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His Mother's Wish by Promodini Parayitam: Indian Review: Short Stories
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When Chup Vakil came home from his interview, he didnt expect his mother to ask him to help her die. As
he contemplated his mothers request, the day flashed through his mind: pale grey cubicles, women
clerks, black ties matching thick mustaches, firm doorsan inauspicious, solid blackcold air from the
AC raising the hair on his arms, and a large street sign reading Golconda Legal Associates of Radhapur in
Hindi. Why should we hire you? They spoke only in Englishnot his mother tonguebut he managed.
He had been a lawyer for nine years, recently laid off due to financial reasons but with good references
and not a blemish on his record. The conference hall smelled of lilac air freshener and dark coffee. He sat
alone on one side of the table in his lucky suit. You did well, the secretary told him as she printed his
appointment letter. Her name was Rosa Andrewsa Kerala Christian. She had unruly, curly hair and her
dark skin highlighted the whites of her eyes. She looked like his Paro when she smiled. But now, his
petite, wrinkled mother in a crimson, cotton sari waited for an answer. Ma, I cant do that. He stared at
her lap, trying to think of ways to distract her. She sighed. But Chup, its my wish. I wont. Wont? But
you wont even have to strain your muscles, Son. Ma, what would you like for dinner? He headed
toward his room to undress. I want to die, she said. Death cant seem to find me fast I got the job. I
knew you would. Lord Ganesh told me already. Amma Kaosalya smiled despite her missing canines. My
sons a lawyer for the best law firm in town. What would you like for dinner, Ma? he asked again but she
didnt reply. Having cooked for years now since the death of his father, he moved with ease in the kitchen.
Labeled containers of lentils, sugar, paprika, turmeric, curry powder, oil, and rice were organized on
white-washed, stone shelves. The refrigerator was only used to store bananas and homemade yogurt. A
red, gas cylinder was attached to a steel stove. Following the doctors orders for Amma Kaosalyas diet,
he made some flour rotis and garbanzo beans with low salt and spice. She leaned against the kitchen
door for support. Every few minutes, her face broke into another smile as she exclaimed, My sons a
lawyer. They ate dinner outside in the veranda, enjoying the cool night breeze coming in from the wired
screens. They had a small front yard with jasmine, marigold and rose shrubs. Chup cut the flowers for his
pujas. Mr. Vakil built the veranda just for the breeze Their house was the only one with lights still on in
their neighborhood. Most of their neighbors were newly-weds or families with very young children. I know,
Ma. You told me. He was a builder. Heby the way, Mrs. Calulu had another dream. About her
daughter running off with their milkman again? Mrs. Calulu, a God-fearing widow living with her
twenty-year-old daughter, often worried about whether or not she had raised the girl with rich Indian
values. Anisha, the daughter, was nice enough, didnt really talk much, at least not to Chup or any of the
other grown men in their neighborhood. Nonetheless Mrs. Calulu feared her daughter might someday
elope with a roadside Romeo, a hoodlum, a nalayak and she would have to answer to her husband in
heaven. No, this time it was about her daughter eloping with a girl. Poor Mrs. Calulu. What does she
know about youngsters these days? Son, if only sheshe needs to find Anisha a husband. No more
study-duddy, I say. Ma, stay out of their business, Chup warned. Oh, ra. I know. They gossiped more
about their neighbors and talked about Mr. Vakils days. Chup felt he made Amma forget her wish to be
drowned in the waters of Varanasi.
