As a usual practice, I would discard the princesses and the princes; witches and enchantress; good versus evil immediately after my kids go to bed after their book ends. I would then pick my own book and immerse myself in the world of grown-ups and their predicaments in my own choice of books. But last night was different; no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t connect to the character Bette from the book I was reading. She got drunk; went crazy in a high couture party and wore brands worth dying for but I didn’t feel like getting in her world at all. (why? Got no explanation!)
I closed my book and put it aside. Lay holding my li’l one’s tiny fingers, feeling her soft breath near my cheek. I peeked further and tousled my other kiddo’s hair as she lay fluttering her eyelids lightly. “She is dreaming!” I said aloud in the dim room.
Still holding my li’l one’s hands I don’t remember when exactly I dozed off. Suddenly I found myself in a room buzzing with activity. There was sea of faces I didn’t recognize. People moving around; talking; smiling; laughing. A lady in navy blue skirt and a shirt two shades lighter caught my attention. “Ama!” I called out. She glanced towards me and came hurriedly carrying a plate. “See, I got you this,” and she handed me the plate with something that always had me licking my fingers.
“Come here, “she pulled me out of the throng of people buzzing around. She took me to a corner, it looked familiar but I didn’t try hard to figure out which room’s corner that was. As we took our seat and I dipped my fingers in that yummy dish for the last stroke, I remembered something I had to ask her. My lips seemed to have a life of its own. “Ama, in those last final days, I remember you casting glances at me and you seemed to have a lot to say. What was that you wanted to say?” I found myself asking her so casually as if death and dying is a temporary matter.
“Ong ni!( she always began her sentences with this). I knew I was dying and I wanted to tell you that I’m dying but I had lost my voice,” she explained. Warms tears gushed out of my eyes. It flooded my cheeks and I woke up with a start to find my pillow wet with fresh tears.
Sadness gripped me. A part of me wanted to go back to sleep and get a chance of meeting my ama once again but part of me ached with sadness that didn’t need a re- run of those pain filled moments. However, soon I again found myself in a room bustling with activity. I craned my neck trying to locate somebody, I didn’t know who. Someone pulled me by the hand. Startled, I found a lady in typical Bhutanese hair cut in mathra kira smiling at me. She was telling me something and I was laughing with her but neither could I hear our conversation nor did I know who that lady was.
“She also went from the same pyre your mother went,” I heard a distant voice reminding me. I saw my eyes widen with amazement as I saw another woman sitting close to us, she looked so familiar but was totally unaware of the woman who sat so comfortably nudging me and making me laugh. “Isn’t that your granddaughter?” I found myself asking the kind lady who looked in the direction I was looking to find a tiny girl with chinky eyes, moving with a toy in her hands. “Isn’t she a darling?” she said, her voice somehow soothed my furiously throbbing heart.
“Your mom and my mom, both passed away on the second,” the voice sounded again. I trembled and woke up once again. “Why did I see these two women who had already left us?” I kept on picturing my own mom and the other mom who in reality was a stranger to me. There was something two of them were trying to tell me but what? I kept on tossing and turning, thinking of the two women and feeling their touch; remembering the way I smiled with them and how comfortable it felt being with them.
Outside a dog cried in a melancholic tone.
Does it mean something?
