When we float in the middle of Krishna River, there is no sound from the shore. The water gently slaps against our small Teppa. Long grass makes rustling sound as wind brushes past it, drying a tiny drop of our tears on its way forward. Sun shines, sky silently watches. The boatman stays quiet and still...something he must have learnt from the hundreds of such solemn scenes he would have seen. In that boat, my brother...holds the urn of ashes in his hands and pauses. And gives us.. my sister and me ...a brief lesson on how we - the grief-stricken daughters of Janaki Rani Turaga - should learn from their illustrious mother, on how life should be lived, how to draw the lines and seek purpose out of nothingness. And then he throws the ashes of a wonderful mother into the lap of another eternal mother...Krishnamma. And I feel a cosmic truth descending upon me. Though not enough to pick me out of the whirlpool of sorrow. Is this life? Incidentally, my fathers name is Krishna too.
Posted on: Sun, 19 Oct 2014 05:37:39 +0000
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