My Mother's Last Days During my childhood, like almost all children, I had always taken my mother for granted. When I was hungry, she should give me food to my liking, irrespective of the time. I never used to think whether she may be tired, or due to late hours, food may not be unavailable etc. Also, if I had any problem with anybody whatever, and I was at the receiving end, I used to come to my mother and shout at her as if she was to blame for all my troubles. Also, if my father could not give me a cycle which I wanted, or took me to task for some wrong doing, it was invariably on my mother that I used to vent my frustrations. Even after reaching adulthood, taking my mother for granted did not disappear though shouting at her due to my frustrations stopped, as my wife had taken my mother’s place for this purpose. However, my mother always gave me my favourite food and snacks irrespective of the time of the day. After I went away to North India for my job, I used to come home once an year. On such occasions, I was the only person taking food in the house as far as my mother was concerned. ‘Bring Keerai, she used to order my father, Gopalan likes it.’ Similarly if Parthasarathy does not like bitter gourd, he had to fend for himself as Gopalan likes it. When I think back now, I wonder what I had done for my mother to deserve so much love and affection. While my mother used to take special care of me (may be to avoid my caustic tongue, or due to special affection for me as I prefer to think), she did not ignore others. If she made bitter gourd curry, she would make some other vegetable for Parthasarathy, as she knew his dislike for the former. Only a mother can give such unselfish love to all her children irrespective of their different natures. The Tamil proverb, In this connection, I remember a story I had read in some magazine some years ago. A mother showers all her love on her only son. She lost her husband, and after that her son was her world. The son also doted on his mother, and life was going on smoothly. Alas, all good things do not last for ever.. The son reached adulthood, and one day fell in love with a very beautiful girl working with him. He proposed to her. Even though she also liked him, she did not want anyone to share her husband’s love. Even though her lover told her that he would keep his mother in some other place, she was not satisfied. She was afraid that she could not claim full love from her husband if the mother was alive. Therefore, like the fisherman whose daughter King Santhanu (Bhishma’s father), wanted to marry, she put a terrible condition for the marriage. He should kill his mother and bring her heart. Only after that, she would agree for the marriage to be performed.. Like King Santhanu, the boy also had a conscience, and could never agree for such an atrocious condition. However, being madly in love with her, he was pining for her and could not eat or take part in any normal activity. He used to be very cheerful and discuss many matters with his mother, now he was listless and was always staring fixedly on the roof. His mother was worried to death by his eerie behaviour, but her anxious queries only brought vague and evasive answers. His mother then made enquiries from his friends and came to know of his love affair. She then went to the girl herself and pleaded with her to marry her son. The girl told her that their married life cannot be smooth, if her husband had to divide his love between his mother and his wife. She then told the mother about her condition for the marriage. On reaching home, the mother went straight to her son and chided him gently for not confiding his love and the condition put by the girl for the marriage. She told her son that the girl was right . She also told her son that she had grown old, and was suffering from lot of ailments. She had no interest in living any more, and what could be better than to die in the hands of her son for fulfillment of his happiness. The son, selfish fellow that he was, was only waiting for his mother’s endorsement of her own death, and quickly killed her and took out her heart. He proceeded to his lover’s house holding his mother’s heart firmly in his hand. On the way, he slipped and fell down, and the heart in his hand also fell down. The heart suddenly talked and this was what it told the son:- “ Are you hurt, my son? Be more careful in walking in future.” The above story narrated by the author to show the unselfish and lofty nature of mother’s love had a great impact on my mind. I did some introspection, and realised that my mother’s love to me had been very similar and she had always been self-effacing when showering me with her love. I also could see that what I had done in return to my mother’s unselfish love had been an absolute zero. I took a mental vow then and there to return my mother’s love somehow. But being a creature of habits, whenever I used to visit Chennai, I could not even tell her how much I felt indebted to her. If I had told what I felt to my mother, she would have been very much worried about my sanity, accustomed as she was to my rough and rude nature. It was fate, and nothing but fate which helped me in a very tragic and unexpected way to do a very small deed for my mother. My sister-in-law, Choodamani died of a heart attack at 5 AM on Friday, 30th June 1995. My