Dyspnoea
“He’s choking” I cried looking at that sixty plus old man in a dhothi and a tattered wet shirt.
“Dyspnoea!” commented my friend Rajan staring at him.
“What’s dyspnoea?” I yelled.
The rain-lashed black-top road was
looking like a crawling snake. That desolate bus-shelter beside that
village road was damp and leaking. The old man settled on the cement
bench was panting, coughing and staring into the skies as if he’s
waiting to see the angels from heaven or agents of the Hades.
His wife was pressing his back and saying, "Wait! The rain will stop soon... It won’t take much time.”
I cried at her, “Give him his inhaler!”
“What’s inhaler?” she asked.
“I mean inhaler; O’ God!” I cried.
“How do they know about inhaler?” Rajan said coolly.
Ignoring my friend, I cried again,
“Don’t you have any medicine ready?"
"Something like deriphyllin or salbutamol?”
I didn’t wait for her
reply and rushed into the rain and reached the street corner and asked a
passer-by, “Where’s the medical shop here?”
“No medical shop here, in
fact up to a distance of 20 kms.” he replied.
“No medical shop?!” Stunned, I shouted aloud.
He added, “That old couple live in a small hut. Even a small
rain is enough to make them run. They come to this bus-shelter and
remain till the rain abates. It’s usual for them. Don’t worry. Once
the rain abates, they go back to their hut.”
Returned to the bus-shelter and cried at her
“Take him to the town by next bus...his condition is serious. We’re riding on a motor bike. It’s too risky to drive him town”
We returned to town, but remained my heart guilty.
“I could have done better than leaving that old man like that” I thought.
Next morn, Rajan called over phone, “Read today’s news? The old man died.''
