Mirror of Wisdom

by Sreelekha Chatterjee

The front doorbell rings impatiently, intimating that my childhood friend Reema is here

“So good to see you,” I say, in emotional plenitude, as I open the door, beckoning her to come inside. Accompanying her is a beautiful, teenage girl, probably fifteen or sixteen years old

“My daughter, Siya!” Reema introduces on noticing the inquisitive look on my face

I welcome them to my two-bedroom apartment in a posh colony of the city, something which my husband and I are extremely proud to have achieved

“Tell me how have you been? We’re probably meeting after maybe two decades ” I say as I gather a cheerful spot with my friend, wondering how the hours of our pleasant childhood days have passed so rapidly.

“Forget about that You don’t look good Don’t you take care of yourself?” Reema says crabbily, in a loud voice with an eye roll, putting an abrupt end to my recollections of our joyful past. Perhaps she has detected the dark circles around my eyes, the fine lines on my forehead, which I’ve failed to conceal with colorful make-up. Someone has rightly said that it’s difficult to hide anything from a sincere, thoughtful friend

“Where’s the time for that?” I say as my eyes restlessly wander around Siya. If I’d children, they’d have been the same age as her. Seeing her I realize that a long time has gone and we’re growing old

It’s difficult to make out Reema’s age and anybody will agree with me that she looks almost ten years younger, like a tricenarian How does she maintain herself?

“You’ve to find time for yourself. What are you busy with?” Reema asks with a natural, friendly spontaneity, her tone a few decibels lower than before

“I’ve to do a lot of household work dusting, cleaning, cooking, shopping daily-needed items. Taking care of my husband is another big task My world revolves around him right from early in the morning, helping him to get ready for office, iron his clothes, prepare his breakfast, tiffin, and then in the evening when he comes back, I’ve to prepare snacks, dinner ”I say, listing out my daily chores

“And in the process, you forget to take care of yourself,” she says with a note of anger. I notice the same earnestness in her eyes with which she used to wake me up early during our childhood days and ask me to join her in the morning walk

Her words invite an inexplicable feeling that tortures me under its grip like clouds tinctured by the dazzling sun something that is so lovely yet gloomy, so peaceful yet annoying, so bright yet shadowy as if it has reached somewhere deep that has hardly ever been touched upon, like an unexplored terrain being conquered for the first time ever

SolemnlyI follow her eyes around the spot-less, sparkling mahogany sofa-set, matte-finish center table; an exquisite, priceless wall painting of a riveting scenery of a river with the glowing sun overhead, its sinuous trail through the dale is much like the chaos in the labyrinths of my mind amidst perfect order; a glass wardrobe stuffed with expensive, decorative items like statues, figurines, vases, candle holders, display containers and halt on the engineered-wood bookshelves full of classic books by great authors like Dostoevsky, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Toni Morrison, Leo Tolstoy, and many more.

“How many of these have you read?” Reema asks excitedly, while her attention is engaged elsewhere.

“It’s just that ” Hesitantly, I fidget with my hair, and my voice trails off. All these books are just like showpieces for me which I seldom consider worthy of notice except for the time when I eliminate the accumulated dust from them

“You couldn’t find time. I get it.”

I spend my entire day tidying the apartment, keeping everything spick and span This is something I do to relieve myself of the fathomless sensation, etched with sharp distinctness of negativity, that overwhelms me at times a bout of loneliness as if I’m standing on a runway, while my contemporaries have boarded the planes of fulfillment and soared high in the sky, gone much ahead of me I miss my very purpose of life.

“Can I borrow some books, Aunty?” Siya says suddenly, breaking into my thoughts

I deftly avoid the question, as parting with the timeless classics is something that I’m not comfortable about for the fear that they’ll be mishandled

“It’s ok to have a little dust here and there. Nobody will remember that. But the most important thing is how you look after yourself and enjoy the little joys of life ”Reema pauses for a moment as if to arrange her phrases and resumes, “Like Amaterasu you need to come out of your cocoon and recognize your true value, your inherent qualities.”

She narrates the story of Amaterasu Omikami, who was the Sun goddess of the oldest Japanese religion called Shinto. On being treated badly by her brother Susanoo, she withdrew, hid in the cave of heaven, and shut the entrance with an enormous rock As a consequence of her disappearance, the world plunged into darkness, and evil spirits reigned and rampaged through the earth.

The gods persuaded Amaterasu to come out, but she didn’t listen to their plea In despair, the assembled gods decided to lure the peeved goddess into coming out by organizing a grand party near the cave. They put a big mirror in front of the cave and sparkling jewels on a tree Uzume, the goddess of laughter, began a dance accompanied by loud music.

Drawn by the music and uproarious laughter, Amaterasu drew closer to the cave entrance to find out what was going on outside. Fascinated by her own stunning reflection in the mirror, she came out of the cave Finally, her radiant light covered and illuminated the world

Reema turns her head toward me, her eyes fixed on mine as if trying to investigate what’s going on inside me I rummage through my mind where my confused thoughts are lone wanderers like lost travelers unsure about their destination in an attempt to organize my process of understanding.

She lowers her eyes and continues with the same rhythm as before, “You need to have a healthy sense of self-worth It’s vital not only for you but also for your family. Only an enlightened one can brighten the lives of others. Amaterasu deprived herself from her own greatness as well as the entire world The mirror in the mythological tale symbolizes wisdom I can only hold the mirror for you where you can visualize your own spirit. What you see in it is entirely up to you.”

I nod my head in agreement My thoughts begin like undifferentiated complexes in the deep ravines of my mind and dissipate randomly without having any definite object of involvement.

“What you do every day is absolutely necessary but not at the cost of your own well-being Looking after yourself is something that only you can do. There is still time. If you don’t pay attention to yourself both mentally and physically now, you will have to hire many people to do that later on, and mind it, you wouldn’t like it then It would be like a bitter medicine that you will be forced to take.”

After Reema and her daughter depart, I focus on self-introspection, something I haven’t done in a very long time. I comprehend that taking care of myself needs to be prioritized. Following a set routine, intake of a balanced diet and timely meals, appropriate exercise, reading good books, pursuing my old hobbies of singing, painting, knitting will help me to revitalize myself and my weary mind.

Neglecting oneself is a sin and I have committed that It dawned on me that every living being is unique and has a role to play even if it is minuscule on the stage of life At last, the path to recognition of self-worth seems to come into view and rise to the fore, removing the veil of ignorance, disregard, and welcoming the light of self-discovery Once set free, I gaze at the wall painting with renewed optimism like never before. Now I know that the tortuous river is bound to meet its ocean.

Sreelekha Chatterjee’s short stories have been published in various national, and international magazines and journals like Indian Periodical, Femina, Indian Short Fiction, eFiction India, The Criterion, The Literary Voyage, World of Words, Writer’s Ezine, and Estuary, and have been included in numerous print and online anthologies such as Chicken Soup for the Indian Soul series (Westland Ltd, India), Wisdom of Our Mothers (Familia Books, USA), and several others. She lives in New Delhi, India.

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