My God by name Chinna

I cried the whole of Saturday night. There, before my very own eyes, had unfolded a human tale of strength and victory, of compassion and love of the highest order. Chinna was lied to rest on the floor, the evening daily of the day serving up as a mattress. It was the fourth time he had suffered from fits that night. And his mother, could no more stand numb to see her child rolling off like a bag of bones. We set him, trying to make him feel as comfortable as we could, yet the pain with which he groaned was a sight, little to much for any human to bear.

Chinna suffers from cerebral paralysis - CP in medical parlance - a condition which results in diverse complexeties to the locomotive system, along with stunted mental growth. He has been so, for fifteen years since his birth, and the disease shows no signs of relenting with time, for the reason that the worst effect is seen right at the time of birth.

Kamala, his mom, said he had suffered this during the time of her pregnancy. It happeened since the oxygen to the foetus got alarmingly less. She categorically remarked "saami kudutha varamnu nenaichukka vendiyadhudhaan" ( We need to take it as a boon from the almighty).

Though the windows had been shut, the moon shone through the glass shield. We remained silent for Chinna to sleep. She said she was feeling tired too. After all, it was 2:30 in the night. The fast passenger, the thing it was, unexpectedly crossed tracks. The sound was enough for the fits to come back. Kamala managed to hold his hands close to his body, while i was trying to straighten his shivering legs. It lasted hardly a min but it seemed much more than that. Chinna salivated in his shivering, and all he could relate was a deep-throated groan.

And then, the mother did something only a mother could do. She asked me to take the lower berth. She managed to find some space in the cramped floor, as Chinna could hardly straighten his crooked limbs. She laid down on the bare floor there, just beside her son, covering his shivering body with her saree.The child he was, he cuddled up under his mother's arms, smiling and feeling warm . I laid there, watching this, the pristine form of love unfolding in all its splendour, where none of them required to even speak, just the warmth felt being enough. I was thinking, what could this child could be thinking now? What drives this mother to wake up every morning, to see her son in shambles in his bed, and get him dressed up and feeded? Chinna is their only child.

Kamala, just turned his face toward's mine, and pointed to me saying " Chinna.. Anna paaru". He slowly turned his head,lifted his hands towards me, and smiled. I felt very small before this child. The irony of nature, that such people, could do nothing but smile. I felt like a cleansed soul before him, who inspite of all his hardhships, pain and agony, could smile at me. Kamala smiled too. I stood there transfixed. How could i ever return this gesture? A gesture, which did not ask for anything, but giving the only thing he ever possesed - his smile. I felt small. very very small.

avinash.