Follow the Elephant (15 page)

A bicycle rickshaw driver took them to the Hotel Paradise. “It is owned by a friend of my very good friend. Most comfortable hotel in all Bangalore,” he said. “You will be thanking me.”

Gran was pleased that the hotel was both reasonably priced and pleasant, with an attractive interior courtyard that backed onto a dining room. A porter took their backpacks to a shady room on the second floor with two single beds, a desk and a small bathroom.

The rickshaw driver was leaning against his bicycle waiting for them when they came back down.

“Could we stop on the way so I can buy a new cap?” Ben said.

“What happened to your red Canada one?” Gran asked.

“Rani liked it so I gave it to her.”

“Hmm,” was all Gran said. Exactly the same reaction he’d expect from his mother when she didn’t want to make a comment.

They stopped at a stall and Ben found another red cap, this one with MUMBAI MINIS written over the brim.

“Whatever they are,” he said to Gran.

Wearing their baseball caps, the two of them perched like royalty on the high rickshaw seat on the way to Dr. Mukherjee’s clinic.

As they walked up to the large bungalow that housed the clinic, a dapper man with wire frame glasses like the kind Gandhi wore and a short white coat came toward them, his hand outstretched.

“Welcome. Welcome. Welcome Mrs. Leeson and welcome Mr. Ben. I am your servant Dr. Vivek Mukherjee. Such a pleasure to have you visit here in Bangalore.”

Hardly giving them a chance to answer, he went on. “And such a long journey, you must be tired. You will please dine with us tonight? You are expected by my wife Partha, who even now is preparing a fine south Indian dinner for you. She is a very good cook and most certainly you will not be disappointed.”

The doctor finally needed a breath, giving Gran a chance to talk. “Thank you, Dr. Mukherjee. Years ago Shanti wrote to me about her brother.”

“Oh, yes. We have many things to talk about.”

Ben could guess who would be doing most of the talking.

“I’m anxious to hear how Shanti is,” Gran said.

“Let us speak of that later, my dear. Now I want to show you my clinic of which I am very proud.” A small, quick-moving man, his feet racing as fast as his mouth, the doctor led them through glass doors into a long hallway, turning his head to keep his conversation going. “Such an honour to have you visit us. I am your new friend, and my wife will be too. Soon I will introduce you to her and to this fine city of Bangalore, most correctly known as the garden jewel of south India. You must please call me Dr. Vivek. All the nurses do.”

He surveyed the room proudly. “Such fine nurses we have here. You will be seeing for yourself. They are dedicated to the care of our patients. Yes, our poor patients who ask only that a gentle hand be placed on their forehead when there is nothing more to be done for them.”

What was this? Ben’s heart started to pound. Surely this place wasn’t full of dying people?

Dr. Vivek had paused, but only briefly. “Come with me, one of you on either side. Here we go.”

Ben found himself led into a long room as the doctor, hardly stopping for a breath, greeted the nurse at the wood-panelled reception area. Narrow hospital beds lined each wall with nurses in long white saris bending over the patients. There was a strong antiseptic smell, clean but sharp, in the room.

“You see, we have space for twenty-two dying only. We call this a dying home, but in North America I believe you call it a hospice.” Dr. Vivek smiled. “But I always say what does a name matter when you are helping people?”

Ben thought he was going to collapse. The email had said it was a clinic. How did this happen? He was in a room full of dying people! “I didn’t realize this was a hospice, Dr. Vivek.” Ben could hear the shakiness in his voice.

Dr. Vivek went on, “Indeed, most certainly. Here the poor of our city can die with loving care, rather than on the streets alone and suffering. We help who we can, though our place is small and there are so many needy souls.”

Ben could do nothing but follow along behind. Every time the doctor stopped for a word or a touch for one of the patients, Ben tried not to look. But wherever he turned, patients were lying back quietly, most of them with their eyes closed. They were probably already dead, Ben thought with horror.

Dr. Vivek stopped at a screen around a bed at the end of the room. Before he could turn away Ben caught a glimpse of an elderly man breathing noisily, with a nurse sitting beside him. Dr. Vivek told the nurse he would come by later.

Ben hadn’t been near a dying person since he’d been taken to say goodbye to his father that last day in the Vancouver hospice. Now he was in another hospice. Horrible thoughts flooded into his head and he couldn’t pull his mind curtain down to stop them. He was surrounded with dead people. He hated it. He hated it that people had to die. His head was bursting and he wanted to smash something.