However, the conversation Chup avoided that night became a daily event. Listen, Son, it was your
fathers last wish. Amma said as Chup tied his shoelaces. He didnt ask me, so I dont have to do it. God
doesnt permit murder, Ma. He checked his briefcase twice to make sure he remembered his files. Its
not murder if I want this. Ma first, then God, go read the Vedas. Dont try to school your Ma. She yelled
on his way out of the door. Every morning and night, he tried to avoid the conversations, push them aside,
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distract her from morbid thoughts, be definitive in his answers, be optimistic, tell her to be happy, remind
her of Mr. Vakil, but no matter what he did, its effects only lasted until the next day when his mother would
bring up her request again. He forgot to pack his lunch. He spent the day in his rectangular cubicle
thinking of new ways to help his mother at least for that night. He was distracted. He turned in his reports
late. It wont happen again, he repeated to his bosses. He was rude to the clients. He lost the easiest
cases. He failed to show up on time for hearings. He forgot important meetings and deadlines. He was
late to work three days out of the week. After three months, even the secretary saw him as the weakest
link until they cut him. They were nice about it, told him it was a financial decision, the firm wasnt doing
as well as they had hoped, and he was the last to be hired so the first to be fired. It was life. It happened.
In fact, he wouldnt have come home sad had the secretary not said do the work at your next job, Chup,
on his way out of the black doors. He leaned against a wooden column in the living room with a crumpled
termination letter in his hands. Wet sweat stained the back of his collared shirt and poured down his face.
Ma, they fired me. His lips quivered, but his mother neither heard nor saw him. Son, Shiva talked to me
today. He said it was written that youll end my life in the holy waters of Varanasi, she said. Youll
cleanse me of my sins. Chup didnt care to argue. Not that day. He sunk to the floor and put his head in
his hands. Fine, Mayou want to go die? Then, lets go. Throughout dinner, she told Chup, Your father
built this house when we married, you know? Now Ill join him. Well build a new houseright next to
God, as the cool night air filled the veranda. Chup knew she blamed herself for Mr. Vakils heart attack.
She wasnt a good wife. She cut corners while sweeping the floors; she didnt wash all the dirty dishes or
clothes with real detergent; she used more than the recommended salt or butter; she never reminded Mr.
Vakil to take his medications. God punished me. She told the psychiatrist after years of therapy. Nothing
I can do now. I have to apologize in personin heaven.
After a few sleepless nights, regretting his words to Amma, Chup decided to visit the temple closest to his
house, missing another interview in the morning. It was an old, roadside temple, built in the fifties after the
independence. An old man had married a young, pious girl and his wedding present to her was this little
Ganesh temple built along what became a main road. Faded red and white stripes along with the
unadorned, black Ganesh statue didnt attract as many visitors now as it once had; heading for the bus
stop across the street, unemployed men paid enough homage to keep the priest and the temple barely
running. Passing cars, motorcycles, city-buses and people drowned the priests mantras. Regardless of
how loud he recited, the road remained indifferent. Chup came to the temple often to hear Bhagvad-Gita
and ease his mind. Chup? Golconda job well? the priest asked, scratching his graying hair. His orange
dhothi was wrapped around his waist and a white thread hung across his chest. It was a punishment to be
assigned to lowly, roadside temples, but after five years, the priest forgot his crime and assumed, with
great optimism, he had been meant to work there for some greater purpose. Chup held out his hands to
receive the prasad. They let me go. After a moment of pause, the priest said, Chup. Dont worry.
Ganesh has other plans for you. Im sure. Chup nodded. God tests his devotees. Just the other day, a
young girlI dont know whoin so much trouble, Chup. She was crying, crying with happiness. Her
mother needed some heart operation. Over two lakhs. The priest shook his head and pointed at the black
idol inside the dome, But Ganesh helped her. How did she manage two lakhs, Guruji? The priest
chuckled. She only had three thousand rupees. She went on a yatra. Poor girl. Didnt eat anything for
three days. But God heard her prayer. He raised his hands in praise and then stroked his wispy, gray
beard. The hospital called her when she came back. They told her it was a mistake. They switched some
reports. Her mother only had a small indigestion, heart burn problem. No operation needed. The priest
gazed up at the sky. See, God is great. Chup smiled. Even though he didnt know the girl, it inspired him
to know that she wouldnt be motherless because of money. Leaving the smiling priest, he used the fifty
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rupees he had in his shirt pocket to take an auto to the train reservation office. He traveled around the city
arranging money, tickets, clothing, and food. When he returned home in the evening, he told his mother,
Ill keep my word, Ma. Ill take you to Varanasi. She turned to a picture of her dead husband on the wall.
