We, The Unforgiving

They were born just a couple of years apart. Seraphina, aptly named, was the elder. Roxy, the rebel younger. Both were exquisite to look at, if different. Tall, with a mane of auburn hair, and brown, doe shaped eyes, Seraphina  drew envious looks from all the girls in the community. Also tall, with silky, black hair and mischievous dark eyes, Roxy, sensous and scintillating was always surrounded by boys wherever she went. Their father was one of the stalwarts of the town, a highly respected, very affluent man, an indulgent if strict dad. The mother, adored them and took great pride in them. From her three children (Her son was born much later ) tho, Roxy was the one who was the apple of her eyes.

The day her son was born was the unhappiest day of her life. For on that day, giving in to an unrelenting husband, she gave up twelve year old Roxy, to his childless elder brother. A tearful, inconsolable, bewildered Roxy went to live with her uncle and aunt, not really understanding why she had been torn apart from her sister and parents, and  had to accept her uncle as dad, aunt as mother. Her whole life hence, in spite of being loved and cared  for by the couple, she never ever called them father or mother. This was her revenge. Her own parents, she grew to have conflicting emotions of hate and love for. Her biological mother, unable to relenquish her, continued to keep the bond alive, calling her up often, reassuring her, trying to help her in anyway she could.

A tormented teen gave way to a discontented young girl. Roxy's marriage was arranged with an affluent young man. Though good looking, he was an insipid young man, too engrossed with his business to pay her much attention, a few years down the line. Seraphina, married well too. The most eligible bachelor in town, an engineer, seriously ambitious. He groomed Seraphina to be the trophy wife, he had desired. The perfect hostess, an elegant homemaker, she became almost a cult figure. The two of them together raised two sons.

Roxy bore her husband a son and for some years, became preoccupied with him, giving the child all the love that she had yearned for from her own parents. But as he grew older he grew more preoccupied with his studies and his dad's business. Older now, in her thirties, she was still very attractive. The day her son brought him home with him, she could feel him staring at her. A friend from college, he was a Tamilian. Dark and swarthy, he was young and reckless. Soon she found herself looking forward to his visits. Amused at first with his attentions, but bored with life, she went along with him. When they became serious about each other, nobody knew. All she knew was that, the only thing she looked forward to was his visits. His amorous wooing of her, his charm captivated her. All her life she had thirsted for this kind of attention. It frightened her to think of what would happen the day he left for good.

Finally the day did come. "I'm getting married," he told her. Her heart skipping a beat, she asked "Who to ?" Going down on his knees, looking deep into her eyes, he answered, "You. If you will have me."

The ensuing furor had shaken up the community. For they eloped and got married, settling in a remote town, away from anyone they knew.

Her parents as well as his disowned them, immediatly. Her siblings refused to even pick up the phone when she called. Everyone except her biological mother. The first year was idyllic. But soon enough, the enormity of their deed hit home. Used to a palatial home, and a luxurious lifestyle, she was a terrible homemaker, a bad cook. Increasing frustrations led to his taking to drink. When she tried to reason with him, he hit her, and accused her of ruining his life. But some decisions in life are irreversible, as they found out. Ostracised by the world, they had to live in the one of their own making. A dreadful mistake which they both regretted.

Then she was diagnosed with cancer. Her only succor in life came from her mother. Keeping her trysts with her daughter a secret from the rest of the family, she paid her bills and talked to her whenever she could.

Time crawled. Seraphina's son was getting married and half the country had been invited. The entire countryside where they had a grand home, was bedecked with flowers. From Africa, came the dancers, from all four sides of the country, came cooks. The entire community was abuzz with excitement, wedding planners were working overtime to fulfill the demands of their elite client.

Six days before the wedding came the news. Seraphina's father was dead. A sudden heart attack in the middle of the night had proved fatal. As the house turned from a celebratory mood to one of mourning, people poured in to offer their condolences. In the end it was agreed by all that they would have to honor his last wish, and the marriage would be held as planned. He had loved his grandson too much to have hindered his marriage.

The phone call came when she was least expecting it, so she didn't have time to plan her response. The voice at the other end was tearful, pleading, " Sister, " she said. "Please can i come for Dad's funeral ? Please. I don't have too  much time myself, and i need to make my peace with everyone. I want to see mother one last time before i..." Her voice tailed off. The reply came after a long time. "No. While he was alive he didn't ever want to see you, his  wishes have to be honored now that he is dead. Besides, no one even knows of you, and it would be too scandalous to have you over now." In her panic, she was almost brutally unguarded, the facade of the gracious socialite ripped from her. The click of the receiver as it was replaced had a heartbreaking finality to it.

