Amma stood before the aquarium, watching the fish bathed in golden light. The fish, swimming gracefully in the glow of multicolored bulbs—goldfish, tropical fish—seemed to mesmerize her. Her face lit up as she observed the rhythm in the fishes’ movements. It was as if she was lost in their swift, harmonious dance.
The fish swam with joy, gliding upwards or downwards, darting around artificial corals and green plants. Before touching the smooth, colorful stones at the bottom, they would swiftly turn back.
“The rhythm in their movements—if only humans could learn to live like this,” she often remarked.
Gopal stood with a book in his hand, longing to dive back into its pages, but Amma stood in front of him. Holding the book with a finger marking his place, he observed her. Amma’s face glowed, framed by the golden circle of light from the aquarium. Was the glow from the light or the radiance of her affection? Gopal often found himself pondering this as he looked at her.
He glanced at the book titled Mother by Gorky, still holding his place with a finger, and stood motionless. His mind drifted from Gorky’s Mother to the smiling face of his Amma.
“What’s that in your hand? Gorky’s Mother? It’s a good read, go on,” Amma encouraged him.
“What Gorky wrote, Amma! I read fifty pages of this sitting
Amma stood before the aquarium, watching the fish bathed in golden light. The fish, swimming gracefully in the glow of multicolored bulbs—goldfish, tropical fish—seemed to mesmerize her. Her face lit up as she observed the rhythm in the fishes’ movements. It was as if she was lost in their swift, harmonious dance.
The fish swam with joy, gliding upwards or downwards, darting around artificial corals and green plants. Before touching the smooth, colorful stones at the bottom, they would swiftly turn back.
“The rhythm in their movements—if only humans could learn to live like this,” she often remarked.
Gopal stood with a book in his hand, longing to dive back into its pages, but Amma stood in front of him. Holding the book with a finger marking his place, he observed her. Amma’s face glowed, framed by the golden circle of light from the aquarium. Was the glow from the light or the radiance of her affection? Gopal often found himself pondering this as he looked at her.
He glanced at the book titled Mother by Gorky, still holding his place with a finger, and stood motionless. His mind drifted from Gorky’s Mother to the smiling face of his Amma.
“What’s that in your hand? Gorky’s Mother? It’s a good read, go on,” Amma encouraged him.
“What Gorky wrote, Amma! I read fifty pages of this sitting right here on the sofa. As I finished the last line…”
Amma quickly interrupted, turning her attention to the aquarium and sharing fascinating details about the fish.
“Goldfish need 65 degrees Fahrenheit, while tropical fish thrive at around 75 degrees. They require different temperatures.”
“But you aren’t afraid to keep them together, Amma. You always have a solution to every problem, don’t you?”
“Not for everything,” she smiled.
Amma opened the cupboard, took out a container of fish food, and sprinkled it into the aquarium. The fish darted toward the food with renewed energy—red, yellow, blue, orange, rainbow-colored fish, faster and faster. Amma’s face lit up even more. Every time she stood by the aquarium, Gopal wished he could capture her glow, her affection, and fill himself with it entirely.
The fish, collected with care, reminded Amma of the children at Amba Building—orphans, the destitute, or the abandoned, like Nisha, Afzal, George, Fatima, Bablu, and many others. Just like those colorful fish, the children had found a home and affection under Amma’s care.
Amma, a beloved figure, was renowned for two reasons—her unique way of draping sarees and her nurturing, affectionate demeanor. She wasn’t just the mother to her only biological son, Shishir, but also to Tinku, Mintu, Hussain, Lohit, Amarjeet Kaur, Tom, Rajni, Mary, Farah, and Dilkhush, to name a few. Many children had soared to great heights, reaching destinations like Paris and London with their adoptive parents, yet they never stopped calling her “Amma.”
When someone asked how she managed to feed so many children, her simple answer was, “The one who gave them life will also provide their food.”
Gopal often questioned the meaning of his life. Amma had found him in his childhood when his mother, Charki, used to work as a maid at Amba Building. Gopal had been drawn to Amma, envying Shishir’s privileges and feeling inferior in comparison. But Amma, with her discerning eyes, had seen something in him that even his own mother couldn’t.
Amma had said, “There’s a fire in his eyes. It needs to be preserved.” With time, Gopal became Amma’s adopted son, growing and flourishing under her care. Amma’s affection and nurturing turned Amba Building into a home of miracles for every child who entered its embrace.
A Tragic Twist
One day, fate played a cruel trick. Amma’s affectionate, protective nature led her to intervene in a confrontation between armed gang members outside the building gates. Amid the chaos, the unthinkable happened—Amma was shot. Gopal rushed to her, cradling her in his arms as she succumbed to her injuries. Her blood soaked the soft grass she cherished.
The children were left shattered. The vibrant Amba Building, once full of laughter, fell into a heavy silence. Amma’s framed photograph, adorned with a garland, hung above the aquarium, where even the fish seemed to mourn her absence.
Days later, a heartbroken Gopal stood before Amma’s photograph, searching for answers in her deep, compassionate eyes. A little boy named Rahi tugged at his hand, pulling him out of his despair.
“Bhaiya, won’t you tell us a story? Like Amma used to?”
Gopal froze, stunned. Amma’s eyes, even through the photograph, seemed to smile at him, urging him to step into her shoes. In that moment, Gopal realized his purpose. He would continue Amma’s legacy, ensuring her deep eyes—filled with love and compassion—lived on through him.
Anita Rashmi
1C, D Block, Satyabhama Grand, Kusai, Doranda,
Ranchi – 834002, Jharkhand, India
Email: rashmianita25@gmail.com
English Translation by Rajesh K Sinha