2020: Story 6: What Worked and What Didn’t

The prompt for June's story was "It Didn't Work" and the word count, 1800 words. I left the writing of the story for the-hour-after-the last-minute and so, had to really rush through the process at breakneck speed. I'm still a little dazed as I wait for it to get approved and go up on the 12 Short Stories website (the South Africa-based writing group which I'm a part of).

In the meantime, I'm posting the story here for your reading pleasure, dear readers, and I'll be waiting, as always, to hear your thoughts!

Madhu stepped into the dark room and gingerly picked her way towards the low bed in the corner. A musty smell assailed her at once. Switching on the light, Madhu saw the stink came from Ma’s clothes lying under the bed. Picking up the offending pile, she dumped it into a cane basket nearby. She’d wash them later. 

Unbidden came the resentment at having one more task added to her already busy day. Fast on its heels came a sense of contrition as she told herself that her brother Kishan and his wife were dealing with a far greater workload day after day.

The figure on the bed moved slightly. Even moving her hip was now a problem, so Ma just twisted the frail upper part of her body, scanning the room to see who had entered. Madhu felt on the verge of tears as she looked into the eyes of her mother. Two bright spots in an otherwise tired face, each pockmark on it, a sign of the many storms its owner had weathered. Eyes that were bright with anticipation at the weekly visit of her daughter. 

The daughter of whom she was so proud. 

The only girl in their village who had been brave enough to move to the faraway town after finishing her basic schooling. 

“My Madhu is very smart; you just wait and see, she will become a big doctor one day,” Ma would say to anyone willing to listen.

Her dream had been only partly fulfilled. Madhu may have been the smartest in their village, but there were smarter kids in the town, and so, she became a physiotherapist, but not a doctor. Not that it mattered to Ma. Her daughter was doing something important and worthwhile – she was curing people of their pain, and healing lives.

“So, how are you feeling today, Ma?”

“A little tired, but okay.”

“How’s your appetite? Kishan says you’re eating lesser than before?”

“What does he think I am? A girl of 16? A little rice and some dal is all I can manage.”

“Are you still having that nausea, like last week, Ma?”

“No, that seems to have reduced a bit.”

“Good. What about that burning sensation in your stomach you mentioned last time?”

“It comes and goes.”

“What about the tiredness? Is that still the same?”

“Humph! Madhu, I’m 70 years old. What more can one expect at my age? At least I’ve lasted longer than poor Kamla who passed away when she was just 60.”

Ma said the same thing every time Madhu asked. It was their point of entry into a conversation that they never seemed to tire of. Next would come the reminiscing about Kamla, Ma’s younger sister. Then would follow the stories of the hardships faced by Kamla’s family.

Madhu pretended to listen to the litany, surprised at Ma’s ability to be so sensitive to others’ pain, even as she totally ignored her own. Six months after being diagnosed with cancer of the stomach, having undergone one major surgery and a few weeks of chemotherapy, Ma had now slipped into the zone where the doctors said nothing more could be done.

Madhu remembered Dr. Lal, the Chief Medical Officer at her hospital, had told her to check up how Ma was doing with the new drugs he had prescribed for her.

“Ma, have you been taking the medicines I sent you last week?” asked Madhu, as she checked Ma’s blood pressure and temperature and looked under her eyelids and examined the scar on Ma’s abdomen.

A wary look came into Ma’s eyes. “Why do you keep forcing me to take those horrible drugs? I’d rather go quietly when my time comes,” she grumbled.

Madhu sighed and said what she’d said a hundred times before. “I can’t let you just go, Ma. Remember you have to get well enough to receive your grandchild who’s due in three months' time?”

Ma’s eyes brightened at the mention of the baby on its way. Her son Kishan’s wife was pregnant for the second time, and Ma prayed it would be a girl, a little sister for her precocious 3-year old first grandchild. The house was quiet today, only because the kid had gone with his mother to visit her parents living in the nearby village.

“And when will I get to see my daughter’s child?” Ma asked gently, with a probing look at Madhu’s face.

“Let me find the right guy, Ma, then I’ll settle down and give you one,” chided Madhu, as she helped her mother sit up in bed. Using the skills she had learned as a physiotherapist, Madhu managed to get Ma into the wheelchair, and took her into the bathroom, for her weekly bathe.

Kishan’s wife would give Ma a sponging in bed every day. That’s all she could manage in her fragile condition. So, every Sunday, when Madhu came home, she took over the responsibility of giving Ma a full bath, with water poured over her head and body, complete with a rub of her favorite fragrant shampoo and frothy soap. Ma said it made her feel fresh and clean, and ready to face yet another week of lying quietly in bed.

