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The Head Teacher (standard:non fiction, 1994 words)
Author: RajAdded: Jul 03 2004Views/Reads: 1866/1382Story 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 

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