Uncertainty of life: Remembering three ‘Nangis-By Dr Upul Wijayawardhana

Source:Island

Some of us are fortunate enough to advance in years with all faculties intact and in reasonably good health, albeit with the help of medication. However, it comes at a price due to the ever-continuing process of losing friends and relations. As the Buddha pointed out, separation from the pleasant or the beloved is suffering (“Piyehi Vippayogo Dukko). The suffering becomes even worse when you lose younger relatives; worse still when it is sudden and dramatic. Having lost three Nangis–– two younger sisters and a sister-in-law––during the past five years, the only thing I can do to ease my sorrow is to pay a tribute to them by reflecting on their well-lived lives.

I remember the phone call received from Sri Lanka, in the early hours of 23 March. Kusum Wijetilleke told me that he had just been informed that his mother died suddenly of a heart attack. My wife’s sister, Dhammika, had been in an intensive care unit of a private hospital in Colombo with Covid pneumonia. In all likelihood, she acquired Covid after she had a minor surgical procedure, unfortunately. We never expected her to die as she was improving and did not need any ventilation. We could not attend her funeral as she was cremated the following day as per Covid protocol, but were hopeful we would be able to attend the three months’ Dane but the raging epidemic has prevented that too, distressingly.

I came to know Dhammika in December 1958, when I visited their house in Kirulapone. She was a charming, playful schoolgirl then but matured to be a stoic matriarch, being the prop behind the immense success of her husband, Rienzie Wijetileke. Soon after her marriage to Rienzie, they sailed to the UK for Rienzie to work in the London Branch of Bank of Ceylon and further his banking studies. When I arrived in the UK for postgraduate studies in September 1969, they were at Heathrow airport to receive me and, more importantly, they accommodated me for months in their tiny bedsit in London. With hindsight I wonder what an imposition I would have been, as they had tiny Harsha, their first-born too. They left the UK a few weeks after the birth of their second son, Chamira.

Dhammika, I consider to be my seventh sister. I shall quote from a tribute written by our daughter, Mihirinie as I cannot better the description of her beloved Punchi Amma:

“Dhammika laughed easily – an infectious, high-pitched giggle, which occasionally morphed into a delightful howl, that would ring out through the house and spread joy in abundance, and she was slow to anger – although she was no pushover and it was a wise person who refrained from incurring her wrath! She told outrageously funny stories that made everybody laugh (to question the veracity of these tales would have been to ruin her expertly-crafted yarns) and she was incredibly quick-witted, coming up with brilliant retorts and zinging one-liners that left listeners both in stitches and in amazement how agile her mind was. She was fun-loving and happy-go-lucky, and nothing really seemed to faze her. She rarely cried.

“Her home was always open and welcoming to anyone who wished to enter. If someone visited at a mealtime, they were immediately invited to stay, with extra food being rustled up if required. She was extremely hospitable, as well as being kind and generous to a fault. She never advertised her good deeds, although there were plenty of them to mention: from supporting her family and friends, to helping those who worked for her, to even sending money to complete strangers who were in need. Her actions made it clear how she felt about not only the people in her life, but also human beings in general. She never went on or came back from an overseas trip empty-handed: presents were procured for everyone”

My Loku Nangi, Swarna, died five years ago. In a way, her death was a relief as she had been in a persistent vegetative state for about a year following the rupture of an aneurysm in the brain. Though she lacked academic achievements, her life was one of sacrifice: devoted to others, looking after our ageing parents and looking after the three children of the fifth sister in our family. Mali would not have been able to specialise in Eye diseases and work full-time if not for Swarna’s support. Mali was able to reciprocate by tending to her needs during the terminal illness, keeping her in her house under supervision. Whenever I visited Swarna and said ‘Loku Nangi’, I could see a tear-drop in her eyes though she was not conscious.

They say truth is stranger than fiction and the death of Sunethra, fourth sister in our family well illustrates this. It was November 2019 and we all were at the Hilton Colombo celebrating the wedding of Madara, the daughter of my youngest (sixth) sister Champa. Madara studied in Japan and fell in love with Pulasthi, who studied with her. They flew from Japan to get married and fly back to their jobs in Tokyo. I had a chat with Sunethra, who was living in Kandy with her husband Cyril, the previous evening when she told me she would not be attending the wedding though Cyril would and was looking forward to meeting me at the home-coming, which was in Kandy.

The couple had just got down from the Poruwa and everyone was in a jubilant mood. As I came out of the Hall, to escape the noise, I noticed my brother Jagath in a pensive mood, near the door. When I asked him, ‘What’s wrong?’, he said Sunethra had died. I was perplexed as his wife was also Sunethra and I had seen her a few minutes before. It soon became clear he was referring to our sister because he then told me Cyril and one of their three sons, who were at the reception, were on the way back, having been informed that Sunethra had been admitted to hospital.

In conversation with the other brother Ranjan, who joined us shortly, we decided not to let anyone know of this tragic news. Whilst others dined, wined and danced, the three of us had to suffer in silence pretending that nothing had happened. Though the few hours spent till the end of the ceremony were probably the worst hours of my life, I am very glad we did not spoil the fun of the young couple who had flown thousands of miles to get married in the company of their relations.

Sunethra had a few medical problems but I had no cause for concern as she was under the excellent care of one of my trainees in Grantham Hospital, Dr Kumudini Jayasingha. She had felt faintish suddenly and an ambulance had been called but was found to be dead on arrival at the hospital. Later, it transpired that this occurred almost at the time the couple were getting on to the Poruwa. Sunethra has indicated that her body should be donated to the Peradeniya Medical Faculty and the only time they could accept the body was the time of the home-coming! Whilst one half of the family was handing over the body of Sunethra to the medical faculty, the others including me attended the home-coming. Pulasthi’s parents were initially disappointed when they saw a small crowd coming with the couple but were very understanding when I explained the circumstances to them, privately. We told the couple only when we were about to leave when Madara told me how she had visited her Loku Amma, on arrival, and had a long chat embracing each other. That is the uncertainty of life. Truth, indeed, is stranger than fiction.

Fortunately, this trauma has not adversely affected Madara and Pulasthi who are doing very well in Tokyo.

May Swarna, Sunethra and Dhammika attain Nibbana!