Your sons very much like you. I know youre so proud. But Ma, before Varanasi, we must go on the
Char Dham Yatra. What yatra? Char Dham Yatra is a pilgrimage. You have to do this if you want to
enter into heaven. It washes away all sins, even better than Varanasi. Well see Puri Jagannath in the
east, Ram in Rameshwaram in the south, Krishnas Dwaraka in the west, and of course, your own
Badrinath in the north. Four temples. But it seems like a waste when Im so close to seeing God directly.
Ma, babuji would want you to go. Dont you want to see him in heaven? At the mention of her husband,
she nodded in agreement pretending to understand and didnt argue anymore. So it was settled. Days
later, after asking Mrs. Calulu multiple times to watch for robbers and water the flowers, the pair set off on
their pilgrimage, neither knowing the others thoughts.
Although Chup was exhausted from the sleepless train ride, Amma Kaosalya didnt waste any time
unpacking in the hotel room. There is so much to see, Chup. Were in Puri. Can you believe it? They left
the hotel room in the evening for dinner. She was wearing her cotton yellow sari and he, the khaki
trousers she had sewn for this thirtieth birthday. The sun was setting. Street markets and vendors turned
on their lights to illuminate the insides of the shops. The owners yelled from the front counter at the
passerby to Come try on these pajamas, Try our new eggplant curry, or Buy an idol of Ganesh today
and receive a free painting. Children played with emerald marbles, using only the light given off by the
various shops along the street. Laughter, yelling, different languages were masked by the waves of the
sea. Three women, heading toward Chup, carried woven baskets on their head filled with bananas,
mangoes, and coconuts. They were street sellers. Their skin was dark and if they hadnt been wearing
bright clothing, Chup wondered if he wouldve seen them at night. But even as he wondered, he
remembered that he always noticed Paro. Even when she wore her favorite black sari, she never failed to
attract his attention. The tight black blouse gave the impression that she was nude. For a moment, Chup
fancied seeing her at a temple. She loved singing at temples. It wasnt unlikely. After all, summer was
peak season for pilgrimages. They walked to a side street daba where Chup thought it was quiet enough
to enjoy a meal. The daba had few wooden tables low to the ground with net chairs even lower. In the
corner, a middle-aged man scolded his teenage son in harsh, hushed tones while the boy wiped his tears
on his shirt sleeves. The only light came from a bulb directly over the stove. The cook was a young man
with bushy black hair wearing a stained wife-beater. After dinner, his mother wanted to walk along the
beach. Over a hundred steps lead from the temple to the shoreline. The temple entrance faced the sea.
