The Blue Light

GEETA had been coming to my house to wash utensils for many years. She was no better or worse than others of her kind, except that she had a tendency to pilfer small change more than most. Five rupees a month, I reasoned, was not too much to pay for the peace of the household. So I let her steal and kept her on and the wheels of the house ran smoothly.
Geeta lived in a small bustee near the narrow bylanes of the Kalighat Temple in Kolkata. Her husband had left her and she lived with her parents and sister. Her small daughter, Radha, aged eleven, stayed with her. When I had time to listen to her chatter, Geeta used to complain that Radha hated lessons and refused to go to school. Moreover, her grandparents used to insist that she stay at home and attend to household chores, much to Geeta’s bitterness.
“I live with them and, therefore, my daughter has to work as a servant”, she used to complain.
“Don’t let her leave school”, I used to admonish, before rushing away. This was during the years I had a job and had less than half a ear for the problems of others.
One day Geeta came to me crying. “Didi, let my Radha work in your house”, she wept, “She is beaten so badly, every day. Last night I went home and she had welts all down her arms and back. My father had beaten her with a belt...she will die if she stays there, Didi, she is only a little girl”.
“She can’t work in the house”, I said feebly, “Besides she must not give up on her education. Try to put her in a boarding school, Geeta”. She looked at me wordlessly. I knew and she knew that there were no boarding schools for those of such meagre income. Yet, what else could I say?
Barely 10 days later, Geeta entered looking radiant. “My daughter has been admitted to boarding, Didi, and I don’t have to pay anything. I can also go to visit her on weekends. It is all due to Mother...”
Apparently Geeta had been in the habit of putting her forehead on the doors of Nirmal Hriday, one of Mother Teresa’s Homes, which she passed everyday, and praying for a solution to her problems. That day she had completed work in great distress of mind, and rushed to beat her forehead on the hard walls of the Home. “Save my daughter, Mother, save my child”, she had prayed over and over again.
And, “a blue light shimmered from the walls and I felt a sense of peace and blessing...”, she told my enthralled staff, “The very next day Padma didi asked me if I wanted to admit Radha to her school. Just like that...
I bit back the words from my lips. My educated mind could spot many “flaws” in this “miracle”. The blue light could have been a reflection of moonlight or the gently glowing streetlamps...Or..

But I kept quiet. Radha was admitted to Padma’s school and is progressing well. Geeta managed to open a small tailoring shop and move to a one-room “house” of her own, which was attached to the shop. She is firmly convinced that it is all due to the “blue light” and Ma Teresa who listened to her plea for help. And in the week of Mother’s beatification at the Vatican, I look back over the years and still wonder. A miracle or....plain, blessed luck that even our poor can aspire to?