An 82-year-old woman lives alone in an old house. She has three children: she raised them all by herself after her husband died early. But when they got old and weak, the three children competed to… pass the responsibility of taking care of their mother. Then one day…
On the outskirts of Jaipur, in an old house built during the colonial period, 82-year-old Lakshmi Devi lives quietly alone. The red brick house is covered with moss, the corrugated iron roof creaks every time the monsoon blows. In her youth, she was a primary school teacher, raising three children by herself after her husband, Raghav Sharma, died early from illness.

She has sacrificed her whole life for her children: the eldest, Arun, works in Mumbai; the second daughter, Meena, runs a small jewelry store in Jaipur; and the youngest, Rajesh, drives a taxi in Delhi. But when old age and illness struck, the three of them competed to pass the responsibility of taking care of their mother.

“Mom, I’m so busy with work…”

At first, Lakshmi stayed with Meena, but after a few weeks, Meena sighed:

“Mom, I’m busy looking after the shop, the two kids are having trouble with their studies, you should go to Arun for a while.”

Then Arun, who had just divorced, quickly said:

“It’s not convenient for you to stay here, I have to go on business trips all the time. How about you go back to Delhi with Rajesh?”

Rajesh made an excuse: “My house is just a rented room, you’ll have a hard time staying there.”

Like that, the old woman was moved from one house to another like a nuisance. Finally, she said softly:

“Okay, I’ll go back to my old house. It’s quiet there, I won’t bother anyone.”

The three children breathed a sigh of relief. From then on, she lived alone in the old house, with a broken radio and a cold pot of tea. None of the three remembered to call to ask how she was doing.

Then one day… the bad news came

One morning at the end of the month, neighbors discovered that Mrs. Lakshmi had passed away in her sleep, her face calm as if she had just let go of all the worldly fatigue.

The news spread, and the three children quickly gathered in Jaipur. No one cried much, just silently waiting for the lawyer to announce the will. In their minds, they all thought:

“Even though Mom lived frugally, she must have left some savings, this house is worth a few crores.”

The will left everyone speechless

The old lawyer pulled out a sealed envelope and opened it in front of the three children. Inside was a piece of paper with a few shaky lines: “I, Lakshmi Devi Sharma, leave all my savings — equivalent to 3 crore rupees — to Kamala, my former maid, who retired 5 years ago.

Because in her last days, only she remembered to call me every month.

As for my children, I don’t blame them, nor did I leave anything behind.

I just hope they understand that feelings cannot be delayed forever.”

The atmosphere in the room fell silent. Meena was stunned, Arun paled, Rajesh muttered:

“Who is Kamala? Did Mom have a maid named that?”

No one remembered. But their hearts were in turmoil — both ashamed and suspicious.

Mystery at the bank

A few days later, they went to the bank where Lakshmi had deposited the money. The bank employee said:

“This savings account was closed three days ago. There is a notarized power of attorney.”

Meena panicked:

“Impossible! My mother died a week ago! Who withdrew the money?”

The employee calmly replied:

“The person who came is the owner — Lakshmi Devi Sharma. There is a full camera recording.”

The three were stunned. They asked to review the recording.

The video sent chills down everyone’s spines

On the screen, an old woman wearing a wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses walked slowly into the bank. She signed the papers, spoke softly, and her voice was deep. Her face, though mostly covered, still… resembled their mother.

As she turned to leave, the camera caught a glimpse behind her left ear — a small, crescent-shaped scar, exactly like the one Lakshmi had… but darker.

The three looked at each other, their faces pale. Arun’s voice trembled:

“Impossible… Our mother… is dead…”

From that day on, no one mentioned the 3 crore rupees again.

But there is something strange…

Sometimes, at dusk, neighbors in Jaipur still see an old woman with silver hair, wearing a grey shawl, sitting quietly on a stone bench in front of the gate of her old house. She looks far away at the road leading to the market, where her three children used to hold her hands when she was a child.

Whenever asked, she just smiles gently:

“I sit here, waiting for some children… sooner or later they will come back to apologize.”

No one knows who she is. But people say, every time the sky gets dark, the wind carries the light scent of masala tea around the porch — a scent that only Lakshmi Devi can brew

Since the reading of the will and the strange video, the three Sharma brothers – Arun, Meena and Rajesh – have lived in an unspeakable state of anxiety. Their mother’s old house in Jaipur remains locked, but every night, neighbors report seeing a flickering light in the living room, even though the electricity has been cut off since the funeral.

