Page 119 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

I should go to. Tears welled up in my eyes. “Where is his car?” I scurried back to the gate and glimpsed the vehicles
plying on the road. The green Zen didn’t make its way to the pediatric ward.
Dr. John arrived. “Sorry, I am late,” he said.
“Hurry, doctor. The baby is breathing his last.”
“Get the baby to the dressing room.”
I took the baby to the dressing room.
Dr. John laid the sterilized bag on the table and picked a scalpel. “Nurse, hold his hands.” He lacerated the
baby’s left arm deep and searched the veins.
I sneaked out and chanted a mantra. “Lama la kyab su che, sangay la kyab su chhe, che la kyab su chhe. Kyab ni
dampa kencho sum la kyab su chhe.” After a few minutes, I returned to the dressing room.
Dr. John mopped his face and stitched the cut. “Phew.” He administered another analgesic injection on the other
arm.
“Another cut?” I muttered. “Oh, my poor baby!”
My heart ached as the surgeon lacerated the baby’s arm deep.
“You can sit outside,” said Mrs. Tara. “Don’t worry, we will do it.”
I paced the verandah, my mind racing a mile a minute. “Why are they taking so long?”
Choki sobbed, leaning against the windowsill. I barged in and stood behind the door. Dr. John lacerated his left
neck now.
“Goodness me, another laceration?” I said to myself. “Oh, no!” I sneaked out and said prayers. A few minutes
later, I stalked in again and watched the heart-wrenching scene.
“I got it,” said Dr. John. “Get me the tape.”
Mrs. Tara passed it over to him.
I folded my hands and looked up. “Thank you, God, for your incalculable blessings.”
Dr. John stuck the intravenous needle to his neck with cello tape and released the saline in full. “The baby is
dehydrated. I am afraid he has only a twenty percent chance of survival.”
“Twenty percent?” I said, covering my mouth.
I traipsed out and sobbed, leaning against the wall.
“What happened?” asked Choki.
“The baby is completely dehydrated,” I said. “I think we are losing him. The doctor said he has only a twenty
percent chance of survival.”
“What?” She fell on her knees. “My poor—”
“Sir, come in,” said Mrs. Tara. “Doctor wants you.”
I rushed in. “What’s it?”
“Good news,” said Dr. John. “He peed now.”
“Oh, really?” I said, taking a long breath.
“Take care of this line,” he said, pointing at the IV line on the baby’s neck. “It’s a lifeline. Spoiling would
endanger his life.” He patted my back. “Relax now. I will come tomorrow.”
My tense tone-of-voice quivered as I kneeled before him. “You are a genius.”
He grinned. “Take care of the baby.”
I nodded and bowed.
Relatives came with a carton box for my son’s body. When they crammed the cabin, a nurse came in.
“Only parents, please,” she said. “The baby is serious.”
Choki’s three cousin-brothers stayed back at the canopy, in front of the cabin.
At 10:00 pm, Tenjur shuffled in. “You can take rest.”
“Take care of this line, please,” I said. “It’s his lifeline.”
I lay on the rubber carpet at the canopy. Early the next morning, I shuffled into the cabin. In her sleep, Choki
was wobbling on the stool, holding the baby’s neck. So, I sent her to take a rest.
Back in the school, I would remember my ailing baby. One day, my class monitor stood before me with a sack
full of presents.
“Sir, this is for your baby,” she said, grinning.
My breath seized. “Oh, really?”
“May your baby recover soon, sir,” she added.
Others sat tight-lipped, blinking at me. They were too young to understand anything, not too young to offer
condolences.
My lips quivered. “Thank you all. I…” I sank into my chair and covered my face with my hands and sobbed for
minutes. “Oh, no! I must not cry before them.” I wiped the tears and began the day’s lesson.
On my way home one morning, a young boy leaped before me and wailed. “Boohoo.”

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