Faith and courage by Raj Chatterjee

Her late husband was my wife’s godfather. He and my father-in-law had taught philosophy, in the same college, in Kanpur for many years. She was the daughter of a general and had met him in Shimla where he was on leave.
Long before Independence they had left India. After her husband’s demise she continued to correspond with my wife. There was always a Christmas card in December and a couple of newsy letters during the year. A few years ago we heard from a mutual friend that she had suffered a stroke and was in a nursing home.
For months afterwards there was no news. We feared the worst. Then came an aerogramme written with a shaky hand but clear enough to convey her message. The stroke had left her with double vision and she could no longer drive her little car, a nuisance because she had to depend on her neighbours to do her shopping.
We were on leave in the U.K. We drove down to see her. We found her looking frail, which is not surprising at 80, but otherwise fit enough to manage her cottage on her own with only part-time help.
We had driven down from Hampton on a Saturday, arriving just before lunch. Not wishing to put a great strain on her, we had intended leaving after breakfast the following day. But she wouldn’t hear of it. Mrs Parfit, the “help”, had got her a nice cut of lamb and she would be disappointed if we didn’t stay for it.
In the evening, after a sumptuous tea, we went for a walk down narrow and winding lanes strewn with russet leaves. The old lady led the way, thumping the ground with her rubber-tipped stick.
On our way back we came to a little pub. “I’m sure you’d like to take a look inside”, she said, “And when you join us at home, there will be a glass of sherry waiting for you”. They left me there. Ladies of her generation did not visit pubs.
During lunch on Sunday she told us that her only son and his wife lived a few miles away in a neighbouring country. “Why don’t you live with them?” we asked, “Especially now that you have had a stroke and need someone to look after you”.
“I’d hate to be a burden to anyone” she said. “They used to come and see me once a week, but when petrol prices went up I persuaded them to make it once a fortnight. I’m never really lonely with my TV and my happy memories”.
She waved to us as we drove away. There was a smile on her face that spoke of faith and courage. Faith in the goodness of her friends and courage to take life as it came till she was called to rest.

Source: The Tribune, Chandigarh, India.

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