The Homeless

The first time I saw her, I was on my way to the Maligawa. Darkness was enveloping the city and we were hastening towards the temple. The street light shone on her lined face. She was of slight build with a strikingly fair complexion and snowy white hair.

Dressed in a faded cotton sari, she sat on the bottom step in front of the state bank and stretched out her hand to passers-by rushing home from work. As I turned to take a second look at her, she flashed me a toothless smile that lit up her whole face. I was instantly captivated.

All I had was the money clutched in my hand with which I was to buy jasmine flowers at the temple gate. I placed the notes on her outstretched palm, patted her cheek and ran to join my husband who was hurrying on.

I could not get her out of my mind. That smile haunted my thoughts. Perhaps there was a slight resemblance to my dear mother whom I lost two years ago. I felt I had to see her again. A few evenings later, having cooked a few curries and some rice, I made some parcels and drove to town with my husband who was unusually tolerant of my newest fancy. Walking down Ward Street, I was able to hand out several parcels to the obviously needy.

When we finally got to the bank, she was there at her usual spot. She had several polythene bags full of stuff beside her. here was instant recognition. She smiled radiantly and reached out. I placed the parcel of food in her hand. "Please, lady," she whispered softly. "Can you give me another? For my son? He is not quite right up here," she said tapping her forehead. I handed her the only parcel that remained with me.

Meanwhile, my husband who had parked the car in a 'no parking' zone was becoming impatient. Though I longed to stay and chat for a while, we had to leave. The rain started soon after we reached the car. It rained so hard and the wind blew so furiously that the drive home was slow and wearisome. I was thinking of the old woman and her 'disabled' son. Where will they take shelter? She will be soaked. The morning forecast had warned of continuous bad weather.

I had visions of her frail form lying on the cement floor shivering with cold. I wished I could go back but dared not voice my thoughts. All the way home, I was thinking of how I could shield her from another night of rain and wind.

The next day, I left my workplace early. Having bought a thick blanket and a woollen jersey from a shop in the town, I made my way to her favourite place near the bank. She accepted my gifts with such child-like excitement that I felt amply rewarded for my good deed. I watched with great satisfaction as she stuffed her gifts into large bags that were already full.

Suddenly, I heard someone calling out my name. I turned around to see Inspector Nimal Herath, my next-door neighbour about to drive away in his jeep. Happy to get a ride home, I left the old woman, promising to come another day and walked up to his vehicle. "What is your business with Rosalin nona," Nimal inquired as we drove home. "Oh! Is that her name? Sweet old woman, is she not? I felt quite sorry for the poor old thing, Nimal," I said. "She looks so frail. I thought she would end up with pneumonia in this rainy weather. So I got her some warm clothes."

Nimal exploded with laughter. He took such a long time to control himself that I felt quite irritated. How could he find my charitable gesture so funny?

"My dear Shanthi," he said finally. "That is no sweet, old woman. Her son is a leading drug dealer in this town. We know that he uses her in the business but she is so very clever. She acts her role well. We have never been able to catch her at it. We are watching her though and one of these days, we will get her. I found it funny when you said you bought her clothes because Shanthi, I am sure she can afford to buy you the whole shop!"

BY Malini Epa