The doctor went toward a wide door, talking all the way. “It is most certainly agreed that there is a need here, since many poor people in India do not have a place where they can die in peaceful dignity. Peace and dignity, that is our goal for the end of life.”

He opened the door to a veranda. “Now come into the garden while I tell you of my dream.”

Ben pushed past Dr. Vivek and ran down the steps. He’d never have come anywhere near this place if he’d known it was a hospice. He ran into a garden along a path bordered with gigantic orange flowers. Their heavy smell brought back the smell of the flowers in his father’s hospice room and made Ben feel sick. He’d been in the room with Lauren, Gran and his mother the afternoon his father died.

“He’s gone,” Ben heard a nurse say. She’d waited while his mother leaned over to kiss his dead father’s lips. Then the nurse had led them into another room with a sofa and chairs. She sat with them while a volunteer had brought tea. It had been good to drink something hot
.

The nurse had let his mother cry and Gran had held Lauren on her lap. Later the nurse put her arm around Ben. They’d gone back into the room once more to say goodbye. His father was laid out on the bed with a sheet folded under his chin, a peaceful look on his face, and Ben could see his dad wasn’t there anymore
.

His mother said afterwards she was grateful they’d been in a hospice rather than a regular hospital ward where nurses would be rushing them to leave. They’d been able to stay as long as they wanted. Ben had taken it all for granted. His own feelings had been so overwhelming it hadn’t occurred to him to be grateful.

Gran and Dr. Vivek came over to where Ben was standing. Gran spoke to Ben. “I’ve explained to the doctor that it is not yet a year since your father died. The memories are strong for me too, Ben.”

“I am so sorry,” Dr. Vivek said. “But I am happy that you were able to be with your father at the end. One should not die alone.”

“It’s okay,” Ben said, staring at his feet. “I’m over it now.”

“One is never ‘over’ such a loss,” Dr. Vivek said, looking kindly at Ben. “One simply accepts that death is a part of life.”

Gran was looking around the garden. “I’m impressed with what you are doing here, Dr. Vivek.”

“You see we have enough space to expand on the grounds around us.” He gestured with both arms. “My dream is to put up an addition to the building we have now so there would be space for thirty more patients.”

He sighed. “I am talking to people in the community hoping to raise money. The Bangalore municipal government will match what I am able to raise for a simple inexpensive building. Such is my dream.”

Dr. Vivek led Gran to a bench, sat beside her and for the first time, stopped talking. He seemed to have run out of things to say and was quietly looking at the site for the new building.

Ben said, “When we went to Varanasi trying to find the Vishnu guest house run by your parents we saw how many people go to die by the Ganges River. In Delhi we saw people who looked dead lying in the street.”

“Oh, yes, it is so. There are many sad cases where the poor are not helped to die with dignity. In India there is a great lack of provision for them. Here we can hope to help only a few, but every soul on this earth matters, does it not?”

He paused for another breath and said, “I am sorry to hear that you searched for the guest house by that name in Varanasi. After our parents died, Shanti and her fine husband did run the guest house, but not with that name. After many years Shanti’s husband died and now my dear sister lives with her daughter’s family.”

“How is Shanti now?” Gran asked.

“I will tell you about Shanti in good time. Let us enjoy this garden and the bright blossoms.”

“It’s a perfect place for a hospice, Dr. Vivek,” Gran said, “but I think now I’d like to go back to our hotel to rest.”

“I do understand, my dear. And you will come to my simple home for dinner with us tonight?”

“We’d be honoured. Do you promise to talk to me about Shanti?”

“Of course, I will. At great length. Thank you for your interest in my clinic. And now will you kindly allow me to drive you in my humble but safe little car to your hotel?”

The last thing Ben remembered before he fell asleep was lying on his bed in the hotel room and looking at a hand-printed sign on the wall. The sign said:

THE SIZE OF PERSON’S WORLD IS

THE SIZE OF HIS HEART

He’d have to think about that.

Two hours later, he and Gran had rested, showered and changed their clothes and were waiting at the hotel door for Dr. Vivek, who arrived promptly at eight to drive them to his home.

Dr. Vivek’s wife asked that they call her Partha. She was round-faced and as plump as a tomato in her red sari, and she proved to be considerably less talkative than her husband but every bit as excited to meet them.

