| |
I just thought I should share the story with you in my own words. The doctors were surprised. Not even a single cancer cell was left inside Nisha’s body. It looked like her body had destroyed each and every cancer cell on its own.
The doctors called it a spontaneous remission. They didn’t believe that any of those Ayurvedic or Homoeopathic medicines that Nisha was taking would have made a difference. Nisha was just a rare case of spontaneous remission—one in a hundred thousand cancer patients—they declared.
Some called it a miracle. Others called it the will of God. I call it—the power of love. Our love. I told Nisha she now had all the time in the world, to do whatever she wanted to do. You should have seen the confused look on her face. I loved it. She’d tortured me enough.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
When I told her the truth, she didn’t believe me.
“You rascal,” she replied. That was the only response she could come up with.
Nisha started to gain weight. She complained that her jeans had become tight. Her butt looked rounder and so on. All typical female complaints. A glow returned to her face.
She started enjoying her food.
Her eye brows came back. And then her hair. Her beautiful hair—which in sunlight shined as if it was brown—in dusk looked as if it was golden—and became black like the sky during the nights.
She is slowly gaining her strength. Her voice is becoming better day by day. Hopefully she’ll return to singing and composing music.
We wrote an e-mail to Fatima Aldemir, our tourist guide, in Cappadocia and told her that Nisha was now absolutely fine. I lied to Fatima though. I told her that the evil eye she gifted Nisha had worked.
We’re planning to visit Istanbul again. Because Nisha wants to meet her fairy godmother—Bosphorus. She’d promised her that when she became alright she’ll pay her a visit.
You must be wondering about the letter Nisha wrote to me. Was it a complete waste? No. Not at all. I keep that letter in my breast pocket so that Nisha is always close to my heart. Whenever I am happy, sad, hopeless, nervous or just away from her, I read it. That’s the best gift any wife could have given to her husband. Better than a tie or a shirt or even a ring. Any day.
And as for you believers who want to know about my views about God. Let me tell you—my views haven’t changed. Not even a bit. I don’t believe in a God that punishes people randomly or tortures them because of some vague excuse like—bad karma in previous births. And I don’t believe in doing silly things to appease God or gods or planets or whatever.
Yah, yah, I know what you believers will argue. That the love I felt for Nisha and the love that saved Nisha—was God. Well, in that case, that’s the only God I believe in.
Nisha is soon going to deliver us the good news. She’s going to become a mother. Of our child.
Oh—we haven’t forgotten Julia. If that is what you were wondering. She’s grown into a nice healthy dog with shiny brown fur. Her last three tests for cancer too have been—negative.
I’m sure I’ve answered the question by now—whether love really cures?
