Do you believe in Karma? I did not until Akbar happened.

It was a rainy night in Delhi’s cold winter and the fog had already engulfed half the city. I was in an ambulance that cut through the dense fog and moved like a snake on the almost empty road. My sister lay unconscious in front of me. She had fallen from the stairs and injured her head badly. The blood loss was immense and first aid barely able to hold it. The ambulance had come within half an hour.

I was nervous, scared, and confused. My mind had stopped working and I was hoping that I don’t get to hear any bad news in the hospital, which was a twenty-minute drive. My sister and I grew up together and shared a special bond. I wasn’t crying but I was shattered with the fear of the unknown that lay in front of me.

I had always seen ambulances pass by and heard their sirens and thought what people sitting in it would be feeling. God read my thoughts and decided to give me a real-life experience. The gadgets lying around can easily give Goosebumps to even the bravest hearts. I was only a lesser mortal.

Hospital arrived. Chaos emerged, the emergency; patients and their attendants were rushing in. Some of them could walk; some had to be taken in wheelchairs and some in stretchers. Doctors, paramedics, and support staff were running around.

I went to the reception and asked for help. I was pointed to a young doctor, who in turn pointed me to a long queue. I could have never imagined that even an emergency had a queue. The patients looked really ill and yet, they were waiting to be attended. However, looking at my sister’s condition they gave me a priority. They rushed her inside a room. The blood loss was a major problem and the next 24 hours critical. The doctors put her under medical care and advised me to wait in the reception area.

That is when I first saw him, sitting in a wheelchair, trying to hide his face behind his mother. His eyes were turquoise blue and looked like a drop of water from a mountain lake. From the fair skin, alien tongue, and mother’s veiled face, I figured that they could be our north-western neighbours.

There was something more to him that startled everyone. The sweet little face had been disfigured badly on one side. My eyes caught his and he hid his face in a scarf. He must have seen a horrified look in my eyes and hid himself. I felt a little ashamed and looked away from his face to his mother’s. She looked worried and scared.

A doctor came by and requested me to fulfil the admission formalities. I got a twin room and by the time I finished all the formalities, my sister had been shifted to the room. I went up to her room and saw her sleeping. The doctors advised me to take some rest in the attendant bed till morning and I wasted no time in crashing. It had been a long day.

As I drifted into sleep, I saw the same boy with his mother in the bed right next to my sister.

I was woken up by a strong jerk. The doctor was standing next to me. My sister needed two bottles of blood immediately. I was told to rush to the blood bank and arrange. I looked around wondering what to do, whether to call family and friends to ask for a second donor or to ask someone from the hospital. I suddenly remembered that friends and family won’t be much of help since my sister and I had a rare blood group, AB, which is difficult to find. I was hysterical and asked the doctor if he could help.

Suddenly, the veiled lady stepped up and said she could help. Her son’s blood group matched ours. I was relieved and we rushed to the blood bank. While we were resting after the donation, I warily asked her about the kid and her background. She told me, they were from Afghanistan and the boy was a victim of a bomb blast. His name was Akbar.

I was playing with my friends in the village ground. It was a nice sunny day just after the winters were over. The birds were chirping on the banyan tree, the breeze carried a mild chill and the fragrance of wildflowers. Suddenly I heard a loud noise. My face burnt. I yelled and cried and ran towards my house, but it was a cloud of dust that surrounded me and I could not see anything. That is all that I remember of that fateful day.

My, rather our problems had just begun. When I gained consciousness again, I saw my mother sitting beside me and crying. She told me we were in the Kabul Hospital. I still had the pain and burning sensation in my face and now even my shoulder and neck was hurting. I had pipes and needles all over my body. Slowly when I turned around I could see my friends in the beds around me. I felt dizzy and slept off. I open my eyes and I still felt the burning sensation in my face. I looked around to see my mother sitting next to me and sleeping. The place looked different. I was lying on the floor of a large hall with many others lying around me. I was thirsty and tried looking for water, my movements woke my mother, and she started crying and called for someone. Suddenly, I saw a few women running towards me. They all sat next to me and held my hand to check something, looked at my face intensely and asked me how I was feeling.
My mother told me I was unconscious for three days. Last night, there was another blast in Kabul and to accommodate the victims from that incident; they moved us to this hall. Mother said that in a few days we will be asked to move out from here as well.

