The Matrix

 

Sometime in July 2020, the Kolkata Municipal Corporation (KMC) had identified the old crematorium at north Kolkata’s Nimtolla area for COVID-related deaths. In April and May 2021 however, the influx of dead bodies had forced the KMC to open up Nimtolla’s new crematorium complex.

 

I urged Hari to drive faster lest we missed the trajectory of KMC’s hearse car, which for that moment was housing Ma. I had the hearse car driver’s phone number though. Even then, I was unsure if that would help in case we missed them.

 

Since April 2020, Ma had a fear lurking in her mind that if she died due to the coronavirus, her cremation would not take place properly.

 

“Do see to it that I am not thrown in the fields of Dhapa…”, she would tell me after I returned from office. This was consistently frequent on her part. I on the other hand, would refrain from commenting on what she said.

 

That however did not curb her anxiety.

 

“I do not want to be thrown in those open fields. I have heard that they are doing this to COVID dead bodies…..”

 

“Ma, these are rumours. And moreover, why are you bothered about such issues?”

 

“No. Not at all. I read in newspapers. There is not enough space in the existing crematoriums. So, these landfill sites at Dhapa are being used.”

 

“All right. Let us forget these things now…Will you give me something to eat?”

 

                             **********

 

My right hand palm was still resting on the right shoulder of Dr Vishal as I kept on muttering to myself:

 

“Ma, be with me. Ma, be with me.”

 

“You have to sign on a few documents. Only after that, we will issue the death certificate. Thereafter, the KMC will take away the body for cremation”, the administrative-in-charge blabbered in his irritating tone.  

 

The apparent jabberwocky by that numskull was perhaps necessary for me to wake up from my quiescence of grief.

 

“Where will the KMC take her? Which crematorium?”

 

“We don’t know. They can take her anywhere. Most probably Dhapa”, the idiot blurted.

 

“We have no control over it. The KMC can arrive anytime. If you are here, you can see the body taken and can accompany them. Else, they take it away and cremate it as per their convenience”.

 

I felt like breaking his jaws when he repeatedly uttered the word ‘body’.

 

Things had crossed the limits. I had to act. I immediately called up Prodipto. Being the District Magistrate, he should have some contacts in the KMC, I hoped. Moreover, he was so helpful in supplying the oxygen cylinders for mother when we tried our level best to keep her at residence with a steady oxygen input. Later on, Prodipto had been instrumental in getting hold of the Remdesivir injections too. I was confident that he would rescue me now.

 

“No sir, at this juncture I might not be of help. The KMC is out of my purview. Nevertheless, I will try and let you know.”

 

I knew how honest and serious Prodipto was. He said what he meant. I messaged a few more contacts. Debarshi of the West Bengal Civil Service responded.

 

“Uddipan-da, let me try my contacts in the KMC and get back to you.”

 

Meanwhile, I called my cousin brother. He was unable to believe that mother was no more.

 

“How could it be? You must be lying. Her SpO₂ was on the rising curve last evening. So how could she pass away this morning?”

 

“What about the lung specialist? What did he say?”

 

I had no answer to his logical queries. The moment I disconnected, I received a call from Dr Vivek Bose.

 

“Sir, did you meet Dr Pahari? He’s there in the hospital.”

 

“Oh, he is in the hospital!”, I pushed myself to speak.

 

“Yes, please meet him if you can. He and other doctors tried but couldn’t….I hope you know…”

 

“Yes, I know. Should I pay Dr Pahari his fees?”

 

“Well, let me ask him Sir”, Dr Bose replied.

 

“Listen Mr Mukherjee, I received a call from the KMC just now”, suddenly I found the dimwit in-charge standing beside me in front of the ICU. I too did not remember when I moved outside the ICU to call my cousin brother.

 

“They will take the body within half an hour”.

 

“But you are lucky”, the bastard smiled.

 

“They will take the body to Nimtolla and you can accompany them.”

 

Either Prodipto or Debarshi did the trick, I thought. Whoever did it, I didn’t mind at all.

 

“Sir, I have had a word with the officials of the KMC. They will allow five persons from your family to accompany the cremation at Nimtolla”, Prodipto was kind enough to inform.

 

 

“However, they will follow all COVID-related protocols. You can watch the rituals but I am afraid you will not be able to do the mukhagni (the Hindu ritual of a son placing fire on his deceased mother’s face).”

