You Will Not Leave This World Alone

Yesterday afternoon, the superintendent called me. When I asked how she was doing, she said, "Not okay." One of the women from the State Home had been hospitalized, and the doctors had said she did not have much time left. A friend and I had planned to spend the evening at a nursery. Instead, we found ourselves heading to the SSG (government) hospital. By the time we reached, she had already passed away.

To give some back story, fifteen days earlier, I had sat with her, with another inmate translating from Bengali to Hindi, trying to piece together fragments of her life. Her husband had left her. She had no children. Both her siblings had passed away. We were not sure if her parents were alive. Preparations were underway to take her to her village in West Bengal if we could find her home.

Hospitals have always unsettled me. Yet, when I saw her familiar face, almost my mother's age, lying peacefully amidst the tubes, I felt strangely grounded. I held her hand, which was still warm. As the paperwork continued, we sat around her in silence. I cannot quite explain it, but in a place that usually feels chaotic, this was perhaps the calmest I had ever felt. We were not related by blood, yet somehow we all felt connected. One of the staff members softly prayed.

While one life had paused, life was happening in the background.

Government hospitals in India have a way of teaching humility. Ordinary-looking people doing extraordinary work, often in the simplest of settings.

A young doctor, perhaps an intern, came to remove the tubes and bandages. As she worked, fluids of different colors flowed out, but there was no hesitation, only care. Tasks I had assumed belonged to attendants, she performed herself, with quiet dignity. A nurse came and gently placed bandages where the needles had been.

Then came the attendant with a stretcher and a white cloth to wrap the body and move it to the cold room. As we had to lift the body, a young man whose wife was admitted to the next bed stepped forward to help. A stranger helping carry another stranger.

As we were walking towards the cold room, I thanked our superintendent for the afternoon call and for these moments together. That is when she remarked, "Here at our workplace, we witness જન્મ (Birth), લગ્ન (Marriage), and મરણ (Death)—and everything that happens in between."

Her words stayed with me. How fortunate it is to meet life as it is. Such encounters remind us of our fragility. But they also reveal the goodness that rarely makes headlines. Perhaps that is what humanity looks like. Perhaps that is what compassion looks like.

The deceased's file read: "Unknown." Yet, she did not leave this world alone. And perhaps, even when family is absent, life finds a way to whisper one final assurance: You will not leave this world alone.