Rosamma alias Rosaline ,my childhood friend

I had just then returned from shopping when the watchman stopped me near the lift and gave me the inland cover ie a letter.I was almost surprised.Who has the time and patience to write to me on an inland cover?I looked at the address column and the round letters written by an artistic person laughed at me.I knew,the letter was from my friend,Rosaline who lives in our native villege Krishnapuram I rushed inside and plonking myself on the sofa started reading the letter.
Rosamma had written a beautiful letter to me in her inimitable style.She enquired after my welfare and as usual chided me for remaining a spinster,I chuckled because Iam almost sixty seven,too late to think of marriage.
She concluded the letter,”Viji,it is almost two decades since you visited our place.I feel sad that it has not occurred to you to visit an old friend and keep in touch with your roots.I order you,come here for Dhanur Masam(dhanur month ie dec 15 to Jan 15 ).We have renovated the Krishna temple and Iam looking forward to having you with me for all the festivals that are the hall mark of the month of Margazhi.”
I kept the letter in my almirah and sat down near the window that overlooked the road down below.My eyes were riveted to the scenes below, but my mind went back to those glorious days when Rosamma and I used to be like twins and enjoyed our childhood and even the teen years, like honey sipped slowly.

My father retired as post master and we ie my father,mother and I, who was born to my parents in the evening of their lives came to Krishnapuram, as my father wanted to spend the rest of his life in his native village.We had our own sprawling house there, which was kept locked, but taken care of by my father’s best friend Mr.Jacob who was also our neighbour.We were in the process of settling in the house and I was excited to make friends with Rosamma Mr.Jacob’s only daughter.Mr.Jacob was a couple of years younger than my father but they had grown up together so the friendship between them was deep and visible for others to see.Mr.Jacob was working as a teacher in the only school in our village.His wife had passed away some years back .Mr.Jacob’s father was a rich landlord who had left behind a good property and enough money for Jacob, hence life was smooth for him except that his daughter grew up with out her mother.

Both Rosamma and I were of the same age.Our village was a relatively small one.There were four streets in all and in the centre of the village was our famous Krishna temple.The village got its name from the presiding deity of that temple.It was a huge temple and was an ancient one.Every pillar was an artistic beauty.Sometimes even foreigners usd to come to study the sculptures in the temple and would take photos and be writing notes much to our astonishment and pride.
There was not a single spot in our village which had not been visited by me and Rosamma.After school hours and during holidays, we would be out all the time and would be dragged home by my mother given a few slaps and food ofcourse.It used to thrill me to climb on the walls of the houses,enter their garden and pluck ‘marudhani leaves’(henna)My house and even Rosamma’s house had these marudhani trees,but the thrill of plucking from others’ gardens was very special.Rosamma would make her round eyes rounder and plead with me,”viji,if somebody sees us, what will they think about us.Don’t jump on the wall please”But I would not listen to her,I had to pluck marudhani leaves,roses and whatever flowers were there in their garden.Sometimes we were caught,but since we were known to almost all the residents, nobody made an issue of our plucking a few leaves and flowers from their gardens.
In the evenings both of us would wait near our school gate pressing our bodies against the gate competing with each other as to who would enter the school first. The school served as the village library in the evenings,When the watchman opened the gate.We would rush inside, looking for badam fruits and naval pazham that would have fallen from the trees.We would fight also sometimes about sharing the loot.

During summer holidays both of us would have our breakfast and go to the Amaravathi river,the river that carried the fragrance of cardamom since it originated from ela malai.We would bathe in the river for hours on end,pour water on the Ganesh murthy who stood guard over us,bathe him,make garlands out of the flowers available nearby and decorate him and return home in time for lunch, much to the chagrin of my mother and to the amusement of my father and Mr.Jacob.
Come Dhanur month,mother would wake me up earlyand get me ready to go to the temple.Rosamma would also have got ready.By around 5 o’clock in the morning both of us would rush to the temple,why only we, almost all the kids would rush there and would be waiting for the distribution of chakkarai pongal,ven pongal,sundal and sometimes kesari.After collecting and eating the prasadam we would join the bhajan goshti that would go round the entire village singing songs in praise of God.The experience was exhilarating,but I took it for granted not knowing that oneday I would yearn for those days with all my mind and heart.
Both Rosamma and I grew up fast.We changed in our personalities.Viji the tomboy that I was changed into a quiet book worm.Rosamma blossomed into a shy, friendly girl ever ready to help others.
I was into studies.I finished my school in the village and went to Trichy to continue my college education.Rosamma also finished her school and did B.A in the college at Karur that was easy for her to reach by bus.I stayed in the hostel and would come home for holidays.The friendship between Rosamma and I deepened.We loved each other like sisters.One hitch was there.My mother.She spoilt things for me a little.How?Rosamma and my mother found things in common to talk with each other and they became very close to each other.Often I would find them seriously discussing religious topics.