 

“Thank you so much, Prodipto.”

 

“I will be ever grateful”.

 

I ran towards my residence. Hari was ready with the car. I pulled out Ma’s favourite saree from the almirah and somehow moved out of the flat in desperate speed so that we did not miss the KMC men.

 

“Please put her gently on the stretcher”, I pleaded to the KMC lads.

 

“Don’t worry dada (brother), we are doing this everyday”, they scoffed at me. 

 

Prodipto’s intervention had worked wonders. My mother was a VIP laash (dead body). She was kept in an air-conditioned hearse car. No other dead person was placed alongside her. I was rather fortunate.

 

The driver of the hearse car sped away.

 

“Hari, follow that car. Do not miss it. We have to reach Nimtolla.”

 

I could feel my heart beat going up.

 

In the middle of the 15-minute journey, we lost sight of the hearse car completely. Yet I did not lose hope.

 

To our great fortune, we discovered the vehicle in front of the old crematorium building of the Nimtolla burning ghat.

 

“So, will she be cremated here?”, I asked Piklu, the KMC lad who carried my mother from the hospital. He was quite agile and was the only person who seemed to speak a bit. The driver and the other staff appeared to be mummified individuals – as cold as ghosts were.

 

Suddenly, there was a commotion and few burly characters started shouting at Piklu.

 

“You rascal, you want to place this body here? There’s no space. Get out, you son of a swine.”

 

“What will happen now?”, I asked Piklu.

 

“Aare dada, don’t worry. I will manage. After all, your laash is a VIP.”

 

“You sister-fucker”, Piklu retorted at that hulk.

 

“Didn’t I tell you that this is a VIP dead body?”

 

I was amazed to see how a rather skinny Piklu tamed that brawny fellow.

 

I waited for about half an hour over there, with my mother lying peacefully in the hearse car, oblivious of the perturbations outside.

 

“Dada, let us go to the new crematorium”, uttered Piklu.

 

“Where is it, brother?”, I asked naively.

 

“Aare dada, you seem to know nothing”.

 

“The new crematorium is just at the other end of the road.”

 

Piklu jumped into the car and sat beside the driver. And as the driver of the hearse car pressed the gear, I started running towards it. I meticulously followed the vehicle until Piklu came out of it and with him and two of his companions my mother too came out.

 

I watched Piklu and his friends put down my mother on the floor, beside numerous other individuals, all dead due to the coronavirus. There were about 100 to 150 such individuals lying on the floor. 

The KMC management had placed them in an orderly fashion – in the form of rows and columns – forming a well-defined matrix. It was not a mathematical notion by the way. It was ‘the matrix of death’ – the determinant of which was incalculable. My mother lay on the floor of the crematory, carefully wrapped in a white bag with her name written on a paper, properly pasted on the bag – as one of those faceless expressions composing a rectangular matrix. 

10 May 2021

 

10^th of May is a tumultuous day in Indian history, and very much in the realm of my imagination. This was the day when at Meerut cantonment the Indian soldiers of the English East India Company were up in arms against their British masters. And was born the Great Uprising of 1857.

 

However, it never crossed my mind that the same date could spell doom for me, albeit in a different year, at a separate location. 

 

I am generally lackadaisical in reaching any place on time. Only at examination centres throughout my student tenure, I reached before time. On Monday the 10th of May 2021 at 09:20 hrs, I was 10 minutes before time; standing in front of the rather narrow, constricted entrance of the Elixir Hospital near the five point crossing of north Kolkata's Shyambazar area. I had to. I was eager to. 

 

Pulmonologist Dr Pahari had confirmed to pay a visit to my mother as the attending physician at Elixir Hospital suggested to me to consult a specialist. In fact, Dr Ray, who is a cardiologist by profession, was treating my mother since 30th April, when we had no option but to admit her in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) of the Elixir Hospital. Mother was highly reluctant to go to any hospital for that matter. Moreover, no ICU bed was available in top-notch super specialty hospitals in the ‘city of joy’.  

 

On 27 April when our house physician reached our residence to attend to my mother once more after a gap of five days, I could barely hold on to my nerves seeing her cry as Dr Akaash Das hinted that if she does not listen to his suggestions, then she would have to be hospitalized.

 

Dr Das prescribed Clavam 625 and a host of other medicines since his earlier prescription of Doxovent could not provide any succor to her. The body temperature had been rising monotonically since 22^nd April, and now touching 102-103 F.

