A tale I couldn't tell

A Tale I Couldn't Tell
By Kumud Adhikari

These are indeed unusual experiences: the post-mortal feelings, the agony of bodilessness and the endeavors a human body is capable of. I have been emptied of such power. I tried many a times, without success. The Sisyphusian task. Whom shall I tell? How shall I share my anguish? To whom can I yell? All I want now is to cuddle up in my husband's lap and shed streams of tears; embrace my mom; be blessed by the warmest hands of my father; glued to my affectionate friend Ananya. Oh! my wants ! my yearnings ! Had they been written, they would have made thousands of pages in piles of books. I find no meaning of my bodiless existence. What a paradox? Infinite want of human-hood and endless expanse of post-mortality.
I watch my body burning in a pyre at Aryaghat. Jets of smoke emanate from my body and soar to the blue expanse. With dispersing of smoke into the atmosphere my life too has disappeared in the eternity. I was living with a hope of getting back into my body, till my body was carried down to Aryaghat. But the hope has been fallen apart as I see the smoke rising from my corpse toward toward the blue expanse.
I…. Oh no, my corpse was lying in a bed in a cabin of Bir Hospital, before it was brought here. I don't belong to my body any longer but still suffer dilusion of possessing one. My greatest desire of getting back into my body has already sublimed.
There were scores of electrode-sensors of several monitoring machines, attached to my body. Tens of sensors on my head led to electroencephalograph. The waves of life were pulsating on the monitor of electrocardiograph. Life seemed to have confined itself between the waves on ECG and EEG monitors. No waves, no life. Two meek nostrils were being showered with oxygen. Dextrose solution was finding its way in from the veins in arm. My face seemed to have lost the aura of life. The eyes had been sunk, the ears had been hanging loose, and the temple shrivelled. Cheeks had lost their presence. Lips were scaled, hair tangled, the venusian breasts –of which I was proud of - were sagged down as a loose polythene bag. There, lay my body. It'd stopped sensing the pain. It'd stopped receiving the human feelings. The debris of bone, muscles and skin.  It was my body!
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I found my husband sitting near my body clutching my right hand with both of his. Suddenly I saw the pain flooding down his eyes. My right hand received drops of tears. I hoped to feel their warmth. I couldn’t feel anything. I flew above and dived down over my body. Without success. -'Oh Dear! I can't bear it any more. I love you!'- Again I flew up over to the ceiling and swooped down again to my frail body. Nothing happened! not a single strand of hair moved. –'Oh ! God ! Why am I unable to get into my own body? I want to scream my loudest. Keep wailing, beat my chest. But how? For all this to happen I need to be in my own body.'- I tried again. I tried to get into the dextrose-sodium chloride solution, enter through the oxygen pipe, but I couldn't. Utterly panicked, I ran from one nook to the other, but to no avail. Had I been in my body now, I would have tried to subdue his ebbs of emotions, would’ve tried to caress his head. I would have said –‘See! your hair has become so dry, why aren’t you oiling it ?’
'But all these impossible caresses of love! Why am I unable to get into my body? I have spent hours and hours trying. But I don't have a material body to feel exhausted.' - The futile effort has rather let the feeling of permanent failure creep into my bodyless existence. But unltimately, the never-ending desire to live a human life made me try for the last time. I waved and flapped my hands, tried to stop the flowing eyes of my husband, tried to whisper few words of love into his ears, tried to caress his back. All in vain. I felt, I was in a deep gorge of meaninglessness and futilities. I didn't know how to convey my anguish to some others, there was no way out - without body, I could not wail nor collapse nor cry.
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The curls of smoke departing from my burning corpse have been reaching the blue and dispersing. A life is ending thus. I see the tears in the eyes of my two young sons finding their ways to Bagmati. In a corner, He is standing with arms folded, contemplating the dead emptiness of our bedroom where we spent many years together, where our love grew into new heights and where our true life began. My parents, embracing each other, very near to the pyre, are watching the very first tree of their garden burning. They might never have thought,that they would have to witness the burning pyre of their very first child, they had loved and cared so much. In a corner Ananya finds herself in chaos. Relatives, well-wishers, onlookers have their own set of feelings.  There are many of them who have very happy faces also. They might have felt relieved. I can't let them know how much I love them, how much thankful I am to them. I can't offer them bouquets of my love. I, the bodiless entity, forced to remain so by fate, can't envelope my sons with my affections. There are many things which I can't do.. Oh! Damn! This bodilessness! This bodiless existence!'
I could see the weariness in the faces of the relatives. What gave me hope was the never ending faith of my beloved husband and parents. They have endured storms and gales; have gone through ordeal without caring hot and cold waves to give my body care and love they thought I deserved. They might have  hope of my recuperation, the very thing which I was not sure of. I had a feeling that getting back to my body was impossibility. I did have some hopes earlier, but things turned sour.
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It was some six months ago, as per Gregorian-calendar, I had very unusual experience. It was almost the sixth month I was in hospital. I found that neither any law nor a time-table made by human beings worked there in the post-mortal world. Once you are out of your body, time and emotions lose their meaning. Entirely different realm, different existence and different modes of communication. But the human desires of mine have still been tampering with my experiencing post-mortality and as a result, I am not able to free myself from humanhood.
