I have been meaning for some time to write the full story of the death of Sailesh Rajan. I am holed up in a hotel in Bangkok with bronchitis and influenza. Too sick to do anything but write.
I have tried many times to write all this down, it is so painful that I always give up. So I will try again in the freezing aircon of the the Dream Hotel soi 15 Sukhumvit Bangkok.
Sailesh originally thought he had a minor respiratory problem as well. Then the diagnosis turned to tuberculosis, and in the end we were all praying and then wishing it was tuberculosis. But I will get to that.
When I first met him Sailesh was a 24 year old know it all atheist. He was a volunteer at the Aboriginal Legal Service in Sydney where I am a senior Lawyer. He was very brash, very opinionated, but incredibly likeable. I once used the word "Bumptious" to describe him to another volunteer. After they had met, the volunteer looked up "Bumptious" and said. "well he is that."
It is not surprising that he was bumptious. He was the only child of a very wealthy Indian couple of Tamil ancestry and Brahmin heritage. His father had made his money working as an accountant for arms salesmen. He operated on the edges of international organised crime. They lived in the Netherlands until Sailesh was twelve. Then the decision was made to move to Australia. It was made solely because Sailesh would get better opportunities in Australia. He was enrolled in an expensive school and the lives of his parents (particularly his beloved mother) revolved around making everything perfect for him. His dad dreamed of his son being an investment banker, his mum just wanted him to return to his Hindu faith.
It was about the time that I first met him that Sailesh started to get interested in spiritual matters again. He had to fight against his father to pursue the path in criminal law that he wanted. So perhaps he subconsciously sought his mother's assistance by becoming involved in the Chinmaya Mission.
That is how our unlikely friendship developed. It was unlikely because of age difference, I am more than 30 years older than him, I am from a small country town, he was a citizen of the world, i was full of world weary cynicism, he was alight with innocent fire. But I had an interest in the spiritual through my involvement in twelve step recovery. We got talking about it and a deep friendship developed. I attended some talks by leader of the mission about the Bhagavad Gita. I introduced him to some of the principles of my path. He was drawn particularly to "one day at a time".
There were other things that we shared. He came in late one day when he was rostered on as a volunteer, I tapped my watch and said "A man who has not done half his days work by 10 am runs the risk of not doing the other half either" He immediately recognised the quote, "Nellie, from Wuthering Heights, my favourite ever novel!". Not mine; but for an Indian Dutch boy he had a pretty good grasp of English literature.
He was a superb mimic and he would have us all in fits imitating the various accents of the people we met. He mercilessly took off his parents.
I had met his parents over the years. at his admission as a solicitor in the Supreme Court and other functions.
I believe his parents liked me and I think I had some role in his father backing down over Sailesh's decision to accept a job with The Aboriginal Legal Service at Bourke. He of course,wanted Sailesh to be a merchant banker.
I was very keen for Sailesh to take the job, I thought it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. In those years at Bourke and then Dubbo, Sailesh flourished. His spirituality flourished also. His interest at that time was to go to the bar, and he had a five year plan to that effect.
He suffered racism in his time in the west, he was bullied but he continued to grow. On his return to Sydney he started to appear before Judges and Magistrate who were appreciative of his quick mind. I remember seeing him aglow after a difficult but rewarding day in front of a tough Judge. "He made it hard for me, but he listened" he said.
The five year plan was still in operation, but Chinmaya mission was consuming more time and
energy.
In those years back in Sydney he retained many very aggravating traits. One of the worst was a take a phone call while part of a group and not move away. He might be shouting at the person on the other end the phone while his friends were looking on bemusedly.
His cousin told the story of Sailesh ringing up and inviting himself over for dinner one night when his parents were away. The cousins were pleased to see him but Sailesh sat down at the dinner table with his files for tomorrow, worked on them, and barely spoke during the meal. He left when he finished eating.
He was consumed by his work. I am not sure when or why that changed. But in the last year of his life a grand spiritual journey to India was planned. I became aware later on that the idea that he should be a renunciate had become important to him. His father had succumbed to the criminal law idea, but was totally unsupportive of Holy Orders. His mum just adored him.
He left on the journey in late 2010. at first there were Facebook postings about his doings at the mission. Then silence descended. In mid 2011 rumours floated back that he was sick and would not be returning to work in the near future. I heard from him in July that year and went out to West Pennant Hills to see him. His old girlfriend turned up at the same time and he awkwardly explained to us the gravity of the situation.
The Indian doctors had diagnosed Tuberculosis, but the Australian doctors were concerned it might be a very rare form of cancer that looked a lot like tuberculosis. Sailesh told his ex that he was past love in a romantic sense and just wanted to love everyone. He gave us both this piece of advice, "If you love someone, tell them now."
