The Calling.

A wet Saturday morning, rain pouring down hard, a gloomy sky empty with no birds around; we met and shook hands in greeting. This was not the first time, and I always looked at him with respect and care. We waited for the rest and then we began a journey into the humble, sweet terrain of a beautiful village. It’s not just a village, but a home, a place of quiet and cogitation.Hence; we enter the welcoming premise of love, of belonging and of pride. A fresh cup of steaming tea is given, and it is received with utmost delight. There is nothing like it, the sound of cows mooing, monkeys scattering about, and the trees whispering lovely secrets to each other. Heavenly!

We are summoned, into another place of learning, of mischief, of innocent laughter and of love. The room is filled with endless banter, the little man cubs, scurrying around, filling the void between us. The women offer us freshly baked delicacies, the children offer us their love, and endless.It was surreal.

Lunch awaits us, in our hall of fame. He and I did not have our lunch with us, nor did the other lovely people, the guardians of our beliefs, our commitment and our longing for change. We motor across to a neighboring village for lunch, which was simple yet extravagant. The very simplicity of sitting in a tiny boutique and eating food full of humility and humbleness makes you want to stay. The cool wind blowing lightly in your face while you eat, light discourse and sharing, it all makes it an experience everlasting.

Put put put, we move on, he in front and I at the back, and our guardians behind us. We ride and we ride, and I land on the brown sandy ground, he on the tar. Two dogs crossed our path, and that was destiny calling us. He in a deep stupour, vomit spewed everywhere, began to cry. I cannot even imagine the pain, the fear, the dread. He was back on track, but slipping out ever so often. I turned him, his vomit drained out. Our guardian, an angel from the depths of humanity reached us, and it felt so relieving to have some in charge. She howled the moment she saw him, back in his state, away from the world. A question arose. Is he gone? That is all that came.

We rushed him, the auto rickshaw ran out of gas, but they replaced it, we rushed him. An injection was given, his wounds cleaned with sticky yellow wound cleaner, and no stretcher to shift him to the bed. But we managed. He was lapsing in and out, in and out, out and in. The guardian angel and I just sat silently, willing him to come out of his daze, to talk, to laugh. Maybe, we were asking for too much. He had to be transported to the realms of urban medicine, and so he was, in a rickety ambulance, with me pressing the siren button, all the way through. I was mute throughout, the driver cursing everyone on the street; we drove past traffic signals, narrowly avoiding another catastrophe. The siren went on and on and on. The journey ended, with him vomiting as if a latch was released in his stomach. It was a bad sign and I knew it, and so did my most passionate friend. He was again examined, and then finally a decision was made to move him once again, because the scanner had wanted a break, so here we go again, another amazingly rickety ambulance, this time with no lights or siren, he finally was taken care of. We cried for him, in anguish and in fear, but hope still lay aground.

A green gown, a shaved head, monitors beeping near his feet; he was taken in for scans after scans after scans. A clot, internal bleeding, affecting his normal functioning, well he was wheeled in again, this time for mechanical procedures. They cut him open, and that’s all.

2.00am, Sunday morning, he is wheeled out, and he could talk, sighs of relief all around. Intensive care is all what he needed and they made sure he got it. My beloved friend and I went off home, withered and dry. He made it, my fears were negated, he fought it, and he won. I love him for that.