"Let him who has not sinned cast the first stone, " Jesus had said. Messiahs came and died trying to reform us but we remain Unforgiving.   

The Winner

"Once upon a time there was a fruit orchard. All the fruits living there were friends, except for the banana. He was a very proud fellow, who always talked only about himself and was mostly rude to the others. One day, the papaya was going to his friends house when he tripped on the banana trees roots and fell. The banana saw him fall and laughing loudly, made fun of him, saying ' serves you right Mr. Papaya for being so fat.' The other fruits rushed to help him get up and go home.
The next night there was an Easter party at the Easter bunny's house. All the fruits were looking forward to it. That night, it had been raining so all the fruits were extra careful when they set out to go to the party. The banana too, was highly excited and a little late, so he hopped quickly along. In his hurry, however, he slipped and fell on the ground with a loud cry. Most of the fruits heard him, but because no one liked him, no one went to  help. The papaya finally wobbled across and helped him up, dusting off his clothes and helping him along as best as he could. 'Oh dear, ! Mr. Papaya. I was so nasty the other night when you slipped, i am so sorry,' cried the banana. 'That's all right, banana, we all need each other at some time or the other, i'm glad i could help.'said the papaya. The moral of the story is that we should never make fun of others, but help them if we can." As the rest of the class clapped loudly, eight year old Amanda, bowed from the waist and smiling happily went back to her seat.

Her story was chosen as the best in the under ten competition and she was chosen to say it aloud in front of the parents on annual day. A boy named Alex, from the other section was chosen to say a poem that he had written.

They waited nervously backstage. Amanda, wearing a pretty red frock with her hair tied neatly in two short plaits had her grandmother with her. Her mother had just had a baby and was unable to come to the concert. Her father sat in the audience, waiting anxiously. This was her first time on stage and he was nervous for her. Lately, with the new baby being born, her mother had not  been able to give her much attention. She had practiced with her gran, and he hoped that, that had been enough.

Alex was dressed smartly in a new suit, and his mother hovered around trying to tell whoever would listen how clever Alex was and that he had won the prize for best performer last year, too.

When her name was announced, Amanda walked on to the stage. A small, figure she stood in the centre of the stage.  Most of the parents, lookin at her felt a lump in their throats so vulnerable and sweet she was. Looking out at the audience, she saw her dad smiling encouragingly at her and started her story. Her voice, hesitant at first, became stronger as she went on. Halfway, thru, she sneezed then, looked backstage as a laugh rang out loudly. Alex stood stifling  his giggles but still laughing at her. Nervously, she stopped, then started searching the audience for her dad. The pause became longer, as she hesitated trying to remember where she had stopped, even as her dad realising what had happened, gave her a small reassuring wave. Prompted from behind by her grandma, she finished the story, giving a sweeping bow to the audience, who responded with loud applause for the little girl.

Alex walked on to the stage, confidently. From start to finish his recital was perfect, the expressions and hand movements, just as he had rehearsed with his mum over and over again at home. Bowing low to the audience as he finished, he was walking back, then turned around again to wave at the audience. Unfortunately, his leg got caught in the microphone wires and he tripped falling flat on his front. Even as he started to bawl, as a few giggles came from the audience, a small figure rushed out to help him up. Amanda put her arm around his shoulders and the two small figures slowly made their way back as the audience arose as one and clapped thunderously, as much for Amanda as for Alex..

Alex won the prize, but it was Amanda whom the parents smiled and petted as she left the hall with her dad and grandma.

Postscript:
The above story of the papaya and the banana was the first story written by my daughter. I could have burst with pride that day when she brought it home from school. She was hardly eight, then. 

The Alert Security

He sat strumming his digits on the desk. Long, florescent yellow, they hardly made any sound on the shiny, surface. ( all unnecessary sound was sensed by the tiny sensors fitted on his suit and eliminated) In charge of the peripheral security of his planet, his spaceship usually orbited his planet, but the rare reconnaissance trip took him to galaxies, distant and different and immensely exciting to him. This time, he was in the Milky Way. Two of his eyes,aquamarine orbs situated at the end of the antenna coming out of his sleek head, moved constantly giving him a 360 degrees view of the beautiful worlds swirling into his view. Suddenly, into his view came a lovely orb. As it rose into his sight, he leaned back appreciatively to admire it better. Blue clouds floating across a blue brown horizon, he caught glimpses of a world that seemed to have life on it. Tantalised, he adjusted his telescopic eye so that he got a closer look at this world.

