Bhatoo

Bhatoo

It was last term of my 3rd semester at IIT Roorkee. It was starting to get cold, Occasional morning fog was setting in, which was making hard for most students to get out of cozy warm bed and attend classes. I had skipped breakfast to attend my morning classes and now, very hungry, I was on my way back to Cautley Bhawan to grab my lunch. As I passed by the Satkar cafe near State Bank of India inside IIT campus I was stopped by sound of constant coughing of an old person. As I looked around to find I saw an old woman wrapped up in shawl sitting under the sun holding a walking stick next to the big Banyan tree near the foot steps of the main entrance of the Bank. She was very old perhaps in her late 80s, her face was dark and heavily wrinkled. She wore thick pair of glasses on her eyes and was wearing Indian traditional dress of salwar kurta, which looked a bit dirty as if its not been washed for a while. As I approached her to ask if she was all right, she looked at me through those thick opaque glasses in surprise. I asked her again and then she replied to me in her coarse shaky voice, “ could you help me to fill up a form to withdraw some money from my account, my pension must have arrived”. I filled her form gave it back to her and then she used my pen to cover her thumb in blue ink to put her thumb impression on the form in place of signature. The impression was plain, because of her age perhaps, her finger prints have all but disappeared. After helping her I headed straight to have my lunch. 

Later that evening as I lie in my bed I wondered, who was that old woman, what’s her story, and why she was there all by herself. I had bit of a sleepless night thinking about her. I made my mind to find her next day and speak to her in order to figure out if I could be of some help, she looked sick and helpless to me. Next day I got up early prepared myself a cup of chai and then after taking hot shower headed straight to student mess, breakfast was already served. I had my usual bread omelette with Milk. I was very eager to meet that old lady. As I headed for my morning class I took road, which heads towards the stairs along the LBS stadium, leading to the main building. I was thinking to pass-by the State Bank of India office hoping to see the old lady waiting outside. I was a bit disappointed as when I reached there I did not see her. I reluctantly headed towards my class. It was a boring few hours of lectures where Prof.’s came to vomit there 10 year old notes. 

As I was leaving the Civil department I saw a glimpse from the corner of my eye of a skeletal frame of a women walking up the road , which connects Architecture department to Civil Department, with help of a walking stick. In an instant I recognised her. I wasted no time and headed straight to speak to her. As I approached nearby I asked her if she need my help. She replied in her coarse voice that she is heading to the bank again and I can help to fill her withdrawal form to draw her pension, her pension was not in her account yesterday so she was going to the bank again today. As I walked with her I asked her how old she is, she told me she has lost count of her age but guessed it around 75 or so. Looking at her wrinkled face and stooped back I would say she looked more like in her 80s to me than in her 70s. 

I wanted to  know more about her and asked her if she has any family. She told me “ I live with my son’s family in the Khanjarpoor.” Its a small village on outskirts of Roorkee. She also told me she would have preferred to live by her self as her son is very abusive often beats her and he keeps her only in the veranda of the house. With her government pension of 500 Rs a month she wouldn’t not be able to afford anything on her own. The money was enough to buy her two square meals a day of rice and dal. She coughed and said “Its fine for her in summer but winters are really tough for my age”. She told me her life is tough these days but it was not always like that, when her husband was still alive they lived a good decent life. Now things have changed her good moments have passed it time for moksha for her. She effectively told me she was waiting for her end. Moksha is the last stages of life according to Indian ways of living, where after having accomplished everything you wait for your soul to be liberated from the body to start new circle of life. 

It was amazing for me to see the positive energy in this old woman, she was living a tough life and instead of complaining but she was waiting for moksha. I learnt something from her that day.