Creative writing

Short story - Lt. Col. P.A.D. Albert:

Serenity of true love

Two or three women at a time would come to help my mother during the processing of paddy before hulling it.

Two damsels wearing jackets and clothes who were robust and experienced enough to climb the ladder to reach the barn did remove paddy in sacks and emptied them into the copper caldrons which were ready on the hearths. Heavy logs were used to kindle the fire, as it needed constant heat for boiling.

Long mats were unrolled in the backyard to spread the boiled and steaming paddy. I watched how my mother was squatting on the mat tiresomely, to spread the paddy rolling under her fingers to be dried in the hot sun; also how she used to get up early in the morning to prepare 'Kiribath' and 'Seeni Sambol' for the working team for breakfast. She did all this by herself to keep the fire burning. She blew and blew through her mouth to kindle and maintain the home fire.

Although we had a five acre coconut land and about six acres of paddy, my father never made any attempt to develop them by way of any means. I couldn't understand as to why he was so lethargic at times.

He never manured the coconut trees and even the under growth was cleared very rarely. Hence the income from coconut was very low. My mother made her pocket money by selling cashew nuts, pepper, goraka and coffee which were grown in the garden. Sometimes she sold rice too. She spent a part of it for my education.

Both of them hailed from two respectable families of the area, and the villagers looked upto them with respect and honour.

The ancestral property that we inherited was not protected by a fence. Instead, there had been a deep cut trench right round the land which was legally accepted and gone into its deeds as boundaries to demarcate its extent.

My mother never grumbled for comfort, nor did she demand any extravagant things from my father. No doubt, that both of them had led comfortable lives during their childhood. Being seated on my mothers lap, I used to listen to their stories which captured my mind of the glory of their parental deeds.

I used to sit on the cement floor of the verandah near the two tall columns that bore the weight of the last beam along the front elevation of the heavy super structure of our century old house.

When my mother needed rest after her days work she too used to sit there on a mat either, darning some clothes or repairing my English dictionary. I was just ten years old. My father used to prepare his betel tray, by husking an arecanut while chewing one mouthful of betel, seated on his easy antique chair with the spittoon by his side.

It was really interesting to watch how her fingers could control the needle that pricked the seams of the loosened pages to bring them together into a single binding. I still could remember her innocent face swiftly moving up to tell my father about my school fees of that particular month.

"Are we able to make it this week?" Not that she didn't know the financial situation of our home, but it was how she used to break the ice. My father in his fifties was just two years elder to my mother and possessed a moderately built physic.

I had never seen him getting angry. He would mind his own business without giving trouble to others. He was not a hard worker.

We got our income mainly from paddy and coconuts. It was nearly fourteen years after, World War the second. Some dealers from our village used to collect paddy from us at a wholesale price and after processing them into rice would transport it by carts to,
"Thotalanga" or
"Mariyakade" in Colombo, for sale.
"Why didn't Magilin come this week? She owes us a balance of ninety two rupees.
Didn't she?" said my father.
"True, but I have bought a hand bag from her that day for which I have to pay her twenty rupees," replied the mother.
"When will be the wedding of Udahagedara Podimenike?" My father inquired.
"I remember. It will be on 22nd of this month. Only twelve days more."
"How are we going to find money for all these? Anyway, what are the things we need to buy?" he exclaimed.
"There is nothing much," said my mother, "but I think at least you need to buy a shirt". "I haven't bought a saree since last year. This child's shoes are worn out," she reciprocated.

"Alright. Then, shall we ask for an advance of one hundred and fifty rupees from Magilin. She can take the paddy after the harvest. Can't she?" so saying, he raised the spittoon towards his mouth.

"That would be better," I'll send a message for her to come." My mother replied eagerly.

My mother treated her elder brother with much pride and priase, because he was an English educated person married to a rich lady, and was dwelling in Colombo. I could see his made up look of a proud young man, beside a lady wearing a western veil, in their wedding photograph.

However, it was strange and unpleasant to me when comparing that with the natural and pleasant look of my father and the simple and kind look of my mother, in their wedding photograph.

It was a busy day for my mother. She started replacing all curtains with the new ones, which were designed with expensive lace. It was a set that comes out only on special occasions from her wardrobe.

I knew that people from Colombo were planning to visit us. She did everything possible alone; arranging the interior decor, cleaning the floor, removing cobwebs, sweeping and throwing away clutter; putting on new coverlets, dusting the old furniture to shine and so on. My father never had the courtesy to help her.