 

“Her SpO₂ is around 86. Shouldn’t she have a COVID test done?”, I asked Dr Das.

 

His reply perplexed us.

 

“If you do the test, possibly she would turn out to be positive. Now almost everyone is COVID positive. However, I would suggest her to undergo tests for Malaria, Dengue and Typhoid instead. Those tests are carried out in my laboratory at a reasonable cost of Rs 4,325 to be paid in cash only. In fact, if you had carried out these tests on 22^nd itself, today her condition could have been much better.”

 

“Well, Daktarbabu (Doctor) should she have the tests of D-Dimer, CRP done too? Results of those tests may aid in a better treatment?”, I implored.

 

“I do not have any idea of the tests that you are talking about. But I suggest that you do the tests of Malaria, Dengue and Typhoid at a reasonable cost of Rs 4,325. I am unable to understand why you are not going for these tests?”, Dr Das seemed desperately assertive.

 

 

 

I called up Dr Nirmalya Pahari at 9:40 hrs. Then again at 9:50 hrs. Then again at 10:00 hrs. He did not pick up the call. Thereafter, I sought the help of my friend Dr Vivek Bose, with whose reference I could reach out to Dr Pahari when none of the visiting pulmonologists on the payroll of the Elixir hospital had agreed to visit a COVID-19 patient with affected lungs and fluctuating SpO_2.

 

Vivek whatsapped me that even he was unable to get through to Dr Pahari. I kept on loitering near the entrance of Elixir. Dr Bibhas Ray normally came to the ICU at around 10:45 hrs. And without the permission of the attending physician, I would not be allowed to go inside the ICU. I again called up Dr Pahari and kept on calling him. At 10:30, I was fortunate to speak to him for few seconds.

 

“Sir, are you coming to visit my mother today? I am at the entrance of the hospital since 9:20 am.”

 

“I will go. May be in another one hour or so….But I am not sure exactly when…”

 

I thanked myself that somehow I could get hold of a lung specialist to examine Ma. When contacted by Vivek and me on last Friday, Dr Pahari had agreed to visit her sharp at 9:30 hrs on Monday morning and told us to keep his fees arranged on the spot without any official delays. Since he was busy over the weekend, Monday was the earliest possible.

 

 

 

Though Dr Pahari did not specifically divulge the quantum of his fees, yet I was carrying sufficient cash with me so that lack of fees ought not to create any hindrance in the treatment of my mother. Though she was having a recovery in SpO₂ levels to 90-95 from as low as 40-50 with 25 litres of oxygen per day, yet her chest X-ray report was worrisome with patches all over.

 

I was feeling a bit hungry. So I planned to have a quick breakfast and return from residence at around 10:45 hrs, so that by then I would be able to meet Dr Ray at Elixir’s ICU. I was confident that if Dr Pahari and Dr Ray consulted with each other, mother’s condition could improve substantially.

 

I finished my bread and omelet unusually quickly and was about to barge out of the flat because it was already 10:45 hrs. As I was moving downstairs, I received a call in my mobile.

 

“Am I speaking with a relative of Anusua Mukherjee? ICU patient, bed number 4.”

 

“Yes, I am her son.”

 

“Dr Ray wants to speak with you….”

 

“Where are you? Can you come here now?”

 

“Yes Sir, of course, I am on the way, will reach in 5 minutes or so”

 

“All right. Your mother has had a cardiac arrest just now….”

 

 

 

Though I heard the phrase ‘cardiac arrest’, yet I was not sure if the doctor seriously meant it. After all, Dr Pahari was supposed to visit Ma and last evening her SpO₂ was going up towards 95. I was still steady and went inside the ICU to meet Dr Ray. It was about 10:50 hrs on 10 May 2021.

 

“Dr Das, I have arranged an oxygen cylinder for mother. Should she use it now?”

 

“Dada (brother), I am sorry to tell you that you couldn’t manage the health of your mother. She does not need oxygen.”

 

“…mmm, but daktarbabu, her SpO₂ has dipped below 90…..”

 

“So what? There is constriction in her lungs…please listen to me. Do the tests now itself. I am calling the person from my laboratory. Pay him Rs 4,325 in cash. Reports would be delivered tomorrow.”

 

“But Dr Das, the COVID test?”

 

“It is not required.”

