the silent killer

The Silent Killer

Adima Mazumdar

Silchar

Translated from Bengali by Prof. Satyabrata Choudhury

All the members in our family were supporters of CPI(M). I heard the name of parties like Congress, Janata Party, Samajvadi Party, Janata Dal, Lokdal; but I never heard the name of BJP as a party. I am talking about a time that was fifty to sixty years hence. At that time the film biography of the Prime Minister used to be shown in big screen using projector. 

My father had a stationary shop at Amjurghat. It was beneath a tamarind tree of Mecca variety. That was at the tri-junction of the road. One road went to Ichharpar and the other one went to Swadhinbajar to a dead end. How beautiful is the word Swadhin (independent)! It makes me absorbed. My father was a very simple plain person. Perhaps, all good people in the world are simple.

My mother was a simple housewife. She never stepped in the courtyard of any school.

The paternal aunt of my father was the maternal aunt of my mother.

My mother encountered my father in a visit to that aunt’s house.

 

In a big courtyard there, the playmate of my mother was my father. That led to love. And finally that led to marriage.

My mother was only thirteen at the time of her marriage.

She used to wear a gown and a country-made black towel.

We used to call that common aunt as Nanibudi.

She, in spite of her not seeing the courtyard of the school, used to lecture about education before her own kids and to other village kids. So, she was a self-style educated woman. The merit my mother had, could easily enable her to teach in a university. But due to the race of life and the village muddling she could not receive formal education.  

In winter night there used to be study of Milad Sharif in everybody’s house, in rotation. In our house in the courtyard in moonlit night there used to be songs of Gazi, songs of Gatta, Kavigan (duet of poets) and rendezvous of folk songs. Mother used to mix her tone with the tune of songs from the kitchen. She used to serve bread, milk and tea to the audience. In case of party, chicken and rice used to be served. That was chicken bred in the house.

The crowd was remarkable in the house for watching cricket. In our village first TV came in our house only, and it was in 1985. What a joy it was at the arrival of the TV! For facilitating sitting of the audience, mother used to make cot out of planks by nailing them. She also used to make small mattress for the purpose, using Murta cane. She could not afford to watch TV in daytime due to household chores, and used to watch the highlights in the night.

 

My father used to be busy with his shop. Only occasionally he used to come in the house. We brothers and sisters together used to deliver tiffin to my father. I used to look after the shop too, for some time. We had a lot of cultivating lands. Mother used to maintain this side dexterously. She used to decide which plot of land to use for germination of rice, and used to dictate the labourers where to sow Birun, Kalijira, Sahebali, RI-8, Ranjit, Boro etc. varieties of rice. My all-enduring mother had reared eight kids. She used to hide poverty of the family from the eyes of others. She used to work tirelessly, and without any complaint. 

My mother was the daughter of a Zamindar. Her father had even elephants. That means my maternal grandpa was a luxurious man. My mother had special sympathy for the “Deshowali” (migrated) women folk. After giving them the due share of rice, she used to add gift of beetle nut, onion, garlic and mustard oil; and with that were added our old cloths along with fresh ones.

      

My mother had a little pride too. My father came out of old house and made a new one. The road leading to the pond used to become muddy in the rainy season, and all used the road via our courtyard. My mother did not like this.   

 

In big ceremonies of the village, in marriages, in village arbitration or in sending sweets to daughters’ house, in all these activities my mother was the skillful woman. 

Mother used to have many pet animals – pigeons, ducks, hens, cows, goats and buffaloes. I have seen them talking to my mother. The flock of goats used to run back to house on seeing clouds in the sky. Mother used to christen the cows and goats. She used to fondle them too.

               

My mother was my best friend. I used to confide to mother if anyone teased me. My elder sister used to sing Kavigan and mother used to sing in the tune. In the afternoon we used to read stories under the big roof while enjoying the breeze. My elder brother used to read, and rest of us including my brothers, sisters and my mother formed the audience. 

My mother used to smoke Biri (country-made cigarette with kendu leaf). One day my paternal aunt teased me – “Your mom takes Biri”.

On hearing this my mother said – “But for Biri it would have been impossible to stay with you people”.

    

After the college education was over I went for training. Then I got a job. Then I was entangled in the net of marriage. I never before studied the world of marriage as a carrier of male dominance. I dived into it blindly. Then kids came one by one. I did not tell my mother about the torture in the in-law’s house. But my mother could guess at her heart. She used to vent her anger – “The stupid people are finishing up my simple daughter. They are ungrateful stock”.

After my father ceased to be, my mother became extraordinarily calm. She used to conduct the Namaj of fazar twice along with Namaj of Magri. I used to think that she was earning extra religious merit. She used to deliver only a sweet smile at the face of the villagers. She used to sit on the bank of the pond with an angling stick. I stroll and stroll inside the pain of my mother. I wished I touch it. But I could not reach it.

