QUESTION
“The unexamined life is not worth living”
Socrates
Prologue
In Sapoli, time stands still.
In that stillness lie many lifetimes.
A 2 mile long challenge lay ahead of her. They had laboured 3 miles since their last rest stop, but the last 2 was going to question her for the rest of her existence.
×××××
4500 miles away, the Northern hemisphere sunrise was yet a few minutes away, but a single ray shone up through the eastern skies, like a beacon fighting back the tattered remnants of darkness.
She sat at her desk peering from her office window, drinking the chimeric landscape of the deserted city with its sleepy creatures of civilisation, which enveloped layers of love, gratitude, greed, envy, deceit under that dawn blanket.
She was about to commence her day's journey which would question the dichotomy of human nature for the rest of her life.
Chapter 1: The Leaplings
If you test for probability, the likelihood that one is born on 29 February is around 1:1500.
This allows for the extra 5 odd hours the tiring and slowing blue-green planet takes to get around its photon supplier every year.
1980 happened to be one.
Around 4 children are born every second across the globe.
Applying the same statistical laws, 2 would be born with a set of XX chromosomes, one lent from their father, whilst the other from their mother.
One such Leapling was born along the western planes of India, where Vishnu's 6th Avataar, 'Parshuram', claimed a large section of land from the Arabian Sea.
Mortals call it, 'The Konkan'.
Over millennia, many big and small kings, now resting in their graves, have claimed title to this fertile strip of land lying along the western facade of Sahyadris, the latest being the Peshwas followed later by the Portuguese.
Like Carl Sagan's pale blue dot, 'The Earth within Cosmos',
Sapoli was a tiny village in Pen Taluka, within Raigad district along these planes.
That year on that day, on the 5th minute past the noon o'clock, Pallu was born.
Humans are the only animal form that require birth assistance. Probably, it reflects the disproportion between their larger head size, due to their phylogenetically larger brains and the relatively smaller pelvis from erect posture.
But Pallu was delivered unassisted.
She was born to be born and to live.
Her grandma would later recount the tales of her birth.
Weighing at less than three and a half pounds, she was certainly low birth weight, which probably aided her quick delivery. Grandma’s role was to wash the young baby and wait patiently for it to cry.
Pallu somehow never cried.
Neither at birth or ever later.
×××××
Though ancient Greeks and Europeans had used wooden wheels for centuries, the metal wheels started running on metal tracks in the latter half of the 18th century.
Roadways and waterways were the only ways before that.
Bridgewater canal is one such waterway, along the western coast of a small island, which has had major impact on Language, Church and Legal system across the planet.
The canal was used to transport coal from various mining sites to connect the land-locked Manchester via this canal system to the world.
Liverpool, being a port city, boasted links with the world and staked it is claim to glory.
Manchester wrestled back its position by flexing its muscles, via this canal systems, which allowed big ships to enter the city, bypassing Liverpool.
The bitter rivalry, between these two neighbouring cities, like many things in the world, started over monetary gains.
Much later football added fuel to it.
Ships, have long stopped sailing these waters.
Yet, the rivalry, remains.
The Bridgewater canal meanders through the centre of a leafy village on the southeast corner of Manchester, Lymm.
The other leapling girl was born on the outskirts of the village in a family of bakers.
The McDermotts had settled in England for 3 generations. Yearning to get paid in pounds rather than shillings, Eoin McDermott had migrated from Dublin to the English mainland when the industrial revolution had galvanised Manchester into a smoke polluted city. But smoking the unfiltered Carroll brand cigarettes since the age of 15 had turned his lungs into charcoal lined bags. So, he settled for a more sedate existence in the small village in Cheshire County with a local lass.
Together, they perfected the blend of flour, yeast, egg and milk to popularize McDermotts bread in the local community.
Kate was the 4th generation of McDermotts to settle in Lymm.
But somehow, her dainty fingers were destined for a different job, rather than kneading the flour mix over their kitchen worktop.
