The misted pane
Ransiri Menike Silva
I was five years old, hardly out of babyhood when I was separated
from my family.
Though professionally established now and happily married with a
daughter and son, there had been times when the children were asleep and
my husband reading beside me in bed when my mind wandered back to that
time and the many unanswered questions that had cropped up to unsettle
me.
What had led to my being separated from my family at such a tender
age? I feel now that it was my father's inability to hold on to a job
whenever he got one. Though honest, pleasant and goodhearted he was too
weak to push himself or fight for survival. He was often without a job
and his ever increasing family had become a monstrous burden. When the
fourth child, my second brother, was born and I was in danger of not
being sent to school for lack of finances, my mother's oldest sister,
Loku amma, stepped in with an offer of help.
Adolescent
My mother had married just out of school - the culmination of an
adolescent romance with my father. It had been an impulsive decision on
his part even before he had found himself a stable job. It was this
immaturity in tackling life's challenges that had turned him into what
my mother's relatives lebelled, 'a failure in life.'
 On the other hand Loku amma was strong willed, egocentric and
educated, but lacked the warmth that cloaked her - youngest and
favourite sister. As she had married out of our community and religious
faith the union did not have the blessings of her family and the couple
were treated as outcasts. After their marriage my father had persuaded
my mother to re-establish connections with her estranged sister and for
many years they were the only relatives.
Defiant about the wilful decision she had made, Loku amma refused to
let the autocratic attitude of her family affect her. As she had
eventually been accepted by her husband's family Loku amma had made it
known that she did not need the support of her own family. Her husband
was a good man who gave her the material comforts and social life she
desired. They were strongly bonded together emotionally and she did not
appear to miss her family. How much she had secretly yearned for them
came to light only after she was re-united with my parents. We were the
only nieces and nephews she associated with at the beginning and was
extremely fond of us as a result.
The financial problems plaguing our family distressed Loku amma who
helped us in innumerable little ways. When I was in danger of not being
sent to school she took a major step and offered to adopt me. It was a
joint decision with Uncle, whom we never called Loku Thathta (elder
father). I was their favourite niece as they were childless and were
deeply disturbed by the terrible fate that awaited me.
It was a difficult decision for my parents to make. Torn between the
desire to give their child a good foundation in life and at the same
time losing her, they were unable to make a decision. Loku amma was not
pleased. She had expected them to agree immediately. Not having been a
mother herself she could not empathise with my parents' feelings or
position. She only saw the hard facts. When it came to a callous "Take
it or leave it.. in which case we will have nothing further to do with
you.." My father had, in desperation, suggested: "Let us ask the child."
How, I did not know... and so I agreed.
Packing my meagre possessions we left before I could change my mind.
I was under the impression that I was going only for a short time, a
sort of holiday, and could not understand why mother wept so
heart-brokenly or why my father hugged me so tight. That picture was to
rear up in my mind often as I grew older to crush me with an oppressive
sense of guilt.
I found Loku amma's house wonderful in spite of the searing home
sickness at bed time. The comfort and food were unbelievable. I had a
room to myself with my own bed and desk. At home we slept on reed mats
spread out on the floor, the youngest sharing the only bed with my
mother. Coming from a large family where tears and laughter mingled
freely together the absence of other children in my new environment made
me feel disturbingly deprived. I was enveloped by silence and loneliness
all day until Uncle and Loku amma returned from work in the evening, and
it took me some time to get accustomed to and accept my new way of life.
Then I started schooling. This was another upsetting experience. On
my first day Loku amma took me to my classroom, handed me over to the
teacher and walked away. The other children were crying and I too wanted
to weep myself; but they had their mothers to comfort them, I was alone.
I longed to have my own mother beside me and yearned for the support of
my father, brothers and sisters, but such comfort was not to be mine.
That was the time I began having doubts about how much Loku amma really
cared for me. This was strengthened by the fact that after the first day
I would be dropped at the school gates and after checking that I entered
the school compound they would drive off to work. It was the maid who
brought me back by bus. My natural ability to make friends easily
rewarded me with the companionship I lacked and made me love school
where I settled in with confidence.
At the end of the term I was taken home for the vacation. What a
joyous re-union it was! In my childhood innocence I believed that I had
returned home for good. But before the vacation ended Loku amma and
Uncle came to take me back. They said they were lonely without me and
needed me to be with them. My parents were not in a position to protest
and this became the pattern of my life. I missed my sister and brothers
intensely on my return and wept with bitter frustration, anger and an
aching loneliness in the privacy of my room at night. As I grew older
the unfairness of it began to affect me more deeply increasing my
misgivings about how genuine Loku amma's intentions were.
Subtle
Loku amma's insensitivity to my feelings began to affect me in a
subtle way. I realised that she never looked back at me when they drove
away after dropping me at the school gates. Uncle was different. He
would smile cheerily and wave, a thoughtful gesture that revived my
drooping spirits. He was softer in his approach to me and I was
gradually being drawn away from her to him. He filled the emotional
vacuum in my new life and he became to me my second father.
Whenever Loku amma was harsh with me he admonished her quietly from
the background. Such little gestures of kindness won me over completely
bringing with it emotional stability within my second family.
