What I see, is what I believe to be true. What I believe, might not necessarily be something what I’d be able to see to ascertain it to be the truth. The truth needs to be always supported by some form of empirical evidence. And the prudence of one’s ability to conclude the truth out of the possible evidence is again, a belief.
Three years ago, my 19 year old son died of meningitis. My husband and I were devastated as he was our only son. On the cremation day, I insisted to come along with all the men of our extended family, since Hindu religion does not allow the women to attend the cremation ceremony. I wanted to be able to see my child’s body being taken away by the fumes of the holy fire, to the doors of the heaven.
“At least he died peacefully!” was what most of the neighbors had been trying comfort me with. A discomforting statement, which I’d eventually started to believe in. “At least he died peacefully”, I would think to myself every now and then and thank the almighty. I couldn’t do more than that anyway.
The day after, I carefully folded and kept all his clothes, including the ones that he had worn in the hospital, his slippers and shoes and all his possessions in the trunk. Needless to say, I did that with shaky hands, while I had tears in my eyes. Oh he was so dear to me.
Gradually, the routine engulfed our lives. Apart from teaching at a primary school, I had started a coaching class after school hours to help my students with their syllabus. My husband had a travelling job, where he had eventually got deeply engrossed, more so to avoid thinking about the tragedy we had endured. I hadn’t reasoned. Honestly, we never had any conversation long enough to even get closer to discussing our state of mind. We hadn’t remained a couple anymore, rather two individuals trying to erase the memories of the wonderful 19 years that we had spent together as a family of three, just two different individuals constantly trying to find the grounds to be alive.
It’s been a year now since Joshua joined my Environment Science class on a beautiful sunny Sunday morning. He had worn a red and white T shirt and a pair of blue denim shorts. Blunt hair cut, light brown eyes, a divine smile and an IQ of more than 140. He instantly reminded me of my son in the first look.
My favoritism towards him in the school and the coaching class was unmistakable. I used to cook my son’s favorite South Indian delicacies for him, and make him eat from my own hands while he completed his homework. He had similar likes and dislikes as far as food was concerned. Although, as a child he had a big sense of self, and he had been cautiously taught by his parents never to accept favors from anyone, including his teachers, he never objected to my motherly love for him. Soon, he had started going to his house only to sleep, spending all of his day with me. His mother probably had a busy work life like his father, and he was growing fond of me, like I already was.
Lately, I had started getting weird dreams in the night. It was like my son telling me from above, that he had come back in my life. My conscious life after my son’s death had become a matter of fact for me, something I had stopped believing in. I was alive, but I had been living a life of a Zombie, with most of my present constituted by the ghosts of the past and an aimless future. I tried concentrating harder, but the dream took over yet again. And in the dream, my son told me that he was around. That he had come alive safely out of the 19 year old memories that I had of him in my mind, and I believed it. At the subconscious level, I knew the fact, but it intermingled with my beliefs. And in the end, I settled to believe in the truth that I wanted to believe in, and the belief that my son had come alive out of my memories grew stronger. As the belief took shape, the fact that I loved Joshua like I loved my son emerged right in centre of my mind, and I realized what the truth was.
……………..
Next day, I told Joshua that I was his mother and he was my dead son. He didn’t know what to say when I asked him to call me his mother from thereon, so he just said “Mother!” He didn't know the truth perhaps. Truth was certainly beyond his age. It was the larger truth, difficult to believe, like I contemplated much before I realized that was it, but I had no time to make him or anyone else believe in it. Finally I decided to let everyone stay in their own beliefs, and let me and my son be together for life.
And, I booked two tickets to nowhere.