He lost track of time, as he zoomed into this world, his invisible space ship giving him a bird's eye view of the huge buildings he saw. Hovering in a stand still mode, he peered into a vast white building, the room within, where several robot like things moved. Strangely they seemed not of metal, but flesh and blood. Leaving his spacecraft in hover mode he sat back trying to make sense of what his eyes beheld. All four of his eyes concentrated on feeding information to his computer like brain. He activated his thought processor, the sensor within his brain, that translated sounds into computer programmes that his brain interpreted as language, algorithms that made sense to him. He prepared to listen.

The president of the United States sat pensively. If he succeeded in his goal, he would have achieved what no other head of state ever had : A world free from the threat of nuclear warfare. The five point agenda with which he would confront leaders of all the countries, even the recalcitrant heads of Iraq, Iran and the various Arabian States, had taken years of research and negotiations to build. The recent Tsunami in Japan which had almost caused a nuclear catastrophe, and would have annihilated several of its neighbours, had caused sufficient panic for this consortium of heads to keep aside their differences and agree to contain a common, man made disaster waiting to happen. Specially if they fell into the hands of terrorists. With a sigh he got up and readied to face his elite guests.

Even more tense then the president was one other person. He was the head of security, whose task it was to protect the president and coordinate with the security staff of the visiting leaders. In spite of all the precautions, he was worried about the security personnel of the various heads. His own were a select, elite group who shadowed the president at all times. But he broke into a sweat, everytime he imagined a terrorist strike here. Almost the entire world would be left without a head.

The alien watched fascinated as the different beings streamed in. Each seemed to be surrounded by men carrying primitive fire guns, that he recognised from the archives back home. What amused and fascinated him was that they were doing the same job as him ! Security.  His X Ray vision enabled him to see even their body parts. What intrigued him about one was that only he was different. Instead of a protecting shield that they all wore, he was wearing what seemed like a machine. Different wires protruded from it and led to a clock that ticked away steadily. He stood hidden inside the wash room, dressed exactly like the rest, in army fatigues, as if on duty there.

The chief of the men gave a long speech waving around the two digits that he had. The one with the wires, edged closer.

His instincts honed by a training far superior than any on earth, his antennae receiving many signals emanating from the one, the alien waited and watched closely.

The chief of security was a very tensed man, specially now that he had received information of a possible terrorist attack by a suicide bomber. He moved constantly around the room where the meeting was in progress, every fiber of his being intensely alert. Acting on impulse he glanced in the washroom. A movement caught his eye. In a flash he was inside, but moving equally fast, the burly terrorist had him pinned against the wall, his hand clamped on his mouth. As the terrorists  knife started to plunge inside the chief's body, it happened. A bolt of high voltage electricity shot thru the room, weaved around the chief and struck the terrorist. He slumped to the ground, his body convulsing as if he had been struck by lightening. Gingerly the chief  bent over him, deactivating the bomb, that he had heard ticking inside his clothes, and gave the signal for a security breach. As hundreds of paratroopers moved in, he didn't have the time to think of what happened.

Later the post mortem revealed that the terrorist had suffered fourth degree burns, which killed him instantly.

As his spaceship took off into the skies, the alien smiled to himself. Life was tough for security personnel everywhere. He had been happy to help one of his ilk.  

The Amateur

The room was dark, the heavy curtains pulled across the windows. The smell of the sandalwood 'lobaan' (incense) emanating from the dispenser tucked discreetly into the corner of the room  lay heavy. On the ornate table in the middle  of the room was an ouja board. Sitting around it were four ladies. Clad in black burkhas, they would've been almost invisible, except that the light kept in their midst illuminated their faces, casting an almost eerie glow within the room.