Tourists, fellow pilgrims, children, newly-weds, seniors, ice-cream vendors and beggars stared at the
ocean waiting for it to change its monotony, but it only disappointed them. From the beach, no one could
see the dancing sculptures on the temple dome. They were just shadows. Chup could only see the vague
outline of the cemented dome against a sparkling, navy blue sky. Chup moved along between two
massive objects, the Bay of Bengal, created by God and the temple, created by man for God. It all
seemed circular, and he felt his mother as the focal point. A prickling feeling near his left buttocks
interrupted his thoughts. Chup grabbed behind him and pulled forth a small boy with a razor blade in his
hand. Sir, the boy said, youve thought wrong. Twists not a thief; you had a bug on your pants. Twist
tried to kill it. The boy couldnt have been more than eight or nine. He was wearing a faded white T-shirt
and short trousers. His skin was as dark as the night sky. Whats your name? The boys wrist felt like a
bone with a cloth wrapped around it. Twists name is Twist Oliver, sir, but sir can call him Twist. Been his
name since he heard a golden haired angel say it. So, Twist, Chup held back a smile, where is the bug
then? Twist gulped. Sir, sorry. Sir, Twist just lied. Twist hasnt had anything to eat in two days. His
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stomach told him to Where are your parents? Chups mother asked, standing behind the boy. Twists
parents? Theyre lostsomewhere. Theyre not dead, just lost. You mean you ran away, boy? Amma
Kaosalya turned him around to face her. WellTwist did what needed doing. Amma Kaosalya bent
toward Twist. Son, are you stupid? Why would you run away from your parents? Ma, Chup said, we
should feed him tonight. They walked to the same roadside daba and ordered a couple of chapathis and
spicy, red kidney beans. Amma kept Twist at a distance. But why did you run away, Son? Are your
parents from here? Can we help you find them? Chup leaned against the bamboo fence and listened
while his mother interrogated the eating boy. Twist knows Twist should do what pleases Twist. Does
that include addressing yourself as some sort of God? Amma Kaosalya scoffed. Thats what Twist likes
to do, so Twist does itparents wanted him to study like the Brahmin kids, but that wasnt what Twist
wanted, so Twist told them to get lost. Amma Kaosalya glanced at Chup. See my son Chup? Hes a
good boy. Hes a good sona lawyer because he listened to his parentswanted to be some arthur
personno, wait, author, but no way, Mr. Vakil told him no and that was the end. He never ran away like
you, no, no You like beinga liar? Twist asked Chup. Chup, caught off guard, forced a weak smile,
while his mother replied for him, No, hes a lawyer, not liarand of course he does. Hes working for the
best firm in our town. Why wouldnt he like it? Well, Twist doesnt want to be a lawyersounds too much
like liar. Amma Kaosalya grimaced as the boy finished his meal. Chup, who had been silently watching
the scene, dug in his pocket for some cash. He gave it to the boy and told him to never steal if you can
live without doing so, a memorized moral bit, before helping his reluctant mother back to the hotel.
It was a two-day journey to Rameshwaram, Tamil Nadu from Puri, Orissa by train. The train had bunked
beds made of pale blue, pleather and at night it tried rocking its passengers to sleep with its high speed.
But restless passengers moved through the corridors all night. The bathroom smelled like feces and urine
no matter how often the facilities officer claimed it was cleaned. Once an hour, the train bellowed a whistle
stirring a baby or scaring an old man. The ticket collector came by after every train station to count empty
seats. Chup, Im hungry. Can I have some chips? Amma asked the second morning as he came down
from the top berth. The outdoor platform was busy with greetings and goodbyes. It was a hot day and the
sun beat down on the concrete. Fruit flies landed on people looking for shade. The vendors sold bottled
water, warm chai, bags of chips, magazines like Swathi and some abridged English novels. Chup bought
a bottled Dasani and unsalted potato chips. His mother was talking to a young couple when he returned.
They had seats opposite the mother and son. They seemed to be in their early twenties. They told Amma
Kaosalya the town was Nelloru and introduced themselves as Ravi and Rani. Rani kept looking out the
barred window, pushing her hair back. Chup opened the bag of chips for his mother. He wanted to ask the
girl if everything was okay, but didnt. His mother, however, never restrained her thoughts. Is everything
okay, dear? Rani and Ravi exchanged looks before Rani answered, My parents might be here looking
for us. Her voice faltered. Weve eloped. Amma Kaosalya narrowed her eyes and turned to face the
platform outside. Oh. Ravi replied while the girl bowed her head, We had no choice. Her fathers a
faction leader here. He wouldve killed me. No, noits not your fault Amma sat on her hands and
rocked back and forth. I blame those bloody love cinemas. Look at you twoNot more than twenty and
already this love-shove business. In my time, our parents decision was final. None of todays nons
Chup placed a hand on Ammas shoulder. Chup, ra, what has happened to Indian culture? Its okay,
Ma. No, ra. Its not okay. Im embarrassed for her father. Look, we can move if Ravi grabbed his
suitcase. No, its fine. Dont worry about it. Chup told him. He knew the couple wasnt offended. They
would know most of his mothers generation was against love marriages. They sat in silence until the train
left the green pastures and farmland of Nelloru. Amma Kaosalya kept her eyes on the boy and girl. My
son always respected his father the most But he had a love story tooHe didnt run off like you two. He
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listened to us. The lovers didnt say anything, only exchanged guilty looks. Chup put his other hand on his
mothers shoulder again to calm her. But she brushed it off, Im not saying anything. Ma, not our place.