Chapter 2: The Akshayapatra
She grew up on the banks of Bhogavati River which courses westward along the Konkan planes. She would carry a stick in her hand, drawing pictures in the wet soil, as she played on the muddy banks with her Godakka.
Godakka was her grandmother.
From the village Sarpanch to the Police hawaldar, everyone in the village called her Godakka.
And so, did her granddaughter.
"The water that flows through Bhogwati is very sacred, Pallu," she would tell her standing ankle deep in the river, as she would fill her clay matka earthen pot.
“When Pitamaha Bhishma was about to give up his life, he was very thirsty.
Arjuna pierced the bhoomi with his arrows to extract water from Patalganga, and created a fountain. Our Bhogwati empties into Patalganga.
According to the Puranas, there are three tributariesof the River Ganga;
Swarga Ganga, Bhoo Ganga and Patal Ganga".
The 2 mile stretch of muddy planes of Bhogawati banks witnessed a sweet alliance develop between the elderly grandmother and her younger grandchild.
One getting weaker by the day, whilst the other at the other end of spectrum, becoming stronger.
Over the years Godakka might not have been able to talk about investments strategies, understand the geopolitics in South China Sea or how to solve the Rubik cube. But she knew that Pallu liked her gavaar bhaaji with grated coconut on top.
The experience in her fingers would prod for tender pods whilst shopping, which Pallu would follow in later life.
Godakka would show her how to snap the top and bottom end of gavaar and string both sides.
" The grated coconut reduces the bitterness from gavaar", Godakka used to explain sprinkling the nut fragments over the cooked beans.
She embodied a species of wisdom: the knowledge that achievements in the long-run are over-rated.
She’s had seen boys grow into, A grade students, judges, surgeons – and it didn't amaze her, because she’s also seen these same people on high pedestals having messy personal lives, decline socially or develop obesity illnesses.
Godakka's heartbeat was tuned to Pallu's, from the day Pallu was born.
"It was the 29th of February, a chaturthi.
Just after 12 o'clock.
The same time when Lord Rama was born", Grandma would recollect.
Pallu was born on 29 February just after noon.
Her mother died just after midnight, a little less than 12 hours later.
Her father abandoned her before she had completed her first day on planet earth.
Godakka’s bosom was filled with grief. The next day she emptied her grief and filled it with her love for Pallu.
Her crucible of love was detached from expectation or reciprocation. She never desired to be understood by Pallu.
Over the years, the 6 year old who enjoyed foraging through the shrubs for berries with her grandma, started to find her strange when she turned 13. The way Godakka tied her hair bun, the lack of style in the way she tightened her sareepallu around her waist started to irritate her.
But the weakening bond was going to be cemented once again in years to come.
History has it that the Kolhatkar family of Pen were related to the Peshwas of Pune. The festival of Ganesha Chaturthi was celebrated on a grand scale at Pune by the Peshwas. Since majority of the families of Pen were Brahmins, the festival found a firm footing at Pen.
About 5 miles west of Pen Talukaa lies Sapoli, a small village with less than 50 families scattered around the banks Bhogwati River.
For generations, the families in Pen Taluka have perfected the art of modelling Lord Ganesh moortis from clay.
In late 20th century, the ‘shaadu’ or refined clay was brought from far-off places like Bhavnagar and Surat.
But for centuries before that, clay used to be sourced from nearby Raigad Jilhaa hillocks and the idols would be sculpted after months of work.
The rock sediment mineral compounds when mixed with water gave it tremendous plasticity, enabling it to be molded into different shapes and forms.
The colours used in painting the moortis were procured out of black soot, lime, turmeric, flowers of the Pale trees with a final polishing with the leaves of Sag and Karate.
Godakka and Pallu were collecting clay that late Sunday afternoon from the hillside.
The Bhadrapada month monsoon rains had enriched the landscape, but had also rendered it treacherous.
The 65 year old body could plant her feet along that rugged mountainside with ease, but the 17 year old feet were not that experienced.
