I couldn't pen the exact translation, for it is slightly lengthy. But the story is the same.
“Oh! God! I never expected such a fate. Even otherwise also
who knows the next moment what would happen? “
Rambabu started examining the events and incidents that encased
him within a short period of time. He
was on the introspection about the talk, leapt out of his throat, “I had objected
to their wedding. Am I wrong?” He weighed and weighed his words again and again.
“You can do whatever
you want and go wherever you like. I cannot accept that girl as my daughter-in-law.
Don’t step in here again,” Rambabu set up a high yell, rude were his words and
loud was his voice. Rambabu was an individual of an acceptable personality and
amicable modernity in every walk of life. But he couldn’t bear with what his
son spoke at that moment.
Brahmins once were embellishing
the society; knowledge and culture was their power. So, all of a sudden
siding with his son on that matter was not in his Brahmin mind. It was beyond
his imagination to have that girl as the bride to his residence.
“O! God, are you testing me? I feel sorry for what I said to
my son,” Rambabu really thought it was the castigation for his action from Him
to him.
Gopu,Rambabu’s son was a smart dynamic H.R manager in an
M.N.C. He could substantially enhance the amount in his account because his emoluments were so exorbitant. He was an eligible bachelor with regard to education and job for
the daughters of ambitious parents. And hence there was no dearth in proposal-entry
to his house. But for all the ones Gopu stood facing the other side.
One day when Gopu nodded in negation for an attractive
proposal, yes, Rambabu turned crimson with rage and asked, “Is there Shajahan’s
granddaughter waiting for you?”
“Yes, I’ll marry even if a Christian or Muslim good looking
girl proposes to me,” harsh and stiff was Gopu’s voice, which had never shed
such audibility to Achchan so far.
Conversation between father and son was in a nutshell and
somewhat a silence marched triumphantly there for some days. Gopu always sought
the company of his Facebook friends and WhatsApp group.
Continuous persuasion of Amma made him fumble before a good
proposal, “Amma, I don’t want to marry now. My dame…um… because…I don’t want marriage at present.”
“Do you have anyone in your mind? If so tell us. We shall go
for that.”
Though his tongue he didn’t vibrate, his mind was swinging
between ‘to disclose or not '.
Finally, Gopu decided to unveil the secret. He had sold his
soul to a cute smart Muslim girl named ‘Mehar’ who was ready for any sort of
forfeit to obtain him. She was the younger sister of Gopu’s friend Naushad. His
frequent visit to their dwelling had woven a pretty lace of love enthralling the
lad to the lass. Both had decided to put off their union until the guardians'
parts were affirmative. They lingered optimistic.
But the fact was crystal clear that no attempt from any
person would bring forth an agreeing signal from any of the two families. In
Gopu’s house explosive expletives, in thunderous loud were spilling from
Achchan’s lips. When Achchan was at the edge of defeat, he tried some tactful
steps. He shifted from scolding to advice. But no good it did, father’s advice
fell in deaf ears and sowed no seed of deviation from his wish. So again he
lost his temper, “You do whatever you want, don’t come here with that girl.”
Conversation between Gopu and Ram Babu did not come to the
forefront. It hid in their minds itself. Only the very required stuff in ‘yeas
and nays’ sustained there. As usual, dawn awoke them and night put them to sleep
and other things rolled on the course of day time.
And Mehar’s parents
were also smart enough to play their negative role well. They walked far away
from leniency, whereas Mehar stood adamant in her preference. Still, demos of
proposals were being staged in both the houses irrespective of their ward’s discontent.
Days delightfully spun their time on the wheels of day and night.
One day Gopu felt as if he had a small pain on his thoracic
part when he sat merged in his official task. As time grew tall the pain also
grew high. As he reached home two three hours before the time schedule, his
limbs very speedily sought the abode of bed. Gopu used to complain of chest
pain at times, but after a little rest and all, he became alright. They thought it
was of acidity or some gaseous trouble. But this time it was a bit severe with
some unbearable unease. And hence itself he agreed to take the advice of a
doctor.
“Gopu has come home early from office today. He says about a
chest pain. Better take him to a doctor,” Sumangala to Rambabu.
“What happened? Earlier also he had spoken about chest pain,”
the loving father in Rambabu leaving aside all the sulks took his lone darling to
the nearby hospital.
The checkup as usual passed through the procedure of ECG.
The ECG led him to stress test, Echo and Angiogram etc. The result was
shocking.
“Gopu has some valve problem which is entering the stage of
acuteness. Don’t worry, for the time being, medicines will help him. But he may
have to even go for heart transplantation. When we get a suitable heart, it is
better to do that,” the doctor’s tone was though soothing, its firmness revealed
the emergency.
The parents couldn’t
believe what the doctor said, “O! God our son, our blood, he is our heart.” Words got wedged in their throat.
For about a month he
was in the hospital and after that, he was discharged from there on the condition that he will be kept at home, just as hospitalized. The hospital, his dear
and near, his well-wishers and all others having a connection with them were on the lookout for a suitable heart for Gopu.
Mehar, wedding,
hospital expenses- insurance coverage was there-and everything had vanished
from the parents’ minds. The watchword ‘suitable heart’ reigned in that house.
Achchan swayed between office and house. Temple visits of the parents in alternate
turns increased in number. Prayers at home hiked in mass. Food met its reduced
quantity. Lips forgot smiles and laughter. Minds burned. Hearts bled. The very calm
prevailed in the inmates of that dwelling had perched elsewhere.
“A heart. Where can we find one? This question was bubbling
in their minds. The question mark of transplanting the heart hung in the entire
terrain. Then one day a very important
call from the hospital alerted them, “Bring
Gopu immediately, we got a heart here. We’ll check if it will match him or not.”
A twenty-five-year-old, named Karim had met with an
accident; brain death was the upshot. His parents wanted their darling’s body
parts to provide life to the needy. So the couple donated them to the hospital.
Fortunately, Karim’s heart was compatible with Gopu’s just as water to milk.
Within a few hours, the surgery took place and the patient
was kept in intensive observation for a couple of days. Gopu expressed signals
of revival and eventually everything got on track.
“Gopu is only twenty-eight and so nothing to worry about. There
are cases that survived long after heart transplantation. Gopu will be one
among them,” the doctor with a hearty smile. Karim’s heart started performing
the music of ‘lub-Dub’ in Gopu. That heart didn’t say, “I am a Muslim, I will
beat only in a Muslim’s body.”
“If that girl still hopes to marry my son, I’ll receive her
wholeheartedly with stretched hands,” Rambabu repented for his heart of
hearts.
"Nature has no religion or region nor does God
have. Whatever comes in the way it accepts or discards. The self-oriented
selfish men like me only build barriers between man and man. People pull religion to them for troubling the world," Rambabu murmured.
The day
of Gopu’s discharge had to receive some special guests in his house. A couple with two pairs of filled eyes were they, Karim’s parents- Fatima
and Salim. They were watching Gopu even without batting their eyes. Fatima
headed forward and sat by the side of Gopu..She put her hand on Gopu’s chest
and whispered, “My son, my darling, you are alive, you are alive.” She slowly
and softly kept her visage also on his chest and hugged him. The onlookers
could not control their tears that showered as monsoon from their visual
organs.
