It was his time to find eternal rest

Short story by Jashmita Tanwar

"Papa ji, why is Babaji's phone switched off?" I asked my father, my heart heavy with concern. He replied, "Beetu, he's in the hospital." Instantly, my world was enveloped in a fog of fear and unanswered questions.

Babaji, my grandfather, and I shared a unique bond. I was Lala, his cherished grandchild, the sole possessor of a photograph in his wallet. In our Tanwar family, everyone knew that Babaji held a special place in his heart for me.

The last call I received from him had come just two days before this conversation. It was our daily ritual at 4:15 PM: he'd ask me the same few questions and then bless me with his warm, heartfelt words. Little did I know that those words would be the last I'd ever hear from him. My mother had informed me of his unfortunate accident – a slip in the bathroom that had resulted in severe injuries. Days passed, and my daily question to my parents remained unchanged: "How's Babaji?" Their response was consistent, but my heart sensed something more ominous, its rhythm beating in a different direction.

Eventually, my father faced the harsh reality: Babaji would never fully recover. The doctors had given their prognosis – either he would endure a life of agony and immobility for a few more years, or he would leave us within a week. I understood that these might be his last days, but my heart and mind refused to accept the cruel hand of fate. I yearned to see him one last time, willing to abandon everything and rush to his side. In that moment, nothing else mattered – not the distance, not the cost, not even my academic obligations. The only thing that mattered was the man who had spent his life wishing nothing but the best for us and was now counting his final breaths. To prioritize anything other than Babaji in that critical moment would have been my greatest regret, an unforgivable betrayal of all he had invested in me.

Without further thought, I booked a flight to Jaipur from September 23rd to the 25th. During the six to seven hours of my flight, I prayed relentlessly for him to hold on until I arrived, and it seemed that, for that moment, even God set aside our quarrels and supported my plea. Upon landing in Jaipur, I made my way to Manipal Hospital to see Babaji. My entire life, my world, hinged on this moment of contact with him.

Babaji had always been a robust man, a retired military veteran who never settled for anything less in his 88 years of life. He possessed a voice that could command a room, yet at that moment, he lay in an ICU bed, bereft of the strength to roar. But the instant he saw me, a brilliant smile illuminated his face – the smile everyone had been waiting for since his hospitalization. That smile, to me, was worth sacrificing my entire world. I yearned for time to stand still, to defy nature's cruel inevitability. I wanted to beseech nature to rewrite its rules, to fight against death and prolong his stay. The thought of living the rest of my life without the man who had been my rock for the past 20 years was unbearable.

Throughout those two decades, Babaji had a habit of reaching into the left side of his kurta, extracting his wallet, and bestowing upon me some money as his blessing whenever I approached him after a long absence. Even in his unconscious state, battling the agony of impending death, he didn't forget his love for me. He made that familiar gesture, though there was no pocket or wallet to produce. The blessing, however, remained intact. I lowered my head, and he struggled against the pain to place his hand on my head, bestowing his blessings.

My flight back to Bangalore was scheduled for September 25th at 5:00 PM. As I held his hand, I informed him that I needed to leave for Bangalore, assuring him that I would take good care of myself. He attempted to call my name, 'Lala,' but his frail physical condition hindered him, so he squeezed my hand to convey his assent. He always used to say, "Lala, Ache number lana, bada admi ban na hai." I reassured him with those very words, "Babaji, aap chinta mat karo, main ache number launga or bada admi banunga." I kissed his forehead, and as I left the ICU, he summoned all his remaining strength to move, but he couldn't. Leaving him in that state was the most heart-wrenching experience of my life.

I carried his phone, the one he used to call me, as though it held a piece of his soul.

Throughout the five-hour flight, tears streamed down my face as I thought of Babaji and the condition in which I had left him. I berated myself for not being able to stay by his side.

On that very day, I reached Bangalore at 9:00 PM. I switched on Babaji's phone and sifted through its contents. I discovered a single call recording, his voice blessing me with his words. There was no doubt that I was his favorite grandchild; he had left his voice exclusively for his beloved Lala. As I listened to his voice, it felt like a fragment of his very soul had taken residence within me, etching a profound connection that touched the deepest recesses of my heart.

The next morning, I received the news that Babaji had passed away while I was on route to Bangalore. My father comforted me, saying, "You carried Babaji with you on the flight."

Perhaps I was the chosen one, the soul awaiting my arrival to find peace. Maybe the soul could not rest if I hadn't come to him, and he would have endured even more suffering. Babaji had lived his life like the mightiest lion, leading the jungle, but now it was his time to rest and pass on the mantle. He had always imparted a valuable lesson, "Never tolerate wrong from anyone." I am heeding his wisdom until the journey of my life comes to a close. I am certain he now rests in a better place with my grandmother, Maaji.

I will honor his memory with my success and say to him, "Babaji, dekho, apka Lala bada admi ban gaya”.

ज़िन्दगी भर गरजती हुई आवाज़ आज मौन थी 
काली परछाई उनके सिरहाने खड़ी, ना जाने वो कौन थी

"बाबाजी आप ठीक हो जाओगे", मैं शायद हक़ीक़त से अनजान थी 
उनके दर्द और तकलीफ में मैं सिर्फ एक मेहमान थी

आखरी साँस तक उनको घर ले जाने का मन था
मालूम नहीं था की अब सफ़ेद कफ़न उनका घर था 

गला जैसे वो काली परछाई पकड़ रही थी 
उनका हर शब्द उनकी आंखे बयां कर रही थी

मेरे सिर पे जो हाथ रखा तो अहसास हुआ ये हाथ अब उठने वाला है 
उनका साथ मेरी ज़िन्दगी से अब बस अब छूटने वाला है 

साँस आखरी, पर आंखे मानो गुरूर से चमक रही थी 
ज़ुबान ना सही, मुस्कान से अनजानी सी ख़ुशी झलक रही थी 

अचेतना में भी हाथ उनका बटुए की तरफ गया
आंख नम हुई जब हर कोई सच्चाई से रूबरू हुआ

मेरी एक झलक से वो गुम हुई मुस्कान लौट आई 
मा जी ने उनको आवाज़ दी और उन्हें लेने मौत आई

साँस रुकने लगी और दिल ने धड़कना बंद कर दिया
आत्मा ने त्यागा शरीर और स्वर्ग पसंद कर लिया 

अब शहंशाह की अंतिम यात्रा शुरू हुई 
सबकी आंखें नम हुई 

देखते ही देखते उनकी परछाई ओझल हुई 
अब उनकी यादें हम सभी के दिलों में प्रगाढ़ हुई 


                                                 Goodbye Babaji 
                                                 Your Lala