They lay in the same room, diffferent beds, in the rehabilitation centre. Both victims of their addiction. One, the younger of the two, had overdosed on sleeping pills. He had been addicted to gambling, and overcome with shame at having lost most of his inheritance, had attempted suicide. The other had collapsed because of his addiction to tobacco. He was older, and had repeatedly tried to conquer his addictions but failed. Time and again. This was his fifth time at the hospice. His wife, having lost faith and interest in him had left him long since, taking his twin sons with her. The difference between them was that the younger boy had an ally, his devoted sister, who stayed unflinchingly by his side. The older man was alone.
From his bed, on the other side of the curtain, came the sounds of someone uttering a chant. Again and again, the soft, melodious voice intoned something, he couldn't quite catch. Straining to hear, he knocked the glass of its stand. The curtain lifted, as a woman peered around to his side of the room. "Are you okay" she asked, bending to pick up and restore the glass to its place. Sitting up, he nodded yes, then, unable to restrain himself, he asked, "Were you singing ?" Blushing a little, she replied, "No i was just...just chanting the mantra. Im sorry to have disturbed you." Shaking in his head in the negative, he smiled and said, "I'll forgive you if you tell me what that's all about."
She was a small, petite woman. Her eyes were the most compelling thing about her face. She must be in her mid twenties, he thought. "That is my attempt to wean him of his addiction," she sighed. "By teaching him a chant ? " he asked incredulously. She nodded, then explained. "When we were children, my father had this way of teaching us things. If we wanted to remember something, we were taught to chant it every now and then, so that it stayed in our memories. My brother tried to take his life. I'm hoping the chant will work in manifold ways. First, it will give him a goal, a differant one each day, then by thinking of our happy childhood together it will remind him of the great faith and love my dad had for him. Thirdly, i hope that it will restore his faith in himself.
The mantra for today is " My life is a gift my parents gave me. I have to hand it down to my child."
He nodded reflectively, seeing the wisdom in her words. The sentence was simple, but held a world of meaning in it. Continuity of life, the promise of a relationship with a woman and a child. The magic of having a family with one during life's crises. He was fascinated, and found himself thinking of the mantra now and then.
The next day he waited eagerly, for her to come. He had spoken to her brother at night. They had discussed the futility of all addictions. She came in with a smile, and wished him a good morning too, after tending to her brother. He asked what the mantra for the day was.
With a small laugh she replied, "If you can't pamper your body, at least don't destroy it."
That day the three of them discussed what they had done for their bodies that was good, how they had been blessed with health, and the havoc their addictions had wrought. How they had reached the brink of death, why they had done so. The older man was overwhelmed with his feelings for the siblings. He felt strangely protective towards them, as if they were warriors, on the same side, fighting a common enemy. She asked him before leaving to provide the mantra for the next day. Having wracked his brains, the whole night, he had a eureka moment just before she entered the ward.
Eagerly he greeted her and said, "We are our own worst enemy. "
The next day, her brother offered the thought,"There is light at the end of every tunnel. Day always follows night."
She proferred, " Always look ahead, never behind", the next day.
And so they laboured on . Every day had something positive, something bright and brave about it. Together they held on to each other, and carried on with their lives. Strength was something they imbibed from each other. By being a crutch for someone else, they found they could walk again, live again, embrace and fulfill the promise of their lives.
From his bed, on the other side of the curtain, came the sounds of someone uttering a chant. Again and again, the soft, melodious voice intoned something, he couldn't quite catch. Straining to hear, he knocked the glass of its stand. The curtain lifted, as a woman peered around to his side of the room. "Are you okay" she asked, bending to pick up and restore the glass to its place. Sitting up, he nodded yes, then, unable to restrain himself, he asked, "Were you singing ?" Blushing a little, she replied, "No i was just...just chanting the mantra. Im sorry to have disturbed you." Shaking in his head in the negative, he smiled and said, "I'll forgive you if you tell me what that's all about."
She was a small, petite woman. Her eyes were the most compelling thing about her face. She must be in her mid twenties, he thought. "That is my attempt to wean him of his addiction," she sighed. "By teaching him a chant ? " he asked incredulously. She nodded, then explained. "When we were children, my father had this way of teaching us things. If we wanted to remember something, we were taught to chant it every now and then, so that it stayed in our memories. My brother tried to take his life. I'm hoping the chant will work in manifold ways. First, it will give him a goal, a differant one each day, then by thinking of our happy childhood together it will remind him of the great faith and love my dad had for him. Thirdly, i hope that it will restore his faith in himself.
The mantra for today is " My life is a gift my parents gave me. I have to hand it down to my child."
He nodded reflectively, seeing the wisdom in her words. The sentence was simple, but held a world of meaning in it. Continuity of life, the promise of a relationship with a woman and a child. The magic of having a family with one during life's crises. He was fascinated, and found himself thinking of the mantra now and then.
The next day he waited eagerly, for her to come. He had spoken to her brother at night. They had discussed the futility of all addictions. She came in with a smile, and wished him a good morning too, after tending to her brother. He asked what the mantra for the day was.
With a small laugh she replied, "If you can't pamper your body, at least don't destroy it."
That day the three of them discussed what they had done for their bodies that was good, how they had been blessed with health, and the havoc their addictions had wrought. How they had reached the brink of death, why they had done so. The older man was overwhelmed with his feelings for the siblings. He felt strangely protective towards them, as if they were warriors, on the same side, fighting a common enemy. She asked him before leaving to provide the mantra for the next day. Having wracked his brains, the whole night, he had a eureka moment just before she entered the ward.
Eagerly he greeted her and said, "We are our own worst enemy. "
The next day, her brother offered the thought,"There is light at the end of every tunnel. Day always follows night."
She proferred, " Always look ahead, never behind", the next day.
And so they laboured on . Every day had something positive, something bright and brave about it. Together they held on to each other, and carried on with their lives. Strength was something they imbibed from each other. By being a crutch for someone else, they found they could walk again, live again, embrace and fulfill the promise of their lives.
i love the positivity in the entire piece..love it..
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