Short Story: Grandson’s letter

Dharma S. SAMARANAYAKE

NIROMA, who was in her forties virtually, turned her head towards the front corridor of the house for a mere check as the front door opened, while sweeping the backyard of the house, gasped at once, seemingly the small side of the iron gate, which had been fixed with the right side of the white parapet wall was opened.

“Amma must have gone out of the gate.”

“But why?”

Niroma’s heart started banging in a sudden fear. As it was an inclement weather it was natural, that mother not going out of the house unless there’s a very specific reason. She thought for a moment.

Seelawathie Manike, notwithstanding poor hearing, was not feeble up to the extent, what one could normally expect concerning her age, which was late eighties.

After the retirement from the career as a school teacher, Seelawathie Manike had profoundly been affiliated to the religious and social welfare activities, where she was acquainted with, until an accident was encompassed by her making somewhat disabled for several months.

It had happened sometimes back and thereafter she was being looked after by her second daughter Niroma and her young son, who was then preparing for his higher studies, with utter supervision not because only of her own wish, but by virtue of her father on his death bed.

Niroma was well aware that no one of her other siblings other than her, were conscious to succour their old mother, other than making precarious telltales about mother’s pension, which they would be jealousy felt to be handled by Niroma.

After mother’s existence with her proceeded to, they were also more jealous in terms of the love and care had been openly showed to Niroma’s young son by grand ma, with not much respect to the other grand children.

Niroma being repented of her own negligence in unlocking the side gate door, which had been enabled her old mother to go to the busy lane out of the gate, where vehement motorists often haunting, ran regardless of what she was doing at that moment.

Niroma’s bewildered eyes kept on her mother, who had been leaning against the parapet wall outside and watching far away where the postman, who was turning his bicycle with mailing bag to their lane.

“Amma, what are you doing here?” asked Niroma by taking her mother’s hand.” Nothing, but waiting here till the postman comes,” she said diligently pointing at the postman, who had been spotted little far away from them. Niroma couldn’t realise her self what was in her mother’s mind.

“Why? do you expect any letters from someone Amma?”, the daughter asked anxiously. Seelawathie Manike looked at her daughter sternly. “You are wonderful. Can’t you remember Sanjane is due to send a letter in perpetrating his arrival from England?”

Niroma’s mouth was enveloped for a moment and she looked at her mother in an apologising way. Sanjane was Niroma’s only child and Seelawathie Manike’s dearly grandson who was educating abroad had said that he would come for a holiday.

“Why then letters Amma? Yesterday he rang up. Can’t you remember? He spoke to you too.”

Mother was desperate. She remembered that though her daughter placed the receiver on her ear, she couldn’t hear anything but she asked him to send a letter so soon, so that she may be able to prepare some sweets for him early.

“No. You tell lies. He promised me to send a letter. You go inside and look after yourself. I’ll ask the postman.”

The mother warned the daughter purposely. To the postman, it was a virtual incident, so that he smiled hearing what old mother said.

“Today too, no letters Amma. Will see. May be tomorrow.”

He passed the point where they were standing while looking at the elderly lady sympathetically.

Seelawathie Manike was just waiting some more time, as if she couldn’t believe her own half heard ears and turned at once hurried home without noticing even her daughter. She directly reached her bed and lied down there.

Niroma too felt so sad about her mother and looked at her leniency of the sense of her unaccomplished expectation.

Niroma rushed to her room and suddenly wrote a letter addressing to her own mother pretending to be written by her own son Sanjane, and put it into an old envelop, of which her son had sent a letter earlier.

Then ran slowly out of the gate, which was still opened, looked for the postman who was continuing his delivery at the far end of the lane. Niroma walked down the lane to meet the postman and handed over the letter to him.

“Do me a favour,” she pledged.

“You know my mother was waiting to get a letter from my son.

She is suffering for not getting a letter from him.

He speaks often. But she can’t hear.

So please come again on the way back to our gate with this letter, and ring the bell.” She urged the postman.

The postman himself was a little sensitive to the incident, so that he couldn’t refuse or refrain from what she requested, though it was irrelevant to the subject, he diligently agreed to what the kind daughter appealed.

Niroma secretly went back home and sat near her old mother, who was sitting on her bed placing an empty look through the window over the sky faraway. The postman drove near the gate and put the bicycle bell on, to be made a big sound in order to be heard by the mother.

Niroma’s mother, however, heard it and rose up from the bed.

“Postman again, isn’t that?” Her eyes delighted in happiness.

“I know he forgot our letter. I’m quite sure Sanjane, my child is not a liar. See he keeps promises. He has sent me a letter. He promised and I dreamt it last night.”

“Ayiyo, so sorry Madam, I forgot”.

“There was a letter to you.

I mixed address that is why.

This letter is from England, isn’t it?”

“Never mind. Those things happen whenever you have to deliver a number of letters. It’s natural.

“I know my grandson. He never ever forgets me.

Do you know what it is about?

He is coming soon.”

“By the way, you had to come back all the way specifically, for this letter and you may be tired.

Do come. Sit for a while and have a cup of tea and go.”

Seelawathie Manike’s voice was cheerful.

The postman looked at the old lady sympathetically, and he felt that as if he couldn’t refuse her request.

He turned his bicycle back and leaned it against the gate door, and entered Niroma’s house for a cup of tea.