A Homeland for Your Children

By Madan Lal

Sunil was only six years old when he learnt that he was a Hindu—not the best of tags in his birthplace, Bangladesh. Friends turn hostile over that one realization and the child Sunil resigns himself to a life as a punching bag. As if this abuse of their only son was not enough, the Acharya family’s life is shattered one day by a terrible tragedy and they leave their home in Gaibadh overnight for a new life in India. The new life in his adopted motherland takes Sunil on an unheard-of journey, a journey you will identify every step with and pray it has not happened. One day, when he was only 39, doctors tell him that he has just a month to live. His was a life wasted. There is only one hope for him: he had learnt as a priest that every soul is given a chance to redeem itself and earn a place in Krishna’s abode. Will it hold true for him? Woven into the life of Sunil and his family are questions critical to the future of Hindus in India. Is the path of non-violence a recent invention or has it been around for ages? What does Krishna tell us about being non-violent or tackling adharmis? Are Hindus facing an existential crisis in their own land?

• Language: English
• Publisher: One Point Six Technologies Pvt Ltd
• Release date: May 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9789354581236

Madan Lal

Madan Lal (Sharma), M.Com, CAIIB, born in 1960, hails from Sambalpur, Odisha.Joined a government bank as a Probationary Officer in 1984.Worked in over a dozen Indian states—Odisha, Maharashtra, UP, Haryana, Punjab, Chandigarh, Rajasthan, Uttrakhand, Himachal Pradesh, Jammu & Kashmir, Gujarat, Diu—and also in Japan and Afghanistan.Enjoys reading and travelling.After retirement, he settled down at Raipur in Chhattisgarh with his wife Annu, Son Tarun and the family dog Marble.This is his first full-length novel.

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Chapter-1

The End..........Begins

One month! Only one month?

I could mumble only these words after I came back to my senses. The words came out so weak and in such a tone that I could not believe that these were mine. I was devastated and had gone blank when the doctor broke the news. I realised that I had moved into almost a sitting position as these words came out of my mouth involuntarily.

I had never sounded like that. I knew from experience that we get an other-worldly intense feeling, an other-worldly voice and make an other-worldly wail in the presence of death–either our own or of the ones close to us–but never at other times. I had experienced my own other-worldly voice just now, not that I had not seen the death of my close ones, but I was a child then on one occasion and was the root cause of the death on the other. In the first instance, perhaps I did not fully understand the meaning of death then, or maybe because we feared for a full one day that such a thing had happened, the suddenness of death which triggers this other-worldly wail was not there then. The death had almost been expected then. In the second case, I had been a stunned spectator of a murder that I blamed on myself.

Now, though my heart wanted to say that the doctor was wrong, my mind knew that he was not. I knew that such a voice only comes when the innermost part of your soul realises that the death is near and that a transition to the other world is a matter of few steps like trying for a different treatment, optimism for some time, then slowly resigning yourself to your fate, then acceptance and waiting for it to come over and end the suffering.

So, this other-worldly voice is an acknowledgement by my inner self of the inevitability of my coming death," I thought. I have always had this problem of wandering from one thought to another instead of focusing on the issues at hand. You cannot do much about what has become your second nature over the years and which, of late, has started to define you.

I shook my head to clear such thoughts and came back to the reality. The doctor was standing in front of me with his eyes seeming to say he could read the thoughts crossing my mind.

Again, my mind started wandering, away from reality at one moment and into the reality at another, and soon the ugliness of death with all its pains covered my thoughts. I felt a shiver down my spine and I went numb as if all the energy got drained from my body.

The thought of death triggered a slow slideshow of death scenes in my mind. I had been through many sad situations but that wailing had never come to me; though I regularly witnessed the same wailing from the close family members of the dying men. In my five years in Dungripada, I had made it my business to attend all the cremations that had come to my knowledge. This had helped me build personal relationships with the villagers. As village pandit-ji, I had to visit people on their deathbed to pour Ganga jal into their mouth and to read out from the Bhagwad Gita the passages about the inevitability of the death of the body and the immortality of the soul. In short, prepare them for their soul’s onward journey by explaining that death is the only means of merging with God, the Supreme Soul. Though the family members know that their loved one is about to die and are mentally prepared for that, but the moment the death strikes and soul leaves, someone, who is very close to the person, lets out that unique wail. Yes, the wail of death.

I felt the same cry rising in my throat. It stopped at the back of my tongue. The doctor was still standing by my bedside, trying to read my expressions. Perhaps his experience had taught him that it takes some time before such patients come back to somewhere near their normal self and that it is better to wait and not to break the flow of their thoughts.