“They must be mistaken,” Rajesh would grumble whenever someone told him. But even he himself, driving past, sometimes caught a glimpse of a figure in a white sari standing by the window, her silver hair fluttering in the wind…

After the funeral, Arun returned to Mumbai, continuing his busy job as a finance director. He tried to put his mother aside, but his mind was restless. One night, during an online meeting, his phone rang unexpectedly – ​​the number that appeared was just three words: “Maa calling.”

Arun’s heart sank. He had deleted the number after his mother died. He shakily picked up the phone, only to hear a light breath, then a familiar hoarse voice:

“Arun… have you had dinner? Don’t work late anymore… remember not to strain your eyes like your father did…”

The sound cut off immediately. He called again, but “the number doesn’t exist.” That night, Arun couldn’t sleep. The next morning, he went out to the balcony — and was stunned. On the table was a cup of masala tea still steaming, emitting the same scent his mother used to make every morning…

In Jaipur, Meena took over the jewelry store, but everything suddenly went wrong. Customers returned goods, employees quit, and orders were delayed. One rainy afternoon, she tiredly closed the store early, muttering as she walked:

“If my mother were still alive, she probably wouldn’t even look at me.”

Just then, a voice whispered behind her:

“Why do you think my mother doesn’t look at me?”

Meena turned around and saw an old woman wearing a white scarf, holding a bamboo umbrella, her smile so gentle it made her heart ache. The old man gave her an old woolen scarf:

“It’s raining and cold, wipe it off or you’ll get sick.”

Meena bowed her head in thanks, but when she looked up, the old woman had disappeared. She looked around, only to see the flooded street and… the woolen scarf in her hand smelling of milk tea and jasmine – the same scent her mother used to use to wrap clothes in years past.

That night, Meena hugged the scarf to sleep, dreaming of her mother sitting by her bed, softly saying:

“My child, I don’t blame you. But don’t let material things make you forget your loved ones.”

In the morning, she woke up to find her pillow soaked in tears – and the scarf had disappeared.

As for Rajesh, the youngest son, he still lived in Delhi. After his mother died, he had a minor accident, his taxi broke down, and he was in debt. One night, he parked his car on the side of the road, feeling both sad and hungry. An old woman with gray hair approached and gently knocked on the car door:

“Driver, can you take me back to Jaipur?”

A warm voice, gentle eyes. Rajesh hesitated: “Are you going that far?”
The woman smiled:

“I just want to go back to my old home. There are some relatives there who need to be forgiven.”

Rajesh didn’t know why his heart ached. During the long journey, the old woman told him about a mother who had been abandoned by her children, and that:

“When a mother leaves this world, she doesn’t really leave, she just goes to find a place where her children can learn to love.”

When the car stopped in front of Mrs. Lakshmi’s old house in Jaipur, Rajesh turned around… the back seat was empty. On the seat was only an old photo — a photo of the three Rajesh brothers as children, and a shaky handwritten note: “Mom is still here.”

A few days later, the three children returned to Jaipur. No one had made an appointment, but all three had the same feeling: their mother was calling them back.

When they entered the old house, the room was filled with the scent of incense. On the altar, the oil lamp suddenly lit up, and a familiar voice rang out softly like the wind:

“My children, I don’t need any wealth, I just want you to remember each other. Don’t let this house get any colder.”

The three of them knelt down, tears streaming down their faces. At that moment, a gust of wind blew by, the window opened, and the white sari that mother had worn fluttered in the wind like a final greeting.

The sunset dyed the house a bright yellow. Arun said softly:

“Mother… if you can still hear, we promise — we will never let anyone be as lonely as you again.”

From that day on, the old house was no longer abandoned. The three brothers decided to renovate it, set up a care center for the elderly, named “Lakshmi Home” — a place where lonely elderly people could live together, be loved, and share old memories.

Jaipur residents often say that in the afternoon, when the sun shines on the yellow walls of the house, you can see the silhouette of a silver-haired woman watering flowers, smiling gently.

Perhaps Lakshmi Devi never really left — it was just that her spirit finally rested… because her three children finally learned to love as she had taught them.