I was not allowed to do anything but to be seated and watch. Having finished the proper house keeping, my mother laid the table with short-eats that she made the previous day. An expensive tea set was laid on the table, as well.

Then she ran to the well for a body wash and got herself dressed with a long sleeved jacket and a saree. My father put on a shirt and a sarong and lighted a cigar which he had bought from an Indian seller who used to come to my village.

They were seasonal merchants. then he occupied his usual place - the easy chair, looking at the hedges, deep into it's dark curves grown half way with creepers down from the top of the arecanut groove. His character was such that he never divulged anything that he had in his mind to anyone. He was like still water.

I hated the arrival of the people from Colombo because I felt I would become a stranger before them. They would converse in English. Most of the time when they stayed in our house we felt as if we were in a foreign country.

Why couldn't they be natural with us? My mother couldn't understand their behaviour, because of her blind faith that she had towards her brother. I was wondering as to why this man from Colombo looked down upon his own sister by exhibiting his pomp and arrogance along with his westernized children. Was it mainly because of his superiority complex?

My father was really embarrassed and very rarely did he look straight at his brother-in-law's eyes. His timidity was a shame, but I myself couldn't do anything to uphold the dignity of my parents, but went on hating them in my mind.

"Amma why do they always talk in English?" I asked my mother.

"Putha you can't understand it. They are big people from Colombo" was my mother's answer. "You too much study English to be a big man".

Big brother

During the wartime, when most of the people in Colombo were eating 'bajiri' as there was a scarcity of rice, the "big" brother of my mother used to send a note by post prior to his arrival for the collection of rice. He never did apply the normal ethics in addressing them.

Later, I realized how the big brother, the 'kalu sudda', appeared to be so big to our simple family.

It was a pathetic scene for me to watch how my mother peeled cashew taken away from the 'atuwa', to be mixed with kitul honey and served as a special treat for them, despite her fingers getting discoloured due to the fluid of those nuts.

No sooner they entered our house than, they came out with their first complaint, that their car got stuck in rugged muddy puddle in the middle of the village road. However, it was the real truth. The villagers including us never had a good leadership to improve our roads.

Soon after the New Year day celebrations, my mother called for two women who were proficient in cooking oil cakes, such as 'kokis', 'kevum' and 'asmee'. Also she never forgot to prepare "kadju aluwa", because her big brother's children were very fond of them.

All those were packed in two rattan boxes along with bananas, and kept aside in the pantry. When the day was up, we got up early in the morning and got ready to set out on our journey to Colombo. My father didn't let my mother down at any cost. In need, he was like her shadow. It inspired us very much.

My father wore the brown tweed cloth over the white sarong. The silver chain would be long enough to cover seven rounds, around his waist. He put on the coat of the same texture over the white closed collar shirt.

His hair knot was perfectly arranged. The brown pair of pumps which he had worn on his wedding day had still been seen new. He looked very smart in his attire. My mother, in her room, was still at her dressing table. She was dressed in an expensive silk saree, and a long sleeved jacket designed with white lace.

A golden necklace of which the pendant was gem studded, was seen around her neck. The golden bangles on the right hand jingled to a tune when she was taking her hand bag from the top shelf of her wardrobe.

She turned round and round before the mirror to check whether her dress was befitting. Her gold colour low heel slippers would match with her light gold saree and when she came out of her room she looked very attractive and beautiful but simple in nature.

I was just seated on a chair nearby because I was the first one to be dressed by my mother, with the ash colour tweed shorts and white short sleeved shirt. I had to wear socks and shoes which I was always reluctant. She put some oil on my head and with a small massage she combed it holding my chin with her left hand. It was soothing when she did so.

Mother like a queen

'Baron Ayya', as my father used to address him, the owner of the old Austin-12, the car with a folding hood and two big mud guards on either side, two big silver colour head lamps fixed to a silver cross bar and an air born with a rubber ball fixed on the right hand side door frame near the steering wheel, was a well experienced driver.

When it was motoring down the hill reaching our compound, tooting its horn, pop-pop, I was thrilled and overwhelmed with happiness.

My mother like a queen got in and occupied the rear seat and kept me by her side, and my father, the front seat. 'Baron Ayya' having packed the boxes of sweet meat on the rack behind the car and tied them together on to it, came in front, went on turning round and round the crank, faster and faster to put the engine into motion.

