It
was the funeral ceremony of a grandmother who had died fifteen days
ago. Though the body had been cremated the same night she had died,
according to the scriptures of Hinduism, it was required that the person
who died should be remembered fifteen days after her death through a
gathering where everyone would pray for her. She was part of a rich
family in Bangladesh, and her children were also rich, inviting almost
the whole village in their house for the lunch. Everyone gathered
together with the beggars that were found in the village, to eat and
share their pray so that her afterlife would be as great as her life.
Among
the regular visitors walked in a woman who wore a white-colored saree
that covered her face, displaying only her wrinkled skin. It was still
morning time, 10 o'clock in the bright sunny morning day as the house
was getting prepared for the afternoon. She walked into the house and
asked for food.
"Sit in the side," said a maid. "I will call the owner."
She
walked into the house and called out the owner's wife, who's
mother-in-law had died. She came out, peeked into the beggar and having
seen her sit on a side, he asked a maid to get food for her. She
examined the beggar's movements, knowing that she was not the common
beggar from the village and no one had seen her here before. She
received the plate with food in it, and walked up to her and handed her
the food.
"Eat," she told the beggar. "If you need anything else, just let me know."
"No," said the beggar. "This is a lot to eat."
The
owner's wife left and her children came up, with the neighbors around
them. One of them, a boy saw that her cloths were worn out and needed
repair or replacement and thus asked her if she needed any old clothing
from the house. She looked up from the plate of food and still not
showing her eyes, she told them that they had brand new cloths in a
chest.
"I liked those," said the beggar. "Why should I wear old clothing at all when I have new cloths?"
A little surprised, another boy told her that those were not her.
"Those
are mine," she answered to the boy who often did not intercept what was
going on around him. "I used to wear them all my life. The red saree,
the jewelry in the chest, those are what I should wear, and not those
old cloths."
The
boys did not understand her much, thinking that her mental state was
not much of a great one. She stood up and walked out the doors of the
house, not letting anyone know except for the neighborhood boys, some of
whom followed her out the door. It took her considerable amount of time
to walk to the doors and the boys followed her to the opposite door.
The owner's wife came out with old clothing and handed it to her son so
that he could take it to the beggar. He ran as his friends were already
there in the road but upon going onto the road, they lost her, One of
them said he saw her walking this path and his friend next to him looked
into his shirt to remove a leaf that had fallen into his shirt. Then
the other boy who had been watching her go had taken a blink which took
her out of his picture as he figured out that right after she had come
out of the house, her speed in walking was tremendous. It was thus
concluded that she was the actual person who had died, she was the
grandmother herself.
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