The Waning of the Moon

Why does the moon wax and wane, one wonders. The sliver of the moon looks so beautiful perhaps because behind the imperfection, an invisible artist dreams of a picture of completeness.

To me, however, it seems as if day by day, the moon is only getting smaller. When I think of the moon, I think of Buddha’s wards that suffering is the perennial truth of human life. Ordinary man searches for happiness amidst misery and experiences suffering in many ways. That is why perhaps, the sick take recourse to treatment and console themselves that not illness but physical well-being is the reality. Knowing all the while that the reverse is true. Hope leads to a greater suffering, yet it is the same hope that sustains man and gives him pleasure however transient.

But what is the meaning of hope ? I find it hard to understand. How, for instance, is this girl to console herself? After all, the doctors have pronounced their final wards. There is no further treatment to be undertaken now. Despite this, if she has remained alive, it must surely be due to her indomitable will to live. Her strength of mind and power of endurance simply amaze me. Perhaps, like the fore of the river that gets stronger when a swimmer strives against its current, adversity tends to fill a person with a greater strength.

As it happened, it is she who was the means of our acquaintance. One day, an unexpected phone call greeted me. The caller introduced herself as Chandrabhaga Das. She said she was an admirer of my books and wished to see me.

“I am usually at home during the evenings. You’re welcome to visit me then”. I said. Her silence over the phone filled me with a curious admixture of melancholy and eagerness. “You know,” she continued, “I’ve been ailing for quite sometime. I heard you live nearby. If only you could come !”.

It was not pity but curiosity that drew me to her house. And my visits continued over a period of time. I suppose I was some invisible attraction that drew me there despite my bush schedule.

The first day I saw her, she was wearing a long gown and lying in bed. I introduced myself to her aged father, Lambadar babu, who ushered me in, and said to his daughter, “This is Prabhat Ray whose writings you love so much. Remember, you invited him”.

She folded her feeble hands together and greeted me but lay still in bed. She made no effort to rise. It must be due to her weakness, I thought. Perhaps, she has been asked by her doctors not to get up. Her small face appeared somewhat pale and lusterless. Some hidden emotion made the tip of her nose appear a trifle tremulous. With eyes unblinking, laden with a deep sadness, her gaze held me as if she were in search of something. The gaze was direct and made me somewhat self-conscious. What answer to life’s mystery does she seek from an unknown writer, I wondered. Aloud, I asked, “How are you? How long have you been ill ? Is it fever or headache?”

In reply, she only smiled and then began discussing my works. I suppose, it was easy for me to be oblivious of her illness as I sat there listening to my own praise. All in all, I think I liked the girl more than she liked me. By then, her mother had treated me to some tea and snacks, and I felt myself a member of their family. At our first meeting, I stayed for two whole hours. When I finally got up to go, I said with easy familiarity, “Now it’s your turn, you know. I do hope you get well soon and pay me a visit. I am sure my wife will be delighted to meet you”.

In her reclining position, Chandra offered me a weak smile in return. As I stood there about to take leave, I added, “And by the way, you asked me a lot about my writing but you said nothing regarding yourself. Which college do you attend? Are you in the Science or the Arts? And how long have the doctors advised rest for you?”

I wonder what else I could have asked her at my first meeting.

In a subdued tone. Chandra answered, What can I possibly say about myself? Well, perhaps another day, I think as  it is, I have wasted a lot of your time. But I must tell you, it was wonderful meeting you. As with your writing, you imparted a feeling of intimacy at our very first meeting. I have no doubt that it’s my great fortune to have you call on me”.

I thanked her and stepped out. As looked back at that still form upon the bed, my smugness gave way to a deep sorrow. How does one explain the plight of such a pure and tender soul. I wondered. Could it be simply her misfortune or perhaps the result of some past karma ?
 
As if interrupting my thoughts, her father said,” It has been twelve years you see. Before that, she could at least sit up. Now, even that is not possible. The wheelchair is lying idle over there. It may never be put to use again.”

Heavens, no “ I exclaimed quite involuntarily.

