My mother went gently into the long night last week. She had lived a full life of 85 years. We had known that the end was near for the past couple of months. She herself had wanted to go ever since she had lost her life's companion, my father, a decade ago but her spirit and body would not give up. She had prided herself that she had never visited a hospital for treatment and she was determined not to do so in her twilight years. We respected that, and though her last couple of months were tough as her body wilted, she coped with it in the familiar surroundings of her children’s houses.

When I got the call just before midnight from my sister, whom my mother had been staying with in Bangalore, the finality of her passing away hit me. As I prepared to take the flight to Bangalore from Chandigarh, the memories sped by in staccato frames with no particular narrative or continuity. There was a feeling of immense gratitude and love for someone who along with my father had ensured that each of her four children was sufficiently equipped to face life’s struggles and had the freedom to pursue their dreams.

Uppermost among them was the fact that she opted to say alone in Bangalore for five years when my father, who was in the Army, was posted in Kashmir, so that we would get the best of education. All of us were below eight years of age and she would bundle us every day to school, our uniforms starched and ironed and tiffin boxes packed. On our return, a hot snack would be waiting for us. She made sure we had our baths in the evening and prayed before going to bed. It was only when I became a parent I truly appreciated the effort.

Her village nestled among the verdant Coorg hills gave her the love for her roots and Nature.

As I got on in life, my mother’s primary question till the very last was, “How is your health — hope you are taking care of yourself?” She rarely asked me questions as to how successful I was in terms of my career, how much money I had saved or what kind of house I was living in. She only wanted to know if I was maintaining my health. The old saying ‘health was wealth' still held good for her.

Perhaps an equally important lesson she taught us was never to forget our roots or humble beginnings. Though educated in Bangalore and Delhi and having lived in Jammu, Ferozepur (where I was born) Kolkata, Deolali, Hyderabad and Nellore, my mother never ever forgot the village in Kodagu (Coorg) where she lived in the formative years of her life.

When my maternal grandfather was alive, she ensured that we spent many holidays in her village. To reach her ancestral house we had to walk over 5 km from the bus stop, past hills clad in thick forest, valleys with verdant paddy fields and the swift flowing Cauvery river that originated not far from her village.

It taught us to love nature and understand how most of India lived then and many do even today — no roads, tap water, toilets or electricity. We learnt to wake up to the call of the rooster in the morning, to milk the cows, help plough the fields, call cattle back from the meadows in the evening and read under oil lamps or listen to grandpa’s experiences.

My mother’s last wish was that part of her ashes be strewn in the Cauvery river flowing near her house, a part buried near the house where her parents’ ashes were interred and the remaining buried next to those of my father in the fields in his village some 30 km away.

Heavy monsoon rain lashed Kodagu when we took the urns carrying her mortal remains. We were warned that the river was in spate and the roads leading to her village were inundated. But Mother Nature obliged and the rain abated just enough for us to fulfil her last wish of being forever back among the people and place she loved the most.

Her final journey was a lesson too. The search for our roots and the understanding of our existence is a lifelong quest on a path strewn with flowers and thorns. Rapid urbanisation has seen many of us lose our moorings and moral compass. The pursuit of materialism as an end itself has only made emptiness and disquiet grow.

My mother taught us the importance of staying connected to nature, family, friends and those who worked or lived around you. Never to forget your roots even as your body and mind took you far and wide. So that when the bell tolled, Nature would welcome you with open arms and to limitless warmth, as it did her.

raj@tribuneindia.com