Thirteenth Breath
I. The Call
Bopa Rai picked up the phone. His friend, Bhowmick, had called for clarification on a file concerning the casualty evacuation plan.
“Come whenever you are free,” Bhowmick said.
It was well known, however, that Bopa Rai always remained free for action. He pushed aside the file he was signing and said, “I’ll be there shortly.”
Bhowmick called for tea. It was while they were sipping it together in his office that a call came from his wife, Shanti. She said she was feeling intense anxiety and her heart seemed to be pounding. She was a housewife, prone to anxiety attacks and on medication, but she had been relatively stable.
Bhowmick told her he would be there shortly. “Tell the driver to take you to the hospital,” he said, his voice calm and practiced. “It’s a stone’s throw away.”
“OK,” she replied.
Bhowmick rose and called for his car. “I have to go.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” said Bopa.
II. The Hospital
When they reached the hospital, it was already over. The doctors had performed CPR and exhausted all measures, but there was no sign of life. Her pupils were dilated and unresponsive to light. Bhowmick just stood there while the hospital staff ran about—after all, he was the senior-most medical officer there.
Bopa Rai stood unobtrusively. Bhowmick was stunned, but there was no immediate show of grief. Bopa knew there had been little overt love between the two; she was too dependent, and her panic attacks were often a way of attracting his attention. Yet, as Bopa saw him standing transfixed, he knew the love that had seemed to disappear was now rushing from the closets of memory, as if it wanted to make itself present for the loss.
III. The Arrangements
Bhowmick didn’t cry. The body was taken to the morgue. Bopa took the shaken Bhowmick home. Bhowmick called his relatives and a local Panditji, expressing his wish for the cremation to be held the very next day.
A post-mortem was essential, and Bhowmick insisted on it. So, Bopa Rai went to the morgue and, with two soldiers, took the body personally to the medical college autopsy centre. It was past six in the evening, and the attendant said no autopsies were done after 6 PM. Bopa approached a doctor and explained the situation; being from the same medical fraternity, he agreed. The body, deposited in the morgue, was released with all the necessary documents in the morning.
The next day, a steady stream of mourners arrived at Bhowmick’s home. Arrangements were made for tea and light snacks. The GoC arrived, along with all the Commanders, COs, and office staff.
IV. The Cremation
The body was taken to the Shamshan Ghat in a car decked with flowers—marigold, lily, and rose—but there was no happiness here. The flowers were just witnesses to a loving departure.
A long retinue of cars followed. Bopa thought of a soldier’s funeral. There was the solemn gun salute. Everybody stood at attention. A bird’s cry from far away would deepen the silence to bid farewell to the lost comrade. This was different: an inversion of a marriage procession, a confusion of muted cacophony. The body was consigned to the flames. Everybody went back tired, in need of a bed, food, and sleep.
The condolences kept coming in armfuls until poor Bhowmick was sick and tired of it all. The grief was gone, replaced only by arrangements, the Pandit’s advice, and more condolences.
V. The Thirteenth Day
The thirteenth day arrived. The Teharween.
A final pooja was arranged, along with a meal and offerings to the gods and the Panditji. It was time for the soul. It was believed to be hovering nearby. The recitation of the Garud Puran showed the soul the way forward. The soul was thoroughly sick of what people were saying. It was tired of hovering. It rested, performing its mechanical duty and observance. It had to pass through another river of fire. It faced many obstacles. The people were satisfied. They had paved the way with their tears. The Panditji had frightened away ill-meaning spirits and given her a map to another world.
Whether it was Narak or Swarg was immaterial. Once on that side, she was merely in a waiting line to be reborn. What she would be reborn as was not entirely known.
Grief struck when alone in the bed.