When the Heart Stops
Still there was no pulse! “What else do I have to do to make the patient’s heart beat again?” Ramesh asked himself desperately. He racked his brain, in the hope he had forgotten some important step or activity he had been taught in his medical college for saving a heart attack patient. But, no. No ideas were coming to his stupid mind.
For the past fifteen minutes, the doctor and the nurse had been performing cardiopulmonary resuscitation and artificial respiration on the patient, but still no result. They had very little time. Ramesh’s hands were working steadily on the unconscious patient. The heel of one hand was on the patient’s breastbone. The doctor placed his other hand on the first hand and pushed down forcefully, bringing all his pressure into his hands. He was applying and releasing the pressure at a fast rate. The duty nurse, on the other hand, was administering artificial respiration.
“Why am I alone tonight?” Ramesh thought miserably. “Why such a critical case on this rainy day?”
Just out of college, Ramesh had joined this small hospital one month back as a trainee doctor and had already been put on night shifts for the last ten days. His routine was to accompany the senior doctor on his normal rounds, checking the inpatients and giving out new or modified prescriptions. There had been no emergency cases. But, on this unfortunate day, the senior doctor could not reach the office due to heavy rains and the hospital got an emergency case. “Why had not this poor fellow slept peacefully as the whole world was sleeping now?” Ramesh lamented. “Why could this not be a normal night like the previous nights?” Hey man! This is not the time to think your stupid thoughts, Ramesh chided himself. You must save this patient at any cost. A person cannot die in your hands, doctor!
Just then, another nurse entered the ICU room and whispered in despair, “Sir, we are unable to reach Dr. Rakesh or any other doctor. Still all phones are dead.” Dr. Rakesh was a cardiologist.
Ramesh nodded his head. He knew he had to handle this case alone. He was frantically working on the patient. All his concentration was on the heart; he had to make it work at any cost. He would not let his patient die.
There was actually a very thin line between being alive and being dead, Ramesh realized at the moment. And he perceived that line through his first major patient when he, the patient, began to breathe in air with a start. Yes, his heart started beating!
All in the room, Ramesh and nurses, gave a sigh of relief. Ramesh immediately turned the patient to one side so that nothing would block his windpipe from breathing. When he saw the rise and fall of the patient’s chest, Ramesh’s heart filled with pride. He had saved a person’s life today. His first patient’s life! He had given him new life. But, along with happiness and pride, Ramesh was going through a roller coaster of emotions. Just a few moments before, how wretchedly helpless, ignorant, and half-learned he had felt! There was a whole family pinning all its hopes on him as if he were a God who would bring back breath into their beloved. And he was there with a new MBBS degree in his hands and just one month of experience, waiting for some other doctor to come to his rescue. What he had done was CPR and artificial respiration, which anybody could do with some training and practice. No need to study MBBS for that. What additional work had he done to save this poor patient? Many questions began to gnaw through Ramesh’s mind. This night taught him a great lesson, one that was not taught by any professor in the college. He discovered the significance and meaning of his profession. And the enormous need humankind had for it! Life is the most valuable and expensive thing in the universe! And a doctor should be omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent.
Ramesh observed the pleasant emotions playing on the face of the patient’s wife when she saw her husband alive, and the grateful eyes of the patient’s children, brothers and sisters when they glanced at him, the doctor, the saviour. Ramesh experienced the pleasure a very few lucky people in the world experience after saving a life. How much joy was there in his profession of saving lives!
When the rain subsided in the wee hours of the morning, Dr Rakesh was called in. After a thorough examination he declared that the patient was completely safe and advised the family to keep him in hospital for one day under observation.
Ramesh left the hospital only after when he heard from Dr. Rakesh that the patient was safe. He returned to his night duty earlier than usual and went first to the ward where the heart patient was placed.
The poor fellow was lying on the bed, with his wife at the foot of the bed. She was offering him encouraging words when Ramesh went inside. “How are you feeling?” he asked the patient, with a big smile on his face. But the man on the bed did not reply, just stared at the doctor, sad and dejected.
“He is worrying too much,” said the wife in a low sad voice. “He was too frightened to even talk or take a little walk.”
Ramesh looked into his patient’s eyes and said reassuringly, “Nothing to worry about. Take some precautions and you will live for a hundred years.”
The doctor and the patient’s eyes were locked for some time. Then, at last, the patient opened his mouth. “Will I live, doctor?” he asked in a low quivering melancholy voice. “Will I see my children’s marriage? Can I play with their kids?”
At that moment, he himself looked like a small kid to Ramesh. The doctor in Ramesh knew his patient needed something more than injections and drugs. He smiled and gently slipped his right hand into the patient’s right hand and gave him a tender squeeze. The patient’s lips parted slightly into a half smile.
Ramesh put his other hand on his shoulder and lifted him slowly. “Hold my hand and take small steps,” he said.
