Mary Catherine
Catherine is my aunty, my mother’s younger sister. When I was born, Catherine was only sixteen years old. My father had no sisters, and my mum had only one sister, Catherine. She was the only aunt I knew from my infancy. She was incredibly loving and kind. I was the only child and first grandchild in my mother’s family. From my early years, she was a big part of my life. And I was part of her life. My bond and attachment started from the day I was born.
The only place I could stay overnight as a toddler was Catherine’s home, where she lived with my grandfather. Their home was my second home. When she visited her sister, my mum, she took me to her home on her return. Those visits to my maternal ancestral home were music to my ear as a young child. I loved my grandfather’s big house on a large property. A vast garden with flowers, butterflies and fauna that could impress any child. I had Catherine’s care and attention all the time.
When I was six, my grandfather passed away. A few months later, Catherine came to live with us. She worked as a nurse in a local hospital. I had a younger sister by then. My mother’s time was occupied with my baby sister. Catherine took great care of me, relieving my mother to look after the little sister. My mother’s household chores became easier thanks to Catherine.
Catherine and I shared a bedroom at home. On weekends, I accompanied Catherine while she visited churches, convents and her relatives. I loved her dearly, almost like my mother. My mother was more disciplinarian and slow to show her emotions, while Catherine was about unconditional love. I thrived on the latter, the sole recipient of her kindness. As a result, I increasingly became dependent on her.
Two years elapsed; I had a younger brother now. The situation at home was different. There were arguments between my mother and Catherine. It was about a relationship Catherine had with a man. My uncle, my mother’s elder brother, also quarrelled with her, sometimes rudely. These made Catherine’s moods sad. She cried a lot and sometimes did not eat her meals, which made me sad. I was torn between my love for my aunty and my family. I wanted the arguments to stop. However, I was too young to understand what was going on.
A year after Catherine came to live with us, she walked out of our home. She simply disappeared with no clues. There was chaos at home, my mother crying incessantly at the loss of her younger sister. There was no clue where Catherine was. She had eloped with the man she had a relationship with. My family sent search parties on various tips they had received, but there was no sight of them.
I was confused; the worst part was not the chaos at home but the loss of my dearest aunt. It was too difficult to bear. Her sudden disappearance without a goodbye turned my world upside down. I missed her terribly and felt deeply sad. My mother’s emotions towards her now turned to anger. Sometimes I thought that it was my fault that Catherine left. It was a traumatic period for an eight-year-old.
I missed my aunty. The lack of news about her was shocking. I would ask my mother if she had any information about her sister. The question alone would make my mother angry. She was bitterly disappointed with her sister’s eloping with a divorced man. I wished I could see Catherine one more time. The only thing I prayed for was to return my aunty to me.
Many years went by. I was now 15 years of age, a teenager with an emerging mind. I had come to accept Catherine’s disappearance. I had heard she lived in a distant town, some 130 kilometres away. I was hoping, in secret, to find her somehow. Finding her was one of my goals.
A big surprise on a sunny day. Unannounced, Catherine, my only aunty, turned up at our doorstep. It was the first time I saw her after eight years. I was overjoyed to see her again, my grin hard to conceal. I did not care where she had been or what she had done. She arrived carrying a baby boy in her arms. She appeared destitute, judging from the cheap and torn saree she wore. My mother was berating her, still.
This was conflicting. I was happy, but my mother was picking on my aunty. The need of the hour was to help her. I begged my mother to give Catherine one saree from her extensive collection. It was a futile request. My mother would hear none of it. It led to an argument between my mother and me.
Aunty was so poverty-stricken that she picked up the old clothes she had left behind eight years ago. They were stored in her large cupboard that remained in my bedroom. My bed was next to her wardrobe. It served as a daily reminder and symbol of my love for my aunty during the intervening years.
Catherine now had three children. The child in her arms was her third and was a year old. She lived in a town far away, renting a disused shopfront. My grandfather had written his will leaving a house each for his three children, and aunty had come to take her place back. She wanted to raise her children in a home that was legitimately hers.
