamu......informing that.....Shamu had died on the spot in a car accident..!! Shamu had died twenty years ago.....!!!! I cried and cried and cried...till I was not spared a drop of tear.
The pyre was still burning ....setting sun and iridescent dusk were melting in its heat....my tears were mixing with the ashes of Kashima.
Saurin Pandya “Swapnil”