As was their wont, they started the seance with a chant, holding hands and ululating melodiously. When the leader looked up, their was pin drop silence. Lifting her head up, her voice rising to a crescendo, she invoked the spirits, pleading with them to reveal themselves. Their fingers poised on the board, they waited. Suddenly the leaders' finger moved, as the coin below it moved. In a hushed voice she whispered, "Ask my friend, for the spirits hear you." Her voice trembling, as did her fingers, the one sitting to her left, spoke softly, " Will i give birth to this child i carry in my womb, or will it to die after its birth as its  brothers and sisters before it ?" The leader twitched violently, as if the spirit had entered her body. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, like a man's, " It will live. You will call her 'Khadijah' for she was the first among women, the prophet's wife. Now release me for my world calls.."  Their voices raised in joy, the women started ululating again. The leader sweating profusely, opened her eyes, and looked upon the women, the one weeping copiously, fell at her feet and cried, "Fatema ! My husband shall reward you richly for this, for my home has stayed barren even though i have conceived seven times." Kissing her hands, she arose and took off the heavy emerald ring that she wore, dropping it into her lap, before she swept out of the room. As the women dispersed, a small voice asked, "Mama, can i come in ?" A small bright eyed child of ten entered the room. "Oh no!" Rukaiya ! You have been listening in an the seance again. One of these days a spirit will enter your soul, and i shall have to take you to the hakim. Do you know how he will exorcise it from your body ? He will whip you until you cry for mercy and faint." "Oh mama, you are so clever, even the spirits love you." she cried, as holding out her arms she kissed her mama and ran from the room.

The intense afternoon heat, had given way to a cool breeze that heralded the sunset. Fatema, exhausted with her efforts, lay fast asleep on her cot. The muezzins' call from the masjid across the road, jolted her awake. Gathering her robes around her, she rose to her feet to prepare for the namaaz. Suddenly,she stopped. Blinking her eyes, rubbing them to make sure she was awake, she listened intently. Yes ! Voices were coming from within the prayer room, where she held her seances. Going towards it, she quietly stood outside listening. Eyes widening in horror, she heard Rukaiya's voice. "Father, she was saying, tell me will Zainabbi carry her child." A voice, much like that of her dead husband, resonated around the room. "Yes, the voice said, the boy should be named Hamza. Release me, now child, for i have to go." Rukaiya's voice replied, "Khudahafiz, Abbu." As if from a distance came the answer, "Khudahafiz, my child."( May Allah be with you)

Stunned, rooted to the spot she stood, not knowing whether to chastise the child, or to believe in her, she listened to a chastened Rukaiya trying to explain hurriedly that this was the first time she had tried to conduct a seance, that she would never do it again. Going down on her knees, the mother pulled the child to her, and eyes boring into hers said "Rukaiya! Listen well!  I will forgive you, but you are not to mention this to anyone. Ever. Do you hear me. Or else they will take you away from me."

The next day Fatema called Zainab to her house. Telling her that she had a dream in which Allah had decided to bestow upon her a son, whose name should be Hamza. The elated Zainab left, promising her many riches if indeed, what she said was true.

Fatema waited anxiously, her prayer beads turning relentlessly in her hands. From within the room came the screams as Zainab went into labour. "Allah o Akber !" ( God is great) As the cry came, she hurried in. Exhausted, but smiling, Zainab declared, "It's a boy! Fatema ! Just as you said it would be."Added her husband, "He shall be named Hamza, just as it was predicted"

The tribe gave her a very fond send off. Of course, they had tried to convince her to stay, plying her with riches to convince her, but she was adamant. Holding Rukaiya protectively in front of her, seated on the camel, gifted to her by a grateful Zainab, she left. They would be anonymous far away across the desert,  safe from the greed of men, where her mothers' tribe lived.

Ambushed !

"Come on, come on, lets go !" Already late for my appointment at the dentists, i had been shouting at my son to hurry and get dressed, so we could leave. As he emerged from his room, i grabbed my bag, from the table and rushed to my mother in law's room. Ailing from the past month, she had been bed ridden. The maid had been given strict instructions to remain at home till we returned. She seemed asleep, so closing the door gently, i retreated to the hall, even as the door bell rang.

Pulling it open with a hand, i found myself face to face with two young men. "Courier ? " the word died in my throat, as i was pushed back inside roughly. The two jumped in and closed the door. "Hey ! What the hell do you think you are doing ?" this from my gallant youngster, as he drew himself to his full height of five and a half feet plus about half a foot of upright gelled hair. Wordlessly, they pushed me down onto a chair, one whipped out a knife, a small pen knife, actually, that he put against my throat. I noticed that his hand trembled slightly against my throat, though i was trembling so much i could have given him a run for his money too ( poor choice of words). "Move," the bigger one of the two said, "And he'll split her throat." I could see the stunned look on my son's face as all the belligerence went out of it. Replaced by a kind of desperate fear. The maid, stood in the doorway, also frozen with fear. Turning to my son, he said, "Keys. Quick. Give me the keys to the cupboard. " A small signal, from me indicated that it was inside the room. Herding my son and the maid towards me, he turned to go in. " Shyanpatti nai karne ka.  ( Don't try any tricks) Varna." (or else). He drew a finger menacingly across his throat. To our panic, however, he headed into grandma's room. Before we could say anything, we heard him yelling at her to keep still. In a world of her own she didn't react at all. When he realised she was not even moving, he started throwing open cupboards flinging things into a bag he carried. By now i had recovered sufficiently to know that the boy in front of me was a novice, i mean, he was sweating almost as profusely as i was ! Seeing the gleam in my eye, my kid, alarmed, said an urgent, "No, Ma. !" A rather sharp one. What happened next, was utter mayhem.