As she bathed Ma, rubbing her full body vigorously, Madhu’s thoughts flew back to her childhood. ‘These were the hands that fed me’, she mused, ‘and this was the lap in which I lay, listening to the stories that came from this dear mouth, like a welcome spell of rain in the hot summer afternoons.’

Madhu’s reverie was broken by the sound of her trilling cellphone. Leaving Ma for a minute, she dashed to her bag to retrieve it.

“Hello, yes, Dr. Lal, I’m at home. Ma seems a little brighter than last week. Yes, I did ask her if she was taking the new medicines. She’s not too happy about it, but I think she has been following my instructions. Yes, I’ve been keeping a record of her vital signs in my diary. I think the medicines are doing her some good.”

Having finished her report, Madhu came back to the bathroom, to find Ma waiting patiently for her.

As she scrubbed Ma’s hair and body dry, Ma said musingly, “You never used to sit still when I bathed you as a kid!”

“Yes, and I still remember that little smack you would give to quieten me down,” laughed Madhu.

“Yes, and here I am today, having to depend on you to make me clean and fresh!”

For a moment, both women fell silent, each lost in their own reverie.

When she was done with the bathing, Madhu wheeled Ma back into the room and moved her to a sitting position in a wooden chair, propped with pillows, for extra comfort.

“Now you sit there like a good child,” she mimicked Ma’s words of yore, and they both giggled like little girls, as Madhu helped Ma into fresh clothes. Next, Madhu oiled Ma’s hair, and combed it out, and braided it into a tight plait. She powdered Ma’s face, and placed a tiny dot of vermilion in the centre of her forehead, and stepped back with an admiring look.

“Give me my book, let me chant my prayers, while you ready the bed for me.” 

Image courtesy: Wikipedia

Madhu did as she was bid and then walked to the bed. She decided to first wash the clothes she’d earlier dumped into the cane basket, and then come back to make the bed.

“Are you comfortable sitting for a few more minutes, Ma?” she called.

“Yes, I’m fine, you don’t worry about me,” said Ma and continued singing her hymns.

Madhu went outside the house and began washing the clothes. In between, she stopped to catch snatches of Ma’s singing and hummed along the lines of the familiar prayer. After a few minutes, she noticed the singing had stopped and peeped in through the nearby window to check on Ma. The sight brought an indulgent smile to her face. Ma had fallen asleep in the middle of her singing, as she so often did these days.

Madhu rinsed and wrung out the clothes, and hung them out to dry, hurrying through the tasks. She didn’t want Ma to fall from the chair when she was asleep. Running back into Ma’s room, Madhu called out, “Just two minutes, Ma, I’ll change the sheets on your bed, and then, you can lie down.”

There was no reply. Ma must have slipped into a really deep sleep, thought Madhu as she yanked the bedspread. Hearing the sound of something falling to the ground, she looked to see what she had inadvertently spilled. A strange sight met her eyes. White and yellow tablets and blue and yellow toned capsules lay scattered on the floor. A few offending pieces still clung to the barren mattress, telling Madhu the full story of Ma’s subterfuge.

“Ma, why did you lie to me and say you were taking all the medicines,” demanded Madhu, marching towards the chair where Ma slept on, unaware of the fury her actions had unleashed.

Taking hold of Ma by the shoulders, Madhu gave a gentle tug to wake her. Ma only slumped further down in the chair, her head lolling to one side. Unable to believe her eyes, Madhu checked for a pulse and found none. Weeping inconsolably, Madhu pried the book of prayers from Ma’s hands, glancing at the page where it was open as she did so.

Rubbing at the tears that blinded her, Madhu ran to the neighbor’s house, asking for help. Someone rushed to the fields to break the news to Kishan and bring him home. As she waited for her brother to arrive, Madhu called up Dr. Lal. “I have some bad news, Dr. Lal. Ma passed away just now. I had just finished bathing her. One minute she was happily singing her prayers, and the next minute, she simply stopped and fell into a permanent sleep.”

The doctor must have made some statements wondering if they should have started the new drugs sooner. Madhu shook her head and tears streaming down her cheeks, she whispered, “No, Dr. Lal, it didn’t work. She didn’t take a single one of them.”

As she put her phone away, Madhu saw the book of prayers lying on the table. She opened it to the page where she’d earlier noticed Ma holding it. This was probably the hymn Ma had been singing at her last moment.

“Itna to karna Swami, jab praan tan se nikale,

Govind naam leke, tab praan tan se nikale!”

“Do me a favor, O Lord, at the time when life leaves this body,

Let me recite the name of Lord Govinda, and then give up this body!”