Why isnt it? We need to correct the youth nowadays. Chup gleaned his mind for ideas to distract her.
But she continued, Paro, Paro Gupta that was her name, right, Chup? Chup looked away and she took it
as affirmation. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His mother continued, Chup loved Paroyes, he
did. It was his love story. They had dreams of marriage, children, houseBut Mr. Vakil didnt approve.
Love isnt the only thing in life. Caste? Rani asked. No, color. Paro was very darktoo dark for our
Chup. Rani and Ravi, who had wheatish complexions, both knew most families wanted fair-skinned
daughter-in-laws. She was well educatedfrom a decent family, only child, everything was fine. Even the
dowry was approved. Her skin was just too dark, not the poor girls fault. It was her father. She tried every
facial cream to lighten her skinFair and Lovely, Lacto Calamine lotion, sunscreen. Poor girl. It was her
fathers fault. They say love is blind said Ravi. Love is blind, but should it be foolish? The wind
coming in from the windows ruffled her sari. Did your son marry someone else? asked Rani. No, hes
too busy these days, taking care of my old bones, Amma said. He works for a law firm in Radhapur. Any
girl would be lucky to have him. She patted Chups knees. My father wouldnt understand. He wanted me
to marry my cousinfamily money, said Rani. He would never approve of Ravi because hes Shudra
and were Kshatriya. Ravi held her hand, We dont have to justify our decision to them, Rani. Sure, love
nowthen divorce in a yearyoull see why parents say things they do. When the attractions gone, what
then? Ma, stop. Chup opened his eyes and stared at his mother. Its not attraction. What do you know?
Not everyone can be like your son. Our love is important to usmore important than parents who dont
bother to understand us, said Rani. Okay, dears. Do as you please. Who am I to tell you otherwise?
Amma whispered stubborn youth to Chup. His mother coughed and Chup handed her a water bottle.
The movement of the train soon weighed her head down; she fell asleep on her sons shoulder. They
crossed a narrow river onto more golden, wheat fields. Rani and Ravi talked amongst themselves about
their decision, Ranis parents, the temple marriage, the money they had brought, moving to the city,
apartment, jobs, children, and then maybe come back years later to apologize to Ranis father. The
images in Chups mind moved around in his sleep. A dark girl materialized on the back of his eyelids. The
only part of the picture that was clear was her left dimpled cheek. She had the most perfect dimple, but
only on her left cheek. She smiled and he smiled back. Paro, he said, will you be a Vakil one day?
Paros dimple faded as the train came to a halt in Rameshwaram, Tamil Nadu. The lovers had already left.
There was some confusion initially, but then the mother and son, recovering from their nap, gathered their
luggage and left the train. Even from the platform, they could hear the temple bells. The afternoon sun
made the concrete outside their hotel shine. The manager only spoke Tamil, but he had an assistant
speak to Chup in Hindi. The room had no air-conditioning but was twenty rupees per night. After they
refreshed, they went to the temple. Chup had to fight his way through the crowd just to help his mother
see the statue. Holy music, candle lights, incense and the smell of jasmine filled the inside of the temple.
