It is always there in us, as a panic of breast, that we are at the doorstep. Pathos can cover us head to toe within seconds. One day we will drop dead and will close our eyes leaving the sky to its splendor. Death grows both out of our concern and evasion. Illness is a metaphor, reminder and vehicle of our mortality. We oscillate between a mortality and eternity. Illness decides our mortality and death our eternity.
When illness visits our existence, we become different, fell up on our own resources and we are gathered around a perplexity.
This is an enquiry into the theological dimension of sickness. The essayist is interested in sickness and death as he is interested in life.
We cannot decipher life without feeling the skin of death. Nobody can stop the sky from becoming the sky and human heart from becoming cold. A slumbering coldness will eventually smother every heart.
How this coldness sweeps through our heart? What is the content of man’s history of heart? We shall never forget that every body carries the bacteria of tuberculosis. We are trying to find out some answers. In this prospect our first intention is to understand the body, the sinking material of corruption. Then we will move to the avenue of mind. There discussions will allow us to step in to the primordial hush called death. Surely we are going to discuss about life only at the base of this column.