He also said "this could all go to shit before Christmas." Then he laughed at his prior reliance on five year plans.
We spoke a few times over the next few months and then in November I got a call that he was in Westmead hospital. I caught the train out to see him. As I was walking to the front entrance a car tooted its horn. It was my ex-sponsor from my twelve step fellowship. we had a great chat and discussed synchronicity, how the right people always turn up at the right time. But the synchronous forces at play were really big that day.
While I was downstairs having my conversation ,Sailesh's mum and he had been given the grim news. He had sarcoma. Sailesh's dad was parking the car, so he had not heard. I was briefly apprised of the situation and I said "well I better go then".
Sailesh said "Actually I was hoping you would stay while I tell Dad."
I just wanted to run. I did not want to be there for this piece of reality
I rang my current sponsor out in the waiting room.
His words cut through me
"Is there anybody else there who can do it?"
Of course there was no-one. I had been chosen by god or by circumstance to be the one who was present when Sailesh told his Dad.
Everyone knew the gravity of the situation. Sailesh had explained his chances to me and his ex that day in July. Sarcoma was brutally fatal. Only a miracle could save him now.
His Dad walked into the ward and Sailesh tersely told him the news.
His dad broke down and started wailing "How can this happen to me".
And that was why I was there. I was old enough to be able to take Ranga Rajan out of that room and say to him "Your son needs you to be strong now".
I have never seen somebody pull himself together so fast. He straightened his shoulders and went back into the room. And his strength never wavered until Sailesh was dead.
One thing about having having a strong faith is that it helps you to believe a miracle is possible. I had that faith and so did Sailesh and his mum. I have come to believe that a miracle did happen, although not the one we were praying for,
Sailesh's dad put his faith in medicine and doctors. Fortunately one of the other lawyers at the Aboriginal Legal Service had a husband who was head of Westmead hospital. He was not an expert in the necessary fields, but he put his knowledge of those who were at the disposal of the family.
Ranga bewailed to me on one occasion his decision to come to Australia rather than the USA, because he felt Sailesh's chances of survival would be higher in America, because the levels of medical expertise were higher. I did not comment. I had read the stats. A miracle was the only hope.
Sailesh was released from hospital soon after, and went home I visited him couple of times. The grief was palpable in that house. But everybody remained positive. I was shown books filled with stories of miraculous cures. Then, during late November, Sailesh's beloved labrador Johan died of old age.
He was was being strongly supported by Chinmaya mission. There was group there with a special devotion to Hanuman and they organised a day of 1000 prayers to Hanuman. Many of his friends and other Mission members spent a Saturday devoted to the ritual beloved by those who follow the Monkey God. One thing I have learnt about Hindus is that they will take the time to do a ritual properly. Us Anglos are a very hasty people.
I did not attend that day although i was invited. I wish I had now. I saw Hanuman today (I have left Bangkok and come to Pattaya, the hotel in Bangkok was having a planned blackout today, so i mustered enough energy to move) There is a statue on the border of Pattaya and Jomtien. The local twelve step meeting I attend is just behind the statue. Kali has become a part of my life but I do not know much about Hanuman.
Soon after the prayer day Sailesh was feeling well enough to see the guru of the mission, who was visiting Australia. I spoke to him by phone and he was down. He thought he had picked up some virus. I saw him once more at home and then the next time was Westmead again. During the visit at home he opened up to me that if he recovered he wanted to be a monk. He used the term renunciate, but I understood it mean the same thing. He explained how he had been thinking about it for many months.
I had planned six months long service leave some time before. It was due to start on Christmas Eve . My plan was to make a journey of amends to some of the places where my out of control ego had caused problems in the past. I was sitting around at work in the weeks leading up to this leave, twiddling my thumbs. I persuaded the bosses to let me finish up on 17 December. I got the phone call the next day that Sailesh was in Westmead. I jumped on the train to Westmead.
He was in the Chest ward at first. The sarcoma was in his lungs and breathing was difficult. He had found that most comfortable way for him to be was kneeling, with his thrown back as far he could stand. His mum and dad were there, and a Brahmachari from the Australian branch of the mission.
Even at that late stage there was still hope for a miracle and we all prayed in our own ways. The last days fold in on each other and i have jumbled memories. I remember me talking to his dad about Sailesh's desire to become a monk and his dad tearfully stating "anything, if he can only live".
I later spoke with Sailesh privately about this. I wondered if his pain is chest was a physical manifestation of his parents desires for him and it was smothering him. He firmly denied that. He said"I am going to do what dad wants" . He was filled with gratitude at the life he had been given. I told him if he only lived everyone would support him in his desire to be a monk.
