TIRUCHY: ‘Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.’
Walt Whitman penned O Captain! My Captain! in 1865 in memory of his father-like figure, US President Abraham Lincoln. Though the poet never met Lincoln, his verses became a lasting bridge, binding admiration, reverence, and the Captain’s enduring legacy.
Such bonds are rare in an age where loyalty often masks betrayal. Forget verses, which friend would pour their savings into treating the poor, purely in memory of a friend? Few, if any. Yet, in the quiet town of Manapparai in Tiruchy, a man on whose face time had etched the wisdom and weariness of seventy-odd years, R Chandrasekaran, has been doing exactly that for nearly three decades — keeping alive the spirit of service of his dearest friend, the late Dr V N Lakshmi Narayanan.
Hailing from Valanadu village, Chandrasekaran, a Political Science graduate, ran a modest medical shop with his wife, C Mangaiyarkarasi. The shop stood opposite Dr Narayanan’s hospital, and from across the road grew a friendship grounded in shared values. Dr Narayanan devoted his life to treating the poor, often refusing payment or accepting only small contributions from those who could afford it. The two families had been close for decades. Chandrasekaran’s father and Dr Narayanan were neighbours, and incidently, Chandrasekaran himself was born in the doctor’s hospital. Over the years, the bond deepened. “Our friendship went beyond working together,” Chandrasekaran recalls.
In 1994, tragedy struck. Dr Narayanan died suddenly of a heart attack, leaving behind an irreplaceable void. Nearly two lakh mourners gathered for his funeral. Chandrasekaran stood alongside the doctor’s adopted son, V N L Srinivasan, performing the last rites as though he were a son himself. For him, the loss was personal and profound. Yet in grief, a resolve took root: his friend’s work would not end with his passing. “I wanted to continue what Narayanan had started,” he says.
In 1995, Chandrasekaran founded the Dr VNL Trust in Manapparai to carry forward the doctor’s mission. Partnering with Aravind Eye Hospital, it began organising annual eye and general medical camps for the economically weaker sections.
Over the past three decades, the trust has conducted close to 100 free eye camps, benefiting more than 25,000 people. Of these, over 11,000 have undergone free cataract surgeries. Patients leave not only with restored vision but also with full stomachs — breakfast and lunch are served generously.
S Eswari, who regained her sight through the trust, says, “For a long time, I had no money for treatment. From check-up, surgery, food, and transport, the trust covered everything. Now I can see clearly again.”
The tribute to his friend has extended far beyond healthcare. In 1996, Chandrasekaran installed a cement statue of Dr Narayanan in Valanadu. Years later, admirers gifted a five-foot bronze statue. Though Chandrasekaran is the driving force, he credits his wife and a committed team — A Varadharajan (73), R Joseph Dominic (48), M Pichai (74), P Sivasamy (35), and Srinivasan — for sustaining the mission.
Now, every surgery performed and every life healed feels like another chapter in the story the two friends began decades ago. And like Whitman’s O Captain! My Captain!, the helm stands empty, yet the journey goes on. Dr Narayanan is Chandrasekaran’s captain — gone, yet present in every restored sight, every grateful smile, every act of kindness. The waves still beat against the hull, the sails still catch the wind, and somewhere beyond the horizon, the captain’s gaze still guides the ship towards those who wait in the dark, hoping for light.
(Edited by Swarnali Dutta)