A Lie for A Life

By Tanmaye Karri

Small helpless things they were when I first held them. Such tiny, perfect, precious gifts they were against my humongous hands. So soft, so weak, so delicate and yet all these are what made me want to shelter them from the world. Made us want to shelter them from the world. My wife and I.

I still remember the time when the nurse handed over my son to me, the very first time I held a baby. I was terrified to think or feel anything else. But it was different when it came to my girls. I let myself feel and love them with all my heart, neither anxious nor afraid the second time I held a new born. They were perfectly perfect or imperfectly perfect, I don’t know, but they were perfect.

When I held them close to my heart, pecking their heads, there was no fear inside me but now…now I’m quaking with it. I’m going to lose them, my baby girls, my sweethearts, to this pandemic and there’s not one thing I can do to protect them. Even after I promised to protect them from the world.

I look at them, through the glass, as they sleep peacefully and yet look so disturbed. Their faces hold discomfort etched with lines of pain with their furrowed, shut eyes and short pained breaths. I push back a sob making its way to my throat, instead I imagine myself, placing my warm hand on their foreheads smoothening their frowns, running my own through their hair, comforting them.

“Will they be okay, dad?”  My son, Akhilesh asks me quietly from my side. All this had taken a toll on him as much as it did us. He annoys his sisters, taunts them, banters with them but he loves them to the ends of this earth.

“They will be.” I declare hoping that at least my hope and my insistence will somehow let me hold them back in arms again. As if in response, Akira slowly opens her eyes, instinctively clutching her sister’s necklace around her neck. My wife immediately reaches for her phone to call. We were waiting for them to wake, to talk to them, unwilling to forcefully wake them up, choosing to quietly watch them sleep. The only time they’re in lesser pain is when they’re asleep. She catches us looking at her and her eyes soften subtly, as the phone on her bed side rings. She moves to wake Amara up and my baby wakes exactly the same way Akira does.

“Sweethearts.” My wife calls out, her voice trembling towards the end making both of us take shaky breaths. I pull myself together and ask, “How are my strong little soldiers today?”

“Fighting.” They whisper smiling softly. And this word is what bring tears to my own. I raised them, watched them grow for a tiny tot who only knew how to babble. How can I not know their thoughts now going through their heads and yet I pretend not to.

“That’s my girls. So, so brave. Everything will be fine. I just know it. Don’t give up, Akira, Amara…?” I encourage them instead.

“You have to leave now.” A hospital attendant interrupted me. I ignore him and continue looking at my girls. I tune him out, place my forehead on the glass and mouth, I love you girls so, so much. No sooner than I mouth the last word I am being pulled out. I couldn’t do a thing for them now. Not one. Pain and frustration are eating me up from the inside because I feel utterly and completely useless. Helpless.

“They’re lying, aren’t they?” Akhil asks me. 

“Yes.” His mother replies on my behalf. “To make us feel better, those hopeless imbeciles!” She whispers, sobbing. “If they have energy to care about us, might as well care about themselves and get better.” I place a hand on her shoulder, gently coercing her to lean on me.

“You are Akira and Amara’s family?” A doctor asks approaching us.

“Yes.” I speak.

“A week ago, I’ve told you Akira’s condition is worse but fortunately it has held stable at that state.” I release an exhausted thankful sigh at that. “But unfortunately, Amara’s condition has deteriorated in an extremely fast pace. We’ve tried everything we can, we…”

“How… how long?” I interrupt.

“A few hours, a day if we’re lucky. I’m so sorry.”

“Is there really no hope doctor?” I beg, this close to going down on my knees and touch his legs to please somehow save my daughter.

“I’m so sorry.” He spoke quietly, empathising. “But your girls have been so very brave. They’ve survived longer than most. And we’ll do everything we can to give Akira back to you.”

No hope.

My mind runs at a 1000 kilometre an hour while my heart refuses to take a single step. But the words running through my head were, they fought longer than most. They’ve fought so very hard, for us. I can’t make her suffer anymore. They’ve suffered so, so much. And I…I want to hold her hand as she…as she leaves this world. Just like I was… I was the first to hold her when she came into this world.

I ask the doctor to hand me and my wife PPE kits to…to say goodbye. They shift my daughter to another ward. I ask my son to stay behind, not wanting to risk my only healthy child. My wife takes my hand in hers squeezing it tight as we walk towards her bedside.

“Please…please give her a painless death. Let her…let her be asleep in the least. Please.” I beg them, the doctor and nurse as my wife moves to sit at her side, holds her hand and brings it to her forehead, trying to memorise her face one last time. I sit near her head rest and place my hand upon her forehead like I wished to about an hour ago.

But when I do, I’m met with frustration of being unable to feel the warmth of her skin on mine. Of her being unable to feel my warmth. I tear the gloves off my hands despite everyone’s protests and tried to smooth her furrowed forehead and my fingers met her deathly cold skin. I placed my palm there, trying to push warmth into her, wishing I could pass my time and life instead.

She opens her eyes then, at that exact moment. 

“Papa.” 

She knew my touch even if she couldn’t see my face clearly. Tears drip down my face as I stroke her hair whispering, I love you, over and over again.

“Mama.” She called out next and I take a few steps back. Letting my wife have her moment with the daughter whom she bore, whom she birthed, who fed her, clothed her, gently blew on her wounds, sang her to sleep, loved her as if the world began and ended with our children.

A few moments later, wails and sobs filled the room. And I knew instinctively, deep inside my core, my soul, that my baby had left this world. Tears dripped and dripped down my face as if there was no end. I don’t think there was. But looking at my lifeless daughter’s body I remembered I have one other daughter who’s on death’s door. Who will cross the door without looking back if she knows her twin’s gone. This pandemic took one daughter away from me. I will not let it take another.

I leave my wife weeping holding Amara’s body, hurriedly get rid of my PPE kit, rush to my son who was now crouching holding his head in his hands and pull him to Akira’s hospital room. She isn’t awake yet. I look at her, both my head and heart working in synchrony, to save her in the least.

“What do we do now?” My son asks me.

“We lie.” I tell him softly.

And lie we do. Lie that her sister is almost better which is why they had to shift her away from Akira. Lie that the doctor couldn’t risk Amara getting infected again. Lie that she’ll see her twin again as soon as she gets better. Lie that her sister is all better and now, she can too.

Lie I did and survive she did against all odds. 

Lie I did and I will never regret it.

The End

By Tanmaye Karri