The deep sleep of the righteous

Rukhsana knew she was a moral person, and yet doubts prickled her at times like these. She held the frail hands of her patient Moitri di in her hands. Moitri, a 74-year- old woman, suffered a severe seizure, most likely caused by mismanaged diabetes. She was a grandmother to three and mother to two human beings, who were essentially good people but fundamentally poor. And a 13 stay at this hospital must be burning through their wallets right about now. 

Rukhsana thought of herself as an angel really, granting prayers that are too difficult to put into words. Just the other day, she had heard the brothers fight about payment of hospital fees. Also, Moitri di's condition will not improve sufficiently –long term management and treatment would be a very expensive affair. It was a mercy killing really and Rukhsana was sure it was the will of her deity.

The ward was peaceful and quiet - all the patients were sedated and nurses' rounds completed. Rukhsana waved some smelling salts under Moitri's nose. Glazed and confused eyes fluttered open.

"Moitri di, Moitri di," Rukhsana whispered, "I am your doctor, and you must know I only do what is best for you. It will not be easy for you to recover from this seizure. You have become a burden to your family, it is costing so much to keep you alive. Your sons cannot afford it. And it is as a favour to them that I am here to end your suffering." 
The eyes watered as the burden of truth settled in and Moitri blinked understandingly.
"Don't worry, it will be over soon; and I will be falling asleep. And I will stay right here with you. This has always been a spiritual experience for me. Ah yes, this is not the first time that I did this. I help many families that come through here. Now if you have any last messages for your family, tell me."

This was Rukhsana's favourite part: the last words. She remembered the last words of every patient that she helped along. Moitri di grunted against the exhaustion and despair, and whispered "I understand, I will be with them, always". 
The weight of the words extracted mild sobs from Moitri. A rush of compassion for this motherly figure overwhelmed Rukhsana, and she kissed Moitri's forehead and stroked her hair as if she were her own mother. Moitri raised her eyes to the ceiling and started murmuring prayers. 

Rukhsana felt privileged to be a part of this moment and grateful that she could be here for Moitri's final moments. In a way she was doing god's work after all.

Rukhsana sedated Moitri and waited for her to close her eyes for the last time. "You see, Moitri di, I understand. My mother too was very sick like you when I was young. And the treatment was getting very expensive. My father loved her and would do anything for her. And what he decided to do was to stop my schooling. Not my brother, of course, just me. But her sickness was not my fault. And I knew what I had to do. Allah had willed her departure and gave her the sickness, not me. I was beside her in the end. I fed her the poison and stayed with her. But I never told her what I was doing, I was too ashamed.

But I take comfort in seeing how calm you are, how forgiving of your children. My mother would probably have been the same way. Moitri, thank you for sharing your final moments with me and allowing me to share my story with you too."
The full dosage of the poison dripped through in the middle of the night. And Rukhsana wasn't there when Moitri died from a fatal cardiac arrest. Nor was she there when the two sons bereft with grief could not stop crying. Nor did she hear how they had sold the family property to take their mother to the capital for better treatment. All this while, Rukhsana slept the deep sleep of the righteous.
 

The story was developed in Dhaka Flow's creative writing workshop named "Pen Warriors".