An abused woman

This happened about thirty years ago on the banks of the Ganges in Benares. A woman whose age could just as easily have been thirty or fifty, because of the way TB had taken its toll on her, was holding her young son in her arms and beside her was her daughter, who was about two years old.

There was no hope for her. She had been the victim of an alcoholic husband who had finally walked out on her. So whichever way you look at it, her life had been nothing but suffering and failure. The younger child in her arms was in all probability at death’s door, and she herself knew that she did not have much longer to live, either.

We spoke. Brimming with my Christian prejudices, or better still, simply human ones, I tried to console her and said: “How can you put up with this life?” She wasn’t a Christian, but a Hindu.

To my surprise, this woman –remembering her still moves me to tears– expressed her joy at having been invited to the feast of life, at having experienced the joy of a married life, albeit a brief one because of the horror she was soon to experience, the joy at having been a mother twice and knowing that this feast was now nearing its end.

And there she was, full of gratitude and joy at having been invited out of the blue to enjoy a moment of fulfilment. What else could she wish for? A future that did not exist, or not yet at least? The memory of a past that was no longer there? She had lived and that flash of light was more than enough for her.

(Raimon Panikkar, Entre Déu i el Cosmos, 2006)