I started sobbing. Tears flowed down my face as I drew up my arms and legs as if trying to hold on to life and push back the death. I want to live, I want to live, no, I do not want to die. You are lying. I have done no wrong! I am only 39. I do not eat non-vegetarian and have not taken even onion and garlic in the six years since I left home! Why me Krishna, why me! I kept repeating. People had started gathering at the door of my room. The nurse, who had been standing beside the doctor all this while, told them not to crowd the door and shut it. Neither of them said anything as I sobbed. I was drained by the time I stopped and looked up with pleading eyes.

The doctor cleared his throat and looked again at the biopsy report in his hand and resumed where he had stopped what seemed ages ago. Sunil-ji, I have spoken to the pathologist, and he said a second specialist who also examined the tissue sample has confirmed the findings in this report. This process is mandatory in all such cases at our hospital.

He paused, looked again at the report and repeated,

It says malignancy positive for pancreatic cancer test. The malignancy has metastasised to the liver, and over 90% of the liver is affected.

The only option we have at this stage is to drain the fluid and manage the pain.

How much time do I have? I asked, with tears still on my cheeks.

These are the symptoms of a disease going out of management level and affecting vital organs.

How much time do I have? I repeated.

One month, he answered.

And how much of that would I have to spend in the hospital?

Not much. It does not restrict movement except at the very last when the patient is taken under palliative care. He tried to maintain his professional demeanour, though his expression changed to reveal that this question surprised him.

Please tell me, sir, how many days do I have for living life the way I want to, and on my feet, I persisted.

The doctor said, "I told you- One month."

Chapter-2

It Sinks In

The doctor went on to explain the diagnosis, the prognosis, and the social support system available in the city and the costs. I listened with wavering attention, losing him and then grabbing the threads again. He ignored it as a natural thing.

I noticed that the doctor was now talking in simple Hindi instead of using English medical terms, pausing to check if I understood him. Not just what was being said but also what was not being said.

Any questions? the doctor asked hinting that we are nearing the end of what he had to explain and I was abruptly brought back to the reality. I could not think of any question. While he was explaining, my mind had been wandering off in all directions and losing connection with earlier thoughts. I did not remember where these thoughts had started, how I moved from one to another and where I was when the doctor asked the question.

Nothing, Sir, I said.

If you have any doubts, you can ask the visiting doctors. They will explain, he said and turned to go. The nurse made to follow him but stopped when he raised a finger and said something.

Shortly, they shifted me from the medical ward, where they had admitted me for evaluation, to a single room in the oncology ward.

I was again alone. So, this is the room in which I will die, I thought, with a lump in my throat. Tears welled up. Through my wet eyes, I looked at the white ceiling, the aseptic walls, the green curtains, the window opening into the corridor, the floor, the door to the washroom, the side table, the pillow and the white bedsheet. Would these things form the last image in my brain when my eyes turn lifeless? No, Krishna, no! They say that the last image in your eyes will be there for eternity. Let me close my eyes in known surroundings, among my people, among my family and with your and Maa Radha’s image before my eyes.

My mind was harsh. No point in such wishes. You have shut the doors to all those things for the last six years. Family? What do you mean by that? I doubt if even your mother is alive now. Through your deeds, you have earned this lonely end at a never-thought-of place and among unknown people.

Chapter 3

Hoping Against Hope

The doctor was back. It was his evening round. Actually we discuss such things with elder family members of the patients who can take a decision regarding the treatment options and the cost. He hesitated for a moment and then said, But I am told that you have no family and that the people with you are neighbours from your village where you are a priest at a temple. So, I decided to talk to you. Then, after explaining, he said, As time is crucial, I suggest that we start the treatment, which now means only the draining of fluids and replenishment of protein without wasting any time.

Do I have a choice? I asked.

Yes, some people realise that they cannot be saved even after spending money and that the inevitable will only be postponed by a few days and those few days will be spent not with the family but in a hospital and in extreme pain. They decide to spend their last few days with family. So their family takes them home and tries to fulfil their desires and take as much care as they can. The patient breathes his last among his family members. If you ask me, I will recommend this in your case too, the doctor said.

But I have no one to go to, I replied, avoiding the word ‘family’.

He did not say a word. He knew where silence was more appropriate than words. He had seen the world. His expression seemed to say that he knew that a man in his late-thirties does not pop up in an obscure village claiming to have no family----without having a story to hide and an all-encompassing desire to break all connections with his past.

I started feeling nervous with his silence.

Please start the treatment immediately and don’t worry about the bill, I said, bringing the discussion to the main issue.

Okay, he said.

"These villagers with me are fantastic and love me. They address me as pandit-ji. I do not know what I did in my previous birth to deserve their love and respect. So, do not worry about being burdened with unpaid bills or an unclaimed body when I die. They will do all the rituals required in the death of a Brahmin, and it will not surprise me in heaven if Ramu or Begu get my mukhagni performed by one of their sons. They treat me as a family member," I said, trying to reassure the doctor.