 

“And should we give her Dexamethasone and Ivermectin? Any blood thinner? Her fever is not subsiding even with repeated doses of paracetamol…”

 

“I have given her enough medicines”. Dr Das was firm.

 

 

 

The janitor at the entrance of the ICU at Elixir hospital didn’t stop me. Rather, she told me to get inside as Dr Ray was supposedly looking for me. I briskly walked toward Bed No 4. Dr Ray and another doctor were standing in front of the bed. Two caregivers were trying to nurse my mother. One was Ayesha. The other woman I had not seen before. Ma was writhing in inexplicable pain.

 

“When I entered the ICU for my morning round, she suddenly had cardiac arrest. I guess it is coronary thrombosis”, opined Dr Ray.

 

“What will happen to her, Sir?”

 

“She will die”, came the stern, pragmatic reply of a seasoned physician who is a cardiologist of some repute in the locality.

 

“In fact, Dr Vishal”, Dr Ray said pointing to the younger colleague of his, “tried his best through CPR to resuscitate Anusua-di.”

 

Mother was squirming in the bed. Gasping for breath, she was unable to speak. I held her hand and shrieked:

 

“Ma, can you recognize me? I am your son, Bappai….I am Bappai…”

 

She too held my hand. However, after a couple of minutes or so, pulled it away and touched her head in pain. She was shaking her legs.

 

“Could nothing be done, daktarbabu?”, I pleaded, probably for the last time.

 

“Since she has been resuscitated, then she may live on…”, I argued.

 

Mother kept on squirming and the bed continuously jerked.

 

“I don’t think anything could be done. We shall try but I have my doubts.”

 

“At least, if her pain could be reduced a bit…..” I further appealed.

 

But this time Dr Ray was harsh as well as philosophical.

 

“Everyone has to bear the portion of pain earmarked for him or her…this is life….”

 

“Your mother is in Bed No 4. My mother was in Bed No 1. She too expired two years back…”

 

I was still vaguely hopeful. Nevertheless, I requested Dr Ray if I could be allowed to feed my mother some water. He was kind enough to allow.

She sipped the water. She still could not speak though. She only groaned and writhed. I could feel that she desperately sought some relief, which was not forthcoming from any quarter.

 

 

“How did she have this cardiac arrest? Was it due to the side effects of the steroids?”

 

“No, I don’t think so. It’s the Coronavirus which affected the heart…” replied Dr Ray.

 

“I would suggest you wait outside the ICU and let us treat the patient”, bluntly commented the Administrative in-charge of the ICU.

 

I don’t know why I listened to him. May be because I still hoped that they might treat and cure my mother. May be because I had lost all sorts of manhood within me and could not protest. May be because I couldn’t further watch my beloved mother suffer and stand helpless in front of her.

 

I sat just outside the ICU from 11:15 am onward. I requested my father to take Ma to him. I told him that mother doesn’t deserve this pain. Either her pain should subside and she should live. Else, you should take her at the earliest.

 

I don’t really remember what happened in the next half an hour. I saw a couple of doctors going inside the ICU. Later, Vivek told me that Dr Pahari had reached the ICU at 11:30 or so.

 

I felt a tap on my back and looked up.

 

“The parameters have stopped. There are no fluctuations any more. You can come inside and have a look”, Dr Vishal came out of the ICU and told me.

 

“She passed away at 11:40 hrs, to be precise”, Dr Vishal informed.

 

When Ma was writhing in pain, her pulse rate and SpO₂ levels were fluctuating over a wide range, somewhat arbitrarily. Based on such weird fluctuations, Dr Ray predicted a point of no return for her.

 

Now, she was sleeping. Still. In eternal peace.

 

I touched her feet and sought her blessings, as I used to do every day. I did not have tears in my eyes. I kept on touching her feet. I touched my forehead on her feet.

 

“Please do not do that. She was a COVID patient. Please refrain from touching her…” objected the attendants.

 

“You can bring a new saree for her”, told the lady care-giver.

 

“We expect some honorarium for our work too, we hope you understand….”, the apparently most experienced ICU-attendant said.

 

“Please do not feel shy about it. I will give you honorarium to your satisfaction. Kindly take care of my mother. Provide her the best possible treatment, now at least after her demise”, I told them with folded hands.

 

For the first time on that day, I cried, as I thanked Dr Vishal for his efforts to resuscitate Ma. I broke down as I put my hand on his shoulders.