Once I had called Rosamma to our house to chat with her.She took an unusually long time to come home.I came down the stairs to go to her house and scream at her,when I found my mother and Rosamma sitting in the verandha of my house and having an animated conversation.Rosamma was reading to her from the scriptures and explaining to my mother how Jesus was taken on a procession with the crown made of thorns on his head and a heavy log to carry on his shoulders.His throat was parched and water was refused to him.My mother was crying on listening to this.She sobbed,”This mahan who came on the earth to save us suffered so much,yet we do not worry about what he suffered,we keep asking him for more and more.How his mother would have felt seeing her son put through this torture”.Both Rosamma and my mother had become emotional and were shedding tears.I sat on the staircase and watched them.
On other occasions my mother would read out to her from Bhagvatgita and explain the meaning to her.She would read out to her Valmiki’s Ramayana and created in Rosamma the desire to read Hindu religious scriptures.She learnt Bhajan songs from my mother.As if that was not enough,my mother taught her to cook.Rosamma learnt to make our typicl south Indian Brahmin meals.Soon she eclipsed he mentor.When Rosamma made vattal khuzhmbu the entire street smelt the aroma.My mother would tell her,”Rosamma,when you go to your MILs house,you are going to make me proud”and throw a meaningful glance at me.Not that I botheed.I was not interested in cooking. But I was happy that my mother was attached to my Rosamma.

Rosamma got married.Her husband Vincent had a pharmaceutical shop in Karur and he did not mind cycling to and fro from the shop.He and Rosamma stayed back with her father after the marriage.Soon after Rosamma’s marriage I left for Mumbai.Igot doctorate in Science from a prestigious college and got a posting in Bhaba Atomic Research Center.My father was elated.My mother was worried about my getting married.But I made it clear to them that my work was my husband,my family and everything.
Rosamma filled my place in my parent’s life.She gave birth to a male child and my mother saw her through th delivery.She became very attached to her grandson from Rosamma.After an year, my mother died.I was abroad attending a seminar and Rosamma only took care of my mother and gave her a fitting farewell.Within an year, my father also passed away.I came to the village to be with my father in his last days.After father’s funeral,I bid farewell to my village and Rosamma, never to return again.We kept in touch through letters.

The train was reaching Karur.I became thrilled.The prospect of touching my earth, my place,of seeing Rosamma was too exciting for me.Rosamma was standing in the platform to receive me and take me home.She was lokking so serene and with a personality that commanded respect from others. She was small made with an oval shaped face,large brown eyes and abundant hair that was put up in a bun.She was wearing an offwhite cotton saree starched and ironed with a matching blouse.We hugged each other and exclaimed in unison,”Oh you look so wonderful!”to each other.Through out that night we chatted and chatted.
Next morning I got up with a throat that had gone on a strike .I could not open my mouth and have a sip of water.I could not speak,my throat was in an aweful condition.
I asked Rosamma about a hospital nearby or an ENT specialist when Rosamma replied,”No dear,there is no necessity to go to a hospital,I have already sent word to my family doctor,he will be here anytime,don’t worry.He will make you ok.”
I was perplexed,”But is the doctor a specialist Rosamma?Do you think he will be able to diagnose the problem I have,better that I go to an ENT ,you know?”I almost wailed.
Before Rosamma could reply,there was a knock on the front door and a man whom I was introduced to as Rosamma’s family doctor entered the house.He was in his late fiftees with a pleasant face and charming manners.
He said to me,”Rosamma has told me so much about you that I feel that Iam meeting you for the hundredth time”He examined me,asked me the precise questions that a doctor would ask his patient,prescribed medicines and gave me the usual instructions of drinking warm water ,light food etc.When I offered to pay him his professional fees he declined politely saying that since I was Rosamma’s guest he would not take fee from me.
”So,Rosamma,your friend will be fine in a day or two.Don’t worry”,the doctor was about to leave,when Rosamma’s voice came from the kitchen,”Doctor I have made adai for breakfast,your favorite item.Don’t you want to share it with us?”
“Adai”exclaimed the doctor,”How will I say ‘no’ to your adai,Rosamma.You know my weakness”He sat down to have breakfast with us.
After exchanging mild pleasantries with us over the breakfast table,the doctor left.

