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A Love That Became a Family
My name is Soma, though Sarbatrik never called me that. To him, I was always “Babna,” and he was my “Baban.” We met on 16 July 2016 at Howrah Station and slowly built a life together — a life that grew first with love, and then with two dogs.
Sarbatrik didn’t “own” them. He fathered them.
He woke up with their paws on his chest, fed them before feeding himself, and never entered the house without kneeling down to let them wrap their paws around his neck. To him, they were our first children — long before we welcomed our baby boy.
But today, the man who held our small world together is fighting for his life.
The same home that once echoed with their excited barks as they followed him from room to room has fallen into a silence none of us were prepared for.
The Night Everything Changed
On 12th October, near VIP Crossing, Sarbatrik met with a devastating accident. The entire left side of his skull collapsed inward, causing a massive brain hemorrhage. He was rushed from a nearby hospital to a bigger facility for emergency surgery. Doctors removed the clot, controlled severe swelling, and placed implants after removing part of his skull.
Since then, he has remained unconscious, dependent on ventilator support, fighting through round-the-clock ICU care. Every update comes with the same words: critical… life-threatening… treatment must continue.
When Our Son Arrived, Love Only Grew
Nine months ago, we welcomed our baby boy. And somehow, Akash balanced everything — bottle in one hand, dog food in another. Our dogs curled around him while he worked, guarded the baby’s crib like their own, and slept pressed against his legs.
We were a strange, perfect little pack — two adults, one baby, and two dogs who believed Sarbatrik hung the moon.
A House Full of Love, Now Full of Waiting
Today, our three babies — our nine-month-old child and our two dogs — wait for him in ways that break me.
Every evening, the dogs sit by the gate listening for his footsteps. They run to the door at the faintest sound.
They sniff my clothes hoping he’s behind me. And our baby stretches his arms toward the entrance and cries, sensing a silence he cannot understand.
I go from ICU to home and back again, carrying the same hope: that somehow, he will open his eyes and come back to us.
Every day, I watch our dogs wait at the gate for a man they don’t know is fighting for his life. And I watch our nine-month-old cry at a door that doesn’t open. Sarbatrik’s treatment is critical, continuous, and life-saving.
Stopping even a single day is not an option.
I am pleading for support — not for myself, but for the family waiting for him to return. Please help me continue his treatment and bring their father home.
