Mitali: The Trauma of Losing a Sibling

Maybe I lied to her when I used to reassure her that she was going to be alright and was going to resume her life in some measure of normalcy in the future years; maybe all my gestures/expressions were false when I used to run my fingers across her forehead or embrace her on occasions when she was able to move around a bit; and maybe all my exhibitions of love care and responsibility were exposed as superficial when I failed to turn up in Delhi where she along with my mother were treated during September-October, 2022 (my mother Urmila Chakravarty was also diagnosed with dental cancer the same month the same year as she was) and when all the members of my parental family and the in-laws converged. Since that fateful day in August, 2022 when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer to that disastrous day of March 6, 2025—the day my younger blood sister Mitali (Mainu) Chakravarty Sarma (November 2, 1963—March 6, 2025) passed away in the wee hours in a hospital in Guwahati after giving a brave fight for nearly three years against the dreaded disease of cancer that I prefer to call a demon—an eternal curse on humankind that rages on still, with utter disdain to the supposed advancements in medical science and facilities.

Maybe all my reassurances to Mainu and her two bright and caring sons, Sagarneel and Akashneel, about my supposed consultations with various doctors I knew who gave the opinion that Ovarian Cancer was the least-risk cancer unless the disease advanced to stage-3 or 4, were equally superficial and made up.

No, all my allegations against my apparently helpless self are not true. I believed in every word I uttered and in every gesture I made. For I had Hope. Yes, I hoped for the best throughout Mainu’s fight and sufferings. Even when I was shocked beyond words along with all in the family when in just about a month since the first symptoms and the diagnosis her tumour grew incredibly fast almost reaching the stage-3, so that the Delhi doctors who suggested an immediate removal surgery had to resort to sessions of Chemotherapy to shrink it first. My helpless state fumed in anger and frustration over the delay. But I still believed in Hope—she’s going to get well.

And my optimism that could very well have been a cover to hide my tortured self in, seemed to have been rewarded, because after the surgery and the Chemo sessions my open-hearted courageous sibling took the doctors’ permission to go through her elder son Sagarneel’s marriage as she had planned months before her diagnosis, of course, not in the elaborate way she planned previously. My Hope soared as we saw my Braveheart sister going spiritedly through all the chores of preparations organisation and celebrations. It was like any other marriage, in every possible detail. I admired her all the time as we attended the ceremony in Guwahati, although she looked thin and a bit emaciated she never allowed it to affect the celebrations in any way. Daughter-in-law Mayuri entered the family and joined wholeheartedly with the two sons in doing anything possible on earth to help her and save her.

During most of the year 2023 I could stick successfully to my Hope, for Mainu had been more or less normal attending to her duties in the school she founded and other social mixing, helping others and her Chemo sessions continued, every session tiring her and incapacitating her for a few days. In October that year we worked together in organizing the biennial Translation Award function held in memory of our father Author Amulya Kumar Chakravarty. She worked wholeheartedly, not showing any discomfort in the effort.

However, the demon named Cancer had other designs. Early next year, that is 2024, the demonic tumour came back with a vengeance. As her cancer had reached stage-3 the treating doctors indicated a 90% chance of recurrence. With her apparent recovery all in the family hoped that she’d defeat the demon ultimately. Maintaining a brutal frankness and honesty Mainu had always been an active participant in a WhatsApp group that was started for the all the medical updates. In January, 2024 Mainu herself posted on this group about the relapse that left us shattered and depressed. Her post read like this: ‘Medical reports are not very good. The disease has progressed and spread. Will have to change the treatment plan now. Will be in Delhi for a few days to finalize the treatment plan and get a few tests and procedures done. Then will continue in Guwahati.’

Her courage and confidence helped me a great deal to stick to my Hope. Chemo sessions continued and stent surgeries were made now and then to bypass the persisting tumour. To shrink it to a medically manageable size a radiation course was suggested by the Delhi team, to possibly give her relief from pain in the lower abdomen and urinary issues, and Mainu agreed to undergo in a Guwahati hospital. Unfortunately, the radiation course given in August 2024 led to a process of increasing deterioration in her wellbeing with its side-effects taking control of her body and thus effecting the imbalances in her bodily parameters. As her body became very weak further sessions of Chemotherapy were no longer possible. But I didn’t give up Hope in my brave sister.