Rosamma and I went out.To my surprise I found that the village had, had a beautiful face lift in the long years that I had not visited .So many shops had come and there were a couple of malls as well.There were two good hospitals and plenty of clinics run by qualified doctors.Good schools and a convent had sprung up,I was so happy to see these developments in my native place.I remembered Rosamma writing down a list of groceries to be purchased,hence I told her,”Rosamma,now let us buy your things in the supermarket “and walked in the direction of FoodWorld when she stopped me.”No,dear.I buy my groceries from my grocer’s shop only.”
“But Rosamma,when there is a good self serving shop nearby,why do you keep buying things from your grocer who may not even have a calculator?”Iwas irritated.But Rosamma laughed,”My dear,your food world looks very nice .But those attendants won’t enquire me after my arthritic problems ,you see.They are impersonal, where as my grocer remains an extension of my family”She never acknowledged the surprise on my face and both of us walked to her grocer’s shop.When we stood in front of the shop,memories came flooding from within me.This was the same shop from where my mother used to buy her groceries and the shop owner always gave me and Rosamma who tailed my mother to the shop, a piece of jaggery to eat.
I recognized Vignesh who was many years junior to us in our school and he was the the grandson of the owner of the shop,who gave us jaggery to eat.”Vignesh,your grandfather used to give me jaggery everytime I came to the shop”said I to Vignesh who was sitting at the cash counter.
“Madam,I will give you softdrink”said he and gave us softdrinks .He put chairs for us just outside the shop.We chatted with him.I was pleasantly surprised to see the affection between Rosamma and Vignesh and also the fact that he knew about me.Before leaving the shopRosamma told him,”Vignesh,don’t forget the donation for the anna dhanam”
“No,madam.I will personally come to your house an hand it over”said vignesh.
We came home walking.A nod here,a nod there,an exchange of pleasantry with the ayah selling flowers and a reprimand to the ice cream wallah sitting outside the school gate,everybody seemed to love Rosamma and every one surprisingly knew about me as the Bombay friend of Rosamma.

As Dhanur month approached,Rosamma was very busy.She was one of the trustees of the temple fund.She was in charge of collecting money for the annual annadhanam they had during the last week of the Dhanur month.She was also in charge of making arrangements for the Christmas celebrations of the Church and organizing Christmas Mela,arranging for distribution of gifts to the poor children etc.If her morning hours were spent in meeting the people, which meant, she went from door to door collecting funds ,her evening hours were spent in making lovely garlands for the Krishna of our temple.The neighbourhood mamis collected flowers from their gardens and brought them to Rosamma’s house.She kept them in heaps before her and spent a good two hours making extraordinarily beautigul garlands for the deities of the temple.I sat there watching her, mesmerized by the dexterity of her fingers that turned out such beautiful garlands.

I was woken up from my deep sleep by the familiar music that drifted to me from the temple.I went and stood near the window, not being able to even blink for a second.From the temple, a group of men had emerged and they wore their dhotis in their traditioanal style and were singing ‘Tiruppavai’the famous songs sung by Andal, who vowed to marry only Ranganatha.The immortal songs of Andal , sung by these men in masculine voice had its own charm.These men were accompanied by a group of children many of them not more than twelve years of age and heading them was Rosamma,wearing a clean offwhite sarre and she had tied her washed hair in loose plait.She looked awefully young .One of the men turned to Rosamma and nodded his head,Rosamma in turn turned to the kids nodded her head and started singing the bhajan.
“Radhe,Radhe ,Radhe Radhe,Radhe Govindha
Brindhavana Chandra
Anadhinadha,Deenabhandho,Radhe Govindha!

