BaKSAL 2.0 The funeral of democracy
Bangladesh is in the labyrinth of an autocratic rule. Some call it Bangladesh Krishak Sramik…..
Unspoken saga(Part-10)
HB Rita
This story is part of a series:
Every human life story is different. There are various events, crises, struggles and grief, pain, happiness in those stories.
Every human life flows in different directions with time. Some reach the destination with the goal, and some miss the target. Some people have no purpose in life, no destination.
There was no specific goal in my life. We may or may not have a plan in life, but when it comes into mind what I have given or what I have received, I think it would be better not to go with that calculation; because I am fragile in math!
I am reaching nearly forty today; how many springs have come in the meantime, how many flowers have blossomed in the humming of the wind, don’t I know that?
Did ever Spring flowers bloom in my heart? Or did I come in someone’s dream?
I don’t remember.
At this age, has somebody ever fulfilled the demand of the mind and body? In this society, somebody can only mention the hunger for food; when it comes to body-mind need, It is a shame, disrespectful to talk about it!
Some vague memories of my childhood with my three mothers since I was born, the struggle to survive in my family life, tireless work to build my position in the society and perseverance, the responsibility of raising my two sons, and many more things I have done in the demands of time! But, did any of my dreams come true in the last thirty-nine years of life?
As a child, I used to be overwhelmed when I saw the love scenes of heroes and heroines in drama- movies. Growing up in the demands of time, I created a different world in my mind, where there was a strong imaginary man in good shape—a man whose whole world was allotted to me; as a haven. In my imagination, that man used to walk with me on a green land! While walking, he would suddenly stop and hold my hand, then pull me to his chest! He pulled me so close that I could sniff all his breath. Then, that imaginary man stared into my eyes in such a way that I turned to ice! I could not move.
He kept staring at me for a long time. His eyes hurt me again and again, weakened my mind, and finally brought sleep to my eyes.
His holding my hand was also different, very soft, touching. That touch made my mind and body tremble.
The imaginary man spoke with great seriousness, and his sharp voice shot an arrow in my mind. His strange hypnotic eyes, the way he looked, the touch of his hand were like an addiction to me.
That fantasy man of the dream world loved me very much! Never shouted, never raised his hand; Never disrespected-neglected.
Maybe he woke me up with such a romance because he was an imaginary man in my mind! Did anyone wake me up with that shiver before?
This imaginary man was not seen before going to life support that day. Everything was empty that day, cloudy, vague. That evening was a terrible one, an evening of fighting with the messengers. Only the little boys were floating in front of my eyes that day!
I was dead after going to life support. In the days that followed, I could say nothing. However, I have heard a lot after coming back from life support with numerous cuts all over my body; I got 19 text messages from my children, those were…
‘Mom! please come back!’
‘Mom! What will happen to me if you leave?’
‘Mom! What will I do without you?’
‘Mom! Can you come back and make pasta for me?’
‘Mom! I do not know where my socks are!’
‘Mom! If you leave, who will take care of me.’
‘Mom! We need you!’
‘Mom! We are hungry!’
‘Mom! We love you!’
My children said a lot more in the text message!
I got the sense and memory back to reading them three weeks after returning. Until then, I didn’t even recognize my children.
The story of my return was also a miracle. That incident shocked New Yorkers.
I was in serial number 130 with liver damage. There was no liver matched with me; the doctors were all terrified. I was placed in the first row of the transplant on an emergency basis; tubes were all inserted into my mouth, throat, chest, stomach, and excrement! My life was at risk. My family was lying in the hallway of the hospital, crying! The medical team told my family to pray to God.
It was my 5th day in life support, and the day was July 14th, 2019. On that day, the electricity went out for three hours in a unit at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City. A young man was a patient in the ICU of the department. He died. The deceased was an organ donor. His liver was examined after his death, and within the 130 patients waiting for the organ, his liver miraculously matched 75% in my body. My family was immediately called in to sign the transplant paper!
What happened next is even more frightening. My family was told that although the liver had been found, there was a 40% chance of returning after the transplant. The chances of not returning are slightly higher.
The decision for the family was as difficult as the destruction of the earth, but it was signed.
The next day was July 15. It was the last day for me to breathe on earth. I was taken into the operation theater with a higher risk! After 16 hours of transplant, my operation was successful.
After I returned, I heard that the medical team told my family that if I did not regain consciousness within 48 hours, I would be at risk for my life. While I was unconscious, my mother pinched my hands and feet as if waking up my numb body.
Finally, after 34 hours of the transplant, my senses returned. I get a new life back.
We find life stories in novels, movies. We draw a rainbow with the ink of pen to decorate the story in imagination. Life stories are made from life. They are big burning stories.
And with the return of that new life, a new chapter was added to my life, a new man whose story will be told one day.
