The Letters Written

Chapter 5: The Old and New

I spent most of my childhood on Army bases with my father and in Jessore, in Bangladesh. This is where I first lived and went to school. It was a beautiful place, with a big playing field encompassed by acres and acres of white rajanigandha tuberose flowers, and a lovely pathway to the little gate I used to pass through every school day.

I hadn't been back to Jessore since I had married Krishan, and as well as looking forward to enjoying the fields with my Rudra, I was also looking forward to having a glance at my first school.

The artillery show exhibited in the army base did not let us down and Rudra was pretty well tuckered out at the end of the day. The following morning, I dragged him up to the fields that held a beautiful fantasy of a childhood and my old school.

The pathway was still there (running through the fields, Fragrant scent of honey wafting in the air, which I suppose is another one of life's sledgehammer-subtle reminders, that we should take time to enjoy the present and look to nature to find beauty) and so was the wooden gate in the rough stone wall that was the boundary of the school.

I expected a flood of memories when I opened the gate, but it was nailed shut, and a quick peep over the top of the wall revealed a suspicious number of new buildings. A walk round to the other entrance revealed that the school had grown quite substantially, joined on the other side was a high school, and an expected college to be established soon.

Walking through the school playground, that leads to the reception area. A picture up above us in the archway to the hall was my father's photo in a beautiful bronze, intricately plaque frame, adorned with respected garlands of the tuberose and mixture of other splendid colourful flowers.

"Good Morning ma'am" a lady from the reception greeted. Formally dressed, she addressed us in a curtesy bow. She went on "This is Raghuveer Roy, pleasure to have met him, our great donor to our school. We are, where we are to today due to his patronage. He would often tell me, that if there where high schools and colleges, when his child had been here, he wouldn't have had to take to boarding school, and distance himself from his child. This is what inspired him to help expand our school, and with his efforts and our staff we were able to provide the best for our children". Smiling affectionately, she leads the mother and child around the school. Pointing out Shreya's classroom, which petite cute tables and benches facing the teacher's desk and black board. Abstract pictures of science, literature and maths and history had coated the walls. Shreya expounded fun joyous stories of her childhood with her son, how she did such naughty pranks to her teacher. She and her friends were very creative in their antics.

"Oh! Is that Moni I see over there" exclaimed Mrs Chatterjee. Moni was a nickname Shreya was lovingly called during her childhood. Mrs Shrestha Chatterjee was so rambunctious and joyous. So rowdy all the children just loved her, even today, nothing had changed.

Her red spectacles chained around her neck. She was a stocky woman. She loved the naughty kids. In fact, she could even out smart them in any naughty antics. Perhaps from experience, but no one was like Shreya and her accomplices. Mrs Chatterjee was caught out every time.

"Moni!! You rascal you, come back to get back at me dear!!!" she jovially exclaimed. Her voice was naturally loud. And her laughter louder.

She recognised Shreya instantly, there was not a doubt in her mind. Looking towards, Rudra, she smiles, her heart warm, she asks, who do we have here? The gods gave her a beautiful heart, such motherly tender love and care she was, unfortunately she was never blessed with a child of her own. But she had not let that get to her, she had children to spare at school, all the students that had been acquainted with her were her children. A reincarnation of a mother goddess could only be she.