Goodnight Mum

“There, go on,” She was gesturing towards someone. “Sweetheart, it’s alright, I’ll still be here.”

“Mum, no. Please—”

“Oh, sweetie,” she was chuckling indulgingly.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be here—”, But even as she said so she moved away, still gesturing towards her right with her soft, brown eyes. There was a woman to her right, standing in ill-concealed hesitation.

“Wh- I can’t see you- hey, Mum, wait - stop!”

But she just smiled and waved, blowing a kiss.

“Mum? MUM?!”

“MUM!” Nina awoke with a violent start, face moist with sweat.

It was never like this. Usually, she would be just standing or sitting somewhere, talking to her in that soft, melodious voice. Or perhaps walking by her side, gently swinging their conjoined hands. They would always be close together. Once she had been laughing at something. A bright, vivid laughter, head thrown back and eyes sparkling. In the haze of her dreamscape, it sounded like wind chimes tinkling in a playful breeze. When she had woken up, she had tried to recollect if it really sounded like that. Like… like… wedding bells on a mountain top. She had tried to remember, but couldn’t. It had been only four years, yet it pained her that the beeping sound from the machine by her bed stood out more clearly in her memory than the sound of her laughter.

Tonight, however, was different. She was waving at her from a distance. Nina tried to get closer to her, but her mother only showed her towards someone standing apart. Nina didn’t care for the other woman. But her indignation at having her intrude upon her dreams was overridden by the mounting tension of watching her mother move away. She was receding, disappearing into the haziness.

Nina pushed back the covers and got off the bed. A sliver of the orange streetlight fell across her room and illuminated a corner of the framed picture on the nightstand. Picking it up gingerly, she padded out of the room.

The balcony did not afford much of a view, except the traffic congested road during the day. But it was the late night view Nina was more familiar with, the long stark stretch of concrete lined with shuttered shops and sleeping residential buildings, perhaps the only audience other than herself to the midnight rantings of the madman by the alley.

Her back to the grill railings, Nina sat down, photograph clutched to herself. The tears came as usual, but this time it was not only the agony of the deep, deep loss she felt tear her apart, but also an uncoiling trepidation. What if she left her again? For the last four years, the only time she had with her mother was in her dreams. And now, she was starting to fade in them too.

Fresh sobs wracked her body, as she bowed her head down to rest on her knees, and silently begged an indifferent Almighty to… to…cure the disease? Save her? Spare her the pain? Bring her back? And finally, as a last resort, let her visit in the dreams? 

“Nina?”

Oh damn her! DAMN HER! She wished that for once in her life the woman could leave her alone. She wiped her tears with the back of her sleeve and hoped the shadows would rescue her this once, pulling her feet closer to her.

“Nina? Are you there?”

Nina did not answer, swallowing the urge to cry and lash out at the same time.

“N—”, she was by the French doors, and had seen her in the shadows. Nina hastily wiped her face and tried to control her heavy breathing but made no move to acknowledge her presence, willing her to go away. She was tired of the prying questions, the fake consolations, the empty words. To her relief, Gayatri remained silent. Nina decidedly kept her face turned from her, but from the corner of her eyes she could tell that Gayatri was hesitating about something. That same old unsure stance.

“She never seems to be sure about anything,” a stray thought crossed Nina’s mind, her face set and trembling lips pursed with failing rigidity.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Nine did not reply. After about a minute, Gayatri seemed to take her silence as an affirmation and sat across from her.

A dog was barking somewhere, sole speaker of silent nights, as if trying to fill the heavy silence between the two.

Nina could tell Gayatri was looking at her, probably cooking up more questions. But this time, the questions did not come. In their stead—

“Nina, I know—”

“What do you know?” The question fell from Nina’s lips, without warning and surprisingly harsh.

Gayatri recoiled.

“What do you know?” Nina repeated with a charge. She did not understand why she got so inexplicably angry all of a sudden. Face still averted yet fists balled, she demanded to know what made Gayatri the omniscient stepmother.

Clasping her hands, Gayatri fell back into silence. Only the cool stillness of the night with an intermittent breath of a breeze remained alive, like a playful will o’ the wisp frisking about, confused and unhappy for the two unspeaking creatures.

Relaxing her posture slightly, Nina leaned back against the grills.

“Sometimes… I see her too…” It was the whisper of a confession.

Nina jerked her head up, a mixture of residual anger, hope and bewilderment in her swollen, sleep deprived eyes.

“You too, you know”, she added.

“Is she with me?” The question blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Yes. It’s just like in that photograph. Holding hands. Only… you were frowning. I think the sun was in your face.”

Nina glanced involuntarily at the frame still clutched in sweaty palms. Was she frowning, really? Hard to tell. Her father had taken the photo, and he kept moving back so that he could get the whole tree in the frame. Finally when Nina’s mother protested, saying he might as well take a shot of the tree instead of the two of them, he clicked it, saying, “Smile—”.

She remembered smiling. But Gayatri said she was frowning.

“Does she… say anything?”

Gayatri hesitated for a moment before replying, “No. She just smiles and looks at me. You have her smile, you know.”

