There was a large green meadow in the back of the house traversed by a stream. The meadow was separated from the house by a thicket of ivy that had overgrown around mango and jackfruit trees making it look like a little jungle. Where the woods ended, the land tapered down to the meadow and at this triangular edge stood a solitary jackfruit tree. On the other side of the tree was a pond, long in disuse, depressed in appearance as it was covered in African moss.
There she rested, serenely under the jackfruit tree. There was nothing much left of her except remains of ashes and perhaps small fragments of bones that were not visible in the heap of gray dust and half-burnt pieces of wood. It was a glorious afternoon; the golden light of the September sun was transected and laid out in beautiful patterns on the ground by the canopy of leaves overhead.
He stood there and closed his eyes. The long jeorney had not made his tired. He tried to remember her last time when he saw her. Ten years ago at his sister's wedding, she was already shrunk and dessicated. Beyond that, he had no memories.
A cousin he had not seen before walked down the path and went in front of him right to the funeral pit. She stood there sobbing. it was her turn to say good bye. She knew the dead person well. She had a real relationship with her grandmother unlike him. She had things to say in her good bye.
Far away, in front of the house, the din was unbearable. Workers were erecting a tent for the funeral rites to be held the next day. People were supervising them. Caterers went in and out of the kitchen with large vessels filled with things. A gaggle of birds overhead cried out of afternoon boredom.
He remembered this house. In another time, he would walk up the path and he would see her pacing in front of the house. She never sat still. There was always something to do. She lived alone and for all the monotomy that comes with that, she never sought anyone out, or reached out to anything. She was not religious or observant. She was not affectionate either. She just existed for the hurried busywork that she had imposed upon herself.
She was a slender woman, and small. Tiny was more like it. She wore old-fashioned glasses and always had a book half-read with house-bills as bookmarks.
Now she was gone and house suddenly found itself with busywork it had to do.
He walked back to the front of the house and asked a worker to go up the coconut tree and cut down a few tender coconuts. He took one of the coconuts, freshly slashed with an opening to the bamboo bushes and listened for the whistling. It whistled an old favorite song of the family.