The human balance is a precarious dynamic, relying on information from eyes, ears, tactile perception on feet and the muscles and joints in leg. This information is processesed involuntarily in the brain, as we move constantly to maintain our balance.
Pallu's feet and legs failed to live upto their expectations, as she stumbled over a rocky overgrowth and soon gravity started flexing its muscles.
Her tumultuous drop was stopped by a shrub deeply entrenched within the mountainous soil of that precipice.
She dared not look down.
So, she looked up.
As humans do.
In moments of despair.
She thought she saw Maa Bhavani devi. As she looked up, the Goddess loomed large above her with Suryanarayan creating a halo behind her head.
She sent down a helping yarn, holding it Pallu climbed back.
The attire she was ashamed to see Goddaka in,
That 9 yard nauvaari saree had brought her back from the jaws of Lord Yama. After Godakka had rewound the saree around herself, grandma and her granddaughter quietly walked back home.
The younger one held on to the older one, realising the depth of love hidden within the bowels of that Akshayapatra....
×××××
Situated on the banks of the Bridgewater Canal, the township of Lymm dates back as far as medieval times, and is even mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086.
Today, the town is a designated conservation area, owing to its natural features and historical buildings and landmarks.
The Lymm dam is an area of great beauty and serenity, and the surrounding woodlands and meadow boast a wealth of nature and wildlife.
The canal is used as a leisure facility, by fishermen, pedestrians, and cyclists.
Narrow boats can be seen sailing idly along the waters.
Her earliest memories was feeding the ducks as they wandered along the canal side.
Nanna carried a small glass embroidered bag, in which she carried the left overs breadcrumbs. Kate and her Nanna frequented the canal on most weekends.
The ducklings missed the pair, as much as they missed the ducklings, if they were unable to make it to the canal side.
Nanna and Kate had been together after Kate turned 6.
She had faint memories of her mum and dad, whom she had grown up watching only in picture frames.
In the depths of her brain were lodged those moments, when she would wake up with nightmares of monsters, pretending to be swaying trees in her back garden. She would then lie on her dad, with her ears pressed against his chest listening to the ticking of his heart.
Just after she turned 6, the grey Toyota sedan carrying her dad and mum from Sheffield had plunged 150 feet deep into the Pennine gorges, as it failed to circumvent a sharp turn on the snake pass.
Kate never had to face the empty home that she lived in with Mum and Dad.
Nanna filled in the void, ensuring that the pain and suffering were kept at bay, as she moulded Kate into an epitome of grit and strength.
Kate loved helping Nanna in the kitchen. She loved the special smell of the cupboard where she kept the dinner plates and a set of chinaware, the quirky flowery teapot and the special little square box only for butter. She enjoyed watching Nanna peel up an orange in her own special way, removing the whole peel in one wonderful long spiral.
Nanna had a small farm where she raised a few chicken, pigs and a pony. On the far side, she had a vegetable and a fruit patch. In season, her strawberries and cherries were enjoyed by the village and birds alike.
She had a small cake shop on the outskirts of Lymm. Kate's baking skill germinated in the back room of that cake shop.
Relations can be strange.
The parent is desperate that the child grows well and achieves,
The lover wants to be loved and understood,
The friend wants a companion in adventure.
The grandmother doesn’t want anything from you, except your presence.
Parenting and Grandparenting in some ways can seem miles apart.
Ironically, it is this pure kindness which can be so irritating when one becomes a teenager.
Nanna used to be delighted when Kate would bring back the rower's medallion and would obligingly coo over her maths exam results.
But Kate sensed that she would be just as warm if she had dropped her rowing oars in the canal and even if she couldn’t make any sense of pythagoras theorem.
Because her love was so unconditional, it had the potentially maddening tendency to look right past some of her actual merits, which were the focus of her own sense of who she was.
An evening, every sixth former looks forward to at the end of their schooling, is the Prom night. Hoping to have the Promenade dance with their favourite opposite gender friend.
The culture of Prom nights gravitated across the Atlantic in the late 20th century towards the tiny English speaking country.