Nina couldn’t help but wonder when Gayatri had seen her smile.

“That picture from your school’s Sports Day. You had the trophy in your hands, standing with your team.” Gayatri was smiling softly, as if reminiscing a fond memory she never got to be part of.

Nina felt a familiar stab of annoyance. Gayatri had been going through her childhood photographs again. How many times did she need to see them? She had once walked in on her poring over the albums. Only when she had gotten close did she realize that Gayatri was not looking at them, but staring fixedly into space with a photograph clutched tightly in her fist, eyes close to brimming over. On noticing her presence, Gayatri had dropped the photograph and hurriedly left the room. Looking down, she realized it was one of her own as a baby.

Many a time before, Nina had basked in the ill-begotten satisfaction of seeing her stepmother in the throes of losing her unborn child. But that day, a part of her could not help feeling a dormant shred of sympathy for this childless woman. That, maybe Gayatri did not need to learn the hard way that lost children too, like lost mothers, can never, never, be replaced.

“Here”.

Nina startled out of her thoughts. She had not noticed when Gayatri had left. And now she stood before her with a steaming cup. In spite of herself, she took a sip. The chocolate brought some warmth to her cold hands. Nina glanced up once, almost furtive in her gesture of begrudging gratitude. Gayatri had taken up her old spot across the balcony, this time facing the railings, head tilted towards the sky.

“She was leaving me.”

Gayatri remained silent.

“She—”, Nina composed herself before continuing, “She never did that before. Tonight… she was waving at me… and… kept moving away. I called, but she wouldn’t stop. Kept going. And… …”

After a few moments, Gayatri prompted her, “And?”

“You were there too.”

For some reason, this did not seem to intrigue Gayatri. She continued gazing at the spangled night sky, an ethereally calm expression on her face. Finally, she replied in a quiet voice, “Dreams are only that, Nina. Neither can they take anything away, nor can they bring anything back. What’s lost will remain lost. Some things, though, remain with us forever. Your mother’s memory is one of them. No one can bring her back, but neither can anyone steal her memories from you.” With a bitter attempt at a smile, she added softly, “Not even me.”

At the last three words, Nina flashed a furtive glance at her. The avid longing in those three words churned something in her, an only too familiar sense of fear mingled with a deep yearning for something forever beyond her reach. Their reach.

The mug of chocolate had cooled off in her hands. Only a bit of the thick, dark liquid remained at the bottom. It was not the first time she had secretly albeit in spite of herself, felt grateful for something Gayatri did to help ease the aftermath of the recurring dreams.

However, this was the first time she felt a strange bond with the woman sitting across from her, gazing intently at the stars, as if searching for something. She could not shake off the sudden childish notion that maybe Gayatri was looking for her lost child up there. A little boy with a laurel wreath on his head, playing among the stars. Or maybe a little girl. It had been too early to tell. And now they would never know.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to Nina, and putting the cup aside hastily, she asked, “Do you dream about… you know…”

Gayatri’s sharp glance made it clear that she understood. But it was a while before she answered in a low voice, “The baby?”

“Yes.”

“Yes. Often.”

“What does it look like?”

Gayatri’s throat was closing up. Swallowing thickly, she replied, “I can’t tell, really. I can’t see the face.” A tear slid down her cheek and fell on her white nightshirt.

Nina felt a stab of disappointment.

“Sometimes… I can’t remember what my mother sounded like when she laughed…I can hear it in the dreams, but when I wake up and try to remember… I can’t,” she whispered, head bowed.

In the ensuing silence, the ghosts of the dead beloved stood mourning for the two bereaved souls, the invincibility of the cosmic chord that tied the woman and the girl in the same thread of existence glowing in the dark like an angel’s halo.

Gayatri sighed. Not for the first time, she pondered about how alike she and her stepdaughter were. Shaking off her thoughts, she turned to Nina, “Come, it’s time you got back to bed.”

It may have been the unacknowledged epiphany brought on in the wake of suffering; it may have been the exhumed guilt triggered by the memory of the baby, but when Nina when towards her bedroom, a part of her, one long suppressed beneath the cold fury she felt for Gayatri taking her mother’s place, yearned for something she could not recognize. It could have been redemption. It could have been relief. Or maybe, simply someone to turn to when things got too much.

“I am sorry for the baby. I… I wish…,” Nina swallowed, the words dying in her throat.

“Don’t we all?” Gayatri’s almost inaudible voice sounded one with the night, as if resounding ages’ worth of a million unspoken wishes. She lingered in the doorway, watching Nina get under the covers, before finally closing the door.

A moment later, however, she was back.

“You left this behind,” she said with a soft smile, and placed the framed photograph on the nightstand. The lump in Nina’s throat staunched the small word of gratitude, but Gayatri heard it anyway, and placing a gentle hand on Nina’s head, said, “Sleep. They’re closer to us than you think.” And she angled the frame so that the ray of light from the streetlamp illuminated it just so.

The words came to Nina as they did every night, but maybe, just maybe, for the first time, they were meant for more than one person, “Goodnight… Mum.”