Rahat…my son

"Mom, it's been sixty years since you got married. I can't believe you've still preserved all of dad's letters and greeting cards from your engagement time." Rahat kept gazing at his mother, Meera, as she very nostalgically went through the collection of her late husband's fond memories. Peering up, she smiled at him and said, "Son, it may be old fashioned, but the feel and fragrance of letters and greetings is always on another level. Plus, now that your father isn’t with us, these are more precious to me than ever before.”

These were Meera’s words ten years ago. Reluctantly, Rahat had to compromise with many aspects and leave his mom and brother behind to go reside in a foreign land. The nagging demand of his adamant wife and his own hunger for a superior lifestyle compelled him to settle elsewhere and establish a family of his own. 

“Go son, I will not stop you. Be happy wherever you go. Just promise me one thing. Keep writing to me regularly. You know I prefer letters over other things.” Meera had embraced her son with tears in her eyes. 

Rahat was Meera’s first born child and she loved him dearly. A mother’s emotion can never be measured. Many sentiments she kept hidden, as she didn’t want to stop her son’s progress or chain him to her. Meera also didn’t want Rahat to feel guilty of going away. Hence every time he called, she would talk cheerfully, “Hello son. How’s everything? We are all fine here. Don’t worry about us. Take great care of yourself.” Nonetheless, she missed him immensely and wept in the loneliness of the dark nights. 

In the decade that passed, although Rahat couldn’t come to meet them even once, still very dutifully he kept writing to his mother and was on the phone regularly. As long as her vision accompanied her, Meera read his letters several times and kept all of them safely in a big wooden box.  

Gradually, over the period of time, old age and sadness finally took its toll, reflecting its effect on Meera’s health. Weak she was, but now she had become blind and was completely bedridden. “Take a pledge Raj, you must never tell Rahat of my condition. There’s no point in worrying him.” Meera urged her younger son to vow while she still had memory on her side. However, Meera was now almost 85, caught up in dementia. Hence remembrance was like a switch; sometimes on and at other times it went off. Raj didn’t want to take the risk and felt it his obligation to inform his elder brother. 

By the time Rahat could make a visit, Meera was suffering from fragmentation of memory. No words could describe the tempest of emotions that Rahat was experiencing in his shattered heart, when he sat beside his sick mother on her bed and tenderly took her delicate hand in his. Tears refused to stop flowing down his cheeks and he didn’t bother to wipe them either. “Ma….I have come.”

Meera’s voice was shaking when she spoke.

“Who’s that? Who is calling me Ma?”

“Ma….it’s me, Rahat, your son.”

“Son? I have only one son, Raj. And I have so many letters.”

Rahat was broken down to pieces and continued to cry bitterly. “Ma….it was me, I had written those letters to you.”

“Really? Can you read one of them to me? Maybe, I’ll recollect something.”

It was Meera who was old and sick, but Rahat was quivering like a hummingbird when he opened his last letter to read it out to his mother. In a fraction of a second, his entire life flashed through his mind, the big bungalow, two cars, new friends and tremendous success. A glance at his ailing mother forced him to question himself, was any of it truly worth at the price of today?

Tears blurred his vision and he had to wipe his eyes a few times before he began reading in a shuddering voice. While he was reading, something happened. Gingerly, Meera held his wrist and tried to pull him close to her. Rahat paused reading and bent his head to make it easier for his mother. He didn’t know what to expect. Meera’s shaking palms cupped Rahat’s face. She smiled and kissed his forehead. Before life left her body, her last words were, “Rahat….my son!!”