I saw him a few times over the next few days. His mum and Dad and the monk barely left the hospital. On Wednesday the 22nd of December I arrived at the Hospital to be told Sailesh was to undergo an operation without anaesthetic, performed by a doctor outside his treating team. His main Doctor refused to do the operation because its chances of success were too small. Sailesh told me about all this and it was the last conversation I had with him. His dad wanted him to undergo the operation and he was going to do it. It gave the faintest chance of Sailesh surviving a bit longer, to give time for the miracle to happen. It had to be without anaesthetic, because anaesthetic would kill him.
I hung around the hospital that day. We all prayed in various ways. I had found a chapel on the ground floor. Mum and Dad and Brahmachari just prayed in his empty room. When he came up from surgery he was conscious. He was weak and shaken (if it were possible to be more weak and shaken than he was before). I left and was told he lapsed into uncosciousness that night.
I am not sure when the palliative care conversation occurred, it was when Sailesh was still able to communicate. He had spoken to two nurses in the palliative care section. I had not met them, but one was named Johan. The irony was not lost on anyone. When the head of the medical team spoke to Sailesh's dad, I think while Sailesh was having the abortive operation, Ranga told him "I know Johan is the junior nurse, but my son prefers him. He has the same name as his dog". He stuck up for Sailesh in every way he could.
I returned to the hospital on the Thursday (the 23rd) but stayed only a few minutes. He was unconscious and there was nothing anyone could do. His parents and the holy man remained there at the hospital. Although there had been plans to move Sailesh to the palliative care ward, it never happened. He just stayed in the chest ward.
On the Friday I was at the gym. My phone rang. It was on silent, but somehow i knew to look at it. It was Gopalji. The holy man, his name has just come back to me. He said "Sailesh is dead". I can't remember if those were his exact words, whether he used some of the less confronting terms us Australians use, or whether he just stated the facts.
I rushed home straight out to the hospital. His body was still in the bed. But something had left. It was no longer Sailesh. There was a ceremony Gopalji invited me to participate in, involving tapping some drops in Sailesh's open mouth. Then gopalji got serious trying to arrange a cremation that day. It was 24th December. In the tradition they all followed it was important that the cremation occur immediately. It might be several days if it did not happen that day, (because of Christmas) and that was to be avoided if it all possible. It is Hindu tradition that the cremation be as soon as possible after death.
Eventually a window was found in the Blue Mountains at Leura. It was gratefully accepted and everyone jumped into cars and travelled the 100 or so kilometres. Many members of the Mission went, and I was very proud that so many of his (and my) workmates came. They dropped everything and drove for several hours through the city to farewell their friend. It is a sane way to respond to death
I was in thongs and shorts, I had gone straight to the hospital from the gym, and then up the mountain to Leura. It did not matter. Some people were wearing white, the hindu colour of mourning, but most just came as they were.
After the ceremony was finished we all waited in the chapel while Saileshes parents and Gopalji went to crematorium where his body was burned. They brought the ashes back in to that chapel to general wailing. The air was thick with the smell of his burnt body. I could not wait to get out of there. But I managed to wait long enough to farewell his Mum and Dad and Gopalji.
That is not the end of the story. The next day was Christmas Day. I went up to Bowral and had Christmas dinner with my Mum and Dad. Then on Boxing day I guest speaker at a beginners meeting in my 12 step fellowship. Only me and the organiser turned up. I still spoke and we completed the meeting in the usual way. It was as I was leaving that I got a strong sense of the presence of Sailesh. His message was "It's OK mate, you can only do your part".
Then on the 28th was my sobriety birthday. I stayed in Sydney and went to my usual meeting. I was 9 years sober. I expected something miraculous to happen, but nothing really did. Then on the 29th I headed off in my car to Bourke to say a prayer for Sailesh in that remote Outback town. It seemed important to do it because it was the decision to take the job in Bourke that opened up Sailesh's life.
Sydney to Bourke is about 800 ks, so it was a long drive.
I have a twin in sobriety, She had her last drink on the 28th December, 2003 , just like me. But we celebrated our birthdays one apart, me on the 28th, because I put the drink down that day, my twin on the 29th because she woke up hung over on that day ready to stop. It was a source of fun for us to argue about which was the right day to celebrate.
In a little town 160 k's Northwest of Dubbo, called Trangie, I received a phone call from a sobriety friend. She wished me happy birthday. I reminded her that today was my twins birthday, not mine. She replied that my twin was somewhere out near Dubbo. She had just spoken to her before me.
I immediately rang my twin.
"Where are you" I blurted out.
"Just coming into this little town called Trangie" She replied.