Without any resistance, the depressed patient held his doctor by the right hand in a firm grip and took small steps along with him. With each step the man began to gain confidence. He gained confidence that his heart would not cease to work if he walked. He gained confidence that his heart would not stop working if he laughed along with his wife and children. He gained confidence that the doctor was there for him if anything happened to him again.
At the same time, the doctor’s heart leapt with joy. He felt as if he was the father of the baby taking gentle steps beside him. His baby’s firm grip on his hand was telling him he was much needed for his baby’s confidence and safety. For each step he was taking. What joy a father or mother derives when they see their little infant taking his first steps! Ramesh, the doctor, was experiencing the same joy. He had determined to be omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent for his patients.
Yaadein... (Memories)
I cut the call, feeling trapped. That was my wife, Neeta! She would always cajole me into doing things that I didn’t want to do generally. Now, as she was going to visit her sick mother, I had to pick up our daughter, Shreya, from her playschool. Not only that, my dear wife had also ordered me to make Bournvita for our daughter, which I had never done before. Not that I didn’t want to do it, but I had a lot of work to do in office.
Nevertheless, I left office two hours earlier, as I did not want to keep Shreya waiting. Luckily, I reached her school before time. Parking the car nearby, I waited for her at the gate. To be honest, I hated to wait, even for my daughter or wife; instead of wasting my time here, I might have finished a lot of pending work in the office. Tomorrow I would have to work extra time to finish today’s work.
After ten minutes, kids began to trickle out of the school building. My eyes searched for Shreya. There she was, walking swiftly with little steps. She looked exhausted and dull. Seeing my daughter in that state, I felt sorry for her and some buried memories of my childhood all at once stirred in my mind.
Some twenty years before when I was in school, I too used to feel tired and drained of all energy coming out of the school in the evening. But, what a relief I used to feel when I came outside as if I was released from a jail!
Always, Father used to pick me up from school, as his office was situated near my school. As soon as I saw my father, I ran to
him, all my tiredness and weariness gone. I still even remembered the joy and happiness I felt every evening seeing my father’s face.
Taking my hand father used to ask me, “How was the day, son?” I replied, “Not good. Madam has given us lots of work”. Then, my father laughed at me, amused. “It seems you are still not used to school. Don’t worry, I will help with your homework.”
Remembering all this, I wondered whether my little daughter was feeling the same way about her school and all that homework. Couldn't we make school a pleasant experience instead of a burden to our children? Maybe Shreya needed some more time to adjust herself to school, I reasoned. She had joined school only a month before.
As Shreya neared the school gate, she saw me; and I could clearly see the joy coming into her face. Time would change, people would change, but the feelings we felt would never change.
My little girl ran towards me with quick tiny steps and threw her hands round my legs. “Daddy! You here? Hasn’t mummy come?” she enquired. How sweet was her voice! “No, my dear. She has gone to visit your granny. She will be back at dinner time.”
I took the school bag from her; my father used to do the same. I usually didn’t encourage Shreya to be picked up by anybody, even by her mother. I didn’t want her to be dependent physically or emotionally on somebody; I wanted her grown up independent. But suddenly and mysteriously, I had a strong urge to pick her up and hold her delicate body close to my heart.
I could not resist the temptation. What if once a while I indulge my lovely little daughter with all my love and affection! And I picked her up. She looked happy and put her hands round my neck like a garland. I had a tickling sensation there.
I began to walk towards our car. As we were passing an ice-cream vendor on the street, Shreya said, “Daddy, I want ice-cream”.
The ice-cream vendor looked dirty and you could imagine how clean his ice cream would be! I fell into a dilemma: if I bought her that unhygienic ice cream she might catch cold and became ill; if not, she would be disappointed.
I wondered nostalgically how certain events were repeated in our lives in different times and in different roles. As a school-going kid, many a time I had demanded my father buy me sweets from the vendor who always used to sit by our school gate. My father had always warned they were dirty and not good for health. But, being a stubborn child, I used to cry and make a scene. Afraid of my tantrums, father immediately bought me whatever I wanted. Now, after all these years, I realised the same dilemma my father must have experienced as I was experiencing now. How much then he might have worried about my health as I ate those unhealthy sweets.
With a strong determination I told Shreya, “That ice cream would make you ill, beta. You can have it at home; mummy must have made ice cream for you and stored it in the fridge. If not, I will prepare delicious ice cream”. Yes! I was ready to make not only Bournvita, but also ice cream for her.
“Oh! You are sweet, daddy. I would like to have two ice creams at home,” she said.
How mature my daughter was, unlike me harassing my poor father until he bought me sweets!
I gave her a peck as a gift for being so understanding and lovely. In return, she gave me a generous kiss on my cheek, leaving a patch of damp there. I knew I could feel this dampness until the end of my life.
Religion
“You heard the news?” Pradeep asked as Musthafa was preparing for the meeting, which was about to start in half an hour. “There were five bomb blasts in Bangalore just now.”