brother, Sampath, nephew, Shyam, and niece Sujatha were a very close knit family and were literally obsessed with love of one another. I, Vijaya, Vanaja, Raghu, Parthasarathy and Amritha had all gone to Calcutta to participate in the last rites and Subha Sweegharam on 13th July 1995. I can even now recall vividly the deep anguish felt by Sampath, Shyam and Sujatha, even though they seemed to be talking normally with the close relatives who had come for the last rites. As the memories of the dead loved one haunted them wherever they went in their flat, they decided to exchange their flat for IBP Guest House. As Sampath was Finance Director of the company, it was a simple matter for him to make the arrangements for shifting. The month was Aadi, supposedly an inauspicious month for house shifting. I can even now remember one lady colleague of Sampath, a Tamilian, pleading with Sampath, with almost tears in her eyes, not to shift in the month of Aadi. But Sampath, Shyam and Sujatha were so much tortured by the memories of Choodamani in their flat that they did not listen to any one’s advice and shifted to the Guest House immediately after the departure of the relatives who had come for the last rites. Alas, the lady’s fears of shifting in Aadi month seemed to be portentous. On Friday, 28th July 1995, exactly 4 weeks after Choodamani’s death, at 5 AM,(the exact time at which Choodamani died), the portion of the building in which Sampath, Sujatha, Shyam and Baby Ramya, Sujatha’s 11 month old baby were sleeping peacefully in their bedroom suddenly collapsed killing all of them. Shri Sundararajan, Sujatha’s husband and Sujatha along with the baby had earlier booked their flight to Mumbai for 26th July 1995. But Sujatha had stayed back with the baby to console Sampath and Shyam, while Shri. Sundararajan went on 26th as planned. It looks now, as if Choodamani had taken all her family members, while sparing Sundararajan, not being her family member by blood. I cannot describe in words the cry which came from my mother when the news about the death of her beloved and dutiful son along with her grandchildren and great grandchild was told to her. It looked as if the cry came from the bottom of her stomach. My mother, who was cheerfulness personified till that day, became very gloomy and depressed. I can say with certainty that her last days on this earth started from that date, though she lived for another 8 years after those tragic events. I could do some small things for my mother during those eight years only after Sampath’s death. As I had already indicated, my parents and Sundararajan were the immediately affected ones by the great tragedy, though others like me, Vanaja etc. could feel the impact to a lesser extent only. Our great sorrow was to see our parents hit by a devastating tragedy at such ripe old age. The bodies of all the deceased were brought by Parthasarathy (my brother) and Sundararajan by flight to Chennai, and cremated at Besant Nagar crematorium. The last rites for 12 days for Sampath and Shyam were performed by Raghu, while Sundararajan performed the rites for Sujatha and Baby Ramya. At that time, our family and Sundararajan were really very close, bound together by a common tragedy and trauma. I can even now remember very vividly Sundararajan’s father holding Parthasarathy’s hands, and telling him with tears in his eyes, “Sir, please take care of my son”. But somehow Sundararajan changed and claimed the property in the ratio of 9:1 for him and my parents respectively. My chance to return in a small measure my mother’s unselfish love to me came to me from that moment onwards. From that moment, till my mother’s death, for about six years, I devoted all my energies and brain to ceaselessly work for getting my parents the money left by their son. There was a protracted legal battle and not only did my parents get their dues, but also Sundararajan and I became friends. Tears come into my eyes when I think back of my mother’s reaction in those days. She, being the sole legal heir (Under Hindu Law, mother is Class I Heir of a male Hindu, along with children and wife, whereas father is class II Heir only). Whenever I visited Chennai from Bangalore or from other places I had been for realising some dues, she knew that either I had brought some cheque, or I had come for taking her signature. She invariably used to tell Vanaja and my father as follows: “Be careful in spending the money, Gopalan has undergone great difficulties to get this money with his poor health” She never asked even once how much money was received, from where, or what to do with the money. A true Karma Yogi she was. Whenever I approached her, she used to sit up in bed for signing the papers brought by me. I am not exaggerating when I say that she must have signed at least 1000 times. My father used to say that it was an Imposition for her not studying beyond 3rd class in school in her childhood. She never bothered about my father’s banters, but used to say, “Gopalan is running about here and there to get my son’s money. The least I can do to help him is by signing whenever he wants and wherever he wants. She had an absolute trust in me, which continued till her last breath. During the time when we were realizing the estate of Sampath, many important (tragic as well as auspicious) events were taking place affecting my mother. --- I retired from