The children repeated every line that she sang with such devotion
and clarity that it was a treat to watch them go in a procession, singing after Rosamma.
“Bhakthavatsala.Bhagavathapriya Radhe Govindha,Brindhavana Chandra,
Ananinadha deenabhandho,Radhe govindha!”
The procession moved slowly and stopped in front of houses where ladies wanted to acknowledge the Goshti,do namaskarams to them and offer rice and jaggery.
I came out to see the procession disappearing from my sight.My eyes fell on the beautiful rangoli that Rosamma had drawn in front of her house and adorned it with the flowers of the red pumpkin.The sight moved me to tears.

When Rosamma returned home after an hour or so,I pounced on her,”You could have woken me up.I too would have joined you”
“My dear,you were fast asleep and in the night you had taken medicines for your throat.I did not have the heart to wake you up”She pinched me on the cheek .From then onwards I accompanied her to the temple in the early mornings and joined the procession.

Soon it was time to get ready for Christmas.A couple of days before Christmas ,a Christmas Mela was organized.There many stalls selling home made sweets,and readymade clothes for kids and adults and books and other innumerable things.The ladies of the village vied with each other .made lovely sweets at hme and flooded the stalls .They also stood in charge of the stalls.I was in charge of one such stall.The sweets were a runaway hit collecting lot of money for the church fund to feed the poor.Rosamma could be seen everywhere teasing some,being firm with some one else but being kind to everybody that she came across.
On Chrismas night,Rosamma had put up the crib in her hall.People visited her to wish her merry Christmas.It looked as if the entire village was at her hall admiring the crib and looking at Lord Jesus who was lying there as a child, with devotion.In the front row of the people sitting in front of the crib was the group of children who were Rosamma’s special friends. Krishna among them, who was a five year old kid, was her favourite .He looked at the crib for a few minuteds and then asked Rosamma,”Rosamma patti,why is Jesus lying there?”
“My child,Jesus is a new born child now,so he is lying in the crib”said Rosamma with a smile on her lips.
Krishna pondered over what Rosamma said and asked her,” If I sing for Jesus will he listen to me?”
“Yes,ofcourse he will listen to you ,my child.You can even recite your rhymes, he will listen to you”said Rosamma.
Krishna looked at his friends ,nodded his head and started singing the one bhajan song that he could sing very well.
“Radhe,Radhe Radhe Radhe,Radfhe Govindha,
Brindhavana Chandra
Anadhinadha,deenabhandho,Radhe Govindha”
When the child’s voice came out of his throat like a flute being played,there was a stunned silence in the hall.
I looked at Christ.The Anadhinadhan,Deena bhandhu,Atmabhandhu,The Ratchakan of the poor,the one who laid his life to save the mankind,the one who appealed to God to forgive those who tortured him to death,appeared to listen to this innocent child’s song and actually enjoy it with a smile on his face.That moment has remained one of the greatest moments in my life.I felt that this little child,five year old Krishna, had explained to me the meaning of religion with a simple gesture.Those who saw Ranganatha in Christ and Christ in Ranganatha at that moment were blessed souls.After sometime the people who had gathered there left.There was not a pair of eyes that were not moist.

That night I told Rosamma,”Rosamma,when you had written to me that your husband passed away ,many years back,I was shocked. My grief was beyond words.Then you wrote to me to say that your father also passed away.It was then that I felt, that you should either come and stay with me or go to the US and be with your son.I did not want you to be alone in this village.But how wrong I was!This village has become your home”

“Yes,Viji”said Rosamma.”I went to the US to stay with my son for a while.I could not stay there for more than a couple of weeks,you know.I missed my people here.I missed the Ranganatha and I missed making garlands for him.I missed attending the mass in our church.I missed my little friends,I could not breathe with out them by my side.My son understood and I came back”.