With maturity little beads of disenchantment and discontent began to
be strung together. I was confused. Each holiday, I noted, it was my
father who replenished my personal needs and educational requisites. How
he managed to do this with his small pay and large family still puzzles
me. Why did'nt Loku amma attend to those needs? Did she care for me
genuinely or was I only a temporary filling that plugged up the
emotional cavity in their lives? Such thoughts unsettled me, making me
feel disloyal and ungrateful and I tried hard not to entertain them.
By my late adolescence my father had matured and was well established
professionally and financially. He was then in a position to look after
all of us comfortably but I was not sent back to rejoin my family. I
continued to remain with my second family until I was old enough for
marriage.
They were happy when I finally chose my own partner. They approved of
my choice, his job and his family. They planned and handled my entire
wedding. The engagement was in their house, my second home, and they
spent on the wedding reception. My parents gave me all my jewellery and
as I was working, collected my own trousseau.
Uncle and Loku amma played the dominant role as the hosts at the
function where most of the guests were their own friends. My father and
mother were given prominence only briefly during the wedding ceremonies,
but any hurt they may have felt was overshadowed by their joy at my own
happiness.
My son had just started schooling when Loku amma fell ill. She had
not been in good health for some months and was finally diagnosed with a
cancer that was inoperable and incurable. The oncologist had confided in
Uncle that she had only a few more months to live.
Eloquence
Her last weeks were spent in a private hospital as she needed
constant medical attention. Uncle was being drained both emotionally and
financially and I tried to help him in whatever way I could. On my first
visit to her in hospital I sensed that she wanted me beside her as much
as possible. She did not voice her request but the eloquence in her eyes
had a greater impact than words. Taking leave from office I spent as
much time with her as my maternal duties permitted. It was the only way
in which I could give back to her all that she had given me.
During those visits I sensed that she wished to share some secret
with me but I could neither guess nor ask. Her disjointed recital of
episodes from the past were an indication that she was aware of her
impending death, and encompassed by self pity she wept often. I sat
silently beside her all through those sessions unable to help except by
holding her hand and stroking her head.
When her story was finally told it was not in disjointed episodes but
in one long uninterrupted session. Squeezing my hand hard one evening
she looked at me appealingly and blurted out... "Please forgive me child
for what I did to you." This shocked me. Were her mental faculties
beginning to falter? I was shaken but quickly responded with "It is I
who should beg forgiveness from you for all the trouble and worry I
caused you as a child."
"No child" she said, "It was I who treated you badly. I did not do so
willingly but at Uncle's insistence." Sensing my surprise and confusion
she continued, "When I appealed to him to take you over as a help to my
sister, he agreed. We were without children of our own and yearned for
childish prattle and laughter to fill up our empty home. Yet legal
adoption of a total outsider was not an option either of us considered
even in desperation. He was happy at this reviving chance but as it was
a child from my family and not his own he perversely laid down certain
conditions."
They had been on a tight budget then, repaying a bank loan taken to
build their own home, which caused a considerable dent in their joint
income. He would not contribute anything extra for any additional
expenses I would cause them. She would have to do that. Her own regular
contribution would neither be waived away nor reduced. That was the
unhappy reason my father had to undertake all my extra financial
responsibilities.
Puppeteer
Uncle was the boss of the house... pleasant, social, caring, loving,
but nevertheless 'the boss'. There was nothing Loku amma could do
without his permission though he was pliable to her persuasion at times.
He held the strings to her purse as well as the puppeteer's strings with
which he manipulated her. The harsh disciplining and punishments had
been meted out at his instigation, his shadow looming over her unseen by
me.
As the story unfolded realisation and understanding began to take
shape. The misted pane through, which I had been viewing my life was
being cleaned up bit by bit and the real picture emerged with clarity
and sharpness that hurt. I was apalled by her story and as the implosion
of realisation sent shock waves through me I lowered my head on to the
hands that clasped my own and wept. They were the first real tears of my
life.
Stroking my head gently she told me, "Now stop crying and give me a
smile," and when I did, she smiled in return. "Good girl! Now that I've
got this off my conscience I feel free. Funny," she mused," this is the
first time I've seen you cry though who knows how much you may have done
so in secret all these years. I am truly sorry my child. I hope you can
forgive me."
I stroked her ahead and kissed her forehead saying "I will go now and
come early tomorrow. Till then sleep well my Loku amma. Goodnight" and
as she closed her eyes she smiled. The nurse came in then and I left.
That was the last time we spoke to each other. She slipped into a
coma in her sleep that night and passed away the next morning.
Uncle is trying to get adjusted to a life of loneliness but I can see
that the going is tough. His eldest nephew and family have moved in with
him but it is me he wants beside him, for I am his daughter. But I had
shirked away from taking on that responsibility because the magnitude of
disenchantment following Loku amma's revelation was too great a burden
for me to bear.
We visit him as often as we can, making him an important part of our
lives. He is the same jocular caring person he has been all along with
us but it is apparent that he misses his wife very much.
He is my second father. He will always be that and nothing can weaken
that bond. When we are together I observe him discreetly with affection
and sadness at his present loneliness. I feel immensely grateful to him
for all the love, the protection and all the good things in life he
gifted me with; and then in a fraction of a mood swing I become aware of
his other side.... selfish, calculating, tyrannical... the dark side of
the moon that only my Loku amma had known. |