Central Government SService after serving Indian Bureau of Mines in various capacities for 34 years. I am happy to say that I had a successful career and had earned seven promotions and appreciation letters from all the Controllers-General under whom I had worked. I left Bangalore on 30th June 1997 (the day I retired), and came and settled in Chennai to be near my parents. --- My father died at the ripe old age oof 90 years on 23rd June 1998. --- My Shashti Abda Poorthi (60th birthdday)) was celebrated on 11th July 1999, and coincided with the first death anniversary of my father. --- My wife, Vijaya who was fun-loving aand very active, was afflicted by a debilitating spinal cord disease. --- I suffered a heart failure a few monnths before my Shashti Abda Poorthi. The death of my father, after nearly seventy five years of marriage, was the last straw for my mother. She was slowly recovering from the trauma of the death of Sampath and his family members. My father’s death at this time was unbearable to her, and she completely lost all interest in life. She used to tell me that my father came in her dreams, and told her that she had to continue living till Gopalan succeeded in fully realizing Sampath’s money so that our children can live more comfortably. Even now, I am moved to tears when I think back as to how unselfish she was and how her only interest in this world was to leave some money for her children. As soon as my father’s cremation and 13 days of religious rites were over, Parthasarathy took her to Mumbai. She was very happy in Mumbai, as Parthasarathy, Amritha, Harish and Aarthi used to play Thayakattai game with her almost daily. She was with me, Raghu and Parthasarathy for about an year each. She could spend only a few months in Mandavalli due to various problems such as my sister Vanaja’s serious illness (Diabates), acute water problem etc. My mother’s health deteriorated rapidly after my father’s death. Her arthritis worsened and she became bed-ridden. I had engaged two ayahs to look after her for 24 hours. She was in VHS Hospital, Adyar for nearly two years before Parthasarathy came to Chennai on transfer from Mumbai. She went to Parthasarathy’s house on 1st June 2002 and remained with him for about 15 months till her last breath on 20th August 2003. The major problem which remained till her death was Senile Dementia. In simple words, Senile Dementia means loss of memory due to old age. As a person advances in age, his or her memory cells start dying out. There are three types of memory cells Viz. Immediate memory, Short term memory, and long term memory. The first to go are the immediate memory cells. A person afflicted with this ailment can not remember things that happened some minutes earlier. For example, after five minutes after drinking coffee, she would say that she has not been given coffee since morning. Unless other family members understand about the nature of this disease, serious misunderstandings are likely to develop. The lady of the house may think that this old lady is telling all sorts of lies and defaming me before others. Short term memory cells are the next to die. I shall illustrate this with my mother’s example. When my mother was in Aynavaram with Parthasarathy, I used to visit her once in four or five days. Just after one day after my visit, she invariably told Amritha and Parthasarathy, “It is a very long time since Gopalan visited me. He is having heart problem. Kindly ring up and find out whether he is all right”. I used to sit with her and gossip about various events that happened after my last visit. I also asked her to recite Thirupavai, Thirumalai etc. While she remembered all the verses, she could not remember the sequence correctly. I used to correct her, and give her some home work till my next visit. For example, I used to tell her, “ Next time when I come, you should recite verses 1 to 5 in Thirupavai, and verses 6 to 10 in Tirumalai. I shall give you a prize if you are able to recite all the verses in sequence without any mistake. Immediately after I left, she used to take the books, and memorise the verses allotted by me. She was just like a child, very much pleased by my praise, and tried to show off her skills to me. I am overwhelmed by tears when I recall that when she was in great pains and in a semi coma just before her death, she did not shout ,“Ayyo, Amma”, but was continuously reciting Thirupavai verses even in that stage. I am sure that she would have been taken by Lord Vishnu to His abode. In conclusion, I would like to say this about my mother. She was a very simple soul, completely free from petty jealousies or unnecessary gossips. She never cared for money. She loved all her children equally, though she used to enquire about me maximum number of times, and had complete trust in me. I do hope that I fully justified her trust. I could not fulfill her one fervent wish which was that she wanted to breathe her last in Vedachala Gardens, Mandaveli where she lived for about seventy years and where she had borne her children and brought them up. But I am sure that she will forgive me from wherever she is now, as she loved me too much to mind my lapse in this matter. (Late) Rajagopalan Editor's Note: The author was my eldest brother. This article was written by him in October 2003 (after the death of our mother) for the family e-Newsletter.