'Only the lucky get to see Mother'

"Will you work with me?" the Nun in White asked, "Will you work with me for the welfare of the people?"

It was a wintry afternoon in 1948. Sibani Ghosh, 16 years of age, deserted by her husband and turned away by parents, stood at twilight of her life, determined to take the way many other 16-year-olds had taken before her.

She stood there, where the Motijhil colony ended and the marshes -- over which it had been built to accommodate Bangladeshi refugees -- began. And out of nowhere had come the voice, of this Nun in White.

"Will you work with me?" it said, " Will you work with me for the welfare of the people?"

Sibani said she would. And did, for quite sometime. The Nun in White visited Motijhil often. There was always lots to do there -- the colony was then an ideal picture of destitution and distress, disease and death.

But more than all that, what remains in Sibani's mind now, 49 years later, is the sight of a frail woman coming through the dirt and mud, braving malaria and jaundice...

The sight of the Nun in White, the Queen of Hurts -- Mother Teresa -- bringing light and love to Motijhil, from where she started her legendary journey as the Angel of Hope.

"I feel orphaned again," Sibani weeps, as she stands here in this never-ending, serpentine queue leading to the St Thomas church. "I want to see her once more!"

Om Prakash, a 90-year-old farmer, who is a few paces behind Sibani, has been in queue for over four hours now. "What's the use of us living now," he cries, "We can't do without Mother!'

Behind him, clutching a bouquet of flowers and braving the cruel sun, is a little girl. ''I have come from Gosaba (75 km from Calcutta). Only the lucky get to see Mother!" she says.

The roadside eateries which, till the other week, were catering to office-goers have undergone a major transformation -- they now sell flowers. (And how! A single stick of night queen goes for minimum Rs 2!)

Overweek, Calcutta has, from an over-crowded city, turned into a crowded-over one. Everything here now, from the roads to building to vehicles, have been overawed by this endlessly-pouring, teeming mass of humanity.

Overweek, the city has turned into a pilgrimage centre -- over 10 million people have already paid homage -- of the like the country has seldom seen. Lined along the streets are the rich and the poor, the famous and the infamous, the beggars and the lepers, the priests and the sisters... and an army of journalists and photographers.

Naturally, the city police ("Flooded with complaints!") is finding it hard to keep pace with the Funeral of the Decade. Beggars and vagabonds -- who are fighting among themselves for 'good work places' -- have been prohibited from sitting on pavements near Netaji stadium (where the funeral services will take place).

Obviously, the Saint of the Century's final exit is going to be much more dramatic than her entry -- though that is hardly how she would have wanted it.