The Ashen Lady

When the east window is opened, much of the main road comes into view. On the traffic island at the corner stands a krishnachura tree, its branches spread wide. When life stirs in the tree—red and green—Seema sits for hours beside the window. Watching the red blossoms of the krishnachura, the rush of colorful cars, and the bustle of people in their varied clothes, her solitary afternoon hours pass pleasantly enough. But when she wears the garb of widowhood, she no longer sits by the window. Like the tree, all the green in her heart turns gray and faded.

The tree now has no leaves, no flowers. A few dying branches spread out as it stands in silence. Seema watches now from her bed. She no longer feels like opening the east window. Mother will probably come soon with warm milk. How many times has she told her mother that drinking milk won't help her at all. Yet seeing her mother approach with glass in hand, she cried out, "I'm not going to live—I know it, and you all know it too. Why are you all suffering so much for me needlessly? The doctor has given you false hope."

Mother laughs when she hears such things and says, "Foolish girl, who says you won't live? This disease is common nowadays. People used to die from it before because there was no medicine for it. Now there's not so much to fear. Didn't you see how Minu's eldest uncle recovered from tuberculosis even when he was at death's door?" Though Saleha Begum says these comforting words with laughter in front of Seema, her heart trembles from time to time. Tears come to her eyes.

At first, Seema hated lying in bed all day. She would quietly open the door and come stand on the veranda. Some days she would go down to the courtyard, then to the garden, deceiving everyone's watchful eyes. If Mother saw her, there was no escape—she would gently lead her back to bed. She used to curse the doctor silently. Now it doesn't bother her as much. She lies there day and night, just lying. And she thinks, how long has it been since I went downstairs, since I went to the garden. It must be months now. She finds it very strange. How did she manage to spend all this time just in this room without going downstairs!

One night her sleep was broken by a horrible dream. Three jackals were digging up the earth of a grave and pulling out a corpse from a fresh burial. Then they tore the shroud to shreds. A young vulture began crying exactly like a small child, sitting in a tree. Two vultures descended upon the corpse. Then all five creatures slowly began tearing and eating the flesh of the corpse. Seema sat up in bed and turned on the light. She couldn't find any meaning in the dream. She was terribly frightened inside. Though she tried to sleep, sleep wouldn't come. Whenever she closed her eyes, the dream scene would float up exactly as before. She couldn't sleep the rest of the night.

In the morning she told no one about the dream. Eventually she forgot it herself. At night she woke again, having seen the same dream as the previous night. She turned on the lamp. She poured water from the pitcher and drank a glass. Slowly getting up, she properly closed the open window. She checked the door once. Then she came back to bed and lay down. Sleep wouldn't come anymore. She stayed awake all night. The same thing happened the next day. She became very frightened.

She was also deeply puzzled. She couldn't understand at all why this was happening! Suddenly it occurred to her—would she not survive after all? Was this dream a premonition of that?

She told her mother the entire dream. "Dreams are just dreams. Do they ever come true? Silly girl. Don't worry your mind about such things. Here, I've brought milk. Drink it up quickly." Though Saleha Begum said this with a laugh, her heart began to tremble. Her throat went dry. She had heard from elders that people often learn of ill omens beforehand in dreams. After breakfast, she privately told her husband everything. Rahman Saheb laughed it off. Then he came to Seema and said, "Sima, my child, what's this about seeing something in a dream? That's nothing at all. Don't let it upset you!" He left.

Several more days passed this way, with the same kind of dreams. Nowadays, whenever she closes her eyes, only the image of a corpse wrapped in white shroud floats before Seema's eyes. Her eating became irregular. There seemed to be darkness around her eyes. Her hair became disheveled. She spoke only when necessary. She just stared with a fixed gaze. Mother scolded her, and also showed affection. But no change came. Saleha Begum wept silently. She told her husband to do something.

Within a few days, Seema's condition unexpectedly began to worsen. The chest pain increased. Blood began coming up with her cough more than before. Everyone became frightened. The doctor was frightened too. He tried desperately to keep the patient under control. But everything seemed to be going in the wrong direction. The doctor, at his wit's end, said she should be taken abroad somewhere. Better treatment and a change of environment was needed, which was only possible abroad. Seema refused to leave the country under any circumstances. Father explained, Mother explained, the doctor insisted. Finally she agreed. At the time of departure, mother and daughter embraced each other and wept. Then she kissed Seema goodbye.

Five days later Rahman Saheb returned with Seema. Wrapped in a white sheet, Seema sleeps in a coffin. Today she will no longer wrap her arms around her mother's neck and say in her sweet voice, "I won't drink any more milk, Mother."