A rangOli story - Part XII

The day of mallI’s departure happened to be two days after dIpAvaLi that year. Perhaps dIpAvaLi is one festival that is celebrated all over India, from the land’s end of kanyAkumAri to the valley of Kashmir. Typically we celebrate dIpAvali for nearly a week. It is one festival when the newlyweds return to the bride’s parental abode along with her husband and both are honoured with new clothes and gifts. dIpAvaLi literally means a row of lights. It occurs at the time of new moon in October-November. When the stars shine brightly in the moonless sky, strings of bright lights adorn the houses. Beautiful rangOlis are drawn and flowers and lamps are placed at strategic places in the rangOli. With two little babies in the house, this year’s festival is more special. Even though Chandru is not there to celebrate with us, we still have three children Usha, Sarada and Ravi and also mallI. We prepared sweet dishes along with the normal food. On the evening of the thirteenth day we washed and cleaned the large vessel and filled it with water to the brim and tied a piece of turmeric thread around its neck and applied marks of kuMkuma, the vermillion mark that girls and married women wear on their forehead. The next day morning that water was heated and used for bathing. There is a belief all the sacred waters of countless rivers including gangA and kAvErI sanctify this water. The festival went on quite well on the fourteenth day with prayers and worship as well as feasts and songs. It was the day when eons ago, Lord Krishna and his wife satyA slew the demon Naraka and made the earth a more peaceful place.

It is on this day that mallI opened her heart to me. After the evening dinner, we fed our babies and were about to retire to bed. Then mallI began her story. I am narrating it in her own words. “Lalita, Chandru’s father and you have been so kind to me all these days and so has been your stepmother. I am a stranger and a foreigner at that. But you took me as one of your own. I feel I have been a part of this household for a long time. I feel I have found another father and an elder sister. Even though you are like a mother by relation, I consider you more as my elder sister, if ever I had one. I neither had a sister nor a brother. Even though I have parents in the States, they are really not my biological parents. They are my foster parents, very good and very affectionate foster parents. I always address them as mom and dad.”

She paused for a few minutes and continued- “I don’t have any memories of either my biological mother or father. I heard that my father was a great guitar player and musician. My mother and my father quarreled after I was born and my mother ran away one night leaving me with my father. My father tried his best to bring me up. But he neither had a steady job nor the inclination to bring me up. It seems he left me at the doorsteps of a catholic church one night and vanished into the dark.” She again paused and tried to wipe her tears. For the sake of the little ones, we switched off the bright lights and had only a dim lamp in the room. So I could only see her hands in motion, but not the tears.

Again, she continued- “I went first to an orphanage and from there went from one foster home to another one till I was eight or so. Then one day my mom and dad visited the orphanage to pick me up. I thought this is one more temporary house before I move on to another. But they – David and Sarah Samson – brought me up in a loving atmosphere and offered their love and affection as well as all the other things which a child needs at that age. I never had my own room or my own stuffed animals until then. Living in a house, having my own room and smelling freshly baked bread was something I never dreamed of. My dad is a miller who supplied wheat flour to bakeries. My mother is a housewife. She has a master’s degree in psychology, but was not interested to take up a job on her own. Besides she was an expert piano player. I lost count of the many summer evenings I sat mesmerised listening to her playing Bach and Mozart. So in a way they filled the vacuum in my life by making me their daughter.” I never heard this story of hers so far. Chandru too never mentioned it. I went and hugged her. We did not talk for a long time. Silence was speaking then. Finally before bidding good night, she mentioned “How wonderful will it be if I meet my biological father one day and hear him playing the guitar!” I hugged her and told her, “Who knows what the future has in store for you? Anything is possible, if He wills!”.

... to be continued