The Cure for Loneliness

Living alone in a dense forest—and that too an elderly woman—was something I found truly astonishing.

This incident dates back to my stay in Europe. I was living with my friend in London when one day she said to me, “Come, I’ll take you for a walk in the forest.”

“A forest? No way. I’m scared of going there,” I replied.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll introduce you to my aunt.”

“Your aunt?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes, she lives in the forest.”

“Does she live there alone?”

“There are a few other people too, but houses are very few.”

Reluctantly, I went with my friend to meet her Aunt Grace. After an hour’s drive, we reached the forest. We looked for Aunt Grace in a small house. She was in the kitchen, preparing tea—perhaps she had already been informed of our arrival.

She came out happily to greet us.

“Aunt Grace, this is my friend from Pakistan,” my friend introduced me.

“Welcome, my darling,” she said warmly, kissing my cheek.

We sat in the living room while Aunt Grace brought tea, along with chocolates and biscuits. As I sipped my tea, I quietly surveyed the house.

It was an isolated home in the middle of a dense forest—one of only three or four houses in the area. A few more houses stood at a distance, mostly used by hunters who stayed there occasionally. Apart from caretakers, no one lived in those houses. Yet this elderly woman lived here all alone, bravely.

The silence of the house made me uneasy, and I finally asked, “Aunt, do you live here alone? Don’t you have children?”

“I have two children,” she replied calmly.

“Where are they?”

“They’re married and busy with their own lives. They visit occasionally.”

I was feeling increasingly anxious and asked, “Aunt, don’t you feel afraid living alone? I mean, living alone in the city is understandable, but here in a forest—it must be very difficult.”

She smiled and said, “I don’t live alone. Many live with me.”

After tea, she took us to the veranda. She brought out a whistle and began blowing it. Within moments, numerous birds flew in and perched on her shoulders. They were colorful, beautiful birds. She smiled and said, “These are my companions. They eat with me, I talk to them. See—I have so many children.”

She kissed one of the birds gently.

I stared at Aunt Grace in amazement. She looked content and joyful among the birds. Seeing my surprise, she added, “Not only birds, but I also have two cats and two dogs.”

I was too stunned to speak. Living alone in such a dense forest at such an age—and making birds her children—was beyond my imagination.

She called the two cats, who quietly came and sat near her. The dogs were roaming somewhere outside.

“Aunt, don’t these animals fight with each other?” I asked.

“At first they did,” she replied, “but I worked very hard to train them. Now they are so disciplined that the moment they try to fight, they stop at my signal and sit quietly in their places.”

I kept thinking how much effort it takes to train even a single human being—yet this woman had trained birds and animals.

This brave woman had found her own cure for loneliness. She was happy with her birds, cats, and dogs—while we humans often fail to remain happy even among other people.

On my way back, I kept thinking how diverse the people of this world are. It is God alone who gives human beings the opportunity and strength to live in their own ways.