Among the Not So Great

Mrs. Pantulu — Meenakshamma

The Pantulu story would be only half told if Meenakshamma is not brought on the stage from the wings she long — nay, right through her life — occupied. For if Pantulu was a storm, she was the ‘calm after the storm’.

Meenakshamma was a great woman in her own right. Married at the age of ten with just class two education in Telegu, she tackled life unperturbed and was a model wife, housewife and mother. She and her compeers could teach a thing or two to their more modern, educated versions. She worked hard, never rushed around, yet got things done to each one’s satisfaction (even though some were often demanding ones). She was called “Kamadhenu” (the wish-fulfilling Cow) by some neighbours. They never knew her to say, “No, I have not got the item” when they would approach her to borrow some dal, rice, oil, etc. She came to the Ashram along with Pantulu, her husband. She worked at the Servants’ Office — Padmasiniamma was her boss. (Arvind Sule continues to sit there daily for a short period.) She picked up enough English, all on her own, to maintain the ‘absence-presence register’. She even learned to read Tamil just looking at cinema posters, equating known names of films to the letters on the posters. She was a cinema buff and that helped her in her linguistic achievements. Sometime in the early sixties she developed cancer. Colostomy followed. She carried on life as usual for more than twenty years. No fuss over plastic bags nor colostomy societies giving helping hints and psychological boosts. Just old-fashioned cotton and bandages and still older-fashioned common sense and grit. Her patience and a strength born of that patience saw her through to the end. The end came of some other complication in her intestines. A few days bed-bound. Doctors said they had to take her to Jipmer. She must have sensed, or at least expected vaguely, the approaching end. She asked us to call Narayan (her son) and my mother (her sister). They arrived. Surgery (supposed to be exploratory) was done. She was a day or two in the IC (Intensive Care) ward. We then decided to bring her home, against the doctors’ wishes and advice. Slowly, with a team of doctors in attendance, we brought her back (drip bottle & all). We brought her home around 5.30 or 6.00 p.m. and made her as comfortable as possible. She was quite conscious. She stayed with us, at home, for a brief hour or so. Then as she had lived her 70 and odd years, so she passed away — in peace. I went to inform Nolini-da immediately. He said: “Oh! cholé gèché — kono koshto neyi, kono dukkho neyi.” (Oh! she has gone — no suffering, no sadness.) For a moment I wondered at what Nolini-da said. Who was suffering? Who was sad? It then struck me it was on her, Meenakshamma, that he was commenting. I felt that she lived, worked and died doing her duty to the best of her knowledge and capacity, lived by her dharma. Then what else matters? What more can one expect of another?

This is as told by an old, old sadhika of our Ashram, who is simple, quite uneducated (no academic life), of village upbringing. (She is now near 90 years old). She, as is the custom among our communities, made it a point to visit and pay her respects, and pray for any deceased, before the body was taken to the crematorium. She went to see Meenakshamma. What she saw, and/or experienced was quite unusual (to say the least). She saw hovering around, some angels or lesser gods or maybe some gods’ messengers. They seemed to be vying with each other, as to who would take away Meenakshamma to their respective regions. She came away happy and quite taken by what she had seen.

What tributes to pay to such as these? Enough to remember them in our quiet moments, uncovering their footprints on the dust of forgetfulness. It could help to measure our own footsteps with theirs. They are our pathfinders, part of the way. Oblivion cannot be their resting place.