Savitri, 69 — widowed twice over by COVID, raising her grandson alone

The two funerals happened three weeks apart. Her son first, then her daughter-in-law. Both COVID-19. Both June 2021. Savitri did not have time to grieve the first before the second was gone.

She was left with Ravi. Eighteen months old, still unsteady on his feet, too young to understand why the house had gone quiet. She was sixty-eight years old. She had never had a ration card in her name, never applied for a pension, never needed either — she had lived in her son's household, and her son had taken care of those things.

Her son was gone.

She did what she could. She asked neighbours. She shared whatever food came in. She ate one meal a day and made sure Ravi had something before she did. By the time the MTN field volunteer came through the village on a post-COVID survey six weeks later, Ravi was visibly underweight. He was quiet in the way that hungry children go quiet — conserving.

The field volunteer sat with Savitri and wrote things down. She did not ask her to fill in a form or come to an office. She wrote things down and told her someone would come.

Someone came.

The food ration arrived the following week. Rice, dal, oil, salt — a month's supply in one bag. The mobile clinic came the week after and checked Ravi — iron-deficient, the doctor said, but not beyond what supplements and consistent food would fix. The MTN team helped Savitri navigate the widow's pension application and the ration card. Both had been available to her all along. No one had told her, and she had not known to ask.

The pension was approved four months later — about $24 a month. It was the first money that had ever been hers alone.

Ravi is five now. He runs to the anganwadi in the mornings. He eats a midday meal there and comes home in the afternoon with the particular tiredness of a child who has had a full day. Savitri watches him from the door.

She told the field worker: I did not know who would feed us the next day. That was the whole of it. One day at a time, not knowing.

She knows now. That is what changed.