During my student’s years in England, over the week-ends, I volunteered
for community service and visited Hospices – homes for the dying old and
sick –who are not to live more than few months. For a vegetarian Brahmin
young man who never went near a sick or dirty deased person, that was an
harrowing experience. Lined up beds each with grilled-curtain to isolate
the patient – when necessary. I go from bed to bed- greetings the sick.
Sometimes I helped the nurses to attend to a patient, or fetch a glass
of water, or just run to tell the doctor of a dying old man or woman.
That morning as I went around with mustering inner courage to face the
human suffering, I greet an English lady who makes effort to acknowledge
my presence with a fake smile. “ How are you Mom this morning?” I am
whispering. With some efforts she replies: “Not too bad… Feeling
better…”. She signs for water and I help to spoon feed a few drops. She
is saying something perhaps two most important English words “Thank
you”. After a brief pause. I move on to the next bed, and the next,
speaking to other terminal cases. As I am now at the 3rd or 4th bed,
alarm rings and a white gowned nurse draws the curtain around the old
woman’s bed isolating the scene. With English dignity and exactness, a
bundled body was quietly taken away. No one saw the dead. But soon
appeared some flowers on the central table –symbolizing that one bed is
now free.
Only a few minutes ago the woman had said: “ not too bad, feeling better
this morning!” And now she was gone. There were about 20 beds in that
big room. But No one was cursing the world for his or her suffering
while awaiting the final coming. Difficult days of the war had hardened
the English to face the death with fortitude.