Rumour had spread in late summer, that the school children were likely to vote Kate, to be the Prom queen of 1987.
The honourable title was rightfully hers. She had captained the rowing team and had brought back the Inglesby cup to Lymm Grammar school after 10 years. The school cupboards also adorned trophies from Biology and Chemistry Olympiad challenges.
The cherry on the cake was the letter with an official golden emblem that boasted a chevron between three roses, barbed and seeded proper, on a chief of a lion passant guardant between two closed books.
In it was an offer from Trinity College in Cambridge to study medicine, signed by the Rev Eckersley, Dean of college.
A Prom evening was every school leavers dream.
And for an expectant Prom queen, there was a lot to live upto.
The tales of that night are recounted over many generations.
And Kate wanted it to be her perfect story.
One of the stumbling blocks for the fairer sex is to find the perfect attire which would score points over every other girl and fixate the rolling eyes of boys, who were soon to be men, on to herself.
Manchester high street is lined by garment boutiques with latest in fashion design. From Dolce Gabbana of Milan, to Burberry of London and the Parisian Givenchy, the streets exuded affluence.
It would take her less than 30 minutes on train to reach, but Kate's problems would start after she reached there.
For her Nanna, though rich by heart, was far below the national average, on the socio- economic rung.
She had planned to shop the Saturday prior to the prom night.
She spent a sleepless Friday night, her every toss and turn in bed magnified her exasperation and worry.
Her train to Manchester took her through the suburbs of the city and she reached Piccadilly as the clock struck 11.
Claire was already waiting for her outside W H Smith.
They roamed through Dean's gate, the prime street for shopping in Manchester downtown. Outside a St Laurent's boutique, she paused. Her breath was taken away by a burgundy red coloured dress with a curved low V neck cut that riveted her attention.
Inside the plush space, the sales girl politely reminded her that the dress would make her purse lighter by £150.
She knew, she had no more than 50, and Claire had offered another 50.
As she fidgeted around the dress, pretending to check her purse. To her surprise she found 20 rolled up notes of 10 pound denomination.
The weekend after the prom night, they drove back to the farm in Nannas 25 year old, 4 geared, Austin metro car which lacked power steering and needed hand power to wind the windows up and down.
There she found the money tree which had borne her the prom dress.
Rather, she found a stable with the missing pony.
The mare who had delivered the pony on 29 February 1980, had died soon from sepsis.
Nanna had been the pony’s mother ever since.
But, to Nanna, Kate's happiness was far beyond hers own.
The younger one held on to the older one,
Wondering how deep was her ever filled chalice of love...
Chapter 3: The Tsunami
"It’s only a 2 week job and I will be back before Tanya's birthday", Sanket held Pallu closer to him. She saw his browned vest, which had a few holes in it and reminded herself to buy him a couple of new ones after his next month’s salary.
As he was a daily labourer, Sanket had to travel for a job in Palghar. Their contractor had seized an opportunity to restore a building damaged by heavy rains.
They had made the hutment, Pratapnagar, in Jogeshwari their home for the past 12 years. Pallu worked in the packing section of a local bangle factory.
Suraj was born 7 years after Tanya, more of an accident, as they hadn't planned on another child.
Surviving over less than 3 dollars a day, had tested Pallu's determination and grit.
Her 'rainy day' bank had just over 7000 rupees.
Little did she realise that the 'rainy day' was soon to arrive, much before the monsoons would, and that too, in mid-March.
Sekharam had rung the previous evening from Palghar. He and Sanket had bonded well together over the past 3 years. Together they would climb the scaffolding during repairs, each relying on the other as their brother.
Sanket had felt a little uneasy since the previous morning and was feverish.
Pallu placed a fresh Jaswandi flower at the Ganesh moorti over the next couple of days.
On the third day, fate ripped apart the earth beneath her feet.
She had heard of some problem in China and Lobo from the next lane was talking about some germs which went into the nose and stopped the breathing.