“Come,” she said. “Make yourselves comfortable while I finish the last preparations for the meal we will share.”

Dr. Vivek offered them a fruit drink, and Gran started to talk about Shanti. “I fear I was unkind to your sister. I hurt Shanti’s feelings when I criticized her for allowing her parents to choose a husband. I have regretted my stupidity all these years.”

“Come, eat now. We will talk later,” Partha said, leading them to a table laden with delicious-smelling curries. “We are vegetarians, but I very much hope you will enjoy what I have cooked for you in the south Indian style.”

Partha served
kurma
, a curry with coconut, tomatoes and vegetables; a delicious dish with roasted eggplant called
baigan achari
; and another with cauliflower, potatoes and onions called
aloo gobi
. Dr. Vivek hurried around the table making sure they had helpings of everything, then sat back down and leaned toward Gran. “I am distressed that you blame yourself, dear Norah. It seems to me the misunderstanding was a clash of two very different cultures.”

“Now I’m in India, I’m beginning to understand that,” Gran said.

Dr. Vivek, who it seemed would rather talk than eat, went on, “I knew about Shanti’s Canadian pen pal, but only vaguely. You see I am five years older than my sister, and I was away at school. I do not remember hearing anything about letters stopping.”

Ben let Dr. Vivek serve him second helpings. After the shock of finding himself in a hospice this afternoon, he didn’t think he’d ever be hungry again, but this was a feast for a rajah. In Vancouver he’d be able to tell Mum and Lauren all the best vegetarian dishes to order in restaurants. They’d be impressed when he talked about
masala dosas, biriyani, kurma
curry and
aloo gobi
.

Dr. Vivek resumed. “I feel most certain, I want to assure you, that there is some other reason for the letters stopping. But I do not know what it is, and I am not certain that Shanti will be able to tell you herself.”

Ben wondered what Dr. Vivek meant, but Partha interrupted to offer sweet cakes for dessert.

“My favourites,” Gran said.

“I am pleased,” Partha said, “and I want to assure you that Shanti is not the kind of person to be angry and stop writing. Our Shanti would never do that.”

“Like you, Mrs. Norah, Shanti is a gentle woman.” Dr. Vivek turned to Gran. “Now that you have finished your meal, I think it is time I told you about her.”

He paused for a long time. “I’m not certain how to start …” He looked directly at Gran. “You see, all of us get older. Death reaches her fingers out to us more closely every year.”

What was this about death reaching out fingers? Ben almost stopped breathing. Shanti was dying. He knew it. He couldn’t look at Gran.

Dr. Vivek continued. “Yes, it happens to us all. And for our dear Shanti, it has meant that her memory is the first to be taken away.”

Shanti wasn’t dying then. She just didn’t know who she was.

Gran was wringing her hands in her lap. “Oh, dear. You mean she might not remember me?”

“I cannot say, my dear Norah. Her memory comes and goes. I do not use the word dementia, but I worry that one day, I will.”

“Do you think I should visit her?” Gran asked.

“Yes, I most certainly do,” Dr. Vivek said. “But you must be prepared that Shanti may remember nothing about you. Could you bear that?”

Gran paused. “I’ve thought about Shanti for so many years, wondering what was happening in her life and what she looks like. I think if I could just see her, and if she would allow me to hold her hand, it would be worth the trip.” Gran lifted her chin. “I’d like to go.”

“Well done. You are on the way there now that you are in Bangalore,” Dr. Vivek added. “Now you must travel to Delhi by air, then by train to Rishikesh, at the foot of the Himalayan mountains.”

“We only have four days left in India,” Gran said.

Partha moved her chair closer and put her hand on Gran’s shoulder. “You have enough time, my dear. Vivek will reserve tickets and you can leave tomorrow morning. You will be with Shanti by late afternoon.”

But will Shanti be with us? Ben still couldn’t look at his grandmother. It would be sad for her to discover that Shanti had no idea who she was.

Dr. Vivek started to talk about the planned expansion at his hospice, when Gran sat forward in her chair and spoke. “You know, all over India I’ve been troubled about beggars. I feel if we give money to them we just encourage them to put their children out to beg. But I want to help the poor in India, and now I can see that your addition would be the perfect way for me to do it. It would be an honour for me to make a donation to your new building.”