Back in the village, there was destruction everywhere. Our village had been completely destroyed. My mother and I were the only surviving members of our family. We had no place to go. In the hospital, the doctors said, my treatment requires a lot of money and advanced equipment. They had neither and suggested that we should look for an NGO to support us.
In the next few months, we were first shifted from the Kabul Hospital to a small temporary government camp and then to an NGO camp. We were told this NGO collected money from Indians to support people like us, people who needed medical care.
A lady took my photograph and asked me a few questions. She recorded my answer in a video and told me it was meant to be shown to donors in India. I must have been lucky since within a few days, I was told that I had got a donation that would cover my travel, stay and medical expenses in Delhi. There I was, ready to travel to a foreign land, to get a new life. I did not know who helped me, but I knew he must be a good man. I wanted to meet him and thank him. I secretly prayed to god and wished for a meeting with my saviour.

Meanwhile, my injury seemed to have worsened as the pain aggravated and I could feel a lot of swelling.

We landed in Delhi. Ever since I left the NGO camp, I was thrilled and excited since everything I saw was big and new. The airport, the plane, the skies and then the Delhi airport. My mother and me, scared, excited, worried walked out of the airport to this new land, new city and unknown faces. We were greeted by the NGO team in Delhi and taken to their office. I loved this city, the flyovers, the clean and wide roads, the buildings, the train that went over our head and the buses. When we reached the office, we were surprised to see that it was nothing more than a tent. The driver asked us to sit there and went away. After waiting for a few hours, my mother went inside the tent. I could hear voices that did not seem pleasant. Soon, my mother came out crying. We had been fooled. Our belongings, papers, passport and the NGO letter with the money sanctioned had been stolen and we were dumped outside a construction camp.
My mother sat their crying for long and I kept staring at the sky above, thinking was I too early to thank god for sending the saviour? A little later some people came out of the tent and suggested we go to the police station. Mother requested for directions and one of them offered to drop us to the police station. We accepted.

At the police station, we were greeted by an unusually large pot-bellied man who looked kind. He heard our story and asked us to wait. They realized we were hungry so they arranged for some tea and food. Surprisingly, the tea in India was very different from what we have in our village.

A little later, some people came to meet us. Mother was very happy, since they were from a group that helped Afghan refugees in India. My mother remembered the name of the NGO and so they took us to their office. We realized that there was no office at the given address. They then took us to another office. By now, my face had started burning very badly and I could feel a terrible pain. This new office was another NGO. Mother had left everything to God and was crying and requesting for medical help for me. I was lying on a bench with my head on my mother’s lap. I slowly felt my eyes closing and I slept off. When I opened my eyes, I was in a brightly lit place sitting on wheelchair with my mother next to me. She looked relaxed. When she saw me open my eyes, she called a lady in green clothes. She looked at me and asked me something smilingly. I could not understand and looked at my mother. She translated it and said the lady was a nurse and asked how I was feeling. I smiled and said better, which mother translated back.

Mother told me that this new NGO had called up some people and arranged for some donations. I had got a new saviour. I had already started liking this new place. The walls were bright and the people were nice. They offered good food and took good care of me.
 

It was here that I saw him for the first time. He kept looking at me for a long time. I tried to hide behind my mother but slowly he was moved closer. He was in a line. I could see a look of horror in his eyes when he saw my burnt face. I felt ashamed and humiliated and hid behind my mother. A tear rolled down my cheek. I wondered how bad did I actually looked. All this while, mother had been very careful not to show my face in a mirror, to me.

After the blood donation, I came down to my sister’s room. I was worriedly looking at my sister when I realized that the little boy, Akbar was standing next to me and holding my hands. I could barely control my tears and felt a few escape my eyes. Akbar smiled at me and wiped my tears. He pointed at my sister and then showed me a thumbs up. I gave him a hug and planted a kiss on his cheek. The blood was administered to my sister and the doctor assured me all will be fine. A few hours were left of the night and I decided to rest.

Early morning, I was told my sister is completely out of danger and I could take her home in a day. I was very happy and rushed out to inform my family. Just then, the nurse handed me a letter. I opened it to find a few sentences written in Farsi with a sketch of a smiling face. I was pleasantly surprised and asked the nurse who gave it. It was Akbar’s letter. The nurse smiled at me and said that the lady at the reception knew Farsi. After informing my family about my sister’s wellbeing, I went straight to the reception. When the lady translated the letter for me, I was surprised.

Dear Uncle,

Our best wishes are with your sister. She will be alright soon. Thank you for everything.

Akbar

I kept on wondering as to why he would thank me. I got my answer only when I reached home. Of the many wishes that worked for me, Akbar and his mother’s was the most important. The NGO that helped Akbar and his mother was the one where I donated on a regular basis.

Akbar’s treatment was supported by my donation…and my sister’s treatment was supported with his blood and their good wishes.