The dying of the light

What was it that made people wait for almost an hour for the hearse to arrive with the body? Surely it was not respect alone which drove them to the burning ghats in the middle of the day. Alongwith her literary acumen, it was her innate warmth and zest for life, I think, which stole people’s hearts.

Her spontaneous laughter, sparkling like a cascading waterfall, still rings clear in my ears. It is not very long since I heard it last. In fact, it was just one day before she departed this world. I rang her up to congratulate her on the accolade she had received in a TV programme the previous evening. Manjul laughed with childish delight. “I was somehow feeling very sad when Kuber Dutt rang up to tell me about it… aur meri shaam gulzar ho gayee."

I was amazed and touched by her immense capacity for happiness. After authoring 18 books, winning the Hindi Academy Award for her contribution to the literary world and the Yasphal Award for her novel Anaro, and having appeared on TV and the radio a number of times, surely she was used to acclaim. Perhaps. I don’t know, for I can never ask her. Never come to know the secret of her effervescent laughter. Or how she created happiness when inreality none existed.

She laughed and made others laugh. And when no one felt like rejoicing, she laughed alone, compelling those around her to at least smile, if not laugh their troubles away. Like I did, when she rang up — little did I know that it was the last time I would hear her voice — and said, “I want to tell you something… I never feel sad or depressed in the morning when I get up. I feel today some miracle will happen and all my troubles will vanish… and then Lalit (her husband ) makes tea. That is enough for me to want to get out of bed quickly,” she laughed shyly.

An incurable romanticist, she wove romance not only in her stories, but in real life too. Even after 38 years of marriage, she could keep the romance alive. No marriage is without its ups and downs. Hers was no exception, only she was an exceptional woman. Undaunted by her mounting health problems, she continued to write till the last day of her life. Perhaps she knew that she had little time and lots to say. It was almostas though a divine force were guiding her towards a culmination. This much, and no more, it must have whispered in her ear, for she left behind no unfinished saga.

The noted critic Namvar Singh had put it so aptly, when differentiating between her and the other writers. He said that she told stories, while others wrote them. He had paid her the parting tribute, unknowingly.

`To see a world in a grain of sand,/And a heaven in a wild flower,/Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,/And eternity in an hour.’ These lines by William Blake will always remind me of her, my dear sister.