The Wisdom of My Mother

My mother’s name was Bhagratia, but it was only used on formal occasions, like religious ceremonies. She was called Sonia by her brothers and sisters. My father always endearingly called her Sona and we, her children, called her Sona gal, especially when we wanted something special from her. She was not allowed to go to school…..when her brothers would go to school, she would plead with her father “please baap ( father), let me go to school” but he was adamant “ no beti( daughter), girls do not go to school” In those days girls were taught to cook and sew and then married off. Education became very important to her and she made certain that my sisters were educated. I remember her walking to school with us each morning and then returning home to finish her chores. In the afternoon, when we returned from school, she would have tea and biscuits ready for us. Then she would set about preparing dinner for us.

        In the evenings, after she had done her chores and we had done our home work, she would sit us down and while swinging on the hammock, she would tell us stories. (It was only very later on in life when I had my own children that I fully appreciated what she was doing). She was teaching us, nurturing us, instilling in us important lessons.

       My favourite was about two brothers and a sister, who were orphans living by themselves. Each day the brothers would go to work in the fields. It was backbreaking work and it was always very hot. The little sister remained at  home to do the cleaning and cooking. Each day, she picked bhaji (spinach), from the garden to cook(They ate no fish and/or meat). She would clean, wash and cut the bhaji, and with some salt she would cook it. The brothers tired from work, would eat and go to sleep.

      This routine went on every day, until one day, while she was cutting the bhaji, she cut her finger and the blood got into it. She was in a panic. She could not throw it away. She washed it again and cooked it. The brothers as usual came home, tired and hungry. While eating, the big brother stopped. The sister in a trembling voice asked “what is wrong dada (big brother)? “ After taking another handful and chewing on it, the brother said ”Beti (sister), what did you put in the bhaji? “ Nothing dada”. “ This bhaji taste so good beti”. “Thank you dada”, she replied with relief.

     The next day, she willfully cut her finger and let a few more drops of blood fall on the bhaji. The brothers came home ate their food and for the first time began to laugh and talk, rather than going to bed. The sister was so happy. This went on for some days. The food was tasting better and better. One day the brothers decide to come home early and hide and watch their sister cook. They saw what she did. After the meal they called the sister and asked her again why the food tasted so good. Once again she said she cooked it the same way. They persisted, telling her not to be afraid and to tell them the truth. Finally she told of cutting her finger the first time and being afraid to tell them…”and dada you enjoyed it so much that I did it again and when I saw how happy it made you and lil’ bhai (little brother) and how you laughed and smiled, I put more and more of my blood into it)”.   The brothers hugged her and told her not to be afraid and to continue to do what she was doing.

      Weeks went by and the brothers started to think about how they could make the food even better. One day, the little brother said “dada, if some of beti blood taste so good, how do you think she will taste?” The big brother slapped him and told him to be quiet. He was very disturbed, because he was thinking the same thing .After a few days the two brothers decided to kill the sister and eat her. They did so, but the problem was, there was no one to cook for them. Eventually, they tried but it was no good. They had no food, their sister was dead, and they were hungry. This went on with no relief. They were always hungry. They were always angry and they could not go to work because they were so weak. Soon they started quarreling and one day the little brother struck the big brother. He got so angry that he grabbed his cutlass (machete) and slashed him. The little brother bleeding from the head grabbed his cutlass and struck back. They went at each other until finally they both fell. Before they died, they crawled to each other and, weeping asked,“    What happened to us? Where is beti?”

       My mother with tears in her eyes would then tell us…” remember to always be thankful for what you have, always respect and care for each other and always be contented “ We would go off to bed  accompanied by the story of the Bhaji and the Sister.

      My mother’ s stories filled our heads and in my case had a tremendous influence.

 

    Uneducated, but not illiterate, she taught us to love, care, be grateful and above all, to not forget family.