Adieu, My Friend!

Dr Mirza M Huq

On the fateful evening of 26th May, one of my oldest and dearest of friends, Dr Mirza M Huq, a renowned senior Psychiatrist of the country, whom I had  the good fortune of meeting first at Don's School, Segunbagicha, Dhaka, in 1961, 53 years ago, succumbed to cancer. All those who had the privilege of knowing him well, shall unequivocally attest to the fact that he was indeed the best amongst us.

As a practitioner of Psychiatry, he delved deep into the innermost recess of the human mind to unravel the mystery of maladies. It gave him a profound insight to the human psyche. Years of diligent practice helped sharpen his sixth sense to a point where he himself developed spiritually. He was first and foremost, like saints and savants, a healer. He was supremely dedicated to his calling - his profession. His untimely demise is an incalculable loss to the institution of Psychiatry in Bangladesh.

Mirza had a fine presence. There was a sterling quality about him. He was soft spoken, modest, self assured, endearing and a man of quiet dignity. An engaging conversationalist with a good sense of humour, he was a joy to be with.

During the last 25 years, through the test time, the vicissitudes of life, through pain, pleasure and laughter, Mirza and I drew very close. Here was a rare individual one could repose one's trust in, unafraid of it being compromised. He was what you call a true friend, a rarity these days. Our relationship grew almost 'organically'.
When Mirza's wife, our Yasmin Bhabi, herself a distinguished health professional in her own right, broke the dreadful news to me last February that Mirza was mortally ill, and that the prognosis of the disease was not hopeful, it sent me reeling into shock and disbelief. It was all so sudden, so unexpected. I was devastated. Despite the best medical efforts, all the loving care and constant vigil of his family, he passed away in less than three months.

On 26th May, the day Mirza expired, I was busy with my youngest daughter who was appearing in her first 'O level' exam. I had not visited him in a couple of days. But I know not why, as I waited for the exam to finish, I passed a very restless time. I resolved to go and see him as soon as I had dropped my daughter home. Little did I imagine that at that very moment he was in a critical stage, fighting for his life. I rushed to the hospital and arrived at his bedside only a few minutes after he had breathed his last. Was there a telepathy that had passed on between us? Was he asking for me? I shall always wonder!

As I left the hospital, sombre and silent, with my friend Pappu, the call to the Maghreb prayer came softly through the hospital sound system. Strangely, it sounded plaintive.

I felt bereft and alone. He was like a brother to me--a sibling. It takes a lifetime to forge a special relationship like the one I had with him.  We had hoped to grow well into old age together. There is so much left unsaid. Alas!
Mirza, in the 'winter' of my life, if God grants me that long, old and weary, on a rain drenched, wind  swept evening when the bare branches of trees will have cast long, eerie shadows, it will be cold, dreary and solitary. I shall then trudge along deserted streets all alone lost in thoughts of you. And, I shall slowly recite those immortal lines of Robert Frost which we both once treasured: “The woods are lovely, dark, and deep / But I have promises to keep / And miles to go before I sleep.” Through the rustle of leaves, wafting in the gentle breeze shall come a familiar voice but, in a whisper, yet inimitable as before. With tearful eyes I shall smile. We will then recite the couplet in unison over and over until darkness envelopes the world.

Farewell, my dearest of friends!