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Beloved By- Pratibha Kelapure Pratibha lives in Bay Area California, where she has spent most of her adult life. She discovered her passion for literature at an early age, but became a software engineer later on. She retains a child's naivete, curiosity and sense of wonder about the world around her. Kindness is her philosophy in life.

"Good Morning Mrs. Kale."

The receptionist greeted Smita cheerfully. It was a warm fall morning; Smita had just witnessed the red, orange, and golden leaves while walking through the parking lot of the hospital. It always cheered Smita up. She loved to pick the shapeliest of these colored leaves and press them in the books. Today she decided to look for them after the doctor's visit. Sara, the receptionist was doing her best to sound cheerful and sensitive. But her voice still annoyed Smita. Glancing at the picture of Sara's son, in the delicate frame with the bear motif, Smita thought to herself. "It isn't your son who is waiting at the death's door." On some deep cruel unconscious level, she wanted it to be Sara's son, rather than Manish. In fact it could be anyone else, but not her own son. Life was so unfair.

Dr. Wilson was Manish's oncologist. After a long day of tests and the procedures yesterday Manish was not up to visiting the doctor today. It was up to Smita to listen and understand Doctor Wilson's latest diagnosis and the treatment plan for Manish. In the past four years, since her young son was diagnosed with ALL (acute lymphoid leukemia), Smita had devoured all the latest medical information about the disease. Yet at times, when Doctor Wilson spoke, she had found herself regressing into a schoolgirl like panic. Manish's dad wasn't there. He can not leave the office every other day. He had been very attentive to Manish's needs, but he is the one who has to support the family. Smita had voluntarily left her lucrative job to care for Manish.

Sitting in the cool and luxurious leather guest chair in Doctor Wilson's office, Smita noticed the bright and happy family portrait on his bookshelf. It was everywhere, the families hugging each other and couples gazing into each other's eyes till the eternity. Why, then must Manish go now? What about eternity? Wasn't her family good enough for eternal love? Smita caught her wandering mind and tried to focus on the list of tests performed yesterday. She started to go over all the questions she had jotted down on the paper, for the Doctor. So many questions, ALL, Chemotherapy, Absolute neutrophil count (ANC), alopecia, bone marrow aspiration, .. So many confusing words, she must remember and understand.

"Well, hello Mrs. Kale," Smita heard Doctor's confident and forceful voice over her jumbled thoughts. Smita got up to greet him. "Oh, sit, sit, please." Doctor said in a friendly voice. "Looks like you have come prepared." Doctor exclaimed looking at the paper in her hand with long list of questions. "That is good. You and Mr. Kale are doing very well. Manish is lucky to have parents like you." Doctor said. Smita wasn't prepared to respond to this admiration. "Tell me how you are going to save my son." She said to herself. Aloud she said, "We all do what we have to." Nodding his head in agreement, Doctor took his seat at the desk.

Once outside, Smita started to rummage through the leaves. They were scattered all over, just like her thoughts, just as colorful also. Manish used to run through these leaves when Smita used to bring him for his well-baby checkups to the hospital. Clad in his Osh-Kosh suit and little canvas shoes, he used to gather a bunch and whirl them over his head. Flash of that image brought a faint smile to Smita's face.

"God takes those who he loves at a young age." Her mother said in a consolatory voice.

"No one is taking Manish away, at least not yet." Smita lashed out at her.

Her mother just wiped her tears with her pallo. It ticked Smita, how everyone had already assumed the worst. There have been great strides in medical science. Leukemia is not as deadly as it used to be. Smita had faith in medicine and Doctor Wilson. No matter how beloved Manish is to the God, Smita wasn't ready to let him snatch him away. She understood and accepted that her mother was not as educated and informed as she herself had become. But what about the rest of the family and friends. The doom in their eyes was unmistakable. They would express hope and optimism in front of Smita, but she was aware of the whispers behind her back. Oh they meant well, but they lacked faith. "Beloved" - the word Smita despised. Somehow they had bestowed this lofty status on Manish; he was the favorite son of God. "He is thirteen years old, what does God need a young boy like that? He can't even pick after himself, without being reminded a hundred times." Smita was amused with this winning argument.

The search for bone marrow donor was under way. Already four prospective donors had come forward in just one week and were ready to undergo the testing for the match.

"Hello Smita Auntie. So nice to see you and Manish today." Smita turned around to greet the owner of that pleasant voice. "Hi Naren." she said extending her arms to embrace him. "What did you do to yourself?" She inquired, upon noticing a slight limp in his walk. "I twisted my ankle during the last football match." Naren replied with a look of dissatisfaction. "We won though." He retorted with a grin. Shobha, Naren's mother was a long-time friend of Smita. On numerous occasions, Shobha had expressed a grave concern about Naren's football games. In her opinion, it was a violent game. She was always concerned with Naren's safety. Smita had always downplayed Shobha's concerns. "Naren is a big, strong boy, he isn't going to break." Smita used to say. All the other mothers would agree.

No donor with bone marrow match had been located after several weeks and many false hopes. Manish was growing weak by each passing day. His skin was as pale as fresh milk. Doctor Wilson's unwavering confidence was waning. He still called Smita every day and kept her up-to-date on all the efforts. He sounded as optimistic and as comforting as always. But Smita was beginning to question his optimism. "You must not lose hope." Smita kept reminding herself. The hospital bills were mounting. Family and friends would gather every few days to prepare for the long hospital stay required for the transplant. So many false alarms, Smita was afraid, there won't be anyone available when the time actually arrives to go to the hospital. Doctor had warned them. "Once the match has been found, the transplant must be done without any delay. So be on call twenty-four hours a day."

Smita wondered about the colorful leaves on the hospital grounds. "It is dead of winter now. All the trees must be bare, covered with dreadful snow." She thought to herself. She could not stand to watch the trees now. She dreaded going to the hospital. "The call isn't going to come. Maybe Manish is after all "The Beloved of the God." Her confused mind would say.

A loud thump woke Smita up in the middle of the night. Fumbling though the dark, she managed to flip the lights on. Manish was lying at the door of her bedroom, barely breathing. "Call 911" She screamed shaking her sleeping husband.

A mad dash to the hospital followed. Doctor Wilson was as calm as usual. In his comforting and assuring voice he quickly calmed Smita down and followed the gurney into the emergency room. Smita just kept staring at the swinging doors through which Manish and Doctor had just passed. Numb with the shock and confusion, she collapsed in a nearby chair.

"Mrs. Kale, I have the best news for you." Doctor Wilson's elated voice brought Smita back to the present. "We have found the bone marrow match." The next few hours passed with the speed of the bullock cart. "Would this night would ever end?" Smita wondered.

Exhausted Smita and her husband walked to Manish's hospital room. "Shh.. He is not conscious yet. But he is not in any danger. Why don't two of you go home and rest a little bit." Doctor said. Smita throat was choking with sobs. Embracing Doctor in gratitude, Smita held her husbands had tightly and left. The Sun was just about to rise, the sky was all pink. Smita spotted a few green budding leaves on the bare trees.

All refreshed, wearing a wide smile, and carrying a huge bouquet of flowers Smita entered through the hospital door. Through the corner of her eyes, she caught a glimpse of Shobha running through the corridor. "My! news travels fast." she thought, expecting to see Shobha at Manish's door.

A few more steps and she almost bumped into Meera, a mutual friend. Barely holding back the tears, Meera said, "Naren was killed in a car accident this morning."

Dropping to her knees, Smita whispered to herself. "The God has chosen his beloved, and it is not Manish. It was Naren all the time. We just didn't know it."

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