TWENTY-year-old Seema Sumar loved her grandmother in life, and even more in death.“How much will I love,” I asked myself, as I gazed through the window of a taxi which was transporting me to New Amsterdam, Berbice.
I was returning from an assignment on the Upper Corentyne when I caught a glimpse of two coffins in a yard at Number 57 Village.
“Is whose funeral,” I asked the youthful driver.
“Is a woman and she granddaughter,” he responded.
“A woman and her granddaughter?” I questioned.
“Yes, you heard me right,” he replied,  as though he’d read my thoughts.
“The old-lady dead, and the girl could not live without she nani, so she  kill  she-self,” he continued whilst keeping his eyes on the roadway, and manoeuvering from the animals which were eating the paddy being dried along sections of the thoroughfare.
Having marked the location, I vowed  secretly to return to get the story; and I sure enough did.
Initially, the male  relatives who were having a drink days after the  burial were reluctant to share any detail. They said I had gone too late.
“You should have been here before,” they argued.
“But no one informed me,” I responded sheepishly, before relating how I got wind of the incident.
“OK! OK!” said the man with the glass of vodka. “But who you say you wukkin’ for?” he asked, whilst  staggering  before me to have a better look at my press pass.
Satisfied with what he saw, he said: “I see! I see! So you want a story! OK!”
Meanwhile, Maureen, a family-friend, came to my rescue.  She offered me a bottle of aerated drink before inviting me to the back-yard to another house, where we sat on its shaky stairs.
Maureen  had known the family for over 20 years; ever since she got married. She  lived a street away. It was just before midnight when she was  summoned after Dularie ‘Nani’ Sumar was not responding to the urgent calls of her granddaughter.
Her granddaughter, Seetara Devi Sumar, fondly referred to as ‘Seema’, shared the same bed with her grandmother. She had been doing so since she was an infant. Her grandmother cared for her, as Seema’s  mother was just too young to take up motherly responsibilities.
‘Seema’ had reported that ‘Nani’ was groaning heavily, and that her repeated calls to her went unanswered.
‘Nani’ was 70 years old; she was a U.S. citizen. She went to America regularly, but her vacation could not exceed two weeks, as ‘Seema’ would be calling for her to return to their Number 57 Village home.
‘Nani’ or ‘Mai’, as she was sometimes called, was expected to leave for the United States on April 21. Her bags were already packed.
‘Seema’  had bought new clothes, like the rest of the household, to take the trip to the Cheddi Jagan International Airport, where the elderly woman would board the airplane. But that was not to be, as Dularie Sumar died in her sleep, just next to her granddaughter.
“Mai! Mai!” Seema shouted. “Ow Mai! You dead and gone! Meh can’t live without you!” she bawled.
Words of comfort by other members of the family were thrown aside by Seema; she was adamant that life would be meaningless without her grandmother.
Her constant remarks of death caused members of the household to keep an eye on her.
Subsequently, the police were notified of the old woman’s death. Her body was taken away, and plans were on stream for the funeral arrangements. But Seema’s remarks remained unchanged. ‘‘Mai! Mai! Ow Mai! You dead and gone! Meh can’t live without you.”
So, the following day, further funeral arrangements had to be put in place. Maureen was using the landline telephone.  Seema was speaking to her overseas-based uncle on her  mobile phone. During that period, a relative stopped by in a car. That relative had gone to the market,  and had  returned with some groceries.  Maureen hung up her phone and left to assist the relative with the groceries.
Seconds later, shouts for Seema filled the house. Seema! Seema! they all shouted. But the eerie silence signalled that something was wrong.
Footsteps raced through the two-storied house; the doors to the various rooms were opened hurriedly as they all searched for the 20-year-old girl who idolized her grandmother.
“No friends; no outings; no Facebook interaction; nothing. Seema lived and loved her ‘Mai’, Maureen recalled as she related the story.
It was in an aunt’s room that they found her, suspended by her sister’s shalawar shawl. She was already dead.
Her  maternal uncle,  Natram Sumar, called Baljeet, a  devout Christian, was at his farmlands when he heard of the tragedy. He opined  that the spirit of death had possessed his niece shortly after his mother’s demise.
“You see, they were in the same bed.  After my mother died, Seema’s countenance changed; and all she spoke of was death. I believe the death spirit got a grip of  her,” he surmised.
“You see, Seema never went anywhere,” he said. “My mother used to attend the Full Gospel Church down the road, but Seema did not go. I believe she was weak mentally; she could not rationalise, because she did not socialise.  She had no friends; no boyfriends; no one… Her two younger sisters used to go out, but she remained at home.  After she wrote CXC, she stayed home. She could have gotten a job, because she passed her subjects, but she preferred to be with she ‘Nani’. She believed life was over after ‘Mai’ died, and so she tek she life.
“Like they lived, they died: Together, not leaving the other behind.
“No  pictures, no movable possessions; we placed all in their coffins; they have nothing to return for, as they are together forever,” sighed Baljeet.

By Jeune Vankeric