A story of hope, faith and undying love

By Maureen Rampertab
“Hey andhan ki maharani
Oh, Jai Latchmi Rani”
VERSES of a Hindu devotional song on the airwaves, from within homes and mandirs, revering the Goddess of Light, as the festival of Diwali approached, charioted by the Gods.On this auspicious occasion, the souls of mortals across the Hindu world are touched by the beauty of the Goddess’s divine presence, for, in their belief, she amplifies love, prosperity and light. Thus in the darkest night, her light is the illumination that guides and gives blessings as she is honoured by prayers, songs and dances.
Stories of battle, fate and love are told and retold and for one devotee, named after Latchmi, the Goddess of Light, a sad story unfolds.
In a mandir, in a quiet area in the countryside, she sat, her eyes closed in prayers, mesmerized always by the poetic words and the sweet songs. Often her mind would travel back in time to the period of Kings, Mortal Gods, demons and battles. From a little girl, her mind became impressed with the history of her Hindu culture and religion and as she grew up, she read many texts that gave her a deep sense of understanding.
Epic stories of the Ramayan and Mahabarat held her in awe and tonight, the true devotee she was, she sang telling one part of the story when it all began – the significance of Diwali, of Ayodhya, the Palace where Shree Ram, the Mortal God was born, his exile and his return on the darkest night when earthen lamps were lit to illuminate his path.
As she walked home that night from the mandir, Latchmi reflected on the beautiful love story of the Hindu God Ram and his wife Seeta and she wondered,
“Will my husband, my Ram, ever return?”
For four years she had held onto hopes and faith that he would, that one day, he would, find his way out of the dark world where he was lost and reunite with her. A young couple they had been, married for just six months, when tragedy intruded in their lives.
He had been riding home from work, late one afternoon, on his motorbike, when a Tundra with three drunk youths, driving recklessly, hit him. The massive brain injuries he had suffered had left his life hanging on a thin thread for weeks. The shock had literally shattered her world but her faith was deep as the seas and she refused to accept the fact that his chances for survival were very slim.
“No,” she had cried, “He isn’t leaving me, he can’t leave me.”
She had prayed for days and nights, imploring the Gods for answers, for a miracle. On the fourth week, his eyes opened and slowly day after day, he recovered from his injuries but something was wrong.
He was not the same person.
The injuries to his brain had affected his mental state, causing memory lapses and the conclusion from medical experts was that he may not fully regain his memory.
It was a devastating blow for her, his family and everyone who knew him as a young, promising life, thrown into the wild, but her faith did not falter. Her heart had spoken the first time she saw him, acting the role of Shree Ram on the Diwali motorcade. Finding love on an auspicious night was something she held special in her heart and just the same way Seeta stayed with her husband in exile, so Latchmi would stay with Ranbir until he found his way out of the dark world.
Tears misted her eyes as she reached home and lying in bed, her hand touching the empty space beside her, she whispered, “I miss you so much.”
On the doctor’s advice, she had brought him home for he needed love and care that were like a lifeline to him. Her soft voice, the songs she sang for him, hoping it would trigger the beautiful memories of the love they shared but just fleetingly he would remember. Things took a turn for the worse when he started having manic episodes that caused him to behave aggressively and his doctor advised that he should be placed under psychiatric care.
It had not pleased her heart to do so, but she and his family were left with no other option having tried everything they could for him. The specialist doctor assured them that progress will be slow but one day he may recover to be himself again. Four years had passed by, his progress like laden footsteps, and on her visits whenever he remembered her, as she spoke with him, he would hold her hands and cry, a deep plea in his eyes.
Every day, she prayed, “Please Lord, send my husband back to me.”
Many people in his life has given up hope that he would ever recover and she was advised by some to move on with her life.
“You’re young and beautiful,” they had said, “With your whole life ahead of you. Why wait for him when there’s no coming back?”
“Because I believe,” she had said firmly, “I believe in the miracle of prayers.”
They had scoffed at her, telling her how stupid she was to give up so much in her life.
“How can I give up on a love blessed by the Gods?” she had asked herself.
For the past three years since he was under psychiatric care, she had lit a diya for him on Diwali night, waiting as the oil burnt low, that he would come home and call her name, but her Ram had still not found his way. She turned, hugging the pillow beside her and her eyes closed in sleep.
From the Heavens, the Gods and Goddesses looked down at her, pleased she had not lost faith, that her love for her husband had not withered in her heart.
For the next three days, Latchmi dedicated herself to preparations for Diwali, lending her creative skills to her Mandir’s intricate design for the motorcade, a stunning display of colour, glitter and lights. On the night of the motorcade, the spectacular floats, beautiful beyond words, send a thrill of pride through her body.
“I wish you were here, Ranbir,” she said quietly, a soft cry in her heart, “It was a night like this when we met.”
Such was her sadness, she did not go to the cultural show with her friends, just wanting to be alone with her memories and thoughts.
“I wonder what you must be doing right now?”
A sudden thought occurred to her, that she could go and see him, now and show him the pictures of the floats. She called the doctor who thought it was a good idea and the male nurse let her in, standing by, in the eventuality of the patient’s behaviour becoming aggressive.
Ranbir was standing in his room, facing the wall, his head bent and calling his name softly, she waited for his response.
A short moment later, he turned, his head still bent and she called his name again. He raised his head slowly, pushing his hand through his thick hair that had grown a bit long and looked at her with a smile. A surge of relief filled her heart, thinking he had made further progress in his recovery; but the dull look in his eyes, dampened the feeling. Nevertheless, she showed him the pictures on her phone and for fleeting moments, recognition glinted in his eyes then he got up and walked back to the wall. She made to call him but the nurse attendant shook his head slowly and with a sad feeling, she turned to leave.
As she walked out of the door, she heard him say in a quiet tone, “Latchmi.”
She stopped and exhaled deeply, fighting back the tears and turning to look at him, she saw tears in his eyes. For one helpless moment because of fate’s stumbling block in their way, they stood there looking at each other, both of them crying.
On this night, love brought them together but tragedy, like a poison arrow had struck to wither the bloom in their hearts; but her undying love, fate and hope had obliterated the bitter poison.
The earthen lamps were lit on Diwali, illuminating the dark night, when Shree Ram came out of exile, guided by the Goddess of Light, a most beautiful, wondrous sight.
Latchmi lit a diya at her alter, but tonight as she did her pooja, she did not ask of the Gods for a blessing or a miracle. She closed her eyes and spoke instead to her husband, from the depths of her heart.
“I’m waiting for you, Ranbir, to hear your voice, if not today, maybe tomorrow or another day. I may grow old, you may grow old but whatever happens, I will always love you.”
The night wore on, the oil in the diya burning low and as the light flickered, her eyes closed in sleep. A short while later, she was awakened by Ranbir’s voice calling her, “Latchmi.”
She sat up and looked at the altar, the flame was still burning, but all was silent.
“I must have been dreaming,” she sighed and as she got up from the sofa to go to bed, she heard his voice distinctly calling her name. She ran to the verandah and saw him standing at the gate, as real as ever, his doctor with him.
“Ranbir!” she cried, rushing down the stairs, gasping for words, “Are you…? Have you…?”
He put a finger to her lips, the smile on his face, reflecting in his eyes, and he hugged her, remembering, at last, who the beautiful woman was with the soft voice and sweetest smile, who never gave up on him, his wife
“I miss you, so much.”
Happiness overflowed in her heart and songs seemed to fill the air as she stood there in her husband’s arms, a few diyas around still alight. Her deep devotion and love had lighted a path for him to find his way out of the dark world and on this Diwali night, she was reunited with her Ram – the miracle of prayers.