God Inside You

Dr Jose Chacko Periyappuram successfully Conducted the first Heart Transplant Surgery in Kerala.

The following article is written by him about an incident happened in his life a couple of days before, during another successful heart transplant surgery. His article appeared in a leading Malayalam news paper the other day.

A gripping narration about his understanding of God; I have tried to translate it, hopefully not losing much of its original aura.

 

Where does God reside inside a believer? ‘Inside your chest’- prompts our subconscious mind. This is the impression many of us somehow carry. May be true! When Hanuman tore open his chest Rama was there inside!

Every day I get a chance to peep into many chests.  I am not sure, whether God resides there or not. But one thing I always realize and experience is that 'God is with me, standing beside me; all those times. After all I am just a tool in His hand; may be just a pair of scissors  held by Him. He is the surgeon who does the curing.   

 I had experienced always a relation between the heart and the almighty.  Each time I did a surgery, I saw Him throbbing inside the open chest as if His heart is beating for us. 

Whenever I did a heart transplant I felt His presence more tenaciously. As I have written in an earlier occasion, it is a kind of pollination; transit of life from one person to another.  He being the driving force behind it.

I have witnessed many miracles during this period. I saw it happen every time. From  Abraham of Maravoor who underwent the first heart transplant operation in Kerala to Mathew Achaden of Chalakkudi who found a new life in a heart air delivered to save him. 

Recently I witnessed another divine intervention of this great power residing in the heart of a patient. This man, a native of Chenganoor was named Harikumar. He was employed abroad and has been waiting for quite some time for a suitable heart for transplant. 

He used to ask me, “will I be able to get a suitable heart by May 24^th…..?”  The question implied that beyond his desire to be alright there is another need lurking behind this query. His Medical Insurance coverage expires on that day. If the operation takes place before 24^th May he will be entitled for an insurance claim which will be a great relief. 

May be God was present inside his heart. We received a message from Thiruvanandapuram Medical College. ‘Heart of a brain dead person is available for transplant’-it was 23^rd May afternoon!.

 The ball was set on rolling; we have to get the heart as soon as possible. 

The condition was similar to that of Mathew Achadens’ case. That experience proved useful. With the help of the District Administration a Naval aircraft was readied. Though not formally established, I felt that a kind of a system for successful organ transportation was in place since the airlifting of the organ for Mathew Achaden where various authorities had joined hands and created history. All those hurdles we faced then were absent this time. The Government Machinery functioned faultlessly. Though this was during the transfer of power in the State, decisions were swift and timely from the capital. 

The aircraft was readied to takeoff from Kochi by 3pm. All the necessary things were carried out as scheduled. Then there comes a message from Thirunanandapuram. “There is some fluctuation in the blood-pressure. The organs suitability for transplant is highly doubtful, despite airlift”. All of us huddled together in search of a solution. 

Even the aircraft is ready……but. What is the alternative? The question loomed large. 

The Divine intervention happened precisely at this moment. It seems, God residing inside Harikumar, answered that question. It came through my colleague whom I saw rushing towards me. “There is a heart available in Kochi itself; in Renai Medicity. It belongs to a young man who had a brain death; all parameters matching!” he announced!!

When there was a doubt about the Thiruvanandapuram heart, God offers another one, that too nearby. Two matching hearts available for the same person in the same day; rarest of the rare incidence.

We dropped the idea of going to Thiruvanandapuram. Without wasting any time we rushed to Renai Hospital. The heart was brought; the surgery was commenced at 12 midnight on the 23^rd itself. It was over by next day morning 7 O’clock.  God’s presence was felt all that time. Harikumar’s prayers did not go in vain. The surgery was completed one day before the insurance period was over. That one day was so important in his life. 

Getting a proper heart for transplant itself is a great boon. One has to wait for days together for that to happen, if at all it happens. Here for Harikumar God has extended two hearts at a time. You experienced His presence at three places simultaneously. 

“If that did not happen?” This question has no meaning in medical science. It is only during such occasions you find God as a surgeon/physician. And for me the thoughts like, if the Thiruvanandapuram heart had failed in some way; if there was no alternate heart in Kochi, or if at all available it was found to be not matching for the patient at hand, are irrelevant and immaterial.

I think the One who is all prevalent and omnipresent, may be residing in the heart, as far as human beings are concerned. 

 

My Grief

Mathrubhumi (Malayalam Daily) carried an article in a late November issue about an unknown person who had sacrificed his life for the sake of two human beings whom he had never met!  
 Mr. Ranjit’s article -he is one of my favorite film maker- was as poignant as his movies were.  I am an emotional person and as usual it left a  lump in my throat for a long while.  The write-up about Noushad's, heroic though futile act  stirred the same kind of emotion in me when his heroic effort to save his fellow humans was first reported a couple of days before.

I too wanted to do my bit, and express my tribute to that departed great soul, and I hope Mr. Ranjit will not mind when (and if) he comes to know that his article has been translated and published (in my blog) without his permission.

