A Lifesaver - A Teacher

It was the second week of July, water level in the room it was till our knees, all six of us were standing on a centre table holding each other's hand, waiting for someone to rescue us. Our orphanage board ‘Hope in Jesus’ was floating in water, whole Mumbai was under the wrath of nature, for the last few weeks it was continuously raining and as our orphanage was on the suburbs, our area was severely affected. Stranded in that place with no ray of hope, I started thinking that finally the time has come for me to meet my parents and brother. They were killed in Mumbai bomb blast 2 years ago; my relatives abandoned me, so somehow I landed in ‘Hope in Jesus’ Orphanage.

I am a Hindu girl but started believing in Jesus, during that miserable phase of life I developed my faith in Christianity, as Jesus was the only home and family I was having. On the other hand I developed this intense rage against Muslim community due to the Mumbai bombings. Suddenly I heard the sound of breaking of glass and I came back to senses; I saw a man entering the room from the window, he was in early thirties, big built, short hair, he was in Army uniform. On his back it was written in bold letters ‘Indian Army Rescue Team’.

Carefully he came near our table and took two kids in his arms and passed them along to a fellow soldier who was standing outside the window. When he turned back to us I saw his name plate, it was written ‘Mohammed Ali’. My heart was filled with rage. I never wanted to be saved by those people who were responsible for my parents' death. So out of rage I jumped in the water to go to the other side without even knowing how to swim. Seeing me drowning he firmly took my hands and lifted me out of water and asked ‘tum gir kaise gayi’ to which I didn’t reply. While he was coming out of the window, accidentally he was hurt by a piece of glass. He was bleeding and one can easily tell just by looking that it was a deep cut. I knew it was a wicked thing but somewhere deep inside I felt happy. I thought that God has different ways of punishing bad people. Later that day we were taken to a relief camp. There were so many soldiers, some were cooking while others were helping people with medication, serving food. Some were talking to people, consoling them for their loss. For all the people who were affected, these soldiers were like Messenger of God. I saw Ali coming towards us with food packets. There was dressing on the wound area, and his walk reflected that he was in pain. He gave us the food packets I wanted to throw that on his face and tell him how much I suffered in past because of his community people and how much I hate Muslims. But this time hunger outplayed anger; quietly I ate the meal.

Next morning I heard his senior telling him to go back to the city for treatment. But he insisted to stay till the rescue operation was over. That evening when he came back to the camp, he looked so tired. He washed his face, took a painkiller and went to back side of the camp. Out of curiosity I followed him. He entered this small Krishna temple, took out a handkerchief from his pocket, placed in on the floor and started reading Namaz (Muslim prayer), I was really annoyed, how dare he pray in a Hindu temple. When he came outside I almost shouted at him ‘it’s not a place for you to pray, you are a Muslim’. To which he smiled and said ‘the only thing required to worship God is a Pure Heart, place doesn’t matter’ . He passed keeping his hand on my head as if he was blessing me,and & there I was standing ashamed. That night I started talking to myself ‘Is it justified to blame a whole community for a wrong deed done by few individuals’, ‘These soldiers, they are helping all the people out here regardless of caste, religion or the God they follow. They only know one religion and that is humanity’. His answer gave a different direction to my thoughts, I realised how confined my thinking was and wanted to say sorry but never had the strength to confront him.

After few days Mother Nature was easy on us. It was a sunny day; all the people in the camp including soldiers were having a satisfied look on their faces. My eyes were searching for Ali. I searched everywhere but he was not there, I came to know that they took him to the city last night for treatment. Later news arrived that Ali died in hospital due to septic shock; the wounded area got infected due to dirty flood water, which resulted in inflammation that fatally damaged his organs and a major drop in blood pressure was the cause of death. That night all the people in camp organised a candle light, in the memory of our Superhero ‘Mohammed Ali’. I was in intense grief and still I am. Two months later, sitting beside his grave. I left a note for him; maybe he can read it up there in heaven, it said…

"To me you were not just a soldier; you were a lifesaver, a father, a brother, a friend but most importantly a teacher. You taught me the most important chapter of life ‘Humanity’

I am sorry………"