For over six months I had been lying unconscious in bed. Unusual encounters were there, there were skills which were impossible in normal and conscious life. I learned to read the minds of people by looking at their faces. My body lay there like a wooden log. No organs visibly moved or worked. The only working organs of my body were my mind and pair of eyes. With these unfortunate eyes, I read my husband's mind, heard the cries of father, saw the sinking heart of my mother and found my sons loosing all. I saw the noble service of nurses, untiring efforts of the doctors. I learned that, when people lose the senses, whatever sufferings remain develop to their optimum.
I underwent varieties of experiences in this period of six months. Sometimes, I got wearied of my unconsciousness. I was surrounded by all sorts of medical equipments. Same schedule with same doctors, same nurses and same set of tests. But suddenly hope followed. I wanted to live on.
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And one day I started to hover above my body, I could see my own body lying about two feet below. I couldn't believe myself, it was an unusual experience. I tried to fly further, it was not difficult. I flew to every corner watching the scenes from above. 'I could fly, I could fly', with excitement I tried to move out of the room. I wanted to see the world thuough the eyes of the birds. But I couldn't move further. There were limits. So thrilled was I that I couldn't just concentrate on what to do next. Then I decided to get back to my body to organize my thoughts. I swooped down to my body and without any effort I was again in my unconscious body. I started feeling pain.  Persistent piercing by cannula had made the skin of my arm like a net. Streaks of pain entered my body through the net. Life began to ache.
Amidst pains and aches I felt rare enthusiasm. It was then I decided to write a short account about post-mortal experience and the near death experience(NDE) I had just undergone. I thought it may be a new theme in fiction writing and it may bring about some interesting debate in literarature.
I had read about the near death experience in an issue of Reader's Digest few years back. There was a Russian doctor who had died suddenly of reasons unknown. Late in the evening his corpse was taken to hospital but post mortem was not performed because of off hours. His corpse was kept in icebox in mortuary. Three days later when the icebox was opened the Russian doctor got up smiling from the icebox. The doctors on duty were startled by the incident. The Russian doctor wrote about his experience of icebox and it became an immediate bestseller.
I was delirious after I read the article. But fortunately or unfortunately I myself had the little of the experience. I planned to write about my experience thus:
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'Why am I always in such a hurry and hassle?' I looked at my watch. It was almost nine. The breakfast was ready but nobody was showing interest. "Rishav, Anikesh! Come with your dad, breakfast's ready." I started arranging plates on the dining table.
The life started thus. The typical metropolitan character, everybody busy for their own sake. 'If I reach office late, the boss will start giving lectures on 'punctuality and success.'  But in spite of all the hassles, I have never been late. May be, the fear-psychology is at work all the while preventing me from being late. My hubby drops children at school on his way to his office. And I zoom towards Lagankhel in my favorite two wheeler, Kinetic Honda, where I work in branch office of Indian Airlines. It has almost been ten years with the office.
Ten years of work at Indian Airlines branch office has paid me and my family a lot. Every year airline provides air tickets for two for international medium length flights for its officers. We have been to many countries during these ten years. This year our plan was to visit China.
Thinking about the Great Wall and the beautiful city like Beizing, I turned on the ignition and started downslope from Dillibazar. I had a bit of difficulty driving through office-time traffic in the morning hour. I found my way through the crowd to Maitighar and then to Thapathali. As always there was heavy traffic jam at Bagmati bridge.
As I started to move forward on the green traffic signal, someone on motorcycle hit me from behind and I fell off right on the edge of the bridge. Then I knew nothing.
When I came to senses after three ours, I found myself on an emergency ward bed of Bir Hosipital. There with me, clutching my hand was my closest friend Ananya.In my office, Ananya is my junior. But the hierarchy has never intervened our friendship. She was right behind me when the motorcyclist hit me from the back. I didn't know this was just a coincidence or favor of the Almighty. I felt stinging pain on the left side of my head, above the ear. I touched the spot by my fingers and I knew it was little swollen, the type you experience when you are hit by some object. I thought there is nothing to worry about, just a little bit of swelling. Since I always put on helmet while driving two wheelers I was sure my swelling shouldn't cause much trouble.  I was given the dextrose and sodium chloride through veins when I was unconscious. The solution was still dripping through the tubes.
My husband arrived with worried look on his face. Ananya might have informed him. As he approached me I couldn't force a smile. He said, "Oh! Sweatheart! how are you? I was nearly out of senses."
"Nothing to worry about. Just a small swelling."
He touched on the part of my head and asked Ananya- "Is anything wrong eslewhwere too?"
Ananya replied- "I don't know much, the doctor has advised CAT scan. You'd better see him."
"OK." He said and when he was about to leave I tugged him down to the chair near my bed. I couldn't control wild thougts by which I was being elated. Ever busy metropolitan life never lets us share silent private moments together. Even in the chaos caused by my accident I didn't want to lose the moments of bliss and privacy. Ananya understood and left us alone saying- "Well, I will go and see the nurse in-charge.
