The Rediff Special/Archana Masih

And that one powerful image that made them fold their hands near the hearts...

As the cortege made its way through the streets of Calcutta, in distant Bombay some of Mother's flock sat transfixed before a hired television set.

Today, Asha Daan saw a break from daily schedule. Its nuns hastily finished their morning chores to make time for the hired television set in the main hall. Available, for a few hours, the rather outdated television set, their last link to the physical form of a woman who lay in state on its grainy screen.

"Our superior has gone for the funeral, as we cannot be there ourselves, we have hired a television set," explained a young sister. Wary about an intrusion on their day of grief, the watchman is instructed to keep obtrusive well-wishers away. While inside the home in central Bombay, the nine sisters along with its inmates watched the funeral mass reverently.

Sitting on white moulded chairs, surrounded by scores of children squatting on the floor, the sisters appear islands of sorts. Barely getting distracted by small disabled children climbing in and out of their laps. A little further, on the two rows of benches, sit the aged, their walkers and sticks beside them. Sharing a unified sentiment, they all stare ahead. Even the blind.

Mother Teresa last came to this home nearly two years ago. In the large dormitory, where the television temporarily sat, hangs a small picture of Mother Teresa. On the small table in the spartan office on the right, a Hindi newspaper bearing reports on the funeral.

The dormitory housed a large number of cradles. An aquarium. Inflated miniatures of Lufthansa and Saudia Boeings hung from the ceiling -- frolicking children. Their squeals, sometimes tearing through the BBC commentary.

Sometimes, images that are recognisable. The sisters exchanged notes. Cardinal Simon Pimenta… Archbishop Henry D'Souza… the sister who conducted the choir… Sister Nirmala, of course. The President…Hillary Clinton…the Duchess of Kent, representing the British royal family whose loss Mother Teresa had condoled just a week before her death.

Then there were those sisters on the gun carriage, the Victoria Memorial…Mother House -- the precincts which taught them the basic values of their order under Mother Teresa's tutelage. There were others that drew instant reaction…Sonia Gandhi, Priyanka. And that one powerful image that made them fold their hands near the hearts -- Mother Teresa.

The nine nuns watched on. Watched their Mother, covered midway by the Indian tricolour; her body carried by pall bearers from the armed forces. Perhaps, in her final journey, their Mother seemed less of a missionary and more of an Indian heroine.

But for that moment, these things were of little consequence. What really mattered was their sacred participation in the mass. And what really mattered was to stop that loud swish-swoosh sound coming from the rear. A girl quickly ran to retrieve the small plastic toy chair being battered against the floor by a child.

Order was restored. Mother Teresa rest in peace, resounded the voice of the secretary of state for the Vatican, as one of the sisters murmured a silent prayer. Two nuns inspected their saris briefly, and seemed particularly appreciative of the BBC's thoughtfulness in incorporating their blue and white colours as a logo for the special coverage.

The big, blue door to the hall opened yet again. This time not by tired, old women who were leaving for some rest, or fidgety children but a friend of the home. The sister in-charge left her white and blue island and quietly stepped out. Only to return quickly. Those shifting images of the holy communion on the tube were far too important to miss.

Inside, as the BBC missed the satellite link at times; the Bombay weather continued playing games outside. Sunshine…clouds…sunshine. A spell of shower, and four-five girls darted out to remove clothes from those long clotheslines. No commotion, no disturbance, no instructions from the sisters, the girls fulfilling their small duties in a 300 strong home. In minutes they returned and went back to the televised mass.

Abide with me.The Missionaries of Charity choir had broken into Mother Teresa's favourite hymn. Some of them in the hall hummed along. Of them, a small blind boy, the most robust of all. With crossed legs, akin to the stance of music maestros, he sang sa re ga ma.Patting his palms; swinging his neck side to side matching his slurred syllables to those in that stadium far away.

He was asked to stop. It was time the kids visited the loo. Those who couldn't walk were carried, others straggled. Some returned, some didn't, some went into new laps. Sshhh… Sister Nirmala was talking now. The children heeded. The nuns were again consumed by that rectangular screen ahead.

Throughout those hours, there was little that distracted the nuns. There was little conversation. Together with their fraternity in Mother Teresa's final mass, the nuns remained private in their thoughts. Registering, distilling, remembering

A unique funeral of their founder which brought their order, for the first time, live to a worldwide audience.

Through a hired television set with a grainy screen.

Photographs: Jewella C Miranda

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