After preparing rice she used to come to the verandah and call us – “Ye all, rice is ready”. Then she used to be in soliloquy - “What a stock of works is still left to be done”.

No worldly item has anymore attraction for her – sweeping the garden of beetle nut, removing the parasite in coral tree, cutting taros, preparing Kalmi and Helencha leaves (edible water weeds), maintaining the house. She had great weakness towards her leather shoes. She forgets where she hid it, and it was not be found on search. Some old reminiscences prevail in her mind but the present has vanished. 

I cherish to keep her in a little happiness. But the happiness is nothing but a fight with sorrows.

  

I went to Nimhans National Institute of Mental Health and Neuro Science at Bengaluru for In-country Fellowship (NIMHANS)… During class of my teachers, I used to match the symptoms of my mother. Amnesia or Alzheimer’s is a disease of forgetfulness. Time passes before one diagnoses this disease, and by then no treatment works.  

After my training was over I went to visit my mom. On seeing me she smiled and marked a kiss on my face and said –“How are you sister? We meet after so many days”. Mother could not recognize me… It was impossible for me to come in terms with this day. I embraced her neck and wailed and wailed that day. Mom was simply staring at my face. That uttering of my mother reverberates in my ear, snatches away my sleep of night. She might forget everything of the world but she cannot forget me. Or, I shall let her not forget me. I take her to doctor, but the prescription was nothing beyond tranquilizers. In the training we learnt about rehabilitation. In case of a patient of Amnesia, the attendant is given counseling instead of the patient. For, counseling the patient becomes useless. The attendant is to look after the patient’s timely bath and food and sleep. 

All my brothers and sister were married. All separated out – with own family and own self-interest. Mother now used to live with my youngest brother. He was her last resort in the last phase of life. He handled her excreta and urine. My brother says – “Didi, whatever fish or vegetables I bring, mom cooks them all together. When I interrupt and say ‘Mom, no more’, then she stops.   But no sooner I had left the room she once again started cooking. Didi, mom takes me for her brother. I can no more bear with this”.

 

I cannot narrate what pains me. I walk over the pain. It feels like that the whole world is useless. I am running alone in a deep unknown emptiness.

I become restless with my duty in job and studies of my kids. For some days I kept my mother with me. At bed time as we used to gossip intimately, the mom and the daughter got lost in a dream world. She used to tell stories very nicely. One day looking at the corner of the roof she said – “Look how beautifully that corner has been crafted, they are the real artists”. She used to speak so wisely but did not use to relieve herself in the bathroom, but used to go beneath the bamboo bushes. But that facility was not available in my house. My house was only on plot of land of five kathas. In the night she used to defecate in verandah encircled within iron grill and used to cover the excreta with a sac. I used clean it and cry and say to myself – “She is not lunatic, she is not violent, then why does she do that?” Such action of my mom would create Himalayan sorrow in my heart. Why my mom, who was smart earlier, has gone like this?

           

When my kid gets ready for school, I do not find the socks. At bed time I find she is hiding it below the pillow. The relatives who would visit mom would bring apples etc. which she would conceal somewhere. We could discover those when rotten stench would start coming. She would tie up bundled clothes again and again. 

Hardly one hour of sleep she would have after taking sleeping tablets. Then she starts the strolling. There was this much reprimanding “school is there, food to be taken, lot of works left”.

I find it difficult with my mom. I cannot sustain any more pain. Out of anxiety and economic pressure I plan to commit suicide. My elder brothers do not come in terms with the condition of my mother. Ours was a big family with eight brothers and sisters, along with workers. But my mom today is very helpless. Loneliness and solitude is the reason for this disease. A human being cannot live alone. The treatment of the disease is to make people aware about it. This disease is not curable, special service and care is needed for such patient. 

My brain does not function properly now-a-days. I share my feeling about my mom with friends while in duty. One friend stated that her mother too had the same problem; storey of others is that their fathers or ants got silent in old age.  Friends said that mothers had done enough for us, but not receiving anything back in the late life and so forget things. May be it is better, because had they remembered they would suffer more pain.

My mom’s body started declining due to lack of regular food. All are busy with careers, wives, kids etc. I got my younger brother married. Slowly mom becomes bed-ridden. At last after finishing all wars, on 9th of January 2008 mom went to land of no return. 

"This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang, but a whimper "  - T.S. Eliot

 

There is field after the bamboo bush. There is sky above the field. There are countless stars in the dark night sky. The dazzling star is my mom. Still I talk to her. Did she whisper something to my ear at the time departure?  I can’t recall.