The amount deposited on your admission was for investigation and room charges for one day. Further treatment will start after you deposit Rs. 50000. The doctor said, coming straight to the point.

Don’t worry about money--I have enough cash, I reassured him. If there is no further treatment today, I will go home and be back by tomorrow with the money.

Doctor nodded, signalling his consent.

Then I blurted, Doctor, will it not be better, if I go to the US for the most advanced treatment? I have read about many people getting cured there and living a normal life,

The doctor replied, It is your right to get the best treatment, and we also recommend it depending on the disease and whether the patient can afford it. But there are still certain diseases or stages of a disease for which no treatment is available anywhere. Unfortunately, yours is at such a stage. If here, we consider operation up to, say 40% malignancy infliction, they, with better facility and super specialisation, can consider up to 45 or 50% but never at 90%. In most of the cases, it all depends how far one’s disease has moved away from Zero on the scale at the time of diagnosis. The farther one has gone, more difficult it becomes to crawl back even with better medical assistance. If it is more than midway i.e. over 50%, then you know scale dips on the other side converting crawling back into climbing back. We would have recommended the same had you come earlier.

I had nothing to ask after that. After the doctor left, I got dressed and went out to the gate to get a taxi for Dungripada.

Chapter-4

A Time Comes When Money Becomes

Just Another Piece of Paper

It was getting dark when the taxi stopped at the temple. I got off and called for my neighbour Ramu’s son and asked him to arrange some food for the taxi driver and to bring some for me. He nodded and took the taxi driver with him to his house. I entered the temple and prostrated before my Krishna and Radha’s idols. Over the last few years, I have developed a firm belief that Krishna knows everything and there is no need to ask him for anything. He takes care of your wishes at the right time in his own way. When I got up, I found Mohan, the new priest, standing beside me. He touched my feet and welcomed me with a namaste. I blessed him and then went straight into my room at the back. I washed my hands and sat down to have the light dinner that Ramu’s son had fetched. Then, taking out the green steel trunk from under the charpoy, I opened it with the key that I always kept on the sacred thread over my shoulder.

It was there, just as it was kept originally. It has lost all attractions, all meanings for me since I ran away from home six years back. Within days of coming here, I knew this was the place where I would be spending the rest of my life and that these people were my new family and that instead of forgetting about my money kept in a bank, I should bring and use it for the betterment of these people. I looked at the bundles of currency notes wrapped in cloth, for the first time since I brought the cash five years ago. I felt no attachment because it had ceased to be money for me and became only a figure and some papers. I locked the box again and went out to the prayer hall where Mohan was sitting. I went to the main door and called out for Ramu and Begu. The two neighbours came running.

Yes, pandit-ji, they said, almost in unison.

Can you go and call Patel-ji, sarpanch-ji, doctor Sahib, master-ji and also Rupa, Betra, Shyamu and all the elders available in Harijanpara, I said.

Both looked puzzled but nodded and replied, Sure Pandit-ji, right now as you order, and went off in opposite directions.

Soon, the first people had come, but it was nearly an hour before all of them had assembled. They looked puzzled. The village priest had never summoned them at such short notice and at this late hour.

Begu got up and explained to the gathering that they had been called by the pandit-ji, and then turned to me and asked me to speak.

Dear brothers, it was urgent; otherwise, I would not have disturbed you at this hour, I said. Then I told them what the hospital doctor had said, including the advance deposit required.

For almost a full minute, nobody uttered a word. Then the village doctor, a quack, said, I had suspected something when I saw your yellowed eyes and heard you complain about stomach pain. But I did not imagine this! Now, you take complete rest; we will look after you. No point in going for treatment.

Actually, as per your advice, I had gone for consultation as an outpatient but the doctor examining me advised for admission for special check-up and then they came with this diagnosis. Now, I need that one extra month that the treatment will give me. If I can buy time with money, it is a good bargain. I lost interest in money long ago, and it is time that I need the most now. That is why I have consented for the treatment and have come to take the money that I have to pay the hospital tomorrow, I said.

Master-ji cleared his throat and said, Pandit-ji, such an enormous sum --- Rs. 50000 and before morning! It is good that all the elders are here.

Then he turned to the people and said, Brothers, let us contribute whatever is possible tonight. We will deposit that and request the hospital to give us some time to arrange for the rest.

No, no, this is not what I have called this assembly for, I interrupted. I have more than Rs. 1.20 crores with me and won’t need more 30 lakhs considering the way these big super-speciality hospitals summon you to billing counter thrice a day. The rest I want to put under your trust to use for the welfare of our people. You have given me the love and respect that I had never imagined in my life. You gave me an identity and a purpose in life when I needed both the most. Let me say a thank you with this money.