The thief, swung around to look at my son, mother hen instincts kicking in, i leapt up, swinging my huge bag, with its sundry knick knacks, as hard as i could. The boy holding the knife, had no chance. As he collapsed in a faint at my feet, my son, the amateur karate champ, aimed a kick which probably had the poor lad incapacitated for a week. The commotion had the second thief running in, and we collectively froze again, as he brandished a pistol at us. The lull, however was temporary, as we looked on in open mouthed horror, grandma teetered behind him and before we could react, had biffed him with, of all things, her bed pan! In tandem, we raced towards them , my son and i, while the maid flung open the door and raced out, setting up a banshee screech of her own. Another karate kick from my son, took care of the bewildered thief. My son dialled my husband and the police, while i tried to tie up the thief's hands, with a charger cord.


After peace and grandma had been restored (With all her exertions and the sudden flow of adrenalin, she was difficult to contain. She lay on her bed, tremulously regaling awestruck neighbours with the embellished tale of how she had single handedly caught the thief, and saved her beloved grandson from harm.)

As for my husband, he never ever complained about how big handbags were getting these days.. 

The Hermit

The cottage lay nestled in the midst of the thicket. Small and unprepossessing, but surrounded by trees. The wind gently rustled thru the trellis of roses that grew around it. A small garden, tended by loving hands, had a profusion of flowers growing on one side. on the other was a patch of grass. He lay on the grass, a hat shielding his face from the rays of the sun that lit up the lawn. A blade of grass stuck out of his mouth. Had the trekker not seen the glint of the glasses that lay next to him, he would have missed seeing him altogether, so still was his stance, so one with his surroundings.

"Asleep ? " was his first thought. Something about the place, made him feel alien, as if he were trespassing, not only on the land but also in the man's domain. Turning around, he made for the back of the cottage. A small vegetable patch led to the window of the kitchen, he saw as he peered in. "Want something, son ? " The intruder swung around to find himself facing the man he had seen in the garden. He was tall and broad shouldered, if thin, and stood there looking askance at him. "Only a drink of water, sir, " he replied, holding up his empty bottle of water. Feeling the need to explain his presence further he said, "  I saw you back there and didn't want to disturb you. I thought i'd find someone else if i  came back here. " With a sigh, the man said, "There isn't anyone else here. Give me that bottle." Going inside the kitchen, he looked back and said, " Well, come on in if you must." The interior, he found to his surprise was beautiful. The kitchen led to a small dining area. The antique table had a vase of freshly cut flowers gracing it. The grandfather clock in the corner added to the old world charm of the room. Everything was spic and span, as if a woman had tended to it with loving hands. But the thing that made him catch his breath was the painting on the wall. It depicted the sea, majestic waves crashing towards the beach, on which rearing its head, in all its glory, was a horse. The azure of the sea, the different shades of blue, the nuances of color, contrasted sharply with the snowy white of the horse. He stood in front of the canvas, mouth agape, awestruck. Turning around to face the man smiling sardonically at him, he said, "This.. this is brilliant, sir ! I paint myself, and this painting takes my breath away ! May i know the name of the artist ? "


"It's an anonymous work. But thanks for your appreciation. " If you don't mind sir, can you tell me why you live here in the back of beyond. Are you here on holiday ? This place is of course, idyllic. A retreat away from the world. "

" Yes.. Yes, of course. I am on holiday. a permanent one. This is my world, where i live. The world, in all its modern glory, holds no interest for me. Once upon a time, i had a family, i was part of the cacaphony of life. Business, conglomerates, jet setting across the world, but never really seeing it. Moneyed, but impoverished because all i saw of the world were busy mammoth airports and cities. I was lucky, i escaped, in time. Now, i've found my peace, the meaning of my existence. No routines or deadlines bind me, harness me and put shackles on my passions. Books, paintings are my world. If i need supplies, i go to town on my horse cart. Otherwise, i am free. "

He awoke with a start. The noisy din of the alarm had him wide awake. The wonder of the night came back to him, as he made no move to get out of bed. Deep in contemplation, he sat unmindful of the time. "Dad ! Dad!" said his son entering his  room.  "Where are you ? You are late already, and if you don't hurry, we'll miss the flight ! If that deal falls thru, we'll lose millions. "

"You go son, I'm not going anywhere. This is it." "What ?" Incredulous, his son stood stunned before him." What's wrong with you? Are you sick or something ?"

