Zainab- my recent rhapsody

Yes, Zainab!

The name so exquisitely feminine - a chyme, lilting music to the ears.

Zainab - the child of Ali. Prophet Mohammed's daughter.

Not content with the history attached to this name, i probed further, dug deeper. A scratch and a peek later, the true meaning of this, bubbly, vibrant girl, a bundle of joy, all of just, three, was deciphered. Zainab, in Arabic is a flowering line or a flower. In Africa, the name stands for a decorated or ornamented tree. Finally, my search ended with this explanation-Zainab means a rose flower, " the name of a born legend and these girls get everything they deserve "......But in reality, did my Zainab receive all her dues from the Allah?

NO.

My Zainab is afflicted with Down's syndrome. A chromosomal abnormality that has resulted in delayed development and a congenital heart defect.

My tryst with her was preordained. Why on earth, otherwise, would her ailing dad seek my help and come down all the way from Zanzibar?

Abdullah, had sought my appointment on the phone and the mails never gave me the horrific picture that he presented on arrival. A massive, burly unit, he somehow had stuffed himself in a wheelchair.The horror sunk nice and proper, when i asked him the reason for being confined to the wheelchair. The reply was a mere stare, almost a plea. No words were exchanged. He lifted his robe to reveal an intact left leg. The right, a mere stump, dangled, mocking me. Uncontrolled glucose levels and poor circulation had necessitated amputation. His faith had been his strong ally and he had managed to travel.This very faith was likely to be a burden, a cross whose weight would be difficult for me to carry. He was convinced that all his medical problems would be alleviated. The enormity of the situation got scarier as he was convinced that a magical formula for Zainab too, was a mere consultation away.

Silence, has always offered depth and a sense of eternity to me and speech, the shallowness of time. After the initial shock, no words could be spoken and we all, all the four of us - ( Zainab's mother had somehow managed to retain the piety, strength and calmness despite the odds ) ( a woman, of course ) - for various reasons, resorted to silence. The eternity of it was overwhelming and then suddenly, the little bundle of joy blew a kiss in my direction.The ice was broken, warmth and cheer spread. The directions, approach to help and leads were offered by the God's own child with just a mere wave of a hand, the strange tinkling laughter ( it felt as if coins were falling in heaps out of a box) and sparkling black eyes, bobbing -no- dancing, boring through me.

Children with their inimitable simplicity and absence of hangups have uncanny knack of lightening up the situations. Zainab, surely did that. Abdullah tried his best to impress her with his stern words in Swahili, which only liberated the little girl further, and she ran a riot in my consulting room and made herself the cynosure of all the eyes in the waiting room.


Zainab could not form words. She probably knew she did not have to. She did not need to resort to the conventional, drab mode of communication to convey her innermost feelings. The entire spectrum of emotions was on display those four days when we spoke about love and trust, Zainab and i. On her insistence the family would park themselves in the foyer, much before my scheduled arrival and hang on till i finished my last appointment and then we would chat. I learning Swahili from the parents, and warmth, love, faith, simplicity and uncorrupted joy from my bundle of joy, Zainab.


Abdullah's travails did not turn out to be as bad as thought of previously and tight control of his physical, laboratory and radiological parametres yielded remarkable, visible and perceived wellness. An artificial limb, hitherto thought of as impossible, fitted perfectly and created a ripple of apologetic claps initially, and then a rapturous applause form the staff and attendants, as Abdullah took his first baby steps.


Preordained or coincidental, the reception staff and the nurses along with the three Abdullahs, formed a small family which shared great personal details without any comprehensible language to share. Oh, the power of love, the bond of compassion and interdependence thereof...absolutely unbelievable !


Zainab somehow still posed an enigma, an intrigue. Despite almost all the features attributable to her unforgiving ailment, her attempts to form words offered immense hope to me. To me, it was not the garbled, mumbo - jumbo that was an issue, but it was her sheer helplessness to convey the innermost feelings and the struggles writ large on her face, which generally resulted in angst and rage, that caused the pain. She would realise after her fit of rage and then wrap her tiny, chubby arms around my neck, climb on my chair and sit in the lap and remain silent. It was her way of offering an apology. The encounters of such intense emotions were making me hapless and frustrated.


More the inexplicable forms and rises within me, stronger my convictions get about their future veracity. The answer or the explanation to such phenomenon must lie in the fact that now, since reasoning logic or science have resigned to impotence, the answer in the abstract, which mercifully does not need any embellishments of truth, past evidence and data. At one such moment of inner conviction, i offered these words to the parents, " My little angel shall start talking soon, shall learn the languages faster than the kids her age."



Religion, God, black magic, blind beliefs, move over....Desperate times seek refuge even in stark raving madness, insanity, lunacy. I may have sounded exactly that and nothing more to the parents. But the conviction born out of nothing and nowhere must be a message or an instruction to me from Zainab's protector, Ali !


Lo and behold... Last month a strange international caller, chirped and cooed, " Doctor, ..... ( an uncomfortable pause ) Zainab ! Love you....UMMMMM." and more kisses poured out and wet my face... It did not matter whether her wet tender kisses had made their way all the way from Zanzibar or the well guarded, fiercely controlled emotional dam had burst......