It was the beginning of spring.
Ma was not sick, nor on medication. It was her old age.
She was treading a long journey.
I no longer live with Ma.
I wanted to be with her.
I could sense her happiness when I visited her.
Her responses were weak,
yet her memory had not deserted her.
She felt good when I sat beside her.
It made me happy that in her vanishing world
I occupied the prime place.
There was not much change in Ma’s room.
She was lying. I touched her feet. It was cold.
She took time, gathered all the energy her frail body still had,
opened her tired eyes, said nothing and also said many things.
I am happy that you came, she said.
I couldn’t ask, Ma, Kemon Aacho.
The question was meaningless.
If I had asked, she would have said, Bhalo Aachi.
I read somewhere
“Be as relaxed as you can, be at ease,
sit with your dying friend,
as if you had nothing more important or enjoyable to do.”
I did that. I felt no need for verbal communication.
There was silence.
Perhaps, she wanted to tell me,
I lie here all day long, when I go to sleep
I am not sure if I will wake up again.
I said to myself, I wish you stay with me forever Ma,
but I don’t want you to suffer, I want your pains to end,
I wish you have a peaceful last journey.
The end comes if there is desire.
I relieved Ma from all my attachments and
I wished she gets rid of all her attachments.
I said, I shall not stand at the doorway at the time of her departure.
It was a painful reality, but I had to accept it.
In everyone’s life comes a time when it is unwise to resist a thing.
For me the day came at the beginning of a fall.
We went to a nearby Ganga Ghat.
In a few moments, everything was over, some ashes remained.
Was everything over? Were they merely ashes?
Ma, you carried us so nicely, we did not feel the weight of things.
You can’t go, leaving us alone.
You will always be with us in our morning prayers.