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Our approaches were divergent. We here placed our trust first in the Mother’s
Grace, then in doctors, medical science, proper care, and genuine attention. Madho
had no experience of the Mother’s Grace and was intent on showing what a devoted
son ought to do and could do for his mother, for whom the very best was due, even
if that meant taking her away by helicopter…
We diverged in another deep way as well: in our experience, the priority was not in
wanting one to live; it was on uniting to and surrendering to the movement of the
soul and the Divine’s fiat, whatever it may be, in peace and harmony.
In Madho’s experience it was indispensable to deploy all the means needed to
“save” his mother, to keep her alive, to make her continue to live. We would also
strive to get all the means at the disposal of healing, but not at the cost of peace
and clarity and inner protection.
In those days of waiting, both Arjun and I took care of Madho, in our respective
ways; he would be extremely emotional, and would turn to me for comfort and
encouragement.
Two days later, the nursing staff decided to shift Kusum to a single room; this was
too early; she at once felt very poorly, and complained to us that she wanted to
leave her body.
For me there was one overriding sense of necessity: that she should not be
swallowed by this experience; that she should not be pulled by this medicalised
world; even if the time had come for her to leave, it should happen in peace and in
surroundings permeated with Her presence – not in Cluny Hospital, and certainly
not away from Pondichéry.
That day, we were all there in the evening, to see her or be near her; I was struck
by the expression on Kamala’s face, when she said to me she did not find Kusum in
a good condition: it was as if we were overtaken, trapped, overwhelmed, cheated –
as if Kusum had been grabbed, seized; I went in to see her, and Madhu came with
me, and we were alone with her; she kept saying “margaya, margaya… ”, meaning,
that’s enough, let it be over with, that’s enough of this life… And Madhu could not
bear it; and neither could I. I talked to her strongly; I said that no matter what was
the inner choice or decision, to leave or to recover, it had to take place in the
Mother’s arms, in a truer atmosphere, and she must somehow get herself healed
enough so we could leave this place. She listened, and she understood what I
meant, and she agreed, and she became quiet. Madhu too was a little relieved.
That day, I was so uptight that I had a small accident on my way back: I had to
veer off the road crossing the village as a bus had suddenly swerved, and I fell off
the bike and the bike fell on my foot; there was only a small wound, but I was
shaken out of this helpless upset and had to regain some balance.
The staff took her back up to the isolation ward. She was examined again. The
diagnosis was bad: a septicaemia had taken hold.
Oddly the surgeon had not left a drain in her abdomen; we had questions, and
some doubts regarding the chief surgeon; Madhu was very worried, almost
frantically so. But Kusum fought the infection. She remained conscious and calm
and kept her sense of humour. The nurses were impressed with her.
After a couple of days, on our nagging insistence, she was fed especially nutritious
fluids; and the chief surgeon, along with Vijay, agreed that a drain had to be
inserted and a small operation was scheduled for that evening. They did it, and
were satisfied. Kusum felt a little improvement.
Madhu’s son, Akshay, whom I had never met before, had also come by now, from
Ahmedabad.
A couple of days later I realised, too late, that they had plotted to have Kusum
removed from this hospital and transported all the way across the country to a