KURU 4

He lived in a perfect world, one without hurt and pain. However, felling happy was