From the sunlit patio of their suburban home, Niloufer squinted at their sun-speckled yard. The late October sunshine bathed parts of the courtyard and threw flecks of light on the paved pathway that led to the big iron gates in front. Scattered dry leaves, shrubs and flowers lent a rustic touch.
This was her favourite spot. She would often retreat here to be lulled by nature…much like a child in its mother’s lap. And the white-and-grey cat that lay snoozing under the dappled shade of their gnarled old mango tree accentuated the feeling. Her mother would toss an occasional biscuit or a slice of bread to the old feline, and with that patronage, the cat had laid claim to the yard. She snoozed around here most of the day, especially on lazy afternoons like this.
A sudden puff of wind gusted through the foliage, dislodging a bunch of dry leaves on a twig that thudded to the ground. The cat perked up its ears, opened an eye, and looked at Niloufer. Not finding her quite interesting, it went back to snoozing. The yard lay veiled in a kind of torpor; only the whispering branches broke the afternoon silence.
The courtyard held her attention for a brief while, then the angst began seeping back into her mind, spreading like ink on paper.
A vein in her temples began to throb. She lingered a while longer then retreated to her bedroom upstairs. On her way, she heard her grandma snoring softly from her bedroom, and the bare feet of their live-in maid stuck out on a mat from under the stairway. An afternoon siesta formed their favourite indulgence.
From the front veranda, the aging, brass-and-wood clock struck the hour: two long clangs. That was another legacy left by her late father—apart from, of course, their land: nearly hundred acres of fertile paddy fields on the outskirts of town. Ever since he passed away three years ago, their devoted staff provided all the help her mother needed. Of course, the business end of it had all been tied up very well by her father.
Niloufer slumped into the padded armchair by the window. The day was warm and sultry despite the breeze. She could hear the wind in the leaves and the steady hum of the ceiling fan that hung from wooden rafters and spun halfheartedly.
Why is he taking so long, she thought. Nishath, her only cousin, lived on the other end of town. He’d reached the hospital around noon to relieve her so she could come home for a quick lunch.
“You look so tired,” he’d said.
But of course. She’d hardly slept the previous night—dozing fitfully, waking up every so often and craning her neck to look over at her mother on the other bed in the room. Reassured by the soft cadence of her breathing she would drift into another catnap, sleeping in snatches.
Now, after a hurried lunch, she’d tried to catch a few winks but sleep eluded her. A constant stream of shifting thoughts ran through her mind creating a jumble of emotions.
It had all started exactly a month ago. Initially her mother had complained of a dull ache in the lower part of her abdomen. Then an occasional searing pain. Medical tests revealed…an ovarian cyst! Then the bleeding began, at first sporadically, then with increasing regularity. The doctors at the district hospital advised—quite bluntly Niloufer thought—immediate hysterectomy: surgical removal of her uterus. The news stunned her, as though someone had plunged a knife into her. For some time she toyed with the idea of taking a second opinion from a private hospital in the city, but the doctors were insistent that no opinion can change the verdict: an immediate surgical procedure, else, they cautioned, her life could be in danger.
And yet there was a chilling paradox: the procedure itself was risky. Despite all the care and attention, they said, there was still a chance that something could go wrong. They’d try their best, they said. Niloufer left the doctor’s room in a daze, overwhelmed with the crushing sense of irony. Anxiously, in the next few days, she began ferreting out information on ovarian cysts. As she probed, she discovered that hysterectomy is indeed a risky procedure and fatalities have been reported from botched procedures. The weeks that followed were a whirlwind of consultations and dealing with agonising thoughts and emotions. Oh, how she missed her father…leaving her alone to deal with such a painful event. At times, her thoughts raged like a storm, and in the eye of the storm, she saw the kind, beatific face of her mother, helpless and vulnerable, caught in the whirlwind of destiny. Then, from that vortex, like a rising phoenix, a stubborn resolve grew inside her: she’d save her mother at any cost, come what may.
Several days had passed since then. The surgery was last Monday. Today was Thursday, so that made it three days.