My appologies, Mr. Ranjit,  for not taking your permission before publishing it, and also for loosing the poignancy the article originally had, by my sloppy translation.

For me, the name Nowshad used to represent those melodious songs like 

Mere Mehboob thujhe meri mohabat ki kasam ……….,

filling my silent afternoons and cold nights.  For me, so far, Noushad was also that dear artist, portly friend of mine who used to cook delicious dishes of my liking. 

But today Nowshad for me is nothing of those.  Few days back, he went down a man-hole which turned out to be his death-hole. Why did he do that? Just to save two unknown human beings, whom he had not seen, even once in his life; trapped inside? I feel proud of being a citizen of that city where this simple auto-driver had lived and departed half way through his life. Though sad as he is there no more, I am also proud to proclaim myself to be his fellow-citizen. 

I am sad and confused about our sense of direction. Are we moving forward; or backwards?  It seems We are living in a country and society that is partitioned into religion, caste, and creed; a country that has its demonstrative power walking sprees and social gatherings to discuss about vote-banks and its leakages, and challenges; a country where people had become filthy rich by merchandising  politics, caste, creed and religion. 

We have to mine deep to get that precious and atypical thing called raw humanity. We have easily partitioned even the nature by allocating different hues to it along with human. Today a person sitting next to you is no more a similar one like you; instead he is of a certain religion or social group. 

Even refugee camps pitch tents of segregation; allocating them to the victims on caste and religious lines. What a wretched time has come to pass….

In such a milieu, my dear Noushad; you went down a death hole to save two human-beings, about whose religion, caste, and statehood you were ignorant of; and came out of it as another dead body. 

My dear Nowshad , today you are not just a name for me; you are the embodiment of goodness, much larger and brighter than the Sun itself.

From a world which is nefariously fragmented and  gearing up to fight one another; in the name of tolerance and intolerance, in the name of cow and beef,  in the name of temple and mosque, in the name of saffron and scarf; you, my dear friend from Calicut; you left your tea served for you untouched, and scrambled away to save another life. 

You, my dear Noushad, had emerged out of a motley crowd of us – a bunch of practical pen-pushers, who actively intervene in all matters and also at the same time take care that it does not harm us physically in any way – to save two wretched and “worthless” human souls, hailing from Andhra Pradesh, whom we normally address with all contempt and disdain as ‘migrant laborers’.   

On that road, through which you might have plied your auto scores of time, I stand, my dear Noushad, with my eyes brimming with tears, visualizing your last heroic run to eternity.  

There is a difference between the usual Government rescue forces and Noushad  who arrived at the scene of accident leaving his cozy perch in the tea-stall and his hot tea. It was not at all a part of his official duty. He was responding to a distress call of two raw human beings with a soul full of agony and two bare hands. It was a sacrifice; a sacrifice without any embellishments or gadgets; a true sacrifice indeed. 

 

For this, my dear Noushad , you may not be entitled for any National Awards, you will not be bestowed with the nation’s highest bravery awards, you may not be decorated also with any kind of laurels’ or accolades…… but still you entered that man-hole which turned out to be a death-hole. 

Why, my dear Noushad , why? Why can’t you become slightly more practical like us. 

The soldier who sacrifices his life at our boarders; we address him as Veer Jawan. His mortal remains are consigned to flames or buried, with all state honors including the ceremonial gun salute. But my dear friend Noushad when your lifeless body had come out of that deadly man-hole, and arrived at your final resting place, that was not honorably circled by any armored cars, nor any gunshots fired towards the sky marking the nation’s respect to the departed. 

 

Nobody will compose any paeans venerating your valorous effort. But after all, there will be a legion of common men and women, gathered around you with tear-filled eyes. When they depart after putting a fist full of dust at your sacred resting space they will salute you; with their open right palm; which made into a fist will be of the size of their own heart. 

I realize that people of Noushad’s ilk were there in this world before also. There were many who had thrown away their precious lives for others. Immediately coming to mind is the saga of BP Moideen. To their ranks, as a glowing torch or a never setting bright star; my dear Noushad you have ascended to lead us, who are grouping in the dark. 

   

I believe that you are not dead; my dear Noushad. Your action was a kind of self sacrifice. You entered that deadly man-hole with a benevolent mindset. You emerged to do so, from the midst of a society, who; with the power of religion and caste, with the power of name money and fame, with the power of politics and realpolitik; are eagerly bearing there fangs to draw blood wherever and whenever possible. When you took your last breath, In those darkened recess and grimy waters, I am sure, my dear Noushad,  that you might have wondered “can’t we be humane”?

Hereafter, my dear Noushad; during the days, nights, and twilights; while I stroll along the roads of my beloved Kozhikkode city, your question will always reverberate in my ears. I shall forget that melodious singer and that portly friendly chef and I will be vainly trying to touch your hand. You know why? To understand what exactly is Immortality!! 

Nowshad, you are no more a mere name for me. You are the one to fill my bosom with honesty humility and innocence; one who can be pointed out proudly as a human indeed.