The Messiah Of Life

He was not a stranger to death. Practically everyday, he stepped into the arena with it as the opponent. He grappled with it every time he stood in the O T, scalpel poised, looking down into the patient's chest, ready to do battle, to coax that vital organ to work, to restore the person in front of him to life. He had started with one, then two, going up to a maximum of three surgeries a day. At first, the rush of adrenaline was enough to keep him going. Then he realised that he was supremely in love with his profession. Almost like playing God. His progress was swift up the echelons. As a student, he had sat studying medical tomes, his head tied to a  taut rope which would snap it up if, out of sheer exhaustion his head drooped in sleep. Hid dedication had reaped rich dividends a s he topped the entrance exams and got easy admission into the prestigious surgical college of his choice. Then as a resident, his attention was unwavering. The thrill he experienced when his seniors cut open the human body in front of him, kept him going through the gruelling hours, when sleep again was at a premium. Blood shot eyes or not, he kept himself going. It had all been worth it.

His first surgery was a landmark in his life. He would never forget it. The frail woman, young, at only forty five years of age, was a challenge. The attack had come suddenly, and by the time she reached hospital, she was critical. It being Diwali, the senior doctors, were on leave. Someone had to take charge. As the only available surgeon, he did. As she swung between life and death, he worked like a man possessed. Seven hours later, he was done. The angioplasty turned bypass was successful. The grateful family, swarmed around him. Looking adoringly up at him was her daughter, who would become his future wife.

As he became experienced, expert in his field, his reputation grew. There were times when he lost a patient, but it was never for lack of trying.  Well into his forties, he was still working ten to twelve hours a day, whenever he had surgery, which was every two days. His understanding wife stood by him like a rock. But she had realised long back that his first priority was his profession. Their one child, a daughter, was a sweet docile child, who was married and settled abroad.

The day of his forty fifth birthday dawned bright. He was getting ready, albeit reluctantly, to attend the small party, his wife had insisted he attend. "Isn't it enough that i wear a  suit everyday, " he protested as she swung up his coat from behind him, waiting for him to slip his arms thru. " That's why you would be uncomfortable in anything else, " she grinned wryly at him. " I'm going down, don't take too long ," she admonished as she left the room.

What was it about his tie today, he wondered. Had she tied it too tight. 'The noose' he had nicknamed it, when he had started wearing one. He grimaced as he tried to loosen it. Disbelief mirrored in his eyes he stared at his reflection. It was so loose it was practically hanging around his chest. "What the...!" he told himself. "How can i be choking, when its so loose ?" Then it hit him. The pain was like a knife through his heart. As he sank to his knees he heard someone scream. "I'm damned if  i'm going like this." Just before he lost consciousness, he clutched on to his panic stricken wife, the words that he wanted to say, dying in his throat.

"Sorry, Ma'am. We tried everything we could. He is no more." His funeral was attended by so many, so many came to her with  condolences, each having a story of how they owed their own or a loved one's life to him. "Death showed him no mercy," she thought bitterly. Maybe because he had cheated it so often, for someone else.