The statue was covered with large rose, jasmine and marigold garlands. Gold bars stopped the
worshippers from coming too close to the statue or priest. Om bhur bhuvas suvaha tat savitur vareNyaM
bhargo devasya dhmahi dhiyo yo nah prachodayt A woman sang into the microphone in the far right
corner of the temple. Chup thought he recognized the voice so he fought hard to see her face. Paro
She wasnt more than a few feet away from him, singing with a child in her arms. The boy wiggled, but she
didnt lose her concentration on the notes. People moved around a dark man behind her. Even from far
away, Chup saw her left dimple when she moved her head away from his direction. Her hair was pulled
back into a single braid, just like he liked it. Her dark skin glistened in the candle light of the temple. He
had the sudden urge to walk to her, to hug her, to run his finger over her dimple, but he knew he couldnt.
She was married. She was probably celebrating, praying for her marriage. She had a husband, a child,
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and hehe had his mother. It seemed absurd to him, seeing Paro there with a child in her arms. He
thought it was his imagination, his eyes, or something about the singing that might have made him think of
her. He searched for Amma Kaosalya, but she too had seen the singing woman. Not only seen, but was
inching her way through the crowd toward her. It had been over five years since he had told Paro he
couldnt marry her. He told her she was too beautiful for him and then, that he wanted to focus on his
career, become a member of Golconda, successful, rich. Marriage was a distraction he couldnt afford.
She accused him of lying, slapped him and wished him to fail. He didnt tell her that her complexion ruined
their chances; he didnt tell her it was her fathers fault. He didnt tell her he couldnt stand up for her in
front of Mr. Vakil. And now, he couldnt tell her he was sorry. He found his mother before Paros saw them.
Isnt that Paro? she asked. Yes, ma. Were leaving. He pushed through the crowd with his mother
behind him. But what aboutI want to say hellAre you afraid? Ma, I dont want to talk to her. But
why not? She looked marriedI was Ma, please. He turned around and shook her. I dont want her
to see me. She winced when his fingers tightened around her arms. You yell at your Ma? she said.
Majust stop. You dont understand He relaxed his fingers, regretting his anger. Why wouldnt a Ma
understand her son. I know you, Son. I really do. Youre a talented lawyeryou wor Yes, for the best
firm in town. No, Ma, no, I was fired. I was fired. I was fired. What? she said offended, you mean,
youve lied to me all this time? He heard Paro singing even from outside the temple. His eyes stung from
tears. Loud bells rang inside the temple as if their function was to keep God and his devotees awake for
the ceremonies. I bet youre lying to me now too, arent you? Amma accused her son. What are
youMa, dont you hear me? Taking me to the Varanasi was a lie. You werent taking me there, were
you? Why would I? God of the Universe, All mighty, save us from reincarnation. Cleanse our sins.
Everyone yelled praises when the singing ended. You lied to me? asked his mother. Ma, Im not helping
you drown. Its a crime, sin, Ma. Understand Its a sin to lie to your Ma but you still lied. Ma, were
going home. He said, regaining his composure. He had hoped the yatra would clear her mind. No. Ive
disgraced my husband. You lie to your own Ma. Youre a liar, you liar. A liar. By now the people around
the street started to take interest in the mother-son conversation. Chup, aware of the people, turned to his
mother and said, Please, stop. Ill do it. They returned to the hotel, but Chup didnt sleep most of the
night. The next morning, Amma made him buy direct tickets to Varanasi. He protested, but she didnt
listen. I wont drown her. I wont drown her, he recited as he walked back to the hotel room with the
tickets in his hand. He would not help her. He would take her there, to Varanasi, let her bathe in the
waters, but wouldnt help her drown. He wouldnt. I wont was his mantra. He wished she would
understand. He couldnt help her die. No, I wont do it. But she refused to speak to him. As they drew
closer to the city, Chup worried about his mother. She stopped eating altogether even refusing water. She
shook her head. I dont need a liars help to live. Too bad, he thought, thats the only help Ill offer. The
morning they arrived at Varanasi, Chup gently tapped her face. His mother didnt wake up when the train
stopped as she usually did. He wet his hands and touched her face with lukewarm water. Her eyes
opened. The passengers around him were busy gathering their luggage and finding family on the station.
