Shrill, agonized cries pierced the silence. At first, they had only been faint, as if distorted by a tunnel, but grew louder and louder until I finally realized it was my voice, screaming in agony! Then it came back to me in a flash–the blinding pain, as I seemed frozen on my bed, four strong men carrying me on a stretcher to the ambulance, sirens blaring impatiently till we reached the hospital.
After that it was only a heavy stupor, a jumble of doctors, nurses, trips to the lab for tests of various sorts. Medicines for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sleep, and wake to more pain.
My once active life had now boiled down to this waiting. I pleaded with the doctors: ‘Please let me know, whatever it may be.’ They confirmed my worst fears. They must have gone through more pain than me to say the word: Cancer. No hope, very advanced stage. Counting days. Visitors pouring in to offer their sympathies. And silently, their pity, for a life to end too soon.
My mind was tortured by nightmares, thoughts hurtling about like a train running out of control. I was a bundle of nerves as each passing day brought me nearer the end.
One evening a storm battered the city, the furious winds wreaked havoc on trees, and no one came to visit me. I felt relieved to be by myself, and knew it was time to make peace with my destiny. I got the nurse to pull my bed closer to the window, and she left me with strict instructions to call if I needed anything at all. ‘A new lease of life, perhaps?’ I whispered.
Did I really want to live? I had anyway been longing for release of late, and had got tired of hiding behind the façade of a successful college professor. I knew better – all the ghosts of the past haunted me at night, leaving me a nervous wreck. Each day, I hoped. would be different, but it never was. My worst enemy was the alarm clock, and its torturous buzz unbearable. But it pulled me back to some semblance of normalcy, and I’d put on my ‘mask’ for work. Back to my lonely life in the evening. And so, it had been for many years now. If I survived, would I just be a shadow of my old self, confined to bed, always depending on someone’s help to get by?
No, I screamed inside, I wanted to live, on my own terms, and would fight for it. Grabbing pen and paper from the bedside table, I quickly scribbled – ‘Checklist of things to do.’
A few days later, the doctors announced: ‘You will be allowed to go home, but only if you promise to follow instructions – which means complete rest, to begin with.’
‘Anything you wish, Doctor,’ I promised, ‘anything to be relieved from the confines of hospital.’ Of course, I had no clue how I’d keep myself busy without the routine of work, but I thought: ‘Oh well…’
My most unlikely ally was a little girl I had often seen playing in the open space opposite my house, as I rushed to work. She had a little brother to take care of, a task she wasn’t too fond of, as I soon learnt. ‘Asha! Ashaaa!’ her mother screamed. ‘Why can’t you hold your little brother for a while? Can’t a woman do some work peacefully?’ But her shouts were to no avail, and she hitched the baby up on one hip and used her free hand to draw up the water.
My maid often wheeled me out to the verandah where I could catch the morning sun, a blessing in the chill winter months. Asha peeped in through the gate. ‘Come in,’ I called to the little girl, but she ran back home. Later that day, she brought her mother Manju along to see me, and it was the beginning of a new life for me.
‘Amma, we work as daily wage labour, and I tell Asha to keep a watchful eye on Abhi, our two-year-old boy. He was born after a lot of prayer and vows to the family deity. He has become too active for me to manage alone, and angry drivers shout to be careful the baby doesn’t get run over.’
‘Asha is just a child. Shouldn’t she be in school?’
‘She is a very clever child, and is very fond of books. Asha is a baby herself, and gets angry when she has to take care of Abhi. She wakes up early just to watch people in fine clothes, driving in fine cars and looking so important.’
‘Why can’t I go to school dressed in a smart uniform, read from fine books, like the other kids do? I want to study a lot and work when I’m old enough.’ Asha asked. She ran out to peer at a passing plane.
Manju felt her eyes sting with unshed tears, sad that fate had played such a cruel trick on her. ‘How can I tell her not to reach for the sky, when I know that she’ll only fall flat to the ground? I’m so afraid to let Asha’s dream world crumble down. There’s enough time for her to face the truth when she’s a bit older,’ she consoled herself.
It became a ritual for mother and daughter to come by whenever time permitted, and in turn Asha promised to take care of little Abhi in the mornings. She loved talking to my friends who dropped in to see me. They always got her books, pencils or crayons, and took turns teaching her to read. She stepped into a new world, full of hope and joy.
‘Can I too become a teacher like you?’ she asked.
‘Why of course you can, but you must go to school for that.’
‘But who will take care of Abhi if I go away?’
‘Let me see. I’ll talk to your parents and see what can be done.’
Manju and her husband were thrilled that there was a glimmer of hope for Asha. My maid, who had no kids of her own, offered to keep an eye on Abhi. ‘God must have finally taken pity and sent this sweet child to me,’ she told everyone. Everything worked out faster and smoother than I had thought possible, and in just a few days’ time, Asha was off to school.
She was so proud of her new uniform, books, pencils and most of all, loved coming by in the evenings to share everything about school. I soon found myself looking forward to her visits, and her capacity to learn new things and questions about things she didn’t understand, never failed to amaze me.
‘Well, you’ve done much better than I expected!’ my doctor exclaimed when I went for my follow-up. Only then did I realize that I had actually taken a few steps from the wheel chair to the examining table. ‘This is really some kind of miracle, and at this rate, you will soon be back at work.’
My life as a college professor seemed like a thing of the past, a farce. I had learnt much more about life from these simple people than from all the books I had ever read, and never wanted to go back to that life again. When my friends came by that evening, I announced my decision to them. ‘I’m going to start a day care centre in the empty basement of my house. Little girls like Asha should be free to attend school, and not be burdened with caring for siblings.’ Everyone was glad to help out. Toys, clothes, books and money poured in when word got around, and volunteers were always eager to come and spend time with the kids.
Pavan, a young journalist, published a photo feature on my venture, and calls kept pouring in to congratulate me, to know if I could help start a similar unit in their place, or to ask what inspired me to do this.
I had only one word to say – Asha, the Hope.
If you enjoyed reading this, check out other blog articles by Janaki Rao on Healthy Indian: Ikebana As A Form of Meditation and Amma, Are You Angry With Me?
