The Plug

Dr Cherian gave his suggestion after the meeting. With both kidneys failed and a massive heart attack, there was no chance of survival. Thanks to the ventilator, clinically, he is still alive. The ball was in the court of the family. They were to make the choice. A choice which would decide whether he lives like a vegetable in the ventilator, or...

Kadri Sahib was man of immense maturity and wisdom. I have hardly seen him in real life, but heard a lot about him from my father. My father's association with Kadiri Sahib goes back to his pre degree days in Calicut, where he was not just a student, but a budding businessman. Kadiri Sahib was more like a guardian to him than a working partner. My father still says, "If it wasn't for Kadiri Sahib, I would have been like one of those senseless boys of prominent families of Kerala who went astray with all the fortune their ancestors had made." No doubt he had his respect and admiration for him. And so did the rest of Calicut.

But today, after almost 32 years, Kadiri Sahib lies in the Intensive Care Unit in the Calicut Institute of Medical Science, Calicut, after a massive cardiac arrest. He has been undergoing dialysis for the last six to eight months. And now the cardiac arrest has left him with a body that is nothing more than a vegetable; alive but cannot react, cannot emote, cannot express. A pathetic state which really intimidates. What good is life if you cannot do these? What good is life if you cannot move? What good is life if you cannot feel? What good is life if you cannot live?

The entire concept of life and death has been a very intriguing one for me. Many a times have I questioned myself- if we have to die one day, why do we live? Why do we have ambitions in life if we know we are going to perish and none of these things, whatever we achieve, do not come with us? What use has it been to Leonardo da Vinci that all his genius provided some brilliant paintings, engineering inspirations and invaluable contributions of art when he has dissolved in the soils of wherever he was buried? How does it matter whether the world still talks about his feats; he cannot hear them, he cannot bask in the glory of them!

But somehow, I suppress myself with the age old philosophy,"Whatever begins, needs to end." In parallel, just as every life is gone, there is a new life born. But that still doesn't answer my primary question, WHY?

Its been more than forty eight hours since the cardiac arrest. Kadiri Sahib was being survived with the help of the ventilator which forces him to breath, instigates blood circulation in his cardiovascular system and in plain words, simply survive. A better way of looking at it would be, he is not living, he is being made to live. He is not living by himself, a machine is forcing him to live. Tubes that inject nutrition, tubes that pump air into his lungs, and many other gadgets, thanks to modern biomedical instrumentation, giving life support. But for how long was the question.

The doctor who was administering his case, Dr Cherian, gave his opinion. According to him, there was no chance of optimism for Kadiri Sahib's life ahead, medically. With both kidneys failed and a heart that was stubborn not to respond on its own, only a miracle could save the 81 year old veteran. But sadly, the time was well over the hope for miracles. The nearest kin had to make the decision. The question was not whether to or not to, the question was, when. How could they convey this to the other relatives who thronged outside the ICU?

The crowd was huge outside the ICU. It not just Kadri Sahib's well wishers, but there were relatives of the other patients too. Also, the near and dear ones of those in the labor room thronged in the same place, for the maternity ward was just opposite to the ICU. However, most of the people there did know of Kadiri Sahib's condition, for he was a man known to a good section of Calicut's population. My father found his way through the crowd, a mixture of worried faces, and escorted to the ICU by Kadiri Sahib's son Assu.

The monde outside the ICU waited. Inside, in the presence of the doctor, Assu wetted the unconscious Sahib's lips with the holy water from the Zam Zam springs in Mecca. The kin, including my father, broke into reciting verses from the Qur'an and chanting prayers. And then, when the moment arrived, there was pin drop silence in the room. Everyone looked at each other. Their eyes were moist with tears. Here they were, with tension and sorrow killing them inch by inch, and there lies the man who is going to die, or lets say, clinically murdered. Here were faces that had the frown of the forehead and cringing eyes, and there lies the Sahib, with the expression of inexplicable serenity. If only he moved a muscle, he lifted his hands perhaps, start coughing, or maybe just wake up from this troubling sleep, if only that miracle could happen.... If it could happen now!

"Assu, may I?" asked Dr. Cherian.

The exploding silence was deafening. My father held Assu's arm. He nodded his head affirmative.

The plug of the ventilator was removed. The plots in the oscilloscopes went feeble. Just then, Kadiri Sahib began to gasp lightly, the plots shot up. And then... It was all over. The screens had simple straight lines rather than twisted curves. "La Ilaha Illa Allah! Inna lillahi wa Inna Ilaihi Raji'oon! Assu, everything is over."

They came out of the ICU to address the crowd that had thronged outside to know of the developments. The news was let out, the women folk burst into tears. There was a chanting of "Inna lillahi wa Inna Ilaihi Raji'oon" in unison. A life had been lost. A man had just died. Sorrow filled the air. Everyone comforted each other at the loss.

"Anwar Saadat? Where is Anwar Saadat?" cried the nurse outside the labor room, which faced the ICU. The man in question gave his attendance from the crowd.

"Congratulations! You have a boy!"