Swapna Dutta, My Mother: Third Chapter (Addendum)

Tomorrow, Friday, 8 August 2025 (Bengali calendar: 22 Srabon 1432), the ritual rites for my Mother will be performed. Yesterday, I published the third chapter — The Pre-Śrāddha Chapter. Today, on the eve of the ceremony, I am sharing this piece as an Addendum to that chapter. Perhaps it could have been simply appended to the previous chapter. But I chose not to, for two reasons: 1) More than thirty hours have passed since that piece was published. 2) This addendum was largely prompted by the responses and reflections I received after sharing the third chapter. Therefore, I am presenting it here as a standalone note.

A woman in an orange sari stands beside a golden Buddha statue. The statue rests against a backdrop of white and grey marble. She wears a black shawl and spectacles. At the base of the statue are flowers and other offerings. On the left, there is a red donation box. — My Mother, in a temple in [Varanasi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Varanasi).
"Buddham Saranam Gacchami".
Photograph taken on 1 October 2019.

Questions and Responses

After publishing the third chapter yesterday, I received a few questions and comments. Here, I will try to address some of them. I hope this addendum will strengthen the earlier text and serve as a bridge between the third and fourth chapters. For obvious reasons, I shall not mention the names of the questioners or commentators, but focus solely on the subject matter.

Question: In the third chapter, you wrote about your doubts and lack of belief. Are you performing these rites sincerely and respectfully?

Answer: Yes. Today is the twelfth day since my Mother passed away. All the rituals up to this point I have tried to perform properly, following the Vedic customs as best I can. I have also attempted to remain contemplative and attentive — to act with awareness and feeling.

Question: On one hand, you say you don’t believe. On the other, you’re observing mourning rituals, making offerings, and so on. I don’t understand this.

Answer: It was never my aim — nor is it now — to criticise religious ceremonies, traditions, or customs. Yet to believe in something blindly, without comprehension or true feeling, or to imitate belief for its own sake, or — worst of all — to impose this hollow belief on others, makes me feel a kind of unease. I am not drawn to such behaviour.

Question: Your financial situation is not very good at the moment. Even so, you are organising quite an elaborate ceremony and inviting around seventy people. Why?

Answer: Your observation about my finances is accurate. Including relatives, friends, and neighbours, I expect roughly seventy guests. If there is heavy rain tomorrow or any unforeseen difficulty, that number may be smaller.

The ceremony itself is taking place at a temple. Vegetarian food will be served. I have invited my Mother’s and my own close acquaintances. It has sometimes happened that I invited a neighbour who was very dear to my Mother, and realised that not inviting another woman in the adjacent house — who shared the same warmth and knew both of us — would look discourteous. For reasons like this, the guest list grew a little.

Over the last twelve days, every decision I have made around the ceremony has been weighed carefully in the light of what I can afford.

More Than You Asked For

Coming back to the question of “belief.” I wouldn’t say I identify my outlook simply as disbelief. In Rabindranath Tagore’s poem “Prārthanātīta Dāna” (The Gift Beyond Asking), the final lines go—

The Nawab said, “O brave one,
I bear no anger toward you—
Only grant me one favour:
Cut away the braid and leave it with me.”
Taru Singh replied, “Your kindness
Has touched my heart—
I will give you more than you asked for,
Along with the braid, my head itself.”

I could certainly offer my “belief,” even if it were hollow or unexamined. But to me, perhaps, there is a greater gift I can give — curiosity — enthusiasm — a sense of inquiry. I remain profoundly interested in life and its nature. So I too shall “give more than you asked for” — my belief, mingled with enthusiastic curiosity.

Reason Above Rule

Over these twelve days, I have heard and followed several rules. Again and again, I have felt that understanding the reason matters more than simply following a rule. Or at least, it is best when a rule is joined to its reason.

Let me give an example. During the days of mourning, before taking my afternoon meal, I had to set aside a portion for the crows. Only after that could I eat. Now that the Śrāddha will be complete, I am no longer required to feed them. Nor have I heard of any prohibition against continuing. For several days I noticed that when I stepped onto the terrace with food, a few crows would quickly arrive — almost as if they were waiting. I feel I have my own reason to keep this custom alive a little longer.

A rule only tells you what to do. When you understand the reason, you may find yourself carrying it out with greater ease, spontaneity and sincerity.

A white terrace, with rice set out on a banana leaf and a paper cup beside it. Behind, dense green trees and banana plants. In the distance, a few tin-roofed houses are visible. — Food placed for the crows before the midday meal.
Photograph taken on the ninth day of mourning, 4 August 2025.

Here I end this addendum to the third chapter. Today, 7 August 2025 (21 Shravan 1432), I completed the ghatakaj (ritualistic water rites). Tomorrow is the Śrāddha ceremony. In the next chapter, I hope to write about these two days in detail.

Charaiveti.