In January 2025 her younger son Akashneel posted in the group: ‘[1/6, 10:41] Akashneel Peu: Yesterday health deteriorated a little with extreme fatigue, tiredness and loss of appetite. Had to admit her last night at ICU of Health City, Guwahati for proper care. Will be shifting to room today probably depending on availability
[1/6, 11:51] Akashneel Peu: Dr Smita came to visit at ICU. Said there was severe electrolyte imbalance hence the fatigue and tiredness. Said will shift her to cabin when available and recovery will be done in 3-4 days.’

But she never recovered even as I refused to give up Hope. Shortly Mainu developed serious bowl obstructions and when sepsis was suspected she was again taken to Delhi for a major surgery called Ileostomy. Just a few days after the surgery when she was far from fit Mainu insisted on to be taken home, perhaps she knew her time was getting shorter and she wanted to complete many a task that she planned. She was shifted to Guwahati and she was seriously ill now—totally bed-ridden and unable to even sit up on bed. As the greatest hammer blow Akashneel informed me that there were no avenues for further treatment now.

We visited Mainu in her Guwahati home on 17^th February, 2025. She was lying there on her bed—all bones and skin now, her bodyweight had reduced to an extreme low. There were close relatives and in-laws attending to her, apart from a young girl as a paramedical attendant. We sat beside her bed and conversed. Yes, my Braveheart was still spirited and articulate. In fact, throughout the period since 2022 her voice was always strong and resonant every time I phoned her. Maybe this contributed to my optimistic expectations greatly.

My Hope got another lease of life when to a query she replied that she was feeling hungry and was able to take bits of normal food since yesterday. So I sincerely believed in what I said, that if she went on taking normal food for a few days more she could regain some lost weight in which case she could just be physically fit for the pending Chemo sessions. Her two sons nodded in agreement; however, I felt they were far from being convinced. They seemed to know it very well that I didn’t or rather didn’t want to know. Mainu loved her sons and believed in them unconditionally. Often spelling out proudly what they’ve been doing and sacrificing for her sake. No doubt about that. They’ve done everything possible on earth to save her or at least to help relieve her unbearable pain. Sagarneel who had a successful career in the US came back to India to be with her and Akashneel never failed her in being around in times of need while pursuing his intended career in the Indian civil services In fact, he appeared for his first UPSC exam in 2020, just after the catastrophic tragedy of their father Dr. Aswini Kumar Sarma’s sudden demise. And then her mother’s crisis; but strong-willed and hardworking as he is, he never allowed himself to be derailed by emotion, and last year he cracked the UPSC by getting a Group-A allied service with Mainu being the first to announce it in the group. 

On 3^rd March this year I got a message from Akashneel informing me of Mainu’s admission in the emergency ward and then at the ICU, after her haemoglobin and pressure fell to critically low levels. All tests were done the next day and on 5^th March when I called up Sagarneel he informed me that Mainu’s parameters were normal now and at that moment she was being taken for the Pet Scan to know the status of the tumour after which she was to be shifted to the cabin. My dwindling Hope surged up again and I spent the day in relative comfort, retiring to bed somewhat relaxed. And then around 4.30 am Sagarneel told me about the end in a shaken voice, shattering all my hope and mercilessly taking my beloved sibling away.

I realize now that my Hope has never been real, but only a cover to shelter my wounded soul in and trying to manage my sufferings. Even while managing my sufferings by moving on with my normal work, meeting friends, attending ceremonies or having a good dish my wounded soul often pulled me up as if saying ‘how could you do that, brute, while your own sister is suffering so much’. Yes, losing a sibling is one of the most terrible things in life, like losing a husband or wife, a parent or any member of the blood family for that matter. Every family has a powerful bloodline that does connect every member whether they want it or not, it has a history and a bonding running through generations and any death in the line creates a void that remains forever, never allowing any ‘healing’, but only leaves the option of managing the pain. The experience becomes traumatic if the death of a sibling has itself been tragic and untimely, and most importantly if the sibling is younger in age. In our childhood days we knew that our father had a younger brother who died at a very young age and it created a void that never got healed up in spite of the six younger sisters who followed. We the children too grieved for him even without knowing how he looked and missing out a possible paternal uncle for us.  

