A mother who lost everything

I did not know Mrs Kusum, but 15 minutes after I met her in the thoracic department of the local government hospital, I felt as if I had known her for a number of years.

Years ago when my youngest brother G was admitted with respiratory problems, Rakesh, 12-year-old son of Mrs Kusum (I will call her K), lay on the next bed with some severe ailment of the chest. He was a sweet little lad but his affliction had taken away his smile. Nevertheless, Rakesh was liked by everybody in the huge ward.

Most attendants stayed with their patients for a limited period but K had been permitted to be with her son all the time as a special case. The sight of Rakesh writhing in pain and his mother trying to comfort him with tears rolling down her cheeks moved me.

She watched her son's agony helplessly, occasionally casting a glance at others as if silently asking if anyone could help her son. But except for sympathising, there was little that one could do.

Because of his respiratory problem, Rakesh would snatch some sleep in a sitting pose, his mother serving as a bulwark. K did her best to provide every comfort to her child. After all, she was a mother.

It was painful to discover that the duo had been sleeping like this for some months with no relief in sight. The boy's condition was not improving, so I was concerned. Wanting to help, I talked to the lady in distress. The revelations were shocking.

Doctors had diagnosed the problem variously as severe bronchitis, tuberculosis and even cancer. But none could give any relief to Rakesh. He was her only child.

A vermillion mark on the forehead indicated that she was married, so I asked about the boy's father. She bowed her head. A tear dropped onto her son's bed. "He is a drunkard. He has squandered all our resources. He has never bothered about me or even about our only, sick child," she said.

"Rakesh has not gone to school for over a year due to his illness. His deteriorating condition is worrying me. But with God's grace and your blessings, he will one day recover. He will be the only bread earner for himself and me. I will give him the best education, no matter if I have to beg, borrow or steal."

Hope burns brightly

This time I saw a sparkle in her eyes.

Even as we were talking, an attendant noticed that Rakesh was getting drowsy. In hushed tones, he persuaded K to take a well-earned nap. Having spread a sheet on the floor, she had barely straightened her back when the boy started groaning.

Despite the cumulative drowsiness of the past many weeks, she was quickly back on her feet to resume the routine. All of us watched the agony of the mother and child helplessly. That evening, Rakesh looked more restless than ever before. His groans were no longer very loud.

Defying hospital norms, the mother jumped into the bed and gave her son the warmth of her motherly affection. As his head rested in her lap, she caressed his hair and gently massaged his chest. We quietly watched the poignant scene.

In a few minutes, the tired mother also dozed off. Finding them in deep slumber, most of us returned to other patients' beds. While keeping an eye on my brother, I also watching our immediate neighbours, Rakesh and his mother.

At one point, something struck me. Rakesh appeared to be motionless. I called out to Mrs K. As she woke up and scrambled to hold her son in her arms, Rakesh collapsed in her lap — lifeless.

The doctor on duty declared him dead. The lady let out a loud shriek and then became silent. She did not cry, due to the shock. She just stared blankly. Her only child and future breadwinner was gone. All her dreams had been shattered.

We pooled our resources and performed the last rites. Many were present. Only one person was missing — the boy's father. Perhaps he was not in a position to comprehend properly that he had sacrificed their only child for the sake of his short-term pleasures.

Lalit Raizada is a journalist based in India.