Having been a witness to 85 springs and seasons, his body lay still and serene, unstressed and unconcerned, as if wanting to tell a long tail, in the chill of December\'s soothing Sun. He always liked the Sun in winter. “It is the most powerful energy your body needs,” he once told me as he laid back on his easy chair holding a platter decorated with neatly cut carrots.
 

A celebrated surgeon in his hey days, he was quick to comment, “I am not a famous doctor, you see, but I am very favourite with my patients.” he would clarify wearing a casual smile. “Why is it, Doctor”, was my spontaneous query. “Look when my patient complains me of stomach upset, I would recommend him raw cabbage instead of an exotic sounding anti-biotic” and he burst into a comfortable laughter.
 

His death was silent, perfectly in tune with his nature. He always kept a low profile despite being so popular, if not so famous. An uncelebrated doctor as he liked call himself he had a knack for small \'celebrations\' in the families. “We must celebrate birthdays of children as they would cherish with nostalgia when they grow up”. Did he die of heart-failure? No. He had enough heart left. Some organ failure? No. Old age? Never. He was always young and his organs had heart enough to stand by his age. Unnatural death? No. He loved nature so nature would not cheat him. “Good people don\'t go out, they go on”, he was once pensive in his different mood when he commented with this quote on hearing about the death of a statesman I do not now remember. When his son, in all his anxiety, asked the attending doctors if it is a heart attack? Doctors declared “the surgeon is brain-dead”. Alas, brain had the better of the doctor\'s heart.
 

Tears were being shed on his departure by one and all. A battery of doctors whom he taught and trained stood still with painful faces, confused and composed, around the surgeon\'s body.
 

Years ago, when the doctor heard the tragic news of his younger brother\'s death in an accident he was visibly perturbed. “I know this is not the way to depart, it\'s tragic, but we can\'t do a thing. Don\'t cry but instead thank the almighty that he was there”, he consoled his brother\'s wife as a tear made its way out of his bright searching eyes.
 

Soon the doctor will be a thing of past, I thought. And he would quietly slip into history. Loud vedic hymns pierced into the still of an all-pervading silence. “You don\'t worship”, I once asked him during a religious festival ritual to which I was invited by his grandson, my childhood friend. In an easy jovial mood, which he was always, replied tersely “Yes, I do. I worship a lot. More than anybody. More than the temple priests. His answer made me more inquisitive as I was going to discover a new facet of the surgeon\'s life, I thought. “But I have never seen you worshiping, or going to a temple\' ? I took no time to retort. “You mean you worship only by going to a temple?” he questioned me comfortably. “No, but I have never seen you offering prayers too. May be you are praying early in the morning”. He burst into his famous laughter and gestured me to be easy. “I work a lot. And honestly at that. I serve a lot and honestly at that. I am a doctor you see. Do I attend private clinics for earning money? No! Do I refuse my patients because they have no money to pay? No! Am I being dishonest to the oath I was given when I took my medical degree? No! I am sincere in my work. Is this not a worship? This is the greatest worship, I believe”. The doctor instantly becomes my idol.     
 

The pyre was being readied for the surgeon\'s final rites. I felt like taking a frequent glimpse of his face. His nostrils were blocked with cotton and so were his ears. How many thousands of patients he would have ripped open in the operation theatre to be given a new lease of life. He must have been a saviour, nay, a God to them, I tell myself. How many people\'s lives he would have saved? How many mothers, fathers, sons and daughters, young and old alike, owed their existence to him today?
 

Alas, the \'saviour\' himself lies helpless today, clutched in the jaws of eternity and nature. A final journey indeed! “I like travelling a lot, talking to people, and unknown people. It\'s a beautiful experience interacting with the unknown and the unassuming. You learn a lot. Get a lot. Experience a lot. And it enhances your vision and confidence and broadens your outlook. It enriches you and your grasping power. Then you can handle any type of person. So you must travel and talk to people”. I heard his sermons once when he was going to Pune. But now in his final travel, he will have no one to talk to. No one to interact with. No more experiences. He has to go alone, very alone. And my hands rise suddenly and fold in gratitude. I discover that my cheeks have felt wet.