We are four siblings—myself the eldest, my ex-IPS & writer brother Jyotirmay next, the third being the teacher-social worker-philanthropist Mitali and the youngest is writer-homemaker Gitali Kashyap. We two brothers have now lost a younger sibling, that too in an untimely tragic manner. This is not just pain, this is trauma, and it can only be managed over time. Death of a younger sibling creates a sense of helplessness in the elder siblings as if the latter have failed to protect the younger one. Our mother came every day to Mainu’s house sitting there like in a stupor and lambasting an unjust God for sparing her at 87 and taking her beloved daughter away. (Our mother had too shown tremendous strong willpower and patience by successfully undergoing a 10-hour jaw removal cum reconstruction surgery and the aftermath in Delhi in the period I mentioned earlier; she also had a long radiation course due to which she along with my younger brother could not attend Sagarneel’s wedding. However, the treatment has effectively kept her cancer at bay.) She often reprimanded me for cracking a joke far too easily. I didn’t tell her that every time I looked at the two young sons who were now without a parent I got heart-wrenching pangs and I desperately wanted to somehow prepare them for the aftermath when they’ll be on their own. Instead, I told her that she should now convert all her sorrow for Mainu into pure love and shower that on her grandchildren unsparingly. Gitali managed to keep herself calm with a sad smile now and then, and poured her heart out as a writer in the pages of the souvenir we published in Mainu’s memory.

The profound grief that follows the death of a sibling is universal. We have it everywhere, at home and away, and being a writer myself I’m more prone to find out a few, among many, famous writers-poets who suffered similarly. Legendary poet-lyricist-composer Parvati Prasad lost his elder sister in an untimely manner and shed profuse tears in an immortal song while another legendary writer-poet-composer-playwright Bauli Kavi Kamalananda Bhattacharyya lost his youngest brother in prime to a sudden illness and penned and sang various writings and immortal songs. These songs turn the eyes of even perfect strangers moist even now. The Bronte sisters lost siblings one after the other and created classics like ‘Wuthering Heights’ by Emily Bronte and ‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Bronte. Virginia Woolf who had lost both parents and a sibling brother had manic depressive phases, but still created several famous novels in-between. Franz Kafka and Edgar Allan Poe also had similar traumas and their experiences got reflected amply in their short stories and novels of mystic gloom.

The purpose of citing these examples is to emphasize on ‘managing a trauma’, particularly for people who are not writers or artistes. My eldest maternal uncle died at 48 in a tragic accident, and it created havoc in his siblings—two younger brothers, three elder sisters and two younger sisters—with four of them dying of cardiac-related issues and two others developing cardiac issues. It is more or less known that deaths of siblings do create mental health and myocardial infarction issues through unmanaged trauma. We must be careful—we know it’ll never heal, but we can take necessary steps so that it doesn’t continue to traumatize us.

When I look at the photo of this beautiful couple I cannot help myself but to agree with my mother’s concern for heavenly injustice. Not only her, but also looking at Mainu’s mother-in-law who lost his eldest son in 2020, her first daughter to the pandemic in 2021 and now her daughter-in-law. While all of these young people had years of good service left in them still to go on rendering help and guidance to the people in general. However, this is an issue that will never yield us a solution or some comfort of the mind. We must look at the larger spectrum of human life, and then we’ll see how so many unfortunate people are suffering in all sorts of ways and they cannot even afford to examine if God is just or unjust. This is our world. We must take it as it comes. Acceptance should be the mantra.

One word on the Hindu funeral rituals. With the cremation on the first day the rituals continue for 13 days during which period all kin, relatives, friends and associates visit the bereaved family spending time with them and giving them loads of fruits, milk and other eatables that are allowed. Only after Chautha, the fourth day, the members of the bereaved family can take rotis along with boiled vegetables. No fried items are allowed during the whole period. On the 11^th day the main Shraddha takes place and on the 13^th day members of the bereaved family start taking non-veg (fish) and other normal foods in a community lunch. Lots of people question such elaborate mourning practices. But the rituals have a far more positive side. This is grief sharing and it always helps. In today’s digital world we must always be wary of internet loneliness and social media masking of emotions.

Today, the 6^th of April, marks the first month after the tragic passing away of Mitali. We join Sagarneel, Mayuri and Akashneel along with their kin and friends to offer prayers for the eternal bliss of our Braveheart sister/daughter/mother/daughter-in-law/teacher/compassionate leader Mainu.