The strangest thing about this strange journey is that it began with a word—salvation. Salvation from sins unintentionally committed by someone who himself was angel-like.

I was heading towards north UP to help him attain salvation. I was born and raised in Kerala and had never ventured out until I landed in Bahrain with a job offer as a senior nurse. Being a nurse was not easy; a nurse’s world is confined to that of the sick’s blood, vomit and feces. I decided not to marry and embrace this profession despite Papa’s resentment. He felt I was going to ruin my life. According to him, there was no progress and no charm in this job.

“How can you devote your entire life to others like this? What about your future?” he asked. 

But I was quite determined. I disagreed with Papa’s thoughts and decided to go my own way. “If everyone starts to think this way, then who will take up this humble profession,” I countered.

Sister Cynthia was my idol when I was a youngster at St Mary's School. I loved to present her a rose every morning after prayers and receive her lovely smile and gratitude in return. “Thanks, Anna”, would make my day. I wonder how someone could be so kind. She had devoted her life to serving the needy, irrespective of caste or creed. I wished to be like her, although I knew I never could be. She was my role model and I wanted to follow in her footsteps; I decided to dedicate my time and life to the service of others.

Initially, that simple white dress fascinated me. Gradually, I realised it was tough to adhere to all the rules of the job and that too at such a low salary. One day, Papa's health deteriorated and to support him financially I moved to Bahrain. The charm of nursing gradually fainted. That white dress was no longer enchanting to me. I liked to wear colours and longed for a life away from the sick. Papa said this job was not fit for me, but truly speaking I was not fit for this job. He understood me more than I did myself. If I had paid heed to his words, I would have married, had children and been settled. 

In the last five years, I had seen hundreds of dead bodies and almost an equal number of cured ones. Gradually, I stopped being affectionate with the patients because losing them hurt more than anything in this world. On the other side, there was a satisfaction too, when some of them got well. Finally, I made up my mind, wrote my resignation and was ready to submit it when all of a sudden something happened that made me reconsider. 

That day I saw someone who was really in need of care, affection and sympathy. It was Raju, the hospital’s security guard, who was hanging between life and death, struggling to breathe and survive. An innocent face I saw every morning when entering the gate in the hospital’s van. His life depended on the success of his operation, which was critical and major. He had ninety percent burns on his body. The whole hospital was praying for his recovery though we all knew he had a slim chance of survival. One night at 2 am, the general ward in building C caught fire. The fire brigade arrived an hour later. By then Raju had saved twenty lives before he had finally caught on fire himself. But when he collapsed no one was there to rescue him from the flames.

Raju had no one except his old mother in a small village in UP. It was only last year that he had joined the Bahrain Crescent Hospital as a security guard, a twenty-one-year-old, thin, average-height, fair boy. He shared a room with Najeeb Miyan, an older security guard, around sixty years old from Punjab, Pakistan. From the first day, Najeeb Miyan trained Raju and treated him as his son, despite knowing that Raju is a Hindu. Their relationship was unbelievable. They both cooked and ate together. When Najeeb Miyan fasted during Ramazan, Raju also refrained from eating. Some assumed they were really father and son. 

Najeeb Miyan was also the caretaker of the hospital’s small mosque. His melodious azaan wafted through the passages to almost every corner of the hospital. Raju assisted him to clean the mosque and even poured water for Najeeb Miyan’s wudu. 

For the last three days, since the fire, everything had come to a halt for Najeeb Miyan. Now he was doing his wudu alone. His eyes searched and called for Raju as if he is nearby and would arrive any minutes to pour water for him. Najeeb Miyan peeped through the window every hour to check on Raju’s condition. He was restless from the day Raju was admitted in critical condition.

There had been no bitterness in their relationship since the beginning, until last week when Najeeb Miyan lost 2000 Bahraini Dinar from his room. He had been saving the money for a long time, for his daughter’s marriage. On the other hand, Najeeb Miyan’s nephews had been trying for a long time to sow a seed of hatred against Raju in his heart. They were jealous of the love and affection shared by the two. This was their moment of glory. That night Raju and Najeeb Miyan had a fight. Najeeb Miyan accused Raju of stealing the money and in anger slapped Raju. A couple of his nephews dragged Raju out of the room by his collar. They kicked him until Raju cried saying he was innocent, but that day their relationship of trust was broken. Najeeb Miyan concluded that all of Raju’s innocence was planned; his intention was not good and it was clear now. Najeeb Miyan wanted to report Raju to the police and put him behind bars. But after the intervention of the director of the hospital, Najeeb Miyan stepped back. 

After that incident, Raju was dismissed from the job and was serving out his notice period. He no longer shared the room with Najeeb Miyan. He now slept below the parking shed. 

Najeeb Miyan’s azaan still floated through the corridors of Crescent Hospital but not as loud and melodious as before. Now, most of the time he bowed his head inside the masjid, crying and praying to God for Raju’s life. The day after the accident, Najeeb Miyan found his money below the mattress on the other side of his bed. Najeeb Miyan’s eyes were swollen from sleepless nights. He had lost his son ten years ago in a blast. He had tried to find his son in Raju, but that relationship had been destroyed; he had himself dug a trench between them. He came forward to donate blood for Raju, but could not because of his age.

Raju’s operation was performed by the best surgeon in the hospital. The Director himself participated but unfortunately, they were not successful. Raju lost the battle between life and death. Crescent Hospital was silent like never before. Najeeb Miyan cried, rubbing his face on the ICU wall. He pulled at Raju’s stretcher with trembling hands, his face sweating and his white beard wet. “I have lost my son once again,” he said and cried. The hospital remained quiet and silent, mourning the young life lost. 

It was soon Najeeb Miyan’s last day in the hospital. He had completed his 35 years of service and was ready to retire. Two weeks before the Director had called him to his office and handed him a cheque for 50,000 Dinar. Raju had nominated Najeeb Miyan in his insurance policy and this was the insurance money recovered after Raju’s death. Najeeb Miyan had not yet recovered from the loss of Raju from his life. “How will I bear this debt?” he said.

A quiet farewell was organised for Najeeb Miyan. When he was asked for any last wishes, he requested the Director to arrange an Indian visa and ticket for him. His last wish was to see Raju’s mother and hand over all the money to her. After a week, Najeeb Miyan was informed that his visa had been rejected.

After Raju’s death, I dropped the idea of resignation and now I was packing my bags for my yearly vacation. Najeeb Miyan came to me and asked if I would do him a favour. He handed over the money and Raju’s belongings to me and asked me to return them to his mother. “Please, relieve me from this burden so that I may attain salvation,” he joined his hands and wept. 

A few days later, I was standing in front of Raju’s mother. I handed over the envelope to her mentioning Najeeb Miyan’s request. She denied it softly. Her eyes were closed but her tears did not stop. She joined her hands but didn’t utter a word. She embraced me tightly and I closed my eyes and saw Mother Cynthia smiling. I realised that I had made the right decision about continuing as a nurse.  

I tried again to relieve Najeeb Miyan of his burden and gave her the envelope again. This time she didn’t resist. I picked up my bag and walked back to the bus station, satisfied and relieved, I had been successful in helping Najeeb Miyan attain salvation.