An extraordinary girl

My Son’s Marriage

Though I had come to Pondicherry for good in 1972, I would go from time to time to visit my son in Calcutta. As I have already mentioned, he had found a good job in which he was doing well, and had a wide circle of friends. At the time he was still unmarried and was living alone, as his grandmother, who had brought him up since childhood, had passed away.

A friend of mine asked me why I did not go to him more often. She herself went to see her children whenever a relation of hers paid her fare, she told me.

I explained to her that my case was different. Whenever I had asked my Thakur if I could go to see my son he had refused. "You will suffer a great deal if you do," he would tell me. I could never understand why. What was there that would make me suffer?

An occasion finally came, however, when Thakur did give me permission to go. I was a little surprised, and had no inkling of what was in store for me. As soon as I stepped into my house and was climbing the stairs, I saw my son standing at the top waiting to greet me.

"Mummy, you've come!" he exclaimed. "I'm so relieved!" "Relieved? Why?" I asked.

"Because I'm getting married!"

Now I was really surprised. "Getting married? To whom?"

He promptly invited me in to see for myself. The moment I saw the girl I was disappointed, and I told him so later. Then he explained that when he had been suffering from malaria and was running a high fever, she was the only one who had tended him, his grandmother no longer being alive. There had been no one else around, aside from the maidservant, to so much as give him a glass of water. So it was this girl alone who had saved his life. "Then what objection can you have to my marrying her?" he demanded. "You never thought of marrying me off to anyone!"

"What nonsense!" I protested. "How can you forget the number of offers we had? It was just that between you and me we didn't like any of them. Then when I couldn't wait any longer, I went away to Pondicherry leaving you to find your own match. Now that you've done it, who am I to say anything? My likes or dislikes don't matter, so long as you are happy."

Now at last it became clear to me why my Thakur had permitted me to come to Calcutta. I discovered that the girl was Goanese. Though rather dark, she was both well-educated and sweet-natured. Her family had settled in Bengal, and she had a good job in a firm.

The marriage was celebrated in royal style. My son moved in the high society of Calcutta. All his friends contributed to the glamour of the occasion. My relations also came forward and arranged an elaborate ceremony. I offered all my ornaments and jewellery worth several lakhs to the bride. I even gave her a gold sari I had been presented for my own marriage. Being entirely woven of gold thread, that too was worth a few lakhs. But the poor girl refused to wear it, as she was afraid to be seen in anything so valuable. Instead, she deposited the sari in the bank where it still lies safe, and wore something far less splendid and gorgeous.

Some time later, after turning me down many times, my Thakur again suddenly gave me permission to visit my son and his bride. On this occasion I was able to observe how the marriage was working out. I thoroughly enjoyed the company of the young couple. I found my daughter-in-law very charming and she took excellent care of me. But what was most striking about her — a characteristic not easily found these days — was her complete and self-effacing devotion to her husband. There was only one problem between them. I had mentioned once before that many of my son's friends who came to his house were drug addicts. He had always claimed that he was unaffected by their unwholesome habits and that no one had a right to criticise their way of life. Not surprisingly, his wife did not agree. She told me how bitterly she resented these rich vagabonds coming to her house, so much so that her conjugal happiness was threatened. She even mentioned that one of them was married to a girl who smoked and was always scantily clothed!

When my son heard her complaining to me about his friends, he was furious. He repeated all his old assertions about no one having any right to criticise his friends or their life-styles. I could do nothing to remove this bone of contention between husband and wife except to pray to the Lord to protect them both.

After spending several months at their house, I wanted to return to Pondicherry well before the August Darshan. But I was unable to procure a ticket. When only a month remained before the Darshan and I had still not been able to get a railway booking I began to worry. On no account did I want to miss the Darshan. I now approached a very good friend of mine, about whom I will speak later, in the hope that he might be able to exert some influence and arrange a ticket for me. This he was finally able to do, but for a date not as early as I had hoped it to be. I would be arriving just before the Darshan.

A few days after the ticket had been purchased, my husband died. Now at last I understood. I could not get the train ticket for when I wanted it because my Thakur knew I must be in Calcutta when my husband passed away. This was mainly because my son., being estranged from his father's family and having no one else to help him, would not have been able to manage the funeral on his own. How embarrassed and bewildered he would have been knowing nothing of the rites and rituals that he would have to perform!

Inscrutable are the ways of the Lord. How many times have I not seen flow he knows the past, the present and the future —in my own life and in that of others! And even so, I have so often failed to keep my trust in him. Such is human nature.