Three days…that felt like three months.
It was evident that, despite all their subsequent reassurances, the doctors had botched up the surgery. They wouldn’t admit it, of course, but now, after three agonising days, it is becoming clear as daylight. Her mother lay in a suspended coma, surfacing intermittently from deep oblivion, her life hanging by a thread that, at times, threatened to snap! Niloufer shuddered as snippets of thoughts darted through her mind and threw up murky images.
Anxious days melded into torturous nights. And the following morning, in the stillness of dawn, she heard the approaching footsteps of destiny. She tried brushing away her nagging thoughts, but like an ill wind that refused to go away, they remained until she heard the eerie footfalls of fate.
As noon approached on the third day, Nishath had come to the hospital once again. All through the ordeal, he had been a pillar of strength, shoring up her spirits when she felt low, spurring her on when she seemed to wilt under pressure. As soon as he’d reached his aunt’s bedside, he insisted that she go home for lunch and a brief rest. She refused, but finally, despite a near sleepless night and an agonising morning, she had relented. He’d dropped her home hurriedly on his bike and then dashed back to the hospital. He had promised to keep her updated constantly, and whenever she was home, she awaited his calls and messages.
This morning, while she was at the hospital, a senior doctor was on his rounds. He reached her mother’s bedside, looked at the charts, went through the file that the matron carried, then consulted the resident doctors briefly. To her anxious queries, he had been contrite and had said little. But she gathered that her mother was responding well to treatment and that if she made it through the next 12 hours, she’d recover. Oh, even though that was not the least bit reassuring, Niloufer had felt a quick wave of relief wash over her.
Now, seated in the armchair, she grabbed her mobile and called Nishath, but his line was engaged. He’d promised to pick her up in an hour. She hurriedly tapped out a message to him. Then she waited as minutes ticked by.
Five minutes later, there was still nothing. She checked to see if he had seen her message. He hadn’t. She called his number, but once again, it was engaged. Who’s he calling, she wondered. And why isn’t he replying? Over the last three days, it’d become something like a routine, whenever he left her home for rest. She left the armchair and went downstairs. Then she walked hurriedly toward the narrow cement staircase that led to their basement.
A thought had been spinning in her mind since morning—ever since the doctor’s visit. She remembered an old book stashed away in a wooden chest in the basement. There was an envelope within its pages, given by an old priest to her mother once, and it contained an amulet. He had said it’d ward off all evil if you tied it to your arm. It had amazing healing powers. She’d fetch that amulet and tie it to her mother’s arm. All right, she wasn’t much of a believer in all this, much like her father. But her mother held an obscure faith in these mystics. It cannot harm, she decided. But if it helped, then why not? She strode toward the corner staircase in the hall and tramped down hurriedly.
Then it happened.
She missed a step, staggered, and seemed to regain her balance, but then she missed her footing and went tumbling down the steps, landing on her leg with a dull thud. The cold cement steps soaked up all sound, and her granny and the maid hardly stirred. Her mobile landed on a rolled-up rug, glanced off and slid toward a worn-out chair next to the wooden chest.
For some moments, Niloufer lay still, catching her breath, and her wits around her. Then she stirred, and a pang of pain shot through her right foot.
Soft sunlight crept through the door at the head of the stairs. A puff of air blew in, disturbing fine dust on the floor that swirled up into a cloud. Motes of dust danced in the shaft of sunlight.
Lying prone on the cold floor, she willed herself to get to her feet. Has she twisted her ankle, or worse, broken it?! She has to rush to the hospital, she reminded herself. Once again, she tried to move her leg and winced as another spasm of pain surged through her leg.
Suddenly, the pain, the agony, and the tension of the last two months rushed at her in a torrent.
Niloufer burst out in tears.
Ever so slowly, she curled into a little ball. Waves of pent-up grief and helplessness washed over her as she sobbed. Her foetal form shuddered as she wept, her sighs and whines ringing softly in the still air. Oddly, held in the grip of her grief, her plaintive wails sounded eerily like a swansong…a requiem! Almost like the poignant cry of a lost child. Quickly, she shook herself out of the spell.