But, all that was supposed to be in a distant land. Wasn’t China far far away? She thought to herself.
Sanket had to be cremated in Palghar and Sekharam was in hospital too.
Sanket loved to gaze into her dark eyes. He would tease her with the song, "Yeh aankhe, uff, yummaa...”.
If he could peer into those eyes that had never shed a tear, he would have seen a steely resolve.
Survival is the most a basic instinct in animals.
The next morning Pallu left Jogeshwari. There was nothing left for her here.
Carrying a change of clothes for Suraj in her handbag, some plane salted banana wafers, 2 packets of Parle G, 1 bag of Aarey milk and 2 bottles of boiled water. She had placed the Ganesh moorti and her 7000 rupees in the inside zip of the hand bag.
If she would catch the 8.30 ST bus, she should be in Pen by 10.30 at the latest, she gathered.
Her survival instinct, though strong, was feeble in front of over a 1000 mob who was trying to head away out of city.
The city, which had been their lifeline, was now poised to stifle their breath away.
For over 12 hours she battled in vain, to gain a foothold for herself and her 2 little ones.
Eventually, at 9 pm she boarded the private Bengaluru bus which would take her to Pen.
When she gathered herself on the bus, her bag was lighter as the children had devoured the biscuits and wafers and the private bus conductor had devoured 2500 of her rupees.
Little did she know what twist awaited her.
Chinchghar is a small town on Mumbai Benglaru expressway, about 15 kilometers from Pen.
She had been there many times with Godakka to sell the Ganesh moortis.
Her thoughts kept fluttering between Godakka, Sanket, the nose germ from China and now this bus.
The sudden shudder from the bus snapped her out of her inner turmoil, as the bus engine started to belch out fumes from its belly.
All the passengers got down and made their way to Chinchghar bus station.
As they started nearing it, she saw the over 500 throng of mob that surrounded the bus stand. Many immigrants awaited there, as Pen was locked down.
She knew of a local dargah, she had seen in her journey with Godakka.
She decided to rest there over the night.
The next morning, carrying Suraj in her arm and with Tanya leading the way, she decided to walk her way to Sapoli
×××××
Kate had taken to Cambridge as fish would take to water.
Her grasp on anatomy, embryology and physiology brought her distinctions and when she was awarded the Raymond Smith medal for her thesis on 'Myocardial cells in hypoxia', no one had a doubt that she would be offered to study Cardio-thoracic surgery.
Over the next 7 years at Addenbrookes Hospital under Professor Steve Westaby, she was polished from a rough diamond to a shining gem.
When she eventually left Addenbrookes, Professor too retired, as she had virtually taken over the workings of the department.
The folks in Cambridgeshire tried all tricks up their sleeve to make her stay,
But she had promised Nanna.
So on the first bank holiday in August, she offered her resignation and drove in her yellow Citroen back to Manchester.
She recollected her very first walk on that road that led her to the hospital.
The trees along the pavement were well manicured and leafy. They dappled the sidewalks in inky shades.
She had walked that walked many times later. But that first walk always stayed in her memory.
Within a decade, she had managed to climb the male dominated hierarchical ladder.
Her unbridled enthusiasm to work, deep toned, no nonsense manner that was often interpreted as rudeness and patient-centric approach enabled her to lift that Shiva Dhanush, that many before her claimed to carry, yet failed miserably.
She was unanimously elected the first female president to head the prestigious Royal College of Cardio thoracic Surgery.
Her publications in journals and invited lectures matched pace with the increasingly grateful thank you cards from the fraternity of patients that she had treated.
But, today that seemed a long time ago.
Like every day, she was the first to arrive in the hospital. The rains had been incessant since the previous evening.
From that favourite pavement walk, she saws puddles of rain water forming small pools on the lawn, with raindrops good fleshing the surface of those pools.
The moon was still hovering in that early morning sky, as it drifted in and out of clouds.
A gust of wind clattered the fronds of lamps.
Nature was being particularly harsh today.