I watched him to my hearts' content and he kept looking into my eyes. We conversed through eyes in a language far sweeter and more melodious than that of the words. We saw our past and tried to peep into future.
Suddenly Ananya entered the room along with my parents. My face became red with the gush of shyness. All the romance vaporized and I became dry.
Within minutes nurses and attendants arrived with a stretcher. It meant I had to go for CAT scanning. Reluctantly, I sat on the stretcher and I was ushered to the Radiology Department. When my head was put into the dome of scanner it seemed as though my head being driven into a very dark and deep den. Minutes later, I was back in my bed. My parents were sitting in the bench staring into the nothingness of the room. I saw the time-made frowns  in their forehead and the shades of worry and anxiety all over their faces.
I smiled and in return they tossed two bouquets of smile back on me. I got hold of them and put them into my heart. 
At five in the evening my sons arrived and so did the report of the CAT scan. The doctor who carried the report said to my husband- "See! Urmila has got a lump of clotted blood in the spot of her head because of impact. She's to be operated immediately. I have put tomorrow's normal schedule off for surgery. Please go and see anesthetist in PSA room just now." Then he turned towards me- "Well, Urmila! See you tomorrow at ten in OT" and he left the room.
A team of anesthetists arrived and started checking all sorts of reports, blood pressure and pulse rate. I found my parents and sons apprehensive with their sagged faces. I couldn't read the emotions of my husband and Ananya. May be, they were calculating the risks and difficulties that were to befall them.
I tried to console my parents- "Why so much worry, Mom! Dad! It's just a blood clot. Doctors will throw it off, finished." I didn't know how my parents took my words.
Then I was injected with a drug. Perhaps it was sedative, I started to drowse. There was no way out except to fall asleep. I wanted to talk more but couldn't.
Next day when I woke up it was already nine. He was sitting on the stool by my bed staring me. I had barely started conversing, the nurses arrived with the OT costume and he had to leave.
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I regained my consciousness after three months of the operation. But to my utter dismay and surprise, nobody noticed it. I tried to speak; no words came out of my vocal chords. I tried to wail, but my voice disappeared in the thin air. I tried to move my hands, they didn't budge. I tried every effort to let them know but couldn't. I was helpless, powerless. He was near me, constantly gazing at my eyes. I was terrified by his blank emotionless face. But I couldn't do anything. Whole of my body seemed senseless. How could I cry? How could I smile? This was the first experience of my disability.
The days dragged on. Saline water constantly dripped through my veins.A pipe was inserted in my mouth for feeding me. It was he, who always fed liquid food through the pipe. Morning and evening, tirelessly he fed me food which I couldn't taste. I couldn't give him a kiss of thanks. I was utterly confused and sad.
Then one day the doctor who operated on me came and said to my husband- "I suggest you to have her MRI done. I suspect the aneurism which we detected in last operation has grown. The drugs didn't have any effect. If so, a second operation is to be scheduled. Take care!"
Again, after the series of tests and imagings, my second operation was scheduled after a month. Five long months have elapsed since my accident.
One day, as I attempted to adjust my head, I felt sharp pain in my neck.Suddely a hope sprang off. My husband noticed the slight movement of my head. A ray of hope shone in his expression. I couldn't speak but was able wink my eyes three times. It was a sign-'I love you, my dear!"
He suddenly embraced me and burst into tears – "I love you too, my sweetheart! I love you very much. Don't worry my dear; nothing is going to happen to you. The second operation will cure everything. The doctor is sure of it. The God Almighty will save us."
I felt heaven in his hug.
Amidst the cycles of recurring consciousness and unconsciousness, I knew, the doctors in the hospital had a video conferencing with the world famous neurosurgeon, Dr. Fred Epstein from USA, who had suggested the techniques and procedures of my second operation.
My trunk, legs, hands and head didn't move. If something moved and worked that was my pair of eyes. I could neither communicate with others nor could I do anything myself. There was no way, no goal, and no purpose to live. And on one of these hopeless days, I left my body and flew upwards, I had unusual experience. I was out of my material body. 
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When my plan for the short story was in its peak, I was taken to the operation theatre for the second time. The log-like body numbed by tranquilizers was weighed down again by anesthesia. I slept the sleep brought about by the drugs in OT and didn't know what the doctors did to my head.
When I knew myself, my eyes too had stopped functioning. The frail, bony and skinny body was connected with plethora of monitoring machines. My eyes, the organs by which I could communicate to the world ouside, my caring parents, my beloved hubbie, my progenies and more than a friend Ananya, went dead.
Then one day I left my body. All the efforts I made since then to enter my body failed.
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Oh! The flares of smoke have reached the sky. My corpse has nearly been burnt off. I don't have any hope. What will hope do? To live a human life, one needs human body. It is a universal truth. Now, my body will never trouble anyone anymore since it has turned into ashes. Soon the ashes will be thrown into the holy waters of Bagmati.
A life has ended and so has the Herculean effort to live a normal human life.
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