The Enigmatic Healer

The clouds broke up and the sun made its way, spreading its warmth over every nook and cranny. I sat gazing at the birds flapping their wings as they took a tour of the empyrean realm. "Every day is a miracle," the words on a billboard caught my attention. 'How true were the words,' I thought. The teapot whistled and I made my way to the kitchen. There was nothing a hot, steaming cup of tea couldn't solve. I watched the vapor rise from the cup and vanish into thin air. Miracle - what was it? Was it magic? Or was it a surreal experience? My second innings has been nothing short of a miracle. Not everyone gets a second chance. I didn't want one. I was slipping down the rabbit hole of apathy when I met this man. A modern mystic. It felt like he had swallowed the sun and he spread warmth wherever he went. It's said that "When the student is ready, the teacher appears." But he appeared long before I was ready. 

I was dwelling in the self-destructive zone of hatred and disinterest towards life when he made his entry. His serene countenance and soothing voice made him look divine. A dozen memories flashed in my mind. Five years back, I had lost everything that I once called my own. A road accident had snatched away my happiness and zeal to live. I had lost control of the steering wheel and the series of events that ensued seemed to be blurry. I was told that I had run into a speeding truck. Flashes of my injured body being secured on a stretcher and being carried to an ambulance crossed my mind. I was unconscious for more than two days. 

When I opened my weary eyes and regained consciousness I was in for another shock. A rude one. I tried to get off the bed and fell with a thud. I couldn't feel my legs. It felt like my body failed me. The nurse rushed into the room and a few minutes later, the doctor followed suit. I was informed that the accident had left me paralyzed from below my waist. Tears of despair bit my eyes. I was athletic. Participating in sports events and being showered with accolades and praises felt cathartic to me. Running gave me an adrenaline rush. But a single incident, snatched everything from me and had rendered me useless and ineffective. Or that's how I felt. My friends and a few acquaintances visited me. Their eyes were filled with pity and their words showed how sorry they felt for me. Get well soon cards and bouquets found their way to my room. But I knew that I could never get well. 

The wheelchair had become my constant companion and I hated it. Despite having nothing to look forward to, I wanted to go home. The IV cannulas, the nose stinging odor of the disinfectants, constant visits of the nurses made me feel somber. A week later, I was shifted to the ward. Sunlight brightened the room, unlike the dingy ICU. The con being I had to share the room with a stranger. I spent most of the day, staring out of the window and looking at the same buildings. Magazines or books didn't interest me. They never did. My mind was maudlin and even a gentle provocation got under my skin.

One morning, my friend visited me and suggested that I must take a stroll in the garden. "A stroll? Shouldn't I be flying high? Has the accident given me any superpower?" I lashed out at him. He tried to offer an explanation, but I paid no heed. A few minutes of silence followed, and he left. The incident made me a hit a new low. I refrained from meeting anyone. I was agitated and frustrated most of the time. I was angry. But at whom? Destiny, fate or God I had no idea. I resented my life and all I wanted was a rendezvous with death. I had begun to make snide remarks to the nurses and attendants. Empathetic souls that they were they bore everything in silence. 

One evening, the stranger whom I shared the room with had initiated a conversation. "Your life is a gift. Don't waste it," he said. If my eyes had the power to kill, he would be lying six feet under the ground. I imagined the flower vase hitting his head and breaking into a million pieces. "You have a bright future," he said. That was it. I couldn't take it anymore. "Are you a tarot card reader or some kind of fortune teller? If yes, I don't have a dime to pay you," I said hoping that my satirical tone would talk some sense into him. But he didn't seem to care. His face didn't show any signs of anger. That made me feel disgusted about myself. I reached for the vase and smashed it against the wall. Specks of paint fell on the floor forming an abstract art. I was sedated that night. 

The next morning, I felt drowsy. The green colored drape separating me, and the stranger was gone. He smiled at me. There was something enigmatic about his smile. It felt soothing. "Your life is a gift. Enjoy it while you still have it," he spoke. I turned away, in an attempt to conceal my tears. "I'm paralyzed below my waist. I don't think I can ever walk. I can't participate in marathons. No woman would ever love me. Why should I live?" My list was endless. He waited for a few seconds and said, "Do you love yourself?" He looked at me intently for a few minutes, trying to read the expressions on my face and then said, "Believe in yourself my friend. Belief when coupled with faith and hope can work like a miracle. Walk on the path of hard work, patience and perseverance. Luck and fate are just the icing on the cake. You could do well even without them." His words failed to penetrate my ears. I was alive but was not living my life. Wasn't it easy to give suggestions? I ignored him but he repeated the words day in and day out. His never give up attitude earned my respect. His words eventually cast their spell on me. Maybe that was all I needed. A guiding light to show me the path.

I took the medicines on time. A few minutes of interaction with the stranger who I thought was a mystic rejuvenated me. He had instilled within me the zeal to live. A therapist helped me with the exercises every day. It was painful and I resisted it initially. The mystic's words motivated me to push the boundaries. Eventually, I accepted the reality. I could have died in the accident. My survival was a miracle in itself. I was gifted with a second chance, A second chance to smile, laugh, love and live. A few days later, the mystic was discharged. I missed him. I wondered, why I never asked his name or any details about him. He had an aura around him and emanated positive vibes. He was my spiritual guru who taught me about life. He helped in obliterating my ignorance. 

My phone chimed and I was back to the present. "I'll be there in an hour honey," I said and disconnected the call. Five years has passed, and I now have a job, a loving girlfriend and most importantly the desire to live. The mystic had changed my life for the better. He was a miracle. He was a healer. He was a guru who showed me the way of life. I opened my journal and wrote, "Today is a beautiful day. It is a gift from God and I'm going to live it to the fullest." These positive affirmations kept me going. I drifted to the elevator with a spring in my steps. It was just a metaphor you see. The wheelchair didn't seem like a hurdle anymore. Life was beautiful and all I had to do was breathe and live. With that thought, I took off to meet my girlfriend.