When the vehicle was ascending the hill with its soaring sound, I looked at my mother and in turn she gave me a sweet smile and I loved to see her beautiful face glimmering in happiness, which was a very rare sight in my life.

Two decades had passed. My mother was still blowing the hearth, morning and evening to kindle the fire. My father was always seen on his easy chair dreaming something unknown to us or puffing smoke of a cigar lest the time he spent was picking some coconuts or tethering the cow for grazing or chasing away some brats who crept into our garden for some firewood.

Day by day our financial situation was deteriorating. The income from paddy became less and less due to the negligence of the tenants. Trips initiated by my mother to Colombo were curtailed. Her Colombo brother's children grew up and achieved higher status professionally and socially in the town. As such, their visits to see my mother were suspended and the communication with them ceased to exist.

It was a dim and dry day. I saw my mother trying to read the daily paper. She turned around and told me that her eyes were paining. I suggested her to go and see a doctor.

In fact, I told her that I would accompany her to a specialist, but she with the advice of an elderly neighbour used to get treatment from a 'vedamahathmaya' for a considerable period. Later she found that her eye sight was becoming weaker and weaker.

Once I could remember my mother was admitted to the Colombo General Hospital when I was small, for which I didn't know what the cause was.

But later, I came to know that it was some illness with regard to her pregnancy. She had great hopes for a baby to be her daughter which she couldn't get fulfilled for the past ten years. It so happened that her expectation became a tragedy when that child was still born. I visited her in the hospital several times with my father, just like a thread of a needle.

Before going out of home, my father used to double check the locks of the doors and the windows and I had realised, when he was keeping the first step out of home, that he had a certain spiritual thought roaming in his mind.

The packet of meals for my mother was in a bag along with some clothes of my mother, washed and dried the previous day. The rice and curry was cooked by the old lady next door.

I felt very sad for she could not get a good meal as she expected. - "How can I eat 'kan-kun' every day," she remarked. It was lately that I realised that the poor concern of my father towards my mother was not because that he didn't love her but because his knowledge of home management was poor due to his ignorance in the absence of my mother.

Travelling by train

That day, we waited for more than an hour at the hospital gate, because we were able to travel by an early train to Colombo. I loved travelling in a corner seat of the train pulled by the locomotive engine and also to travel by tram cars. The time spent there was years to me, I think I was then eleven years old, I was dumb and blind to most of those happenings.

All of a sudden I saw a coffin being taken into a hearse parked nearby. I felt as if my mother were taken in it, but I didn't dare to ask anything from my father. I felt as if the whole world was crumbling upon me. I sobbed in my heart, I was pressed with sad feelings. I had no one to tell them. The bell rang.

The whole crowd thronged in, but my father was the last to follow. After passing the long passage we were just entering the ward and at a distance, I saw my mother lying in a bed.

Although I was tempted to run to her and embrace her, my feet did not allow me to do so. My eyes filled with tears. Now, I reach her bed. She holds my hand lightly. Her eyes meet with mine, I see them crying.

I feel like keeping my head in her bosom. She asks me whether I had my meals. I am dumb. She gives me some grapes - sweet green seedless grapes. I keep them in my pocket. I am helpless to talk. There are many things to tell her; in my mind; I can't sleep alone in the night; I am afraid; no one is there to talk with me; I can't go home; I can't eat without you; please do take me to you or else come home, but I am dumb.

A tall English Mother who is in charge of the ward sees me. She comes to me smilingly and offers me some grapes and caresses my head and goes away stalking with dignity. My mother takes the packet of rice opens it and she takes hardly a morsel and looks away desperately.

All of a sudden I see her brother in Colombo stepping towards us. The tough heels of his Johnwite shoes give a rhythmic tapping when he walks swiftly. He brings a tiffin carrier and keeps it on the bedside cupboard. He takes out dishes one after the other and places them on the table. I seer some slices of see fish with white sauce, a mixed vegetable salad, dhal curry and a boiled egg.

I felt like eating one slice of fish - a natural temptation. Also there were some ripe bananas. Amidst the crowd, my mother didn't want to eat, and my father looked indifferent and felt inferior, I suppose, before his brother in law's pomp and pageantry on his single visit during the whole period of my mother's stay in hospital.