My uncle, my mother’s elder brother, had rented Catherine’s house out to a hotel owner. This is while his sister lived in extreme poverty — an unjust and heartless action. So Catherine’s request was only fair.
Meanwhile, I was only concerned with spending as much time with my aunty on that day now that she was back. So, disregarding my mother’s objections, I accompanied her when she left. I walked with her to the bus stand with my bicycle in tow, pushing it along. Spending time with her was the only thing I could do for her. I had no money or anything else to make her life better. But I got valuable 1:1 time with her walking back in the hot sun.
We talked on our way to the bus stand, a distance of nearly two kilometres, fondly exchanging mutual news during the intervening years. She told me about her two elder children, the eldest a girl and the next a boy. She was raising another boy from her husband’s first marriage. That boy was my age, just a few months older. I was happy that she wanted to return to her ancestral home in her hometown. It would, in future, be easier for me to visit her. I told her that I had left the Christian brothers’ boarding school my marks in school were good. That I wanted to be an accountant and that I would look after her when I started working. It was a very happy reunion.
Catherine was staying at her cousin’s home about eight kilometres away while she visited our home. She boarded a bus to return to her cousin’s house.
I did not want to leave my aunty in the lurch. I had my cycle with me, and I cycled following her bus. At her cousin’s house, I surprised her. I did not care what my mother thought of my disappearance for a few hours.
Her cousin’s house was simple and was nothing like our house. It had little comfort. Her youngest son, a one-year-old, was hanging onto her mother desperately. I felt a brotherly love towards that little child. I asked her whether she had money to buy milk for my infant cousin. Having no money, I knew I could not give her any money. So I offered to borrow money from my friends and give her. My love for my aunty had no bounds.
Now that we were reunited, I wanted to be in touch with Catherine. The only way was by post. But I had to be discreet because my mother would disapprove of it. So she and I agreed to correspond secretly through the intermediary, my best friend in school.
A few days later, my aunty returned home some distance away.
I schemed to sneak out without my mother's knowledge and visit her in Wahakotte, a town 130 kilometres away. It was an impossible mission for a boy of fifteen.
Catherine was determined to get her house back and provide a comfortable home for her four children. There was a problem. Her brother, my uncle, had rented the house, and the tenant was refusing to leave. My uncle did not help her to repossess it, although he had qualms about renting it out without aunty’s permission and collecting the rent.
In Sri Lanka, evicting a tenant was never an easy task. Tenants have more rights than owners. My aunty was a determined woman and single-minded despite her elder brother's lack of support that put her in this predicament.
In the meantime, the tenant dishonestly sub-let the house to a third party and vacated it. It was an illegal act. On hearing this development, Catherine bravely moved into action. She travelled the long distance alone with her infant. With a lot of bold courage, she managed to get into the house through a backdoor and took possession of the house before the new tenant moved in. Within days her three remaining kids and husband arrived and settled in the new place.
The new tenant arrived with police trying to dislodge aunty and her family. But she, with the support of her friends in the area, stood steadfast and showed evidence that she was the genuine owner of the house.
That heroic action began the redemption of my beloved aunty’s life. Finally, her kids had a stable home to grow up in. They virtually had no furniture. They slept on the ground. Her husband’s salary was meagre. She had three children of her own, plus Noel, the boy, a product of her husband’s first marriage. They had nothing. But there was plenty of love and a basic home to call their own.
I continued to visit my aunty, defying my mother and uncle. Eventually, my mother reconciled with her. When I started working at eighteen, and a few short years later, when I was earning dollars in Dubai, I willingly parted with my money if I could help my aunty in any small way.
Karma has a way of paying back. Goodness begets goodness. Her kids were given a good education. Catherine’s kids did well later in life. They have turned adversity around to come up the hard way and are comfortably well off. More than that, they are fantastic human beings and kind souls. They consider me an elder brother who turned up into their lives from nowhere.
