Page 284 - E-Magazine 2016-17

THE IMMORTAL WARRIOR

have been doing this for the past three years. Yet,
everyday I feel this unwavering and nagging fear.
How long have I got?
I
I caught her gazing at the pretty vase of vibrant
flowers with an impalpable childish excitement on her
face. The vase has been a part of her life for more than a
month now. But she would never realize it. She would
never know me either. This is what Alzheimers does to
you.
Her limbs held evidences of frostbites. Last night, she had
strayed into the garden through the open gate, and not
knowing where she was, began calling for help. But her
slurred speech and rapidly disintegrating syllables en-
sured that she was unintelligible. She was left in the cold, until the security guard came by,
several hours later. While shifting her to the bed, I noticed that her eyes were moist. Not
with dew , but with helpless tears .
The boy whom she had cradled affectionately in her arms, the boy who she nourished all
through infancy to adulthood and the very boy around whom she had spun her entire world ,
calling him her “Son” had abandoned her on the pathetic pretext of her , his guardian angel ,
being a burden.
Once a celebrated speaker, who had inspired millions of young souls with the fascinating
depths of her thoughts, now, had no idea that the word “Therapist” on my shirt was not
formed by a random fusion of curves, but by “Alphabets”.
Whenever my name was called out, her eyes would light up with such intense excitement, as
though it was something to be treasured. She never knew that for the past eighty years of
her life, she had one too. She had forgotten her name.
She had not the slightest inkling of the fact that the Science which had managed to oust ro-
bust youths like Ebola and Zika was yet to turn all those dust and termite laden theories in-
to the Elixir of Life for which she and numerous others pined endlessly.
Most of the time, she would even forget that the plate that held steaming hot food was
meant to be eaten. Her medical files said that she was born into one of the most affluent
baker family in town . Her weakening body systems meant that she would often wet her
bed, and would just lay there, shivering. Many a times she has even been laughed at. But,
now that realization was a faculty that she was no longer equipped with, she would just
smile back at them, as though she was playing just another little game.
During summers, in order to nurse her parched throat, she would eagerly claw at the tum-
bler. But her fraying motor nerves always responded by dropping it on the floor .
And the sadness in her brown eyes at times like this was powerful enough to melt all of the
Arctic’s Glaciers .
The wisdom that she had amassed through all these years melted away like the wax of an
exhausted candle .
She had forgotten her golden childhood . She had forgotten her High School prom dance. She
had forgotten her popsicle summers , her snow riddled winters . She had forgotten what it
was to be alive.
I always envisioned her as a rag doll, who despite being severely ripped at the edges with all
the cotton stuffing spilling out, was clinging to life with a buttoned smile .
Amidst these tumultuous thoughts, I became aware of tears dripping down my cheeks. She
saw this , and despite the pain inflicted on her arms , she wiped away my tears and patted
my head .
I knew then that she was going to live forever in my heart. Not as the patient who had lost
the battle against Alzheimer’s, but as the stupendous Warrior who had triumphed over
Life…
(Dedicated to the 35 million Alzheimer’s patients all over the world…)
SHIVANI PILLAI XI-C