It was time for us to leave her. My mother took me closer to her. I couldn't open my eyes. Those were full of tears. She pressed me to her bosom. I couldn't wait any more being suppressed with my feelings, through fear. She kissed me and I felt faintish, I sobbed; I cried.

When we reached home, it was dark. There was some bread at home. I ate some slices with plantains and drank two cups of water. I was really thirsty and fatigued. I changed my clothes; answered a call of nature and did a body wash. I couldn't find the towel for me to wipe my body.

I wiped it with my sarong, jumped into my mother's bed and hid my face among the pillows. I smelled her life within. I felt she was with me. Without any knowledge, I went to my dream world, with her. When I got up next day, it was day light. I came to the outer verandah, I saw my father chasing behind stray cattle in the garden.

Having come round, my mother was brought back home in Baron Ayya's car. I jumped up and cried through happiness. I ran to my mates nearby and told them that she had come back home. We played in the garden as usual.

After another year or so, she gave birth to a baby girl. She became my only sister for me to have company. Years passed by, one day my mother complained that her left eye was blurring and paining. Immediately, I took a day's leave and took her to a specialist doctor.

After the medical examination, he informed us that she was suffering from glaucoma and that it couldn't be cured surgically but with constant medical treatment, the current state could be maintained.

However, several years later, the medical report revealed that her right eye too was attacked by the same disease.

The doomsday

This terrible news created a very unpleasant atmosphere in our home. I could realize the painful feeling of my mother from the very depth of my heart.

My father never uttered a word but munched the news and got it digested in his soul. We knew that we were nearing the door step of a very bad period. As we expected, the doomsday came. My mother called me to her side, she held my hand tightly and tried to utter something but failed due to her grief and she muttered "Putha, I can't see anything now, I am totally blind."

An unbearable shock ran through the sinews of my heart. It quivered in my whole body. I felt I would be sinking in an abyss. Gaining my strength, I pleaded with her, "Amma please try to bear up your pain, you are my saviour, I love you very much, we will take care of you Amma!".

"What is my life without eyes" she uttered in a diminishing tone. I called my wife and the sister. They could understand the situation. I came out of her room; walked through the back yard and trod along the foot path up to the lonely garden of hedges left for forestry.

I could see only the sky above and the earth below me. There were no one else for my comfort, I murmured to myself and scene after scene my memory started to shatter like a dead generium. But they were recalled to a meaningful flash back and it reverberated the true core of her life which was dedicated to my life, to make me a man. I could not hold back any more, my throbbing feeling which broke out to a gushing cataract of cries with tears rolling down my cheeks. She could foresee my life. She was very much sensible and critical on controversy.

Her decisions were accurate. She practised the dhamma in the right manner. She observed the five precepts.

She declared that what was to be given to their children as inheritance should be given in equity, and be awarded as gifts before their death, and she did so. She decided that I should be sent to an English school when I was six years old, and it was carried out. She treated my wife as her own daughter. We were in harmony all the time. But why this horrible thing happened to her?

Time went on and initially my mother went off her head due to hallucination. The doctor told me that it was natural for one who had a good eye sight before to be depressed, if one would lose it completely. After a considerable period of time, she recovered from depression and led a normal life but, we never could bring back the kind of happiness that she had enjoyed earlier.

I was given a transfer to Badulla, I could come home only once a month. My sister had to undergo much trouble in her life. My wife had to look after her three children. We couldn't see any silver line of happiness in our dark clouds of life. I started reading dhamma books to pacify myself.

One morning I received a call from a cousin of mine. He asked me not to get excited but to come home immediately. When I entered my home I saw my father seated in his usual chair pulled up and gazing at the wilderness. His white hair, white shirt, white sarong and the innocent tearful eyes made me mad, made me white and made me faintish.

An ornament

I knelt before my mother's coffin and worshipped her as if I were worshipping the Great One, and it came to my memory like a hymn -

"Forty eight years ago, you took me in your palms and fed me to grow. You placed me down and allowed me to walk. You gave me life and strength to talk, you gave me vision and showed me the right path."

Soon after my mother's death, father fell ill. He rejected taking meals, and consumed only liquids. In the third month he too passed away.

Apart from the two pillows of his death bed, we found an Indian shawl under his second pillow. It was the shawl that my mother had preserved like an ornament in her wardrobe.

How it had come over there was the secret of their true love, treasured in their hearts which we did not see with our mortal eyes.

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