She was about to leave the place. Everyone was sobbing. Kamala, the youngest, was saddened so badly.
‘Don’t cry, darling. It’s a matter of two years. When I return home, you’ll be a grown-up’, she went on telling with her tear-filled eyes while hugging her.
‘Amare, you must stop your naughty stuff’, Amare was warned while giving him a big hug. Amare was the eldest son and he was a notorious guy.
‘Okay, Mom. Please send me my phone as soon as you go there’, Amare said, but she ignored him at all.
‘Come on. Hurry up. The taxi has come’, her husband shouted her as loud as he could. She rushed to the taxi while her eldest son kept her luggage on the back seat.
‘Wickrame, please take care of our two children. This’s an unavoidable journey. You know if I could manage my life I would never go’, she went on telling while holding his hand tighter.
‘If possible, please come with me to the airport’, she requested him at once thinking that he would give his company to her.
‘Though I come to the airport, you’ll have to be in the sky for a long period alone. Thus, please try to manage yourself’, her husband said, showing no interest in joining her at all.
At last, the taxi was driven along the rock-strewn way through the palmyrah trees. Kamala ran behind the taxi with her tear-filled eyes. She knew that her mother would be back home within two long years of time.
As usual Wickrame strolled towards the betting center while Amare rode his bicycle to the three-wheeler park to be with his chumps. Kamala went to her grandma’s place.
She could not bear up the pain of separation and she never knew that separation would bring such alienation and loneliness.
As soon as she reached her destination, she looked for Wickrame’s mobile number which was written on a piece of paper and it was kept inside his handbag. She looked for it everywhere, but it was not there. She was highly worried.
‘Where can it be?’
Since it was not there, she tried to make a call to the village temple. She tried thrice, but it was not in service. She was utterly frustrated. She got seated next to the phone box with sadness.
‘How can I say that I could manage my journey alone?’, she was frustrated at all. She knew that her only daughter was looking for her call with anxiety and angst. Now that they had come to their particular village just a week before her migration, she was not aware of her address either. Thus, she could not write a letter.
It was the twentieth of March 1997. She was about to arrive in her country after a long five years. She was anxious to see her daughter and son at all. Eventually, she arrived at the airport and took a taxi to her village. She was impatient to be at home. She dreamt of a new house and a trishaw for her only son with the money deposited. She was highly concerned about her daughter’s higher studies.
‘She may be doing her studies well’
At last she could be at home. However, things were not like they were before. The whole house was mossy. It needed renovation as soon as possible. She could not believe her eyes. Almost all the trees were uprooted. There was not a single flower plant available. There were not any signs of the fence. She was highly worried. At once, an old woman came out of the house while she was having a look at her house and garden.
‘Is this Kusum?’, she asked her. It was her only aunt who lived in her neighborhood.
‘Where’s Wickrame, aunty?’
‘You may be tired. Come inside’
‘Where’s Kamala?’, she asked her. Her aunt could not give her a valid answer. She went inside with one of her bags. She too followed her. She felt as if her house was unoccupied for a long time. It was full of cobwebs.
‘Kusum, don’t get worried over the things I’m going to say. Okay?’
She was a bit nervous.
‘What’ve you got to say?’, she asked in bewilderment.
‘It’s been five years. You couldn’t send a single letter. At least a single phone call. Kamala was highly frustrated. She couldn’t concentrate on her studies either’, she kept silent for a while. Her tears fell down. It was unbearable.
‘Wickrame as usual went behind liquor and still we don’t know about his whereabouts. Amare got married to a girl in the next village and later joined the army as an infantry soldier’, she maintained silence yet again.
She was helpless and numb.
‘Where’s my loving Kamala?’, she asked with tear-filled eyes and a heavy heart. Her aunt kept silent for a while.
‘Aunty, where’s my Kamala?’, she asked her again with a heavy heart.
‘She left the country yesterday night as a migrant worker’, her aunt said. She could not believe her eyes. Her tears fell down as if it was raining heavily. It came to her as a shock. She strolled towards the gate as if she was guilty for everything that occurred in her absence.