Dhanur month was coming to an end.Annadhanam took place in the school premises on one of the holidays.All the people in the village were fed that day and Rosamma saw to it that no one cooked that day at home.The whole village was out in the school feeding each other and enjoying the meaning of sitting together forgetting caste and creed and enjoying a simple meal.

The next day I left for Madras much to the annoyance of Rosamma.But I had to go back to my place,my friends circle and the way of life, a hectic one, to which I was used to .I stayed in my nephew’s place and my plan was to stay there for a couple of days before going back to Mumbai.That night,my nephew woke me up from my sleep.One look at his face,I knew that the news had something to do with my Rosamma,I felt it instinctively.
My nephew broke the news to me softly.My Rosamma had passed away a couple of hours back,the telegram that he held in his hand confirmed the news.She had a massive heart attack and died while making garlands for the Gods in the temple.
I rushed to the village.Rosamma was waiting for me ,for the final adieu from me,with a serene face .She looked as if she was sleeping.People around me were sobbing,wailing,crying bitterly.Finally,Rosamma’s last journey began.Her coffin was covered with garlands and flowers and people insisted on taking the coffin in a prcession.All along the route to the cemetery where lay her final resting place,people stood showering petals of flowers on her.Rosamma’s special friends,the little children looked at a loss.Krishna ,her favourite approached the priest who accompanied Rosamma’s body,”Uncle,what happened to Rosamma patti?”
The priest replied,”My child Rosamma patti has gone to be with God. She will be serving God in heaven”
“Uncle”said,Krishna,”If I call her,will she come?”
“No,my child,she wont come”said the priest.
Krishna stood silent for a minute and then asked,”Uncle,if I sing the song which she taught me,will she listen to it?”in all seriousness.
The priest answered solemnly.”Yes,my child,whatever you sing,Rosamma patti will listen to that and she will be very happy”
Krishna looked at his friends and then started,”Radhe,Radhe,Radhe,Radhe RadheGovindha
Brindhavana Chandra
Anadhinadha,Deenabhandho Radhe Govindha”
Men and women were following Rosamma’s body,and these little kids followed them singing Rosamma’s favourite song.Looking at this sight , my veneer of solemnity,and composure gave way to my grief.I simply broke down.I cried and cried sitting on the pavement of the road,gathering the little Krishna in my arms.
Tears rolled down the cheeks of the priest who walked on solemnly.Rosamma’s final resting place arrived.I took the children aside and brought them back home.

The next day,I was getting ready to leave for Madras when some village elders came home.They insisted that I stay back in the village.
“Amma,Rosamma left us peacefully because she knew that you were there to take care of us.Please stay back with us.We need your guidance in shaping the younger generation here.We need your guidance in teaching the younger generation the values and principles of life,we need you amma,please do not go.”
I looked at Rosamma.She smiled at me from the photo frame.She seemed to say,”Yes,Viji,what they are saying is right.Please stay back here.These people need you.”

It is five years since I started living in this village after Rosamma’s departure.I know that Iam not a patch on Rosamma, in the way she cared for the people here.But every day Iam learning something new.I have lots to do.I have started interacting with the teachers in the schools,I have organized Parent Teacher Meetings and interaction between them,I am taking keen interest in continuing the Dhanur month festivals in the temple,in organizing the Christmas festivities.I have even learnt to make reasonably good garlands ,but Rosamma, I know that I can not be compared to you.Your caring for thse people was your calling,my dear.God himself asked you to do that.Iam simply following your route.Iam getting older,feeling a little tired.I will reach you, my dear,Rosamma,when my time comes.Till then ,please give me the physical and moral strength to continue my work.Please bless me Rosamma,my dear friend.

 

My dear dear mals,
Thanks dear for the wnderful FB. As always you have touched a chord in my heart.Such wonderful,kind words from dear friends only keep me alive.
Mals dear initially I wanted to write a snippet about Rosamma but as I started writing the story I fell in love with the village,the greenery which my grandchildren miss in their famous cities and Rosamma.As you have rightly said the relationship between Rosamma and Viji's mother is unique.My mother had a special corner in her heart for Lord Jesus.
Thank you mals,
love
mithila kannan