A LONELY BURIAL

It was late evening. The visiting time in the military hospital was over and I was about to take leave of my wife who had been admitted there. It had been three weeks since she got admitted. The doctor was hopeful of a normal delivery. She had been admitted early as the baby inside reverted its head to upside, each time the doctor tried to turn it down by massaging. She had to have total rest, the doctor had said. Once admitted, the massaging showed result and the baby maintained its head downwards. We were now to wait for the pain to start. The doctor was very dedicated to his profession. He would visit the hospital at odd times in the night to see that the staffs on duty were available and attended to the patients properly. Resorting to a caesarian was his last option. But even after the maximum possible wait, the pain was not developing for my wife. He informed me that if she did not develop pain even during the night, he would resort to the last option on the next day morning itself. No further wait; he declared.

Next day was an all India strike day. The hospital or any military establishments would not be affected by any strike. So, that was not a concern for the doctor. But, it was a concern for me as I had to travel about 16 kms from my camp to the hospital. I had a friend’s moped for traveling, which he had given to me for my use when he left for a short term duty elsewhere. There still was a risk of someone pelting stones. I assured my wife that I would try to come, if possible. “No need”, she said. There was nothing for me to do, any way. She had been in the hospital for three weeks and she knew well how much care the staff and doctor were taking for all the patients. Nutritious food was given to them. They were taken for timely exercises. There were facilities of entertainments such as televisions, magazines and indoor games. She had been enjoying those hospitalities for quiet a length of time and was confident that what was required would be done by the doctor. It was a big hospital with all the facilities. There was no cause for any worry.

There were eight women in the ward in which she was admitted. Near to her bed lay a Bengali woman. Her husband came with their first son during his visits. The boy was smart and never remained at one place for long. He would roam around here and there. Sometimes he would watch television or at other times he would play in the nearby garden with other boys who had come.

On that day, I had noted that the Bengali woman was not in her bed. My wife told me that she had been shifted to the delivery room. That woman had been requesting the doctor for a caesarian operation as she did not want to bear the pain of normal delivery. But, the doctor would not agree. For him, that was a last option. Any way, the time had come for her delivery and she had been shifted for it.

I was about to get up from the stool near my wife’s bed and leave, when one of the staffs beckoned to me. I went to him. He told me that the Bengali woman next to my wife’s bed had delivered a baby, but unfortunately it died immediately after the birth. I asked him what he wanted from me. He said that the body had to be buried, but he could not find any one to do that job. The available persons for the work had left a little early as the following day was a strike day and the buses would stop plying from the evening itself. He wanted to know whether I would do the burial. It was not unusual for the staff to take help from the visiting men as the hospital itself belonged to the family of us, the military men. For any help, we reach out for each other. That was the way.

“You can find some one else also for a company”, he encouraged.

“But, where would I bury the body?”, I asked. I was not familiar with the place.

He told me the place where the body was to be buried. There was a walking way through a bushy forest behind the hospital. On the other side of it, after a few yards, a river was flowing.

“You can bury it somewhere on the banks of the river. That is the usual place”, he said.

“I would need a spade”, I placed my requirement.

“You can find any tools you require in the garden”, he said.

I agreed. I had the moped. I need not worry about the availability of buses.

“Take a bath towel also. You can have a bath in the river after the job”, he suggested.

“Yes, of course”, I replied.

I took a bath towel from my wife and tied it around my waist, under my shirt. I did not tell her why I needed it. I went to the room where the body was kept. The staff handed over the body to me. It was bundled in cloths. I looked outside for someone for a company, but no one was available. I couldn’t spend time waiting for anyone. It would get dark soon. I had to come back before the darkness fell.  I held the bundled body in my left hand and took a spade from the garden. Keeping the spade on my right shoulder and holding the body in my left hand, I proceeded through the forest.

I had to walk only half a kilometer through the forest, when I heard the splashing sound of the running river. At the end of the forest, but away from the river, I decided to bury the body. I kept it down on the ground and removed my shirt. I tied the towel above my pants. Then, I started digging the ground. The ground was soft and I could clear the soil fast. Thinking of the pain that the mother wanted to avoid but had to suffer for nothing, I felt pity for her. I did not know whether it was a boy or a girl. That did not matter anyway. My thoughts only accelerated my work without my knowledge of it. Within half an hour, I made a pit of four feet depth. It was enough for the baby to be buried.

I took the body covered with cloths and placed it slowly in the pit. Then I started putting the soil above it. After the pit was half filled, I collected some big stones from near by and placed them above the soil. It was a precaution to prevent the body from any animal attack. After that, I put all the soil back in the pit and made a mound of mud above it.

My job was over. I was destined to do the lonely burial of an unknown child. My body was full of sweat and mud. I proceeded to the river, took bath and returned.

The Bengali woman was back in her bed along with her husband, by the time I returned to the hospital. She was silently weeping. The boy was with her and she was holding the boy close and tight. I felt that she was afraid to leave him away. By that time, they had known every thing. They also knew that I had gone to bury the body. They were looking at me as if waiting for me to come, when I arrived. I informed her husband that the body had been well buried.

I made to the hospital on my moped on the next day. I was greeted with the news that my wife had given birth to a female baby. It had to be after a caesarian. The day was 26^th February, 1986. My child had opened her eyes to this world on a day of All India Strike.

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