Manzoor: The Boy Who Healed Hearts.

When he was admitted to the hospital, his condition was very bad. On the first night he was kept only on oxygen. The nurse who was on duty thought that this new patient would die before morning. His pulse rate was uncertain. His body was soaked in sweat. Sometimes he lay on one side and sometimes on the other. When the restlessness increased, he would sit up and start taking long breaths. His color was yellow like a lump of turmeric. His eyes were sunken inward. The bridge of his nose was cold like a piece of ice. There was trembling over his whole body.

He spent the whole night in great agony. Oxygen was being given continuously. When morning came, he felt some relief and fell asleep exhausted. Two or three of his relatives came. They sat for a while and left. The doctors had informed them that the patient was in a critical condition. The doctors said he had a dangerous heart disease called "coronary thrombosis," which is very deadly. When he woke up, he was given injections. There was still a sweet pain in his heart. The muscles of his shoulders were stiff, as if someone had been crushing them all night. Every part of his body ached, but due to weakness, he was not feeling too much pain. Anyway, he was sure that his death was not far away; if not today, then tomorrow he would surely die. He was about thirty-two years old. In these years, he had not seen any comfort. The pain and the suffering of separation only added to his distress. His parents had passed away in his childhood. He did not know who had raised him specifically. He just wandered here and there, enduring hardships, until he reached this age. He was employed in a factory, earning twenty-five rupees a month, living a life of extreme poverty. If there had been no twinges in his heart, he would not have felt any significant difference between his health and illness because his health had never been good. He always suffered from some ailment or another. By evening, he had received four injections. The oxygen had been removed. The heart pain was somewhat less, so he was conscious and could survey his surroundings. He was in a very large ward where many other patients like him were lying on iron cots. The nurses were busy with their work. To his right, a boy of nine or ten was wrapped in a blanket, looking at him, his face flushed.

Peace be upon you," the boy said with great affection. The new patient, impressed by his loving tone, replied, "And peace be upon you." The boy shifted in his short blanket: "Brother, how are you feeling now?" The new patient said briefly: "Thank God. "The boy's face lit up even more. "You will get well very soon. What is your name?" "My name is..." The new patient smiled and looked at the boy with brotherly affection, like a brother's love. My name is Akhtar. My name is Manzoor. Saying this, he suddenly turned over and called a nurse who was passing by. Sister! The nurse stopped. Manzoor put his hand on his forehead and saluted her. The nurse came close, caressed him, and left. A little later, the assistant house surgeon came. Manzoor also saluted him. "Doctor sir, peace be upon you. The doctor returned the greeting, sat beside him, took his hand in his own, and talked with him for a long time about the hospital. Manzoor was interested in every patient in his ward. He knew whose condition was good, whose condition was bad, who had left. All the nurses were his sisters and all the doctors were his friends. Among the patients, there was an uncle, a maternal uncle, and a brother. Everyone loved him. His appearance was ordinary, but he had an extraordinary attraction. His face was always bright, which acted as a halo over his innocence. He was always happy. He was very talkative, but Akhtar, although he was a heart patient and had become very irritable because of his illness he did not reveal this habit of his. Since his bed was near Akhtar's bed, he would start a conversation with him after short intervals, which consisted of small, innocent sentences. "Brother! Do you have any brothers or sisters?" "I am the only son of my parents." "Does your heart still not hurt?" "Drink more milk." "You will get well." "I will tell the big doctor, he will give you butter too." The big doctor also loved him very much. In the morning when he came on the rounds, he would order a chair and sit near him for a while and talk about this and that with him. His father was a tailor. He would come for fifteen-twenty minutes at noon. In a state of great rush, he would bring fruits etc. for him and quickly feed him and caress his head with affection and leave. In the evening his mother would come and sit near him for a long time wearing a veil. Akhtar had established a heartfelt relationship with him at that very moment when he had greeted him. After talking to him, this relationship became even stronger. The next day, in the silence of the night, when he got a chance to think, he felt that the relief he had experienced was a miracle of Manzoor. The doctors had given up hope. He was a guest for only a few moments. Manzoor had told him that when he was laid on the bed, his pulse was almost gone. He had prayed many times in his heart that God would have mercy on him. It was the result of his prayer that he was saved from dying. But he was sure that he would not live for long, because his illness was very fatal. However, now in his heart so much

A desire had certainly developed in her that he should live for a few more days so that her relationship with Manzoor would not break immediately. Two or three days passed. Manzoor used to chirp all day as usual. Sometimes he would talk to the nurses, sometimes to the doctors, sometimes to the sweepers. These were also his friends. Akhtar felt that every particle of the ward's foul-smelling atmosphere was his friend. Whatever he looked at, it immediately became his friend. Two or three days later, when Akhtar came to know that Manzoor's lower body was paralyzed, he was deeply shocked. But he was also surprised as to how he remained happy despite such a big loss. When the words came out of his mouth like bubbles, who could say after hearing them that his lower body was a lifeless lump of flesh and blood? Akhtar did not talk to him about his paralysis. Because asking him about such a thing would have been a great folly about which he seemed completely unaware. But he came to know through some source that one day when Manzoor came back from playing, he took a bath with cold water due to which his lower body was suddenly paralyzed. He was the only son of his parents, they were very sad. In the beginning, they got treatment from Hakims but it was of no use. Then they resorted to charms and amulets but in vain. Finally, on someone's advice, they admitted him to the hospital so that he could be treated regularly. The doctors were disappointed. They knew that the paralyzed part of his body would never be normal, but still, they were treating him to keep his parents happy. They were surprised as to how he had survived so long. Because the paralysis attack on him was very severe, which, apart from completely disabling the lower part of his body, shook many delicate organs of his body. They felt pity for him and loved him. Because he had learned the art of always being happy from his severe illness. His innocent [nature].