Her father continued,” When the doctors made false promises, I used to pray to God. Now they say there is no hope. I don’t even pray anymore. Also, I no longer have to go to the temple or the hospital. That’s better in a way. Chandra was in a nursing home for five years. I had a tough time then commuting between the hospital and the temple. “

I listened in a daze as he went on, “Chandra was ten when she felt some pain in her spinal column near her waist. The doctors advised an operation, the result of which was that she was paralyzed from her waist downwards. The girl who was notorious in school and at home for her restless nature, has been absolutely still for the last twelve years. This dark room is her world. And that ceiling over there draped with cobwebs is her sky. I wonder why God has kept her alive. Our own days are numbered. Can you imagine what will happen to her after our deaths?”

I had no answer to all these questions and could only mumble, “What about your other children?”

“Well, they’re there, you know, doing well. Two of my daughters are abroad; the sons are quite busy in their world. When they come, they live here for a day or two. But Chandra is our responsibility. Who will look after her when we are gone, I wonder. Strange, there was a time when she was the darling of all !”

Chandra’s father heaved a deep, melancholic sigh. I wanted to leave, but I felt hard pressed offering any cheap consolation to someone who had experienced in her very cells the bitter truths of life. Moreover, what consolation could one offer in Chandra’s peculiar condition ?

I was standing with my back towards Chandra. She was obviously within earshot, and I just didn’t have courage enough to look back at her. Obviously, Chandra believed in me as a writer. What answer could I give to her crisis of life ? Nonetheless, I retraced my footsteps, bracing myself to face Chandra. It would not be proper for me to leave abruptly now that I knew the whole story, I though. But could I possibly tell Chandra about her death in life condition? I decided to pack all my sorrow and empathy into the expression “I am sorry”, but stopped when my gaze finally fell on her.

She has thrown her unknown and unwanted body upon the bed. What could I possibly tell someone who harbors the cruel truth of twelve long years in every blink of her eyes ? It would be so presumptuous of me ! Her eyes were as still as stones. The agony of the present had made her face devoid of expression. It was though our roles had been reversed, as if not Chandra but I was helplessly begging for her grace. It was as though I was pleading with her to let me know what words of mine would not violate or insult her being.

She had retained, in the last twelve years, the picture of so many people rendered helpless at seeing her plight. And the more helpless the others had been, the more strength she found in herself, perhaps because she realized that no suffering is ever lessened nor can the expression of sorrow and pity help in restoring one’s past. 

Interrupting my thoughts, Chandra asked, “How long are you going to stand like this? I’ve truly caused you  a lot of trouble I think, by summoning  you in this way.”

“Well , the pain is not due to my standing, “ I said and fell silent.

“If you’re really worried on my account,” Chandra remarked, “ will you do something for me?”

I had resolved to do my utmost when Chandra said, “My only request is that you should never show any pity for me. For the last twelve years, the more pity people have showered on me, the poorer I have become. Today, this country is so poor that many people here can even live on the surfeit of  pity. I hope you don’t mind what I say.”

As I gazed at the girl. I wondered whether Chandra was feeling pity for my own helplessness. “ I’ll come again,” I said hastily as I stepped out of the room. I made an effort not to look at the wheelchair in the verandah. My mind was not prepared to accept as truth the chair which for me had become a symbol of Chandra’s crippled status.

While seeing me off at the gate, Chandra's father said, "Actually, I wanted to see you. Will you do something for Chandra?"

"I am prepared to do whatever I can, especially if it's going to do good for her," I replied with eagerness.

"I think I'll ask Chandra to make a representation to the government. Could you please draft this letter?"

When I said eagerly that I would, he' remarked, "She will end her life for which she seeks the sanction of law. I shall die in peace if this much can be accomplished. Wouldn't it be ideal for her to pass away amidst love and care? She is sure to die after us but that would be a cruel death, full of suffering and neglect."

Hearing those words, my eyes became moist. And when I saw the stony eyes of Chandra's mother looking at me, I wanted to flee. It seemed to me as though I were being implicated in some crime. What could I reply? Aloud I said, “Does Chandra know this”.

"Yes " I am preparing for this kind of suicide," replied the aged father. "Instead of a death full of suffering, perhaps her soul should leave her broken body before our eyes."

