The Next Compartment

Paulo Coelho writes in Aleph,

“We never lose our loved ones. They accompany us, they don’t disappear from our lives. We are merely in different rooms. For example, I can’t see who is in the next carriage, but it contains people travelling in the same time as me, as you, as everyone. The fact that we can’t speak to them or know what’s going on in that other carriage is completely irrelevant. They are there. So what we call “life” is a train with many carriages. Sometimes we are in one, sometimes we are in another, and sometimes we cross between them, when we dream or allow ourselves to be swept away by the extraordinary.”

Yesterday morning, I was travelling to office when my mom called me and told me about Dida’s (grandmother) disorientation of late. My mom had very solemnly informed me that since the last couple of days, Dida had not been her usual, that she was sleeping long hours. Her speech had also been slurring so that, most of what she tried to communicate was not understandable. It was as if slowly she was drifting away. I was told all these to be mentally prepared for any eventuality.

Even as I disconnected the call and put away my cell phone, I remembered my last visit home in July ‘12. Dida had been slightly troubled at that time. She had told me that she could not remember her gurumantra (she had a bound photograph of her guru on the tea table by the side of her bed). She was very troubled being unable to remember her initiation chants and was worried that God would not accept her (post mortem). I was at a loss of words, not knowing how to console my grandmother. She held my hand with a plaintive look in her eyes. I had taken her palms in mine, folded her fingers into the gyan mudra and asked her to chant after me,

‘Hare Krishna Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna Hare Hare;

Hare Rama Hare Rama, Rama Rama Hare Hare’

She had said, “But this is not my gurumantra, this will not work.”

I had looked into her helpless eyes and had asserted that this is the most powerful mantra, stronger than any guru mantra, and this alone would suffice. After holding her hand in mine and chanting Hare Krishna for some time, I had helped her lie down and asked her to keep on chanting aloud. She kept chanting the mantra, till she drifted away to sleep.

Two drops of tear that had been growing all this while at the corners of my eyes threatened to well over. From what my mother said I could make out that my Dida was biding the last few days before embarking on a new journey. I remembered Paulo Coelho’s allegory of Life being a train. I wished that I could hold my Dida’s hands in mine while she left for this new journey. I wished I could see her safely through the vestibule into the next compartment. I wished she was not alone when the great moment came and she had to cross over.

The same after noon when my father called me up, I understood that the moment of truth had come. I heard my father saying in a very normal tone,

“Babu, there’s sad news, Dida left.”

Although I was fully prepared to hear this, yet the immensity of the realization that Dida is no more, took some time to sink in.

I asked, “When?”

“Just about half an hour back,” he answered.

Dida had been sleeping for a long time after lunch. My parents had woken her up to feed her some milk. She had taken a couple of mouthfuls but the third had just spilt out of her mouth. There was a drop of tear in her eyes. Thinking that she had again fallen asleep, my father wiped the tear off her eye and made her to lie down.  But later as my parents realized, that was the moment she had taken the leap. Now it feels good to realize that she was not alone when she had to cross the vestibule. She was safe in the arms of her son and daughter-in-law as she had gone across.

The Brahman pundit who was overseeing the last rites had said that since it was a poornima (full moon), the journey was on a very auspicious day and that indications were very good. Apart from this, it took us some time to realize that five years earlier my grandfather too had passed away on the same date. My mom said that just as in life they had been so inseparable; it was my Dadu only who had come and taken Dida away to be with him. It gave me much relief to believe that not only was my grandmother not alone while crossing the vestibule, but also her best friend in this life was ready on the other side to welcome her and take her away safely into the next compartment.

I dint think I would post again this year, but the latest turn of events had given rise to some very conflicting emotions and I felt it could be best resolved when laid down on paper. Now that it is laid down as intended, I feel happy again.

In continuation to the discussion described in the beginning, Paulo Coelho also says,

“Love always triumphs over what we call death. That’s why there’s no need to grieve for our loved ones, because they continue to be loved and remain by our side. It’s hard for us to accept that. If you don’t believe it, then there’s no point my trying to explain.”

I thank you Dida for showering so much love on all of us. I shall always remember you in the many ways that you have touched my life. Today I feel very happy for you. I wish that your new journey be full of thrill and plenty of happiness and you make lots and lots of new friends on the way. Farewell.