The Night Of Nightmare

I am often advised to forget that darkest night as a nightmare, but it lingers and has casted an indelible imprint on the mind, heart and soul.

Just like any other night, It was a tranquil and dark night. After a long day, I was gradually drifting into the realm of sweet dreams, only to be jolted to the ruthless reality by my mother's cry of agony.

I immediately rushed to my parent's room. My mother had an operation for the surgical drainage of an abscess near the neck region. I was petrified to see my mother's nightgown soaked in blood. Blood was profusely coming out of the operated region. I was numb.

My father told me to bring cotton from the kitchen. It was 2 a.m. It was incessant bleeding. Huge pieces of cotton were getting all drenched with blood. We were bewildered and couldn't figure out what had to be done.

Anxiously, I dialed her doctor's number. My heart was racing with each ring. Fortunately, he answered the phone and suggested me to place some cotton on the area and press firmly to stop the bleeding. He also said that we should bring her immediately to the hospital.

Though the city of Mumbai never sleeps, our apartment was in an interior area. The hospital was almost 10 kilometers away. We had no private vehicle, and during those days we weren't acquainted with using cab services.

Somehow, the bleeding had ceased. My father went down to find some rickshaws or taxis. I encouraged my mother to walk. She said some piercing words. "You, please take care. I don't think I will be returning to this home again.”

Those words still echo.

An angel in the disguise of a tender-hearted rickshaw driver took us to the hospital. The blood would occasionally spurt. There was blood all over my hands and clothes, too. Finally, we reached, and mom was immediately taken to ICU. Every single second seemed like a year. Dad and I kept pacing in the corridors.

I was on a guilt trip, revisiting the times I had taken mom for granted, misbehaved with her, and been overly demanding. I implored God for a second chance.

Then came the respite. The doctor assured us that mom was fine, the surgical wound was dressed, and she had to be given 2 bottles of blood.

Eight years have passed. Every night seems frightening to me. The incident haunts me. Constantly gripped by dread, I keep checking on my parents' countless times during the night.

The feelings and fears that I had on that bitter night are ineffable. I learned certain life lessons, including that our parents are the most precious asset, that good health is priceless, and the need of not allowing panic to cloud our thinking during difficult situations.