From her office window she could see the new born morning as it lay drowsing, barely awake and silent.
Chapter 4: A Long Day
In Sapoli, time stands still.
In that stillness lie many lifetimes.
A 2 mile long challenge lay ahead of her. They had laboured 3 miles since their last rest stop, but the last 2 was going to question her for the rest of her existence.
×××××
4500 miles away, the Northern hemisphere sunrise was yet a few minutes away, but a single ray shone up through the eastern skies, like a beacon fighting back the tattered remnants of darkness.
She sat at her desk peering from her office window, drinking the chimeric landscape of the deserted city with its sleepy creatures of civilisation, which enveloped layers of love, gratitude, greed, envy, deceit under that dawn blanket.
She was about to commence her day's journey which would question the dichotomy of human nature for the rest of her life.
Whilst leaving the dargah, the local Imam had offered them bread and water. "Allah Hafiz", he had bid them.
She would need all that protection today as she began her walk back to Sapoli.
Suraj had stopped walking, so she carried him. Her maternal instincts realised something was not right. His eyes appeared drowsier and his head kept flopping. Was he breathing a little faster? His pale skin felt a little warm.
She hastened her walk, bypassed Pen and stuck to passing through farm lands.
For 3 miles along the parallel dirt tracks they walked.
Their food rations were over, so she was grateful for the bread from the Imam.
As they waded their way through those by lanes, she saw 2 men riding towards her. She waved for them to stop. As they slowed down, she had a glimmer of hope. Perhaps they would take her to Sapoli.
As they neared her, the one at the back, reached his hand out and tugged hard and snatched her hand bag. She lost her balance and stumbled with Suraj. As she turned back, she saw them throw away her bag a few hundred yards down the lane
Tanya fetched the bag.
The thugs had taken what they valued more: the rest of her 5000 rupees of life savings.
But, she was grateful that they hadn't taken what she valued more, the little Ganesh moorti.
Holding the moorti in one hand and a slowly withering Suraj in the other, she recommenced her journey.
She wondered where all the village folk were. No one was to be seen on those dirt tracks. They were usually deserted, but one occasionally would bump into a local farmer. She hadn't heard of ‘The Lockdown’. As they paused under a banyan tree, she realised Suraj's breathing was very shallow. He was now barely awake, Tanya too looked fatigued and slept on her lap. She waited for half an hour, undecided about whether to carry on those last 2 miles.
Finally, she got up, lifted Suraj's limp body and started to drag Tanya. Within half a mile, Tanya fell to her knees. Exhaustion had built up lactic acid in her body, she hadn't eaten anything since the Imams offering of small pav. Her 10 year old body was looking increasingly fragile.
Pallu sat on the side of a road with them, She wasnt sure if Suraj's breathing was more intermittent. A medic would have said it was Cheynes Stokes breathing, the terminal gasps of a person...
The strain of the last 15 hours was beyond endurance for the frail 3 year old, who unknown to anyone, had a small hole in his heart, a septal defect doctors called it. That would make him vulnerable to infections.
×××××
Kate asked her registrar to close up the sternal surgical wound with sutures. She had successfully switched back the vessels which were incorrectly attached since birth in Luciene's heart.
Luciene had been flown over from Scotland by air ambulance, as her health had deteriorated. She was born with the defect in her heart but was not strong enough for the operation.
Her deterioration had forced the doctors to operate sooner.
Halfway during the operation, however, the electric circuits in her heart went haywire. Whilst one can detect the structures in the heart and their anomalies easily, these electrical circuit defects in heart are difficult to unravel.
Luciene's heart had gone into a series of abnormal rhythms, called fibrillation.
There were 3 episodes when it had stopped all together in the midst of the operation and the shocks from the DC shock rhythm generator and a myriad of medications pumped into her, had brought it back to its rhythm.
Yet, Kate knew.
This did not bode well.
"She needs to remain on the ventilator", the grave face of her anaesthetist said it all.
"Her pupils are dilated and her cardiac rhythm still remains erratic, she will need ICU ventilator support".
