Bhagya

Last January, I took a 10-day leave at the behest of my mother and accompanied her with some of her friends on a short tour. The plan was to cover a good number of temple ruins on the outskirts of Bangalore and in the nearby districts. We set out in a car - six of us, an all-women group (excluding the driver, of course). Our first stop was the Kesava temple at Somnathpur on the outskirts of Bangalore. It is one of the grandest of Hoysala monuments and was built nearly 700 years ago. After that it was a number of smaller, lesser-known places before finally making our way to Mysore. All through the journey, we had great fun joking and singing. I was amazed at the enthusiasm and vivacity displayed by the ladies. In fact I felt I was the most restrained of the lot - such was their capacity to enjoy.

There was Meera regaling us with stories from the college where she held the position of Vice Principal. There were Mala and Bhagya (actually Bhagyalakshmi but fondly called Bhagya by all of us) who were my mother's childhood friends. Having settled in Maharashtra for quite a number of years my mother had been separated from both the sisters but met them every now and then when she visited Bangalore. However now that we were back in Bangalore, they met quite frequently and the bond became closer than ever. Between the two sisters however it was Bhagya who was more close to my mother. Both my sister and I were accustomed to calling her Bhagya rather than Bhagya Aunty. It was she who insisted that we do so. A gutsy lady living on her own after having separated from her husband years ago, Bhagya always inspired awe in me.

Coming back to the trip, we visited Srirangpatna en route to Mysore and took a tour of its grand tombs and gardens. Then it was time for the famed Chamundi hills and the Mysore Palace. I had visited the Palace of the Wodeyar kings as a child but couldn't recollect much of it. Right from the lovely huge paintings adorning its walls to the various well-maintained artifacts that were exhibited, everything was so impressive. In the evening our rented car climbed reluctantly up the Chamundi hills. A quick darshan of Chamundeshwari Devi, a couple of poses outside the temple for my camera and we were on our way to a relative's house where we would spend the night. Nagamani, whom we affectionately called Mani, had offered to put us up for the next couple of days during which we would tour places in and around Mysore. A sumptuous meal was served which we devoured in a jiffy as we were famished. Later the ladies were exchanging bits of gossip and jokes when my sister and I went off to bed. Nothing prepared us whatsoever for the events that took place next. At around 5.00 a.m. I was roughly shaken awake by Mani's young son.

Bleary-eyed, I peered at him and asked him "What's it?"

His answer had my jaws hanging open in disbelief and utter shock.

"Bhagya's no more!" he whispered. I just couldn't take in his words. I shook off the covers and blankets and hurried outside. The house was eerily silent.

"Where's everybody?" I asked Mani's son.

"They have taken the body to the doctor" he said. The word "body" seemed suddenly jarring. I still couldn't comprehend what and how it had happened.

A few minutes later the car drove up to the house. Inside I could see a white-faced Mala with a still Bhagya lying on her lap. I didn't say anything but silently watched the proceedings. Meera went into the house and returned with a few of their belongings and after exchanging a few words with Mani, she drove off in the car. It was barely 6 a.m. then.

Later my mother narrated what had happened. Around 3 am, Bhagya had woken up complaining of a sudden chest pain, within moments she had collapsed and right there then her heart failed. But they had not believed it. So they had taken her to the nearest doctor and when he had confirmed the news, they had telephoned the house. By 8.30 a.m. my mother and the rest of us left by bus to Bangalore, all of us shocked into silence by what had happened. Where earlier this group was singing merrily on its way, now every single member of the group was wrapped in her own thoughts unsuccessfully attempting to reconcile herself to the shock. None of us was still accepting the reality that Bhagya was no more with us.

Late that afternoon her body was laid in the middle of the room decked with flowers and vermillion in the center parting of her hair (she had legally separated from her husband years ago but everyone still thought of her as married and hence the vermillion). Because she had been a close friend to our family since many years, quite a lot of relatives from our family dropped in with condolences. Red-rimmed eyes in pale white faces, quiet sobs echoing from every corner of the room. Yet what was more than conspicuous was a lack of emotion in her own family. Except for Mala, no one else seemed much affected let alone grief-stricken. They seemed so very detached about the whole incident. Her sister-in-law appeared more concerned about her freshly done coiffure than anything else. It was left to my own relatives to carry the bier to the vehicle that would take it to the cremation grounds. I was suddenly overcome with pity for this woman who was so rudely shunned by her own near and dear ones for no fault of her own.

A couple of days later I was back at work though in a dazed unreal state. People who knew I'd been away on a short tour came by to ask how it had been. I couldn't reply coherently, I was still in shock. It took me more than a week to come to grips with reality. It wasn't that I had never seen a death in the family before. Even as a little child I had never been cowed by the sight of a dead body. It was more the suddenness and abrupt manner in which it happened that stunned me. It showed me how you can never take anything for granted least of all your own life.