The Search for Ventilator

The Jogbani market was closed, but it was in the Indian territory mostly surrounded by Nepalese. But after the pandemic had hit, everything was closed. The security was tightened on the border. The word 'border' usually meant that a big fence with barbed wires helped partition. But this wasn't the case with the Indian-Nepal border near Biratnagar. It was like a typical gate. Its extension had barbed wires, but the concrete wall, which was the fence, was small. This was how Nirmal had crossed the border. He was just an eighteen-year-old boy. His intentions were cleared, but those intentions, if presented to the world, he would perhaps then would have the label of being a traitor. But in his mind, he had one aim, one purpose: I have to help my father.

Crossing the fence wasn't easy, either. At night, it was cold. A small forest had connected the area of Morang as well as Biratnagar. The only satisfying thing for Nirmal's eyes was the blanket of the universe. The stars were clear because most of the items had shut down, but he knew even if in the Jogbani market things appeared as closed, people there were still involved in the business. Yet, the presence of the Indian army was ubiquitous too. The country was facing the second wave. Also, the government of Nepal had put tight restrictions. Nirmal's foot on the land of Biratnagar was safe because there weren't any soldiers, but on the Indian territory, he had to be careful.

"Where to go?" he sighed, feeling the emergency that his father had only a few hours left if help didn't arrive at the right time.

In front of him, many quarters looked like small cottages. They weren't many and had a bit of proximity between them. Whereas bushes and trees of different kinds still covered up the ground. It made the path haphazard because a few soldiers occupied the clear roads. The only light for Nirmal's to give a direction to his course was the light of the universe. Other than that, his instincts came in handy. He had put his trust in that. But his body wasn't in a relaxed mode. He was already huffing while maintaining his stealth position under the bushes near the border. Other than that, his adrenaline was high. It distorted his mindset. He also realized that his left foot was hurting, gazing through the bush. When Nirmal slid his hand down there while maintaining his gaze, he felt the blood leaking. That wasn't a good sign.

"Where are the dogs?" he asked himself. He didn't see any, but looking back at the fence, which he still could see, he spotted a cloth there that was a part of his shirt.

"Oh God," he sighed but maintained his composure as best he could. Whenever he saw that the guards weren't nearby him, he moved through the bushes—moving behind different houses while careful of the ground from insects or perhaps, snakes, the path was stretched. So instead of ten minutes to reach the Jogbani market, it took him almost half an hour. But the minute the bushes were about to end, the Jogbani market was about to start. A lane that had shot straight while different stores were facing each other. But panic had overtaken Nirmal. Before his footsteps launched into that market, he heard, "Who is there." Followed up by the barks.

His stealth was uncovered. He wasn't in front. Nirmal was at the back of different stores. Most of them were shut. But he ran, fearing everything. What if he got caught? What if he never reached his father? What if he died tonight? The adrenaline was full-fledged as he passed different stores, but the dog's bark felt in the vicinity. Nirmal wasn't looking back. Suddenly, he couldn't run forever. Even if he did, the market would end, and the soldiers would be waiting for him at the front because that's where their trucks were. His eyes spotted a shop whose backside roof was slightly slanted at that second. Stopping immediately, Nirmal began to climb. His body was slender. His arms were extended, whereas the dog had stopped. Another voice had engulfed, "Catch him!" That voice was of a soldier. But by this time, Nirmal was on the roof.

His movements were trying to bring back the stealth in him that he had just lost. His body was shaking. On top of it, the weak roof had collapsed, not entirely but enough to submerge Nirmal's body. He fell on a table that was like a cartwheel. Around the table were different chairs. On it, four people were sitting. Two were wearing the Indian army dress. One was wearing Salwar Kameez, a traditional mountain dress. Another person was in a regular shirt and pants and had a long moustache. Everybody was holding a card in their hand. Suddenly, pain rushed at the left side of Nirmal's legs with astonishment. The effect of adrenaline was dimming down. On the table, a bottle of alcohol had spilt. It made the wound created by the barbed wire deafening for his left foot.

Nirmal started crying, feeling the agonised pain. "Is this store number seven?" he asked. 

"Yes," one of the officers replied. At that moment, the store's door had started to knock. 

"No one is there," replied the other officer. Nirmal was confused at that gesture. Finally, the officer spoke, "You are in devil's pit. What is your purpose here?"

"I need a ventilator. My father is sick. Nepal doesn't have that many ventilators. My father's coughing wasn't stopping, so he could not breathe. The doctors told me that it was his last day, but I didn't want that to happen. Desperation led me here. Is there a ventilator? I need help. Also, I don't have any money."

"But how will you carry it?" asked the guy with a long moustache. 

"Will you help me?" Nirmal spoke. 

"We won't," spoke both the officers. The one on the right continued, "If we do, the word will spread. A reputation is built over the years but can be destroyed in seconds. We will give you the ventilator; the rest is upon you. If you get caught or the dog catches you, we won't be responsible. You will be put in jail."

"But with great risk comes great rewards. So here, it is your father," said another officer. "Prabhat," he turned to look at the guy with a moustache, "give him the ventilator. Escort him through the back door. That is all," he then looked at the boy. 

"How will you carry it?"

"On my head," replied Nirmal. "I have carried a lot of things on my head. Heavy things." His dark eyes met the soldiers and the rest of them. It had determination. But when the ventilator was on him, his pace had slowed down. His left foot was still feeling a lot of pain. Plus, Nirmal felt tired. After a few minutes, the barks had returned. It just made Nirmal run. Finally, he couldn't take the bushes anymore. By this time, he took the mean streets of the Jogbani market. He stopped because he was out of breath. He heard the dogs passing by and two soldiers following the dog. Now, Nirmal at the front was exposed. He began walking this time, not running because the street was like pavement. If he ran, it would make a lot of sounds.

Continuing his walk, he was about to reach the end of the market. It was the beginning of the border, but the twist was, the soldiers were guarding the main gate – that's what he thought. Instead, when Nirmal walked closer to the border, he heard voices coming from the vicinity, "Somebody has crossed the border. Can you see the trail of blood?" 

"Yes… look! There is a cloth on the fence," spoke another voice. "He must be nearby!" said the soldier guarding the gate. When he turned his head to see where he was standing a moment ago, he spotted Nirmal returning to his country. "Sir, look!" The three soldiers ran. The two already find Nirmal, another guarding the border. Yet none of them could cross it except the dog. It was a German Shepherd. Again, he ran, and this time, he caught Nirmal's left leg. The bite made him halt his movements. When he glanced back at the border, the soldiers pointed out their AK-47s. He was terrified and moaning. Finding no other way, he smashed the dog's head ventilator. At that moment, he also heard a whistle. To that, the dog reverted.

The ventilator was down on the ground. Nirmal had tears while they wide opened, looking at the soldiers aiming at him. Nirmal's lips had started to quiver. The pain didn't matter anymore. His father's face appeared in his mind, who was sick with covid. Slowly, when the soldier standing in the middle had put his weapon down, the rest followed his direction. A strange exchange of empathy at that moment had occurred. Nirmal hadn't expected it. To that, he looked at the ventilator. It wasn't broken. Yet, it was still heavy. He cried, carrying it on his head while Nirmal's body gave up, but the determination didn't stop. Dragging himself almost a thousand metres, a scooter was waiting for him. That was where he fainted under the arms of his friend… but he wasn't dead. Help was arriving.