The intensive care unit was at the end of the long corridor from theatres.
Kate led the way, walking with the bed that carried Luciene.
Her hands holding onto Luciene's.
They entered the ICU through the rear door that was accessible only to theatre patients. As she wheeled the bed forwards, she saw another bed being rolled in through the front door.
The Casualty team of doctors and nurses were bringing another patient to the ICU
Chapter 5: The Question
Pallu looked into Suraj's barely open eyes, looked at Tanya drifting in and out of sleep, gazed up at the skies and finally brought the Ganesh moorti close to her heart.
Suraj's hand lay on her lap. It held the Imam's bread.
She looked at Tanya,
Tanya looked feebly at her.
Pallu knew what she had to do.
She eased the bread out of Suraj’s hand and gave it to Tanya.
Tanya tore into it within seconds.
No one had seen tears in Pallu's eyes before that day.
xxxxx
"We have only 1 more ventilator available", Dr Robert's face was always grave. An occupational hazard of an ICU in charge.
"We need to decide who gets it. Luciene needs cardio-pulmonary support and Jack has a bad pneumonia".
In medical curriculum, the books, the journals and the doctors teach you everything.
Volumes have been written on the way the complex human body is formed from one cell and the way to identify and treat its maladies.
Doctors, however, are never prepared for this.
This lies beyond their domain of health, diseases and ethics.
How does one make this decision?
How can one play God?
How can you decide who lives and who doesn’t?
Kate was sat in the interview room with the Casualty consultant and Dr Robert's.
Before entering the room she had checked on Luciene's progress, or rather the regress.
As a surgeon, she was hardwired to make tough calls.
Both gentlemen's eyes looked at her.
Kate knew what she had to do.
Jack was wheeled into an ICU bed to be ventilated, as Luciene was taken back to the theatre, her body left to succumb.
Kate took a flight of stairs down and entered a room she had never entered before.
Relatives from various faiths prayed in silence.
No one noticed as she sat quietly at the back end of the prayer room.
Epilogue
The Tulsi in the Vrindavan in Godakkas front yard had grown, as Pallu watered it every morning. Tanvi was preparing a garland from Bakuli flowers, to place it on the photo of her younger brother. The air was filled with the aroma of Bakuli flowers that adorned the gate. One could hear a song played on radio from next door.
"बांध दीदों में भर डाले आंसू
सील दिए मैंने दर्दों को दिल में
जब तलक तू बना दे ना तू बिगड़ी
दर से तेरे ना जाए सवाली
भर दो झोली मेरी या मुहम्मद
लौट कर मैं ना जाऊंगा खाली"
The Tulsi looked much healthier day by day.
xxxxx
Kate was sat in her Volvo in the car park. She had left the car window open to get some fresh air.
She saw a short, dark skinned fella, she hadn't seen him before. He gave her a bow as he got into his Nissan. Everyone who worked in that hospital knew her.
He started his car, the USB stick was still connected to its port. It started playing his song choice.
लहानपण दे गा देवा
मुंगी साखरेचा रवा
ऐरावत रत्न थोर
त्यासी अंकुशाचा मार
जया अंगीं मोठेपण
तया यातना कठीण
तुका ह्मणे बरवे जाण
व्हावे लहानाहून लहान
Kate couldn't understand that age old abhang from a saint from a faraway land.
So she just smiled at him as she drove away.
Next morning, she planted a new plant, along a row of 12 previous plants.
Each one special to her, each one reminding her of her dear patients she had lost during operations in her illustrious career.
As she dug the soil to plant the new Magnolia plant, she reached in her pocket and took out a box and buried it in the depths of the Magnolia roots.
The box contained a round medallion with an emblem of heart and its 4 chambers, The “Wasserman-Knight” Gold medal for best performance in Cardio-Thoracic surgery.
xxxxx
For the rest of their lives,
A Question raised its head every night,
"Did i fail in my duty, my Lord"?
The answer to that question was between them and Their Lord...