This is bizarre. Oh God, what’s happening to me?
Gradually, the sobs died down. Then she lifted her head and looked through teary eyes at the wooden chest set against the far wall.
I’ll have to retrieve that amulet.
Clenching her teeth, Niloufer inched forward. She half crawled, half dragged herself to the chest, then, gritting her teeth, hauled herself into a sitting position. She pulled at the top drawer, but it refused to budge. With a hard set to her face, she yanked at the handle with all the strength she could muster, and the drawer flung open and crashed to the floor. The small, circular wooden box that contained the amulet pirouetted an arm’s length away. Leaning forward, she retrieved it.
Sweat beaded her forehead.
Now, she inched forward once again and retrieved her phone. After a moment, she reached for the chair, pulled it to her and, gingerly, positioned herself on it. A soft prayer escaped her lips as she perched on the chair.
Why isn’t Nishath calling? He hasn’t replied to her earlier message either. Has something happened? Has her mother…oh, stop! Don’t let your imagination run wild. But then, inexplicably, she was filled with a sudden dread. What if she called Nishath and he had some terrible news!? What if…? She won’t be able to take it, she told herself. Is her worst nightmare about to come true? God…keep my mother safe…spare her life!
There was still no communication from him. Her mind darted into different possibilities. She shook her head to clear it, but the thoughts wouldn’t go away. As moments passed she felt a sinking feeling prodding at her heart.
And then, just as she sat down in her chair, her phone buzzed. She unlocked it and stared at the screen. Finally! It was his message.
But when she read it she nearly stopped breathing. What is this?
‘AUNTY NOT RESPONDING; SHIFTED TO ICU. VITAL SIGNS DOWN. RUSH AT ONCE.’
Niloufer sprang from the chair and hobbled toward the stairway. Pain had stopped registering; her whole body felt numb, freed from pain. Like in a trance she climbed the stairs, then limped across her slumbering home and reached the gates.
Flagging down a passing rickshaw she climbed into it and headed for the hospital. Blood rushed into her head and made a pounding sound in her ears. Her agony etched on her grim face, she thought, I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop.

There was a buzz of activity outside the ICU. She saw Nishath and hobbled towards him, her face ashen. “What happened?”
“She is in there.”
Her eyes bored into his face. “Is she…alright? Tell me; what did they say?”
“Shshsh…” A matronly nurse gestured to her, finger on her lips.
Nishath touched her shoulder tenderly. She looked at him deadpan, all emotions drained from her face.
“Is anything…wrong?” she whispered with a quiver in her voice.
Nishath gulped. He didn’t reply immediately.
Niloufer held him in a fixed gaze as though to anchor herself to sanity. An eerie feeling gripped her now...as if her world was spinning out of control.
The white, sanitised door of the ICU flung open and two doctors in white jackets walked out. Niloufer watched forlornly as they walked away quietly. Then a nurse emerged. She looked at Nishath. “The patient has stabilised for the time being. You may go in for a few minutes if you like.”
Nishath turned to Niloufer. “You go in.”
Her mother lay on a sanitised bed. Niloufer gazed fondly at the limp form, tears pooling in her eyes. Multiple tubes connected her to various gadgets that blinked and beeped intermittently.
For a brief while, Niloufer was alone with her mother. But she didn’t waste time. Quickly, she opened the box she held, took out the black amulet with strange brass beads and, sliding up the sleeve of her mother’s blue gown, tied the amulet to her upper arm. Hurriedly, she slid the sleeve back.
Hours crawled by…that tiptoed into days. She kept track as it reached three.
Then destiny granted her a gift. Her mother showed signs of recovery. She sat up in bed the third day. She was hungry, she said, and ate her first morsel in several days.
A week later, her mother was back home.
Was it the amulet? Niloufer wondered. Did it even have any role to play? Or was it timely medical care or maybe just providence, she pondered.
But she wasn’t sure.
*

Akber Ayub
Words: 2470
akbersait@yahoo.co.uk
Ph:9886030621
Ooty