"On the contrary, everythings right now. I was confused, and tired beyond words, before.. No more. I know, finally, what im going to do with the rest of my life. I've lived my life, you go live yours."

The Bond

The road wound thru the forest. The highway was smooth, the setting sun playing peek -a- boo from behind the tall trees on either side, added to the magic of the moment. The rest of my friends, lulled with the motion of the SUV, had nodded off, heads lolling against each others' shoulders. In love with the setting sun outside, seated next to the driver, i was wide awake, camera on the ready.

As the car took a steep turn, we could see faintly, in the fast gathering dusk, a few shapes in the middle of the road. Horn sounding persistingly, we neared the shapes. "Stop !" My voice rang out urgently, startling awake my friends. Sreeching to a halt, a little distance away, we all peered out. There she was. Literally caught in the glow of the headlights ! Hovering around the little one who lay on the road, was a Deer. We stopped a few feet before it. Cautiously, we tried honking a few times, which only seemed to add to her agitation. She circled her fawn, which lay on the road, but refused to budge. Lowering her head, hooves bent she made as if to charge at me, when I slowly alighted from the car. By now it was clear to us that the fawn was injured, probably, by a driver too callous to stop and help. Talking soothingly, in a low voice, i first held out my hand to the Deer. Sniffing cautiously, nostrils twitching anxiously, she must have sensed that i wanted to help, and so she allowed  me to go to her fawn. What is it about a small fragile deer that pulls at the heart strings ? Her light brown, speckled coat, glistening when it caught the rays of the sun, her little heart thudding fast under my arms, no human baby could have been more precious to me at that moment. I was also fascinated and caught  in deep admiration for the mother, who guarded her babe with her life, refusing to abandon it, as long as it lived.

My friend who was a medical intern, joined me in examining the small helpless little thing. Her leg was bleeding, and it was obvious to us, that it was a superficial injury, but the loss of blood had made the fawn weak, and so she had collapsed. With the mother standing close to us, we carefully tied a bandage and managed to stop the bleeding. After giving her a drink of water, I offered her some grass, which the driver managed to get. Picking it up tenderly, we walked a little distance away, inside the forest, carefully laying her down, in a grassy knoll. Loathe to leave her, but assured, by my friend that the fawn would be up and running by the next day, we returned to the car.

When we left, i could see the mother, snorting softly, preparing to settle down for the night, her fawn tucked carefully under her.

Civilization, after an idyllic holiday seemed even more cacaphonous. When the phone rang early in the morning, i was jolted awake. The voice on the other end informed me of the death of a beloved teacher's mother. My friends and I had always had a close bond with our library teacher in school, a spinster who lived alone with her mum, also a retired teacher. Ms. W had lived a life peopled with her precious books, and her extremely well read and articulate mother. The mother and daughter were inseparable. In her youth, the mother had been left to fend for herself after her husband had died. In the mid nineties, being a single parent was a herculean task. But she had lived alone with her child, braving the world and society around her as she educated her child, whilst teaching in a convent school.

When she was young, marriage had been on the cards, but her condition was that her mother, now afflicted with cancer would live with her after marriage. So they had continued to live as spinsters, having only each other to fall back upon. The years passed. Ms. W was now in her seventies. Her ninety plus mother had overcome the earlier bout of illness, but had been ailing for some time. Devotedly the daughter tended her. But as her health deteriorated further, the doctor requested an audience with Ms W.

"She needs to let go now. It's only her will power that is keeping her here, that and her concern for you." The old family physician advised her, " Speak to her ?"

They sat holding each other's hand. The deep love they shared reflected in her mother's eyes, she spoke, " Ma. I love You. I've booked myself into a home for the aged. It's a beautiful place in Kerala. I'll have good company there, and people to look after me so don't worry. Let go Ma. We'll meet again in a better place, ma. I love you."

Her mother died then peacefully in her sleep, the next day.

To attend the funeral, we passed through the same forest. The one where the deer had guarded her baby with her life. The mother and child bond. The only unshakable one on earth.