The winds blew across dry leaves as Kanta walked up to her usual perch by the bus stop. It was time for the last bus of the day from the city. The bus came and the old woman's frail body grew taunt with anticipation which faded as the bus moved on. He had not come, today also. A leaf fell from the branch above or was it Kanta's hope? Autumn had taken its toll. She started walking back to her village about half a kilometer away, her steps falling slowly as though her feet were carrying a burden. She paused in front of a temple and gave in to a wave of reminisce.

Five years ago, it was here that she had blessed her son's marriage. Numerous relatives and well-wishers had attended the event, to be in good favor of her husband, who had then been one of the wealthiest farmers in the village. None of them even acknowledged Kanta's existence today. Spring had past long ago, thought Kanta as she resumed her walk, her mind lingering down memory lane.

Kanta could still remember that fateful day when her husband met with the accident. Only with her husband's death did she learn about the mortgage, that had been taken for their son's college education. Faced with the task of repaying the loan, her son left with his family for the city in search of a job, promising Kanta of better times. A promise he never kept, like the thunderous clouds that pass by without raining.

If a season could ever test man's endurance, this was the time for Kanta's test. Kanta in the summer of her life suffered the humiliation and the pressure to repay the loan. She sold off her properties to repay the loan and rented herself a small hut in the village. Her only income came from weaving baskets. More hurting than the taunts of the moneylender was her son's silence.

Then came the monsoons. Having heard that the loan had been repaid, Kanta's son had once come to the village to visit her. On that particular day, the sky had been overcast and Kanta too had been in a gloomy mood. Black clouds of hurt and anger threatened to spill down on her son.

When she saw her son, his head lowered by the shame of his deed, her clouds gave way but only to shower her love on her son. Her son promised to return when the time was right to take her with him. As parched Earth quenched its thirst and shot up green fingers in gratitude, Kanta gave her blessings to her son and sent him on his way.

For some weeks after his visit, Kanta's son sent some money but no letters. And certainly no visits. However, Kanta came regularly to the bus stop to check his arrival. Slowly, the money also ceased to arrive. The leaves on the trees turned colors. With each passing day, Kanta began to doubt if her son's visit had been a dream. The leaves began to fall and the winds became chilly.

Today, the last leaf had fallen. Kanta's last hope had died. Her son was not coming. For him, Kanta was a bag of ailments with asthma and arthiritis. Kanta could not help his wife in the house, now that latest gadgets had replaced the traditional tools that Kanta was familiar with. Her son had explained all these and much more in his visit, only it had taken so long for Kanta to understand. He had had no intention of ever returning.

Seasons change swiftly and silently just like life's ups and downs, thought Kanta. A squirrel ran past her carrying a nut to add to its store for the winter ahead. Looking at it, Kanta realized that the signs of changing times had been there. Only she had not taken heed of them and averted the extreme weather in her life.

Kanta felt numb with cold. After a lifetime of sacrificing her interests before her son's, she was now unwanted by her son. Her realization had seeped all the warmth from her soul.

That was the last winter Kanta saw. Having spent her last few months as a saint, villagers believe that she now enjoys eternal Spring in her union with the Supreme Being.

Priya Sanjeevi Raja

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