A Story Of Loss

Young Tushar was about to start his early school days. He would begin primary schooling at the same school where his elder brother, Rishi, was studying. He couldn’t sleep because he was so excited. He kept asking questions to his brother Rishi. Their mother (Mrs. Kaushik) was making soup for their father (Mr. Kaushik) who had been down with a fever for almost three days now. She took a break from the kitchen to check on her sons. She came in, asked them to sleep, and turned off the lights. “How’s dad?” Tushar asked; she told him he was recovering so there was nothing to worry about, finally putting him to sleep. His father had just come back from Delhi, and the family was worried about the new virus that had spread through the city. Mr. Kaushik had assured them that this was just a regular fever as he had taken all necessary precautions. However, he had not quarantined himself because going to the hospital was not safe (the tourists that were found corona-positive were quarantined in the same hospital) and neither was it so cheap, so they were hoping he would get better on his own.

Later that night, Tushar’s father came banging on the door, scaring them. “What happened, dad?” Rishi asked. His dad replied, “your mother can’t breathe properly; we have to rush her to the hospital.” Mrs. Kaushik was asthmatic. She would have asthma attacks, but things would get normal after she used her inhaler. This was new though; their dad had never panicked so much about this. They never had to rush her to the hospital so late at night. They understood this time something was different and worse. Mr. Kaushik still had a fever, but he took out his car, as he knew the ambulance service would not come on time. The moment everyone got in, he started for the nearest hospital.

Watching their mother in such agony made the two kids’ hearts wrench. Tushar had started crying. His father had to focus on the road. It was 2 AM, but the roads still had some cars and perhaps the worst drivers in them. After 10 excruciating minutes, they reached the hospital. They were just about to enter the hospital gate, but the guard stopped them. Mr. Kaushik requested a lot, and only after many requests did the guard call the doctor. Mrs. Kaushik’s condition was deteriorating with time, and her inhaler was not helping. When the doctor came, Mr. Kaushik pleaded with him to help. However, the doctor said they couldn’t admit her as they had reserved all the ventilators for COVID patients and insisted they stop wasting their time and try to drive to another hospital instead.

Mr. Kaushik felt helpless. He saw his wife struggling to breathe and it terrified him. He wanted to do something. He was trying to do everything he could, but he felt powerless. He had no idea that this night would turn out to be so tragic. He tried his best not to break down at that moment, and decided to drive to “City hospital”; it was about a 15 minute journey. He was experiencing a turmoil of emotions; he was angry at the doctor, at the system, and furious at the entire nation for making such absurd rules and following them mercilessly. He wanted to punch the doctor in his face. He wanted to do everything he could to save his wife. He did not want her to die; he wanted to wake up next to her in the morning and continue the happy life they lived with their two kids, but nothing was in his hands except for the steering wheel, so he kept driving. The two kids in the back seat were paralyzed with shock. They had never imagined their mother to be in such trouble, their mother who had always protected and loved them, the mother who was their “wonder woman”; they could not believe she was in so much pain and was so helpless. They wanted to cry but were too traumatised to do so.

Nobody was saying anything. The only sounds in the car were Mrs Kaushik’s erratic breathing and Tushar’s whimpering. Everyone was sad; they just wanted to reach the hospital as soon as possible. Everyone was cursing this world and yet they were too afraid of death. Each minute felt like a year; each turn felt like a tide of obstacles. Mrs. Kaushik was now in an awful condition. Her inhaler seemed to have no effect at all. She was gasping for air and now had started to lose her senses, and eventually, she fainted. Little Tushar tried to wake her up. He screamed, “Mummy, talk to me,” but there was no reply. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He closed his eyes and hugged his mother, the tightest hug he could give. He did not want to see his worst fear come true. He wanted an escape. He wanted to ask God; the reason for his mother’s suffering, the God whom his mother would pray to every morning, the God his mother believed protected their family. If only his heart could talk, it would make the gods descend, and the world cry. There were too many questions, and everyone already knew the answers. They knew it was too late.

The kid had always pictured his life with his mother; he could not think of any moment in his future without her. The thoughts that were once his dreams were now haunting him. He was too afraid of not having his mother around him. He closed his eyes and just wanted to feel his mother, the warmth of his mother’s hug. He wanted to wake up from this hellish nightmare. He would not let her go. He would not let Him take his mother away. He could not help but hate God for taking away the best human on earth he knew. He had this anger in his heart, tears in his eyes, and yet all he could say was, “Please God, please don’t take my mom away. Talk to me, mom”.

The truth is that we are all afraid of Him, that we all want to please Him, we beg Him, we base our entire lives on the ideals set by Him and His followers, but He never listens.

Tushar cried, Rishi started crying. Mr. Kaushik was numb. He was still driving. He had to hold his grief inside and tame his fears. He had to have some hope, the only thing that could make the difference, the only thing that could help him bear the weight of reality crushing his shoulders every passing moment.

They finally reached the City Hospital. Mr. Kaushik and Rishi took Mrs. Kaushik out of the car and carried her inside. Nobody stopped them there. There were vacant beds, too and doctors to attend to their patients. However, the patient was in much worse condition this time. The doctors took her samples for the COVID test too. They tried to save her; they took her to the ICU and continued with the procedures. Mr. Kaushik and the two kids were standing in the dreary hallway of the hospital, the stench of phenyl and anxiousness thick in the air constantly praying, hoping it would make a difference, hoping that she would be back and then all this pain would go away, and they would continue with the life they were living, where they would constantly complain about things but be happy together.

After around two hours, the doctors came and gave them the news: Mrs. Kaushik was no more. The doctor told them she had the coronavirus, and it affected her lungs adversely; as she was asthmatic, it was impossible for her to fight it. He also asked Mr. Kaushik and the two kids to take a COVID test, as it was very likely that if Mrs. Kaushik had it, they would have gotten infected too. After giving his condolences, the doctor left. He could never feel the pain that the family was going through. Everything they were afraid of, the frightening thoughts Tushar and Rishi had in the car, had come to life. Their prayers were not heard. They would have no mother to kiss them good night. They would never sleep. How could they, knowing their mother would not be there to wake them up with a smile on her beautiful face and the heavenly hug that would fill their day with joy. Tushar couldn’t believe that this was it, the worst possible end to his fairy tale. Within a flicker of time, everything had changed. How can someone you’ve loved and lived with your entire life suddenly disappear?

There was silence in the room but sad and violent voices in their hearts. They wanted to scream, they wanted to “Tandav” like Lord Shiva and make this world face their wrath, but all their emotions were undermined by the pain of loss. They started leaving for their house. They could not even see the dead body as Mrs. Kaushik had COVID. Besides all the pain and disbelief, Mr. Kaushik had another emotion: guilt. He felt guilty, because he knew it was him; he was the one who had been to Delhi. Mrs. Kaushik always stayed at home. He was the only way the virus could have infected her; he even had a fever for the past few days, and yet he had refused to take the test and had not quarantined himself. He felt like a sinner. She died because of him. He felt helpless once again; he could do nothing because there was nothing left for him to do.

However, he knew that he was not the only one at fault. Hospitals and their staff, i.e., the supposed “saviours of humanity”, were busy filling their pockets rather than doing their job. The hospitals were hoarding the beds and were black-marketing them. The system had failed the very people it was meant to serve. Later, the officials at fault were punished. But justice is just a facade. It is a construct that humans have built for themselves to feel powerful and in control. However, it is the most insignificant thing when it comes to reality; what has happened cannot be changed. Mrs. Kaushik is dead and cannot be brought back to life.

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