|The Head Teacher (standard:non fiction, 1994 words)|
|Author: Raj||Added: Jul 03 2004||Views/Reads: 1842/1365||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|This is a real life story describing how the jaws of death clamped on Achayan and the mysterious funeral written in 2 parts|
The Head Teacher By Praja P Shapkota 1. The Critical Night “Help me someone, help me, he is very critical.” A shrill agitated voice pierced the sleepy afternoon of 9th April. About one thirty, the Jacobs had had their lunch. Soon after, Mr. Jacob indicated that he was not feeling well, vomited and collapsed. Within a few moments, about a dozen people gathered at the Jacobs' residence. Two paramedics came and checked him. Their faces registered a strange expression. Mr. PL Sapkota who had manned the Pakyong Public Health Center for the last thirty years wore an exasperated “never in my life type” look, while the nurse Mrs. Deepa had not been able to register his pulse. When I came back from Pache about three thirty, Leela, my wife told me. “Mr. Jacob is seriously ill and many people have gathered at his cottage.” My heart skipped a beat. Again the old man has suffered a stroke. I rushed to his house. From the top of the flight of steps on the road, I was shocked to see Mrs. Jacob sobbing in the porch while the room appeared crowded. Swiftly, I entered the room to see Mr. Jacob lying, his face tense, while George sat on a tool by his side gently rubbing his hands. Mr. Tiwari and Mr. Sebastian were talking of rushing him the hospital in Gangtok. Though he adamantly disagreed on going to the hospital with his claim “I shall be alright”, after a lot of coaxing, he finally nodded his head. Mr. Sapkota was called in for his medical advice as more people arrived. Anil brought his car for the trip but a jeep was called in. Mrs. Jacob and a few of us readied to take him to the hospital. It was five thirty and the sky was overcast. Dark clouds loomed menacingly as gusts of wind cut through the group of people as we carried him to the jeep. Immediately we sped towards Gangtok while the storm intensified. The gusty wind and the blinding rain amidst streaks of lightening and thunderclaps seemed to procrastinate something portentous. The road was slushy with muddy water as the rain lashed the windscreen of the jeep and we sped on wanting to cross the Andheri ravine before the rapids swelled and stopped us. Mr. Jacob's face bore the pain in his chest as we prayed silently for him – could he make it to the hospital? Just as we crossed the forest checkpoint above Ranipool, Mr. Jacob indicated for us to stop in the blinding rain of the dusk. He vomited. His wife's eyes swelled. We prayed. He rinsed his mouth and sipped water. We rushed on. The lights had already begun to glow. In about ten minutes we were in front of the hospital at Gangtok. Mr. Sebatian and I got down from the jeep to inquire and ring up to the only cardiologist of the state, Dr Bhandari. He advised us to admit him in the emergency and we drove up to it. At the emergency, we pushed him in a stretcher and a lady doctor attended on him. She brought the ECG machine. His pulse was racing while his blood pressure was below 70mm of mercury. She sent the cardiograph with an assistant to the clinic of the cardiologist. “He is very critical. Why did you bring him so late? I don't know the background of cardiac problems.” We explained to the doctor as we returned. The file of medical reports was handed to the doctor. Within minutes of the arrival of Dr. Bhandari, Mr. Jacob was removed to the intensive care unit where he tried his best to lower the pulse rate and boost his blood pressure. “This is a very critical night for him,” said the doctor. “Even after two injections, his pressure is not improving. Please sign here before I try the shock treatment.” 2. His Last Journey The bell rang for lunch break at St. Xavier's School. The time was 12:40 a.m. on 10th April 2000. In the vicinity of the primary section was a Click here to read the rest of this story (133 more lines)
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