He kneeled next to his mother, We need to go home, Ma. You are a really good son, she said. Ma, are
you okay? Youre a really good son. Ma, why are you saying Because youre a good son. He
helped her lean against the window. Ma, homelets go. But before he could move her, she said, Son,
please do this last thing I ask. Take me to the river. She coughed and Chup handed her the water bottle.
Let me let you be free. Ma, I wont do it. Just get over it. Were going to the hospital. So Ive really
raised a liar, havent I? Chup led his mother toward the river. She walked slowly, holding his arm. Yatra
was supposed to work. He cried, The priest said it did. It has to work. God, hear me. Help me. She
closed her eyes and leaned on his shoulder. He kept his eyes on the pale, brown river. Wide steps ran
into the water. Women and men bathed in separate areas while the children bathed with their mothers.
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They sprawled out on the concrete steps with their towels, clothes, jewelry, and food. They held their
hands together in namaskar and dipped three times before returning to shore and changing into dry
clothes. They walked out sinless, washed and renewed facing the temple on the waters edge. Dark
orange, pastel blue, and saffron colored buildings with golden flags mounted on their windows faced the
water. But the water didnt reflect their colors. It didnt even reflect the sky. It was dirty, but most didnt
doubt that they were clean when they walked out. If not physically, then at least in the way that mattered
most. Their dripping clothes wet the concrete steps closest to the water. Chup walked down the steps.
Women and men pushed past him, vying for the best spots. Here. Were here, wake up. Chup nudged
his mothers head with his shoulder, you want to die so badly, there it is. Now, lets go home. She
opened her eyes. Her face was pale. She trudged toward the water, bending forward to keep her balance.
Chup stayed where she left him. I wont he recited. When she was more than ten steps below him, she
glanced back over her shoulder. Chup shook his head I wont. She turned her back toward him again.
Loose gray hairs from her bun fell down her back. She held up her sari with one hand. She moved toward
the next step. Nearby, a dark woman spread out her sons wet clothes on the drier parts of the steps. A
man in a white wife-beater held his daughter on his shoulders as he dipped into the water. Once. Twice. A
mantra for sins. As the man and his daughter emerged from the water, her heel slipped. Their splashes
didnt mask the crack of Ammas head as the grey concrete turned maroon. Chup held out his hand as he
ran down the steps. Her body curled on two steps with her finger pointing toward river. Ma? Chup cried.
Ma. Someone help. He ran down the steps to his mothers body. He searched for a pulse on her neck,
but there was none. Ma, now what? He checked for a pulse again. Ma, what do you want now? Tell me,
Ma. Ma, please? Am I still a liar? People pushed past him to the river to wash their sins, not bothering to
help. The river flowed with its indifference, not even reflecting his image although he was nearby.
That evening, he paid a priest to come chant the funeral mantras. He collected the logs, he walked around
her body carrying the pot of oil, he lit the logs underneath her body on fire, and finally, he picked up the
ashes and remaining bones into a silver pot. The smell of jasmine incense and Vedic chanting filled the
air. Spread the ashes, Son, the priest told him. Chup cried holding onto the smooth silver pot. But when
it was time, he pushed his body up with the strength of his knees and carried his mothers ashes down to
the river. He walked deep inside of it, farther from the steps than anyone else. With the pot of his mothers
ashes in his hands, he dipped three times facing the setting sun. When he emerged from the water, his
hands were free.
Author Profile: She is currently an M.F.A. Fiction student at the University of Iowa Pramodini Parayitam
(Iowa Writers Workshop). She lives in the US and would like nothing more than to be a member of the
international writing community as an Indian writer.
Author: Pramodini Parayitam Genre: Short Story Country: India