The man on the table before him is as good as dead. Indeed, the three youths who brought the emaciated, scab and dirt encrusted beggar to the doctor already thought he was gone. The breathing is shallow, as is the pulse. On the table now, he groans softly, indistinct, lacking even the energy to express his agony. While examining the condition of this new patient, Doctor Krishna sees his eyes open. Milky, wet, the man is blind. He probably wandered out of his refuge, got lost and never found his way home, the doctor diagnoses, rummaging through cupboards and cabinets in the small room. This hospital's supply reserve is seriously limited: though he has a needle for the drip infusion, he doesn't have the right rehydration liquid. The last time he needed the infusion, he had no sterilised needles. While examining the man's arm and the hopelessly collapsed veins, the skeleton of a man begins to move his mouth. Dry lips and tongue prevent words. A quickly fetched wet cloth with some drops of water help him: "End" he whispers.
However hopeless the medical situation, Doctor Krishna knows that he cannot willingly take a life. Nor will he extend the pain, agony and suffering of any living being. The patient blinks. "End", the word passes like a dry wind over parched lips, a slight movement in the throat is all that visibly moves. The doctor does what he can for his patent's comfort, still feeling the iron grip of powerlessness, the whining ego, the irrational need to lash out, futility, rage, sorrow; the man is terminal, too long without food and water, too long exposed to sun and night chill, insect bites infected and animal bites oozing pus. Doctor Krishna considers what a strange world it is to see another's suffering, to see another's pain, and yet personally feel nothing of it. How separate we are, however bound by hopes and dreams. Helpless before the mystery of life, the good doctor can only shed tears. He reflects on the words of a Jesuit brother who often visited the village: Sickness and death are not the ultimate evils; sin, the absence of truth and love, is. Holding the dying man's hand, he starts praying.
And then a moment later a soft "End" is spoken. A smile on lips and eyes of the patient speaks, too. There is no inhalation. The lungs collapse, as does the face, pallor, living presence. The man without a name let's go of his suffering. Doctor Krishna stands calm, all need to act has now passed. He thanks his patient: though mankind may disagree on the big questions, we agree that respect, compassion and kindness are important, that truth and love are essential if we are to weather the storm of sickness and death.
However hopeless the medical situation, Doctor Krishna knows that he cannot willingly take a life. Nor will he extend the pain, agony and suffering of any living being. The patient blinks. "End", the word passes like a dry wind over parched lips, a slight movement in the throat is all that visibly moves. The doctor does what he can for his patent's comfort, still feeling the iron grip of powerlessness, the whining ego, the irrational need to lash out, futility, rage, sorrow; the man is terminal, too long without food and water, too long exposed to sun and night chill, insect bites infected and animal bites oozing pus. Doctor Krishna considers what a strange world it is to see another's suffering, to see another's pain, and yet personally feel nothing of it. How separate we are, however bound by hopes and dreams. Helpless before the mystery of life, the good doctor can only shed tears. He reflects on the words of a Jesuit brother who often visited the village: Sickness and death are not the ultimate evils; sin, the absence of truth and love, is. Holding the dying man's hand, he starts praying.
And then a moment later a soft "End" is spoken. A smile on lips and eyes of the patient speaks, too. There is no inhalation. The lungs collapse, as does the face, pallor, living presence. The man without a name let's go of his suffering. Doctor Krishna stands calm, all need to act has now passed. He thanks his patient: though mankind may disagree on the big questions, we agree that respect, compassion and kindness are important, that truth and love are essential if we are to weather the storm of sickness and death.
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