"But does Chandra agree to this?" I persisted.

"Well, if the world were working according to Chandra's plans, would she have languished for twelve long years? Do you know that at one time she was a great dancer? And today, her fate is worse than a lizard's crawling on its belly. That is why I never allow any lizards to thrive in our house; I kill them all ruthlessly. No wonder many people take me for mad."

I returned home in silence. Later, at each visit, Chandra's father would ask, "Did you write that representation? Don't you think it's better for Chandra to die? Do you really take this for life? How can we as parents bear this sight and for how long?"

Yet I saw that day by day Chandra was improving. She may have been paralyzed to her waist but her heart and mind were still active. Above all, her hands were amazingly brisk. A stranger might have mistaken her illness for a simple case of flu. I looked around the house and saw Chandra's handiwork scattered everywhere. The sweaters that she continued to knit were being used by her family and neighbors. It was as if her dead body had been kindled into a flame of life. Her hands had defied her inert feet.

Now visiting Chandra became a matter of habit for me. She had become a source of inspiration, revealing in effect that it is only the shirker of work who is truly the cripple.

Of course, I never succeeded in replying to Chandra's father. At times he would ask me, "What’s holding you up? Are you really worried that there may be some legal problem? Rest assured that she will affix her own signature to the document. Don't you realize that our days are numbered? Who would give her even a drop of water after we are gone?" he repeated.

All waiting is tiresome. Waiting for death is, in a way, worse than death itself. But it was hard to believe that Chandra was actually waiting for death. That this condition could be glorious like the radiant moon on a new moon night defied all imagination.

That day I saw Chandra creating the image of Lord Jagannath with the help of some golden thread. She was humming a tune to herself from the depth of her  heart. It seemed to me that perhaps Chandra loved someone dearly and it was this profound love of hers that had kept her alive. This love had created music in her and manifested itself through her hands as the blossoming of many flowers.

Gathering courage, I asked, "Chandra, I hope you don't mind. But tell me, though your body is nearly paralyzed, your heart is full of wonderful dreams. Have you fallen in love with someone?"

Instead of looking at me, she turned to the image of Lord Jagannath and smiled, "How could you know my mind?"

"Your life tells me that," I answered. "There are many who are healthy but cannot live so fully as you. Look at me for instance! I am one of them. I am more dead than alive! Perhaps in the humdrum chores of everyday existence, I have lost the track of life."

Nodding her head, Chandra said, "Yes, there is someone I love. My love for Him has added strength and joy to my life. He has taught me that I am no crippled imperfection. "

"But who is this ideal of yours?" I persisted, half expecting her to point me out so full of vanity and self-love had I become.

Chandra's lovely gaze held me still. Then she turned toward the two huge eyes and beautifu1ly engraved picture of Lord Jagannath. "I adore the incomplete image of the Lord ," she remarked. "If my Lord can be perfect and immanent despite his crippled status, why should I grieve over my plight? After all, my feelings are not dead, nor has my heart ever been still!"

I detected a peculiar radiance in Chandra's otherwise colourless face. Perhaps it is I who deserve to be the object of pity, I thought, for I took a crippled body for a hungry soul whereas Chandra, I realized, had moved beyond the joys and sorrows of ordinary life.

I stepped back bowing to that noble soul. At the doorstep, her father, who had witnessed our conversation, said, "Perhaps you don't need to write that letter of representation. My Chandra’s soul will outlive her body! Can one ever destroy the soul? I think, I suffered before because this truth had escaped me. Now, I am freed from this burden."

I could sense the murmur of a faint whisper penetrating the recesses of my being, "There is no end to suffering in this world, but like the surrender of Draupadi before Lord Krishna when threatened with disrobement by the Kauravas, the world's miseries are lessened when they are offered to the Lord."

I was stepping out of the room when I checked myself. I thought I heard Chandra's voice behind me, and retraced my footsteps. Her smile of perfection was the enigmatic counterpoint to her crippled body under the shadow of the new moon.
                                             *******************
                                                                        # Translated by Dr. Satchidananda Mohanty

Also Read:

Writer in Spotlight: Pratibha Ray

Face to Face with Pratibha Ray