The infant who turned up at my place clinging to her mother is now the CEO of a large conglomerate in Sri Lanka. Catherine’s eldest daughter and her husband are involved in running another large company in Sri Lanka.
My brother and I left Sri Lanka for good in our twenties. It was my aunty’s kids, my cousins, who saw to my parents’ needs, visiting them regularly.
Catherine raised eight children, three of her own, one from her husband’s previous marriage and four others. She adopted two infants and raised them well. Then she raised two distantly related teenagers from her extended family.
Altogether, she gave new life to eight children filled with kindness galore. That kindness transcends now to the next generation, the third-generation children. My aunty is now a gracious matriarch at 82 years of age and the only living testimony to my heritage and the compassion I have inherited. Her kindness has allowed me to show kindness in return to everyone I meet in life. I hope my generations to come to Australia will inherit my favourite aunty’s enthusiasm and spirit.
My fearless aunty lives an uncomplicated, simple life in Sri Lanka. She is surrounded by the families of the children she raised and the grandchildren who love her dearly.
I am the only one she addresses as “Putha”, which means son in Sri Lankan. Even now, her sons are called by their names, but she never calls me Denzil. I am called her son. It is a privilege to be called her ‘only’ son.
Every time I visit Sri Lanka, I make it a point to see her on the first day of arrival. It is a must and is my duty. She is the only surviving member of my parent’s generation. She raised me indirectly, albeit for a short period, perhaps two years. That short loving influence has lasted me a lifetime.
What a beautiful and courageous life!
Two years after this photo was taken, Mary Catherine’s mother, my grandmother, took ill with a mental problem and was taken to a mental asylum. It left Catherine, three years old, my mother, eight years old, and my uncle without a mother at their vulnerable ages. My grandmother never recovered from her mental illness. I am amazed that Mary Catherine amassed so much love and gave it generously despite not receiving her own mother’s love from her toddler years. That story, which must be told in its entirety, is for another day. It is a story about human perseverance and resilience.
This is an English translation of one of the letters I wrote to Catherine, concealing it from my mother.
16th July 1971
May Jesus Bless you
Dearest Aunty,
It will be good to give up that idea because too much money is involved. Whatever happens, it is ideal to be stable as a family as quickly as possible. (It appears that I had a reasonable understanding of her financial instability at a tender age, and Catherine and I had discussed a financial matter in our previous correspondence)
I received your letter from my friend. My friend’s master in charge of the boarding suspected something was fishy, opened your letter and read it. Next time, when you write to me, please address the letter directly to my friend, Ajit Martin, The Boarding. Do not address it with my name Denzil. If not, the Christian brother in charge will open your letter causing problems for my friend Ajit. My friend is really good, and I trust him 100%. (Correspondence between my aunty and I were in secret, through my friend who was in the college boarding. The Christian brother in charge had opened my letter on suspicion before handing it over to my friend, who in turn handed it to me. I wanted to avoid suspicion and did not want to risk the only secure way of communicating with my aunty).
I am doing well in my studies. I should get the exam results this month. My family no longer talks about you. (a good thing because previously, they were furious with her). I watched two movies recently, SHANE and SAMSON, THE MIGHTY. My sister is studying for the school scholarship exam. My brother does not study. He was the 13th in his class grading. (I shared my experiences and news, including fun activities as a child)
How are you, Aunty? Are your children in good health? (Curiosity about my cousins) I bought a new pair of shoes two days ago (Insensitive on my part, my aunty is wearing ragged clothes while I am bragging about my new shoes). Aunty, did you pick all your old clothes? Electricity was supplied to our neighbourhood yesterday, and our home is being wired. We should get electricity installed in three weeks. (We were the second house in our street to get electricity. It shows my family’s relative affluence. As a child, my lack of understanding of the vast gap in wealth between my aunty and me at the time is on display). We had the CORPUS CHRISTIE feast at our church yesterday. (as staunch Catholics, my family took part in the feast of the Holy Communion)
I am keeping well. I wish good health for you and your children.
Yours
Faithful son,
Denzil
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