“We are taking her for immediate surgery. Just now. I am just an instrument of God. Please pray. Tell him to be with me all the way”. What beautiful words from a man of medicine. My mother survived. I survived. Her very first words when coming out of the anesthesia had been “How many teeth has our baby?” It became the joke of the day and many days to come in the nursing home. Also among our friends and kin life went on.
My father had been flitting from one vehicle to another, begging, appealing to all his friends at Polonnaruwa to help him get to Colombo. He was an engineer. He made it. The anxiety and the stress made him a blood pressure patient. In later years, we remembered with love, how our neighbours had rushed to hospital with mother, throwing dressing gowns over their night dresses. One had coconut scrapings and flour on her hands. She had been mixing them to make ‘pittu’ for breakfast. She had not even bothered to wash her hands. Such people are indeed rare. God bless them.
I lost my father when I was twelve. His blood pressure and an ailing heart took him away from us. His pension and mothers salary as a trained teacher kept us going. One day, I was injured while cutting a tree in our garden. Mother was in the varandah. She ran out with a cry. I ran up to her holding my arm. Bleeding. She tripped. Struck her ankle on a zinc sheet. Profuse bleeding. We sat on the steps. My blood was mingling with hers. We laughed. She embraced me. An unforgettable incident. Neighbours took us to the doctor – recalling identical memories. I did well in my exams. My mother being a dedicated teacher was always with me in my studies. We lived in contentment.
I excelled. Mother knew that I would follow in the footsteps of my dear departed father. I had a dream. A vocation. I told my mother about my dream. She cried. Held me close. Kissed my forehead. I could feel her tears on my face. I wanted to join the army. Told her that my greatest assets were my mother and my motherland. She understood. She nodded. She gave her assent with a smile. A truly great Lady.
Two wonderful mothers. One, a donor and the other a recipient. Excelled in the army! Specialized training in sandhurst and many other countries. I loved the army.
The army loved me. Came home for a short vacation. A proud mother to welcome me. Never let me out of her sight. Your place in here with your mother” she said. “Tell your friends that they are welcome here at any time”. She invited her good friends and relatives home. She made all my favourite dishes and sweets that I used to enjoy. We spoke for long hours. About our beloved father. About our wonderful life together with father and later the two of us. Our trips to the hills, the seaside. About our truly great neighbours who were by our side the day I came to this world.
Returned to the front. My assignments took me to the very vortex of the battlefront, highly classified work was injured. Serious. Much blood lost. Airlifted to Colombo. Mother was beside me. At my bed side. Concerned, But acting brave. I told her that the blood I had lost was nothing compared to the blood that she had, had to part with when bringing me to this world. She cried. She smiled. She said yes. She stroked my head and my face. She was there with me for long hours, holding my hands. Sometimes resting her head on my pillow. At times fast asleep, much to the sighs and sympathetic whispers of the hospital staff. Visitors marvelled her. I felt very very proud. Wanted! another three pints of blood. Ours was a very rare blood group. Unobtainable. So, three pints of love in the form of maternal blood began to mingle once again with mine in my veins.
I was back to near normal. Mother was very elated. Had to get back to the front soon. Maternal pampering unlimited. Mother was worried. Worried about my future. A suitable partner? I told her most lovingly that, being a solider, and at most times in danger zones, engaged in highly classified activities, my life was at risk. At all times, and that should I marry.
I would be transferring a part of that risk to my would be partner. It would be for better not to start building a family bridge, than to start building one and then wreck I half way. She understood. She was an angel. Back in action. Injured. Honourably relieved of my duties. With mother. The happiest mother in the world. I was with her. Felicitations, decorations galore. Even from the highest in the land. Mother was there by my wheel-chair at all these functions. Smiling, with a glimpse of pride and glistening eyes as if to say “Look all of you, this is my son, my only child”.
My many injuries were taking their toll. Back in hospital with several haemorrhaging. I knew that I was going. Asked my lovely doctors. Yes, things were bad. Very bad. The irony of it. I had to keep my doctors and colleagues in a happy mood than vice-versa. But mother should not be even given the slightest indication about my condition. Another transfusion.
My mother was once again watching her beautiful red blood being fed in to my blood stream-drop by drop. My mind went back to that immortal song Lay Kiri Kara La” How true. Yesterday, I sucked life giving milk from her, today, she is feeding me with her blood. I cried, turning my face from her.
That evening, a very high ranking officer colleague and his family were by my bed side. He told me that my mother had told some of them. “I know and I am proud of him. I am honoured to be one of the many mothers who have gifted their sons to our motherland”, she had cried. “We too were terribly upset” said my friend wiping a tear. “A very brave and gallant lady. I wish all our mothers be made of such quality.”
“Then I knew. Then I knew that she knew. I was now prepared to embark on my long journey.
So this recording of my life. I am entrusting my sweet and honourable friend to take care of my recording on my mini tape.”
I made peace with the one whom I believed in. Now I am with the ordained one. He spoke to me. I feel so peaceful. Mother is here with me.
I sang her favourite song-CT’s immortal ‘Maa Baala Kaalay’. Many are around me. Three hours to midnight. I can feel her hands. The very same, that hugged me and held me close when I injured my hand. I am drifting. She is looking at me. A look, only a mother shows on her face. I am tightening my grip on her. I made a gesture. Yes! She is bringing her face to mine. She is bringing me close to her bosom.
I must smile. She is smiling. I said “Can you remember my famous words?” She is nodding. Biting her lips. “Thatha and you were thrilled to hear them.“ Amma Ukum Bibi Dhoi, Amma Ukum Bibi Dhoi, Amma is controlling herself. Now she is holding me tight. Both her arms are round me. I feel so full of joy. Now it not her blood, but her maternal warmth that was giving fountains of heat to me, a dying son. No, never. No one on earth can replace a mother.
As for me, my darling was with me from Cradle to Grave.”
I am going to switch off my recorder. I am about to set off on a very long journey of no return.
May the blessed one to whom I am so grateful Bless my Mother and My Motherland.
Courtesy - Daily News - Siripathy Jayamaha
