Seared: Part Four

Finally Free

I had been home in Portland, Oregon, for six months when I received the news. My roommate Chandni was visiting friends in America and called me. We had been talking for 15 minutes when she relayed the news. “Libs,” she said, “I called Calcutta last week and was talking to a friend. He mentioned he’d seen Nula’s name in the newspaper.”

He had been skimming the morning paper on a lazy Sunday morning, and happened upon Nula’s name.

In the obituaries.

Cause of death was not mentioned, nor the date either.

Nula’s death is a mystery to me. At one time, it was a painful mystery. Unable to make contact with anyone who would know the details of her home going, I have spent the last five years wondering about the details of my friend’s death. Why? How? Why wasn’t I told? Why did the news take so long to reach me?

Did she die of a broken heart?

Recently I learned a few more details. Apparently she returned to Nagaland within weeks after we had our final goodbye. And there, she died. A heart attack. A broken heart.

Five years ago I mourned the death of Nula, but more than anything, mourning for her loss without answers was the most difficult. Sure there are instances in life where answers are not always given. I don’t think I have some “right” to these answers. Our chapter was closed the day we said goodbye and Nula knew it. I really believe she did. But now it is closed for me. I will always love that woman with the muscular hands and thick neck.

I have a dream to some day visit her village in remote North East India, to speak to her family, and to hear about the days of Nula. I may even be so bold as to ask about that very day, the day she was freed from epilepsy and suffering and social stigma.

I love you Nula. You walked a precarious life one day at a time, and your memory is forever seared in my memory. I can’t wait to see you again! We will play in the rain and listen to Lee Ann Womack.

And now her story, which has lain in my heart for many years, has been told.

The End.