I could see the shock. For them, the numbers were from some other world. The village had about a hundred families, mostly farmers. They had at most handled cash packets of a few thousand rupees. Then Master-ji spoke up, Pandit-ji, we know you. You will not call us to play a joke. But where is the money and how on earth did you get so much?

It is here with me. Do not worry, it is all legal and hard-earned money. How, when and where are irrelevant now. Mohan-ji, please take Begu and fetch the green box from my room, I said.

People had started talking among themselves. The discussion had shifted from my illness to the money and what best uses that can be put to. It stopped when Mohan-ji and Begu came back with the green box.

Those at the back craned their necks for a good view as I unlocked the box and displayed the fresh bundles of 1000-rupee notes arranged neatly. The expression on their faces turned to that of disbelief. I took out three bundles of 1000-rupee notes (a total of Rs. 30 lakh), put them in my handbag and pushed the green box towards them. Then I gave Mohan-ji the keys to the box as well as the cupboards and rooms of the temple.

The Sarpanch spoke, Pandit-ji, it is your money, and you are a religious person and a man of knowledge. Do you have anything in mind on how to use this money?

Actually, I have never thought about it before. Only while returning from the hospital around two hours back, I realised that I have no use for so much money and then got some thoughts as to how best to use it. You all are elder to me. You know the hardship that you experience every day, and you must have felt the need for some common wonderful things which you could not do because you did not have the money. Please suggest all such things,

Pandit-ji, I say again, you are a man of religion. Should we use it for constructing a temple and putting up a plaque in your name? Patel-ji asked.

No, far from it. Name, photo, statue are the last things I will ever want for myself. Please do not do any such thing. One temple is sufficient for our tiny village. We have all the Idols here. Let us not create competition among Gods. Now, we are one people, and I do not want us to be divided into followers of different temples. Religion has more to do with what we feel inside and the way we act than the number of temples. If you want my suggestion, it should be something other than a temple; something that will ease your hardship, promote overall welfare, I replied.

Betra, the shoemaker, raised his hand.

Yes, Betra, tell us, I responded.

Pandit-ji, people will hesitate to accept charity… it hurts their self-respect, he said.

Dear, this money now belongs to the entire village. You all sit together and decide how it can be used without giving an impression of charity and without hurting anybody’s self-respect. May I take your leave now? I want to spend my last night here praying to Krishna, I said.

Chapter 5

The Dream Or Is It The Reality

I went to the puja hall and lay face down in a sashtang pranam before the deities of Krishna and Maa Radhey. As I shut my eyes, thoughts flitted through my mind before I could calm it and concentrate on the feet of Krishna. I fell asleep. I dreamt that I was talking to Krishna and Maa Radhey.

Krishna and Maa Radhey were not like the deities in the temple but like those in our puja room at Diu--- the ones which Maa looked after as living children. They came out of their idols, grew big and placed their hands on my head, blessing me.

I saw myself begging them to cure me, or at least extend my life for some more days. Krishna smiled and said, "Be clear in what you ask. When you give options to me, it shows that either you treat me as incapable of giving the bigger thing or reluctant to do so. A doubtful mind achieves nothing great. Sunil, you should have known by now that length of life does not matter. You have read about Abhimanyu and Bhishma Pitamah. One died young for duty and became a symbol of valour and gained true immortality. The other with ichchamrityu lived long to see all his good deeds undone before his own eyes and suffered greatly all alone on his deathbed. You know Sunil, this Ichchamrityu thing is strange. It is like asking for just one thing, the last scene of the drama called life and ignoring the entire drama."

Krishna chuckled, "Things would have been different had he realised that like everybody else he also had been given Ichchajeevan. Abhimanyu lived his life as he wished (Ichcha) and did not bother how and when the death would come. He lived the drama of life. He, like everybody else on Earth, knew that when a birth is given, death is inevitable but, unlike others, he focused on living every moment on his own terms. I control birth and death. Once I give you birth on this Earth, the only thing left under my control is death. Till that death, everything and every moment is placed under your control. It is done so, because out of 84 lakh yonis or births as various animals, this is the only one where you are given intellect and conscience. You can steer it in any direction by doing Karmas. What appears as luck or my intervention is nothing but the effect of your own karmas past or present.

Be Abhimanyu, accept the inevitability of death and focus on what you can do before death strikes. You are better placed than Abhimanyu. He did not have any idea that he will not see the sunset of that day. You know that you have close to thirty sunsets to see if doctors are to be believed, he laughed.

I was speechless. Maa Radhey had not uttered a word so far. I fell