Love Beyond Borders
Bluejay Books Pvt. Ltd .
A-8/76, Ist F loor
Sector 16, Rohini
Delhi 110 085
First published in 2014 by
Bluejay Books Pvt. Ltd.
Copyright Surjitsingh Sikh, 2014
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.
Typeset by Eshu Graphic
I dedicate this book to my dear
daughter Manmeet. Her faith in my
ability spurred me to start writing .
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I thank my young grand children Sanjana and Deep, who initiated me in the use of computer, thus providing me the tools for the writing.
I am also thankful to Dr. Panna Jain and Dr. Anil Jain for their help.
I wish to acknowledge the technical assistance provided by Sajid Patel and Jasvinder Chhabda.
CONTENTS
I t was May 1993. Waqaar Ahmed was in the seventh heaven. After passing his M.B.B.S. with the top rank, he had secured admission to the Masters course in surgery at the prestigious King Edward Medical University of Lahore. He was on his way to fulfill his mothers dream. It was her ambition that her son, the only child, should be a surgeon. She herself was a doctor, a highly qualified specialist in obstetrics and gynecology. She held a Masters degree in the subject from the Lahore University, as well as an MRCOG of London. Waqaar at present was working as a junior house surgeon in Dr. Akhlaqs unit at the University Hospital. Dr. Aklhlaq was one of the highly rated surgeons of Pakistan, and the most sought after teacher of surgery at the University.
Waqaar was tall and handsome, almost six feet in height, and of wiry built. He had a light brown complexion and chiseled Punjabi features. He was a health freak. He rarely missed his daily sessions of workout at the gym. His assiduousness in physical exercise was matched by his mothers fastidiousness regarding his diet. The food at home was prepared under her instructions and supervision, and excluded all unhealthy items.
That day, he had just finished his work at the out-patient department, and had gone to the ward to complete the paper work of the new admissions. As he approached the first bed, he heard the ward telephone ring. A nurse called out to him.
Dr. Waqaar, casualty department for you. She handed him the receiver.
Hello, he said.
Waqaar, this is Aslam. There was a note of urgency in the casualty officers voice.
Your father has just been brought in. He has had a serious accident. I have put in a venous line and sent his blood sample to the blood bank for urgent typing and matching. I am taking him straight to the Surgery I.C.U. Come over there at once.
Dr. Aslam disconnected the phone. Waqaar replaced the receiver. His face reflected a combination of annoyance and anxiety. His father got involved in frequent brawls and accidents when under the influence of alcohol. These incidents were getting on his nerves. He controlled himself, and instructed the senior nurse,
Sister, my father has been admitted to the I.C.U. I am going there now. Tell Dr. Qureshi to manage todays admissions.
He almost ran to the I.C.U. Dr. Roderick, the Assistant surgeon on duty there, was examining his unconscious father. Dr. Mantoo, a Registrar in Anesthesiology was inserting an arterial line. The senior nurse was standing by, ready to hook up the monitors on to the patient. Dr. Roderick finished his assessment, and turned to Waqaar.
I am sorry Waqaar, your father has a fractured skull, and at least half a dozen fractures of limbs, beside a few broken ribs. Both his tibias have compound fractures. His blood pressure is precariously low. In this condition, we cannot move him to the radiology department for X-rays, and scanning. That shall have to wait until his general condition improves. I must warn you that it looks like a losing battle.
He turned to Dr. Mantoo, Transfuse four units of blood at full speed.
Dr. Nilofer, Waqaars mother, had received the news of her husbands accident, and had arrived at the hospital. She did not enter the I.C.U, but watched the ongoing activities from outside through a glass panel. Dr. Aslam, who had earlier informed her of the accident, joined her there, and apprised her of her husbands condition. Aslam was an intimate friend of Waqaar, and knew his mother well. He made a sign to Waqaar to come out of the I.C.U. and escorted the mother-son duo to the visitors room attached to the I.C.U.
Waqaar, you stay here with Nilofer Auntie. We are there to look after Mahmood Uncle.
After Aslam left, Waqaar and his mother sat in silence for a long minute.
How is he? She made a succinct inquiry.
Bad, his reply was equally terse.
Waqaar knew that there was no love lost between his parents, only a silent tolerance of each other. At this point, a nurse attached to the I.C.U. came in carrying a tray with the tea things, and placed it on a low table before them. She addressed Waqaar with the practiced professional perkiness.
Thank God, our blood bank has a large quantity of AB type blood in stock. You know doctor, in spite of your fathers blood type being rare, we have already received four units, and more are being cross-matched. Besides, we have a couple of donors standing by. Dr. Roderick says
The chatty nurse went on with her ramblings. She failed to notice that Waqaar had gone deathly pale. He jumped up from his chair, intending to rush to the I.C.U., but his mother gripped his arm and motioned him to resume his seat.
But Ammi he started in agitation. His mother cut him short with a suggestive pressure on his arm, and a glance towards the nurse. Reluctantly, he resumed his seat. As soon as the nurse left the room, he again leapt up from his seat, and said in an urgent voice,
They have got his blood type wrong. I must stop the transfusion.
Sit down Vicky, my son, and do calm down, Waqaars mother called him Vicky only on rare occasions, when she wanted to express intense tenderness towards him.
He remained standing, still gripped by agitation.
For Gods sake Ammi, you know your and my blood types. How can Abbas be type AB?
Mahmood is not your father.
His mother uttered the words with such measured casualness that for a few seconds they did not register on Waqaars mind. Then he went utterly still, staring at his mother in disbelief, his face drained of blood. His mothers eyes, full of compassion, rested steadily on his face. Waqaar slumped down into a chair, and his body shuddered as if gripped by an ague. He slowly lifted his face, and his mother saw the questioning look in his eyes.
My child, I have worried, ever since I encouraged you to take up medical studies, that a day would come when I would have to face this question She hesitated for a moment, and then said in a calm steady voice
Mahmood is my lawful husband, but he is not your biological father.
Waqaar turned his face away. He gripped the armrests of the chair tightly, and stared with vacant eyes at nothingness. His jaw worked as he tried to speak, but no sound came from his lips. His mother pulled her chair next to his, and silently put her arm around his shoulders. Aslam walked in at this moment and saw mother and son comforting each other. He held Waqaars hand and said with a feigned cheerfulness,
