Indomitable Kate, lonesome Vinitha

At Home

By Ransiri Menike Silva

Kate was an integral part of our complex. She was already there when I moved in. Not a prominent member, she could be seen spying on us from distant corners. She wore short frocks, had short hair, was fair in complexion but appeared unable to converse. The landlord and workers were protective of her and paid special attention to her. She was quite young, had a peculiar gait and a touch of mental disability or insanity, I could not decide which, stamped on her face. It unnerved me until I heard her story.

She was from a ‘good’ family and as an infant had fallen on her head, resulting in permanent brain damage. She was ‘simple’ unable to attend to her own needs and had to be looked after carefully on a 24-hour basis. This attention she received from her loving family. Time flew. Her siblings reached adulthood and had to go out for work. The parents were too elderly to manage her by themselves. Having heard of our complex they appealed to our landlord. Moved by compassion he took on the task, and there was Kate, our mascot.

She was seen picking up all kinds of things and storing them in her room. Sometimes they extended to larger items like door mats, towels and clothes racks. Hauling them away to be stored in her room, which she guarded with a ferocity of a tigress protecting her cubs. On the whole, she was happy and friendly towards us all and we, in turn, were protective of her. Having observed her fancy towards trinkets I would gift her unbreakable plastic bangles and chains which thrilled her.

Then it came time for me to leave and take up residence in my brother’s annexe in Colombo. I was sorry to leave but the new location would be more convenient for all my activities, and I would be with my family once again. Kate watched me from afar as I started packing away my belongings and dismantling my furniture. She was the star bystander when the lorry drove up and the goods were packed in. The lorry drove away, and after handing over the keys to the landlord, I wished him and my friends a heart-rending farewell. I knew I would never meet them again.

Kate was very much a part of the show although it was apparent that she did not understand what all the fuss was about. I got into my brother’s car and as we drove away I waved to my friends and they waved back. The most enthusiastic was Kate who followed the car running, still waving vigorously and laughing gaily. It was a fitting farewell.

And now to Vinitha whose story is a sad one indeed. She moved in about a year or two after I established myself in a new home after a brief stint in my brother’s annexe. She was not pleasant looking, almost comical in fact. She rented out the room directly across mine and I would see her leaning against the doorpost when not otherwise occupied. She was short and dumpy, with enormous breasts that drooped, embarrassingly obvious under the shabby clothes she wore. A distinctly obnoxious sight. But to counteract this negative view I found her an interesting talker.

I learnt that she was only recently widowed and being childless, had decided to enter a ‘home’. To my surprise it turned out she was previously employed. She had only recently retired from her post as a senior matron in a private nursing home. My regard instantly rose on hearing this. Her story gradually unfolded itself.

She had met her husband, of a similar medical background, got romantically involved and married. They were happy but as the years went by no children blessed the union. They were sad and finally decided to seek a solution by consulting several specialists, Western, Ayurveda and spiritual, but their fervent prayers were left unanswered.

Finally, an eminent specialist, a professor, advised them to undergo some vital medical tests, separately. As her menstrual cycle was regular, tests confirmed that her reproductive system was in working order. Her husband, on the other hand, turned out to be ‘sterile’. Both coming from a medical background, they discussed the possibility of rectifying this by ‘artificial’ means.

They were familiar with new advances in technology, including ‘in vitro’ fertilisation, wherein the ovum of the wife could be fertilised with the sperm of the husband in the lab. Here was something to hope for and they brightened up. But first, samples of sperm and ovum had to be tested separately. When this was done, her ‘egg’ proved to be fertile while his sperm was undeniably sterile. They could never be upgraded so they could conceive, even with special treatment, due to a genetic disorder. They were devastated, their dreams crushed, but not ended.

There was one more chance available, in the form of an anonymous donor from the sperm bank. Neither of them had wished to adopt another’s orphaned child as it would not carry their own blood. Here at least, the baby would be related to one parent. Vinitha was jubilant and her husband thrilled at the chance of having a complete family. However, before subjecting herself to the procedure, she needed to consult her husband regarding something that had been troubling her.

So she asked him, “When we bring up this child together, will you be able to love him, as he is another man’s child and not your own? “Of course,” he had replied. “I will love and care for him always, as our child. But I will never consider him my own son, I couldn’t, for he will not be of my own blood.” She was devastated, but he had been honest. And so she gave up all hopes of bearing her own child and remained childless until his premature death.

She was still young then, enough to bear a child and seriously considered it. Here was her chance to fulfil her unrealised dream. She could be a mother at last! She could give birth to her own child! Then she stopped in her tracks, faced by stark reality. If she had a baby now, how could she explain her pregnancy? It had been over a year since her husband’s passing. Surely he could not be named the father posthumously. Then who would it be?

Her condition would create a terrible scandal, not only for herself but also her relatives. So she was forced to give up the idea and sobbed in despair every night. She went on living, showering all her maternal love on other people’s children, out of frustration. The last part of her story I heard directly from her when I visited her at another elder’s home she had moved into, after leaving ours. Her story saddened me. What a terrible crime she must have committed in some past birth, to suffer so much in this life. She may have been an abortionist, legal or otherwise, I reflected. There could be no other explanation.

It was a lesson and warning for all to be wary of our thoughts and actions every moment of our lives. That is restraining one’s mind, genuine meditation, not the physical posturing to impress others that is now touted as ‘meditation’.