Musthafa was stunned and looked up from his computer at his colleague. “What? Five bomb blasts! Is it a terrorist attack? How many people died?”
“It seems so. Nobody died so far as per the news on the net.”
Musthafa immediately opened the news websites on his computer. All were full of different versions of the bomb blast incident. As he was reading the reports one after the other, the number of explosions were increasing. Five, six, seven, eight. And one site reported that a person died. Musthafa hated to think who might have done such an inhuman thing. As he was filled with gloomy thoughts, his mobile began to ring. It was his father from his home town. “Beta, we have been trying to reach you for a long time, but the lines were busy,” said his father in an anxious tone. “Where are you now? How is the situation there?”
“I am in office, papa. Don’t know what’s happening out there. But this is disgusting.”
“Yes, couldn't say what fate these terrorists are driving our Islam to.” There was a deep pain in his father’s voice. Then he advised his son, “But you don’t venture out, beta. Remain in office.”
Then, within minutes, it was his friend Rajesh from Mumbai.
“Hey dude, what’s going on there? Are you safe?”
“Thanks for calling. I am absolutely safe.”
“When are you coming back to Mumbai, yaar?” he asked. “We were thinking Mumbai is unsafe with all this underworld and communal clashes, now all cities are the same. Can’t say what will happen in our lives anywhere, anytime.”
Yeah, everything seems so uncertain now a days. Thanks to terrorism!
Musthafa’s meeting was cancelled and the whole afternoon he had been receiving and making calls inquiring about the safety of his friends and relatives in the city. But nobody knew what was in store for them the next day.
Musthafa was watching TV the following day. And his eyes suddenly caught the scrolling letters on the bottom of the screen –
Breaking news: serial blasts shook Ahmedabad killing scores of people. What shocking and depressing news! He immediately switched to the news channels. The pictures and videos he was watching were ghastly and sickening. Blasts in two cities in two days on trot! Stories were ripe with the possibility of Islamic militants behind these two planned attacks. Those rumours were confirmed the next day with an email sent by a terrorist outfit claiming responsibility for the attacks. How disgusting! Musthafa shuddered. Killing people, then claiming responsibility as if they had achieved some great humanitarian feat. These days he felt ashamed of being a Muslim. The whole evening the dreadful clips from the TV were haunting him.
***
Somebody was banging on the door. Musthafa jumped out of his sleep, confused. Who came at this hour? Still half asleep, he tottered to the door, calling out, “Who is that?”
There was no response. Forgetting safety measures in his drowsiness, Musthafa opened the door, to find a young man standing on the doorway. “Who are you?” he asked.
The young man didn’t respond. He pushed aside Musthafa, entered the house, walked briskly to the sofa in the living room and slumped on it. The fellow had a stony expression on his face. It took a while for the surprised Musthafa to shake off his sleep and grasp what was happening. Who is this fellow intruding into his house?
As if reading his mind, said the man, “I am a Jihadi.”
Musthafa’s senses became attentive at once. “What? You are a terrorist?” Did he hear him properly?
“Yes.” The man had an arrogant tone. “I am a part of the group that carried out the blasts in two cities.”
Musthafa instinctively felt like jumping on the man and killing him there itself. “Are you speaking the truth? Are you really a part of that evil?” he asked, his voice cracking. “How could you utter those words so proudly, as if you have invented a drug to cure a deadly disease?”
The terrorist’s rock-hard expression turned into a mocking smile. “I am really trying to cure a disease which is gnawing through our Islam. Yes, I am proud of my deeds and my religion too. Not ashamed of it like you.”
Musthafa remembered his thoughts of that evening. “So you came to teach me a lesson?”
“Lesson! That will not do these days, my naive boy. Your thoughts are against Islam. People like you are infectious and should be eliminated from the world. My leader ordered me to kill you. Our religion doesn’t need cowards like you.”
Strange! After hearing the man’s absurd and threatening words, Musth
afa did not feel fear. In front of him was a man who had already killed hoards of men and women with his bombs in the name of religion, and it was not difficult for him to take his life too. But still, fear disappeared from Musthafa’s being. He felt immensely calm. He ignored the threat and asked, “Why have you been killing innocent people?”
“It’s revenge. For what they are doing to our people and our Islam. Did you forget what happened in Gujarat to our people?”
“I didn’t forget. But first tell me who your people are?”
“All Muslims in the whole world are my people.”
“And you came to take revenge on behalf of them?”
“Exactly.” The terrorist’s loud and lethally confident voice echoed in the room. But the next moment the room was filled with the peals of Musthafa’s laughter. The man was puzzled, got irritated and growled, “Why are you laughing?”
Between his laughter, Musthafa said, “You are not a Muslim at all and you say you are taking revenge on behalf of them.”
“Who told you I am not a Mussalman? I do namaaz five times, I read the Koran regularly. I follow all the customs written in the Koran.”