The Plasms of life

'I wish someone told me earlier  about the  sufferings and sorrows  of  Mrs. Arora. Oh ! how much I wished  that  I  had known  what was behind  the  sad and helpless expression  of  this elegant  and sober lady who was posted to my school.  The depth  of her eyes  conveyed that deep  down  within her  heart   there was  suffering , a suffering  which was only hers  and  was purposely hidden from  the  probing   eyes  of the world.

This  graceful lady, who was posted to my school, depicted   a sober and composed  demeanour when she came to join the school. I was instantly attracted by her towering  personality.  I  had seen her some years  ago. At that time she was  a bubbly and  exuberant   young  lady.Just within a period of three years  so much change! I wondered what had happened to her during this  period!

She was a hard working and a sincere teacher.  She came to school, attended to her  prescribed  time table and left the school.  She did not  mingle with  others,  as if always  lost in  a world of her own.The outcome was,to say the least,  that staff members and students  passed unsavoury remarks about  her. Some said she was arrogant, some others said  she was  presumptuous  and brazen.  There was no end  to all these comments.  I presume that most of  these  comments reached her but she paid no heed to them.

All this ended as abruptly as it started. One day in a school function some irresponsible students openly mimicked her. They uttered  harsh words against her. All  this was too much for her to bear  and she burst into  tears.  Some  staff members escorted her to my office. I let her cry for some time and then sat by her side. I spoke very  softly  and encouraged her to speak. Ultimately she  came out  of her shell.  She narrated  to me that her husband was mercilessly killed by  an unruly mob. 

She had hardly recovered from this shock,  when  she was informed that her only son, who was studying abroad,  too became a victim  of mob violence. This was the last straw in her otherwise  life of sorrow. I let her cry. After narrating these two incidents  she  became stable.I advised her that  whatever had happened should be forgotten. I reminded her of Tennyson’s famous  lines

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act—act in the living Present!

Heart within,and God o’er head!

Slowly she was transformed . I felt that had I known all this earlier,I would have consoled her as I did  now.

Note: This is a true incident.Only the name of the teacher has been changed to protect her identity.