The brain had devised this method itself so that its pain would be suppressed. Akhtar had another seizure. This was much more painful and dangerous than the first one, but he handled it with patience and tolerance and tried to remain oblivious to his pain by keeping Manzoor's example in mind, in which he succeeded. This time, the doctors were one hundred percent sure that no power in the world could save him, but a miracle happened, and when the nurse on night duty handed him over to the other nurses early in the morning, his falling pulse had stabilized... He was alive. Weak, eyes half-open, half-closed. When he was about to sleep after wrestling with death, exhausted, he looked with half-closed eyes at Manzoor, who was fast asleep. His face was shining. Akhtar kissed his forehead in his weak and frail heart and went to sleep. When he woke up, Manzoor was chirping. He was saying to a nurse about him: "Sister, wake up Akhtar brother. It's time for medicine." "Let him sleep... he needs rest." "No... he is perfectly fine. Please give him medicine." "Okay, I will give it." When Manzoor looked at Akhtar, his eyes were open. He said very happily in a loud voice: "Assalam Alaikum." Akhtar replied in a weak tone: "Wa alaikum assalam." "Brother! You slept a lot." "Yes, maybe."

Nurse is bringing medicine for you. Akhtar felt that Manzoor's words were strengthening his weak heart. A little later, he too started chirping and twittering like him. He asked Manzoor: "Did you pray for me this time too?" Manzoor replied, "No." "Why?" "I don't pray every day. I prayed once, that was enough. I knew you would be fine." There was conviction in his tone. Akhtar said, teasing him a little: "You keep telling others that they will be fine, why don't you get well yourself and go home?" Manzoor thought for a while, "I will get well too. The big doctor used to say that you would be able to walk around within a month. Look, now I can slide down and up." He made an unsuccessful attempt to slide up and down in the blanket. Akhtar immediately said: "Wow Manzoor wow What is one month... it will pass like this." Manzoor snapped his fingers and laughed happily. More than a month passed. During this time, Akhtar suffered two or three heart attacks which were not very severe. Now his condition was better, his weakness was going away. There was no longer the tension in his nerves that there used to be. His heart rate was fine. The doctors thought that he was now out of danger. But their surprise remained as to how he survived. Akhtar laughed to himself. He knew who saved him. It was not an injection.

There was no such medicine. He was Manzoor, paralyzed Manzoor, whose lower body had become completely useless, who had the misconception that signs of life were emerging in his lifeless lump of flesh and bone. The friendship between Akhtar and Manzoor had grown a lot. Manzoor's personality held the status of a savior in his eyes because he had given him life again from hopelessness to hope and had removed all those black clouds from his heart and mind, in whose shadow he had been living a suffocated life for so long. His pessimism turned into optimism; he became interested in living. He wanted to get completely well, leave the hospital, and start living a healthy life. He used to get very confused when he saw that Manzoor was the same as before. His paralyzed body part was massaged every day. As time passed, his cheerful nature became more and more cheerful. This was a cause of surprise and confusion. One day the big doctor told Manzoor's father to take him home now because his treatment was not possible. Manzoor only found out that his treatment would now be at home instead of in the hospital and that he would get well very soon. But he was deeply shocked. He did not want to go home. When Akhtar asked him why he wanted to stay in the hospital, tears came to his eyes. "I will be alone there. Father goes to the shop, mother goes to the neighbor's house to sew clothes, who will I play with there, who will I talk to?" Akhtar said with great love: "You will get well, Manzoor. It's a matter of a few days, then you can play outside with your friends, go to school." "No, no." Manzoor covered his always glowing face with the blanket and started crying. Akhtar felt very sad. He kept comforting and caressing him for a long time.

Finally, his voice choked in his throat and he turned over. In the evening, the house surgeon told Akhtar that the senior doctor had given the order for his release. He could leave in the morning. Manzoor was very happy when he heard this. He talked so much, he talked so much that he got tired. He told every nurse, every student, every sweeper that his brother Akhtar was leaving. At night too, he kept talking happily, innocently, with Akhtar for a long time. Finally, he fell asleep. Akhtar stayed awake and kept thinking about when Manzoor would get well. Is there no medicine in the world that could cure this lovely child? He prayed sincerely for his health, but he was sure that they would not be accepted, because how could his heart be as pure as Manzoor's? Thinking about the separation of Manzoor and himself made him very sad. He could not believe that he would leave him in the morning and become busy building his new life and erase him from his heart and mind. How good it would be if he died before hearing Manzoor's "Assalam Alaikum". With what face would he take this new life, which was given by him, out of the hospital? Thinking, thinking, Akhtar fell asleep. He woke up late in the morning. Nurses were moving around quickly in the ward. Turning over, he looked towards Manzoor's bed. Instead of him, an old man, a skeleton, was lying on it. For a moment, Akhtar was stunned. A nurse was passing by, he shouted at her, "Where is Manzoor?" The nurse stopped. After a moment of silence, she replied in a very sad tone. "Poor boy! Died at five thirty in the morning." Hearing this, Akhtar was so shocked that his heart began to sink. He thought it was his final seizure But his assumption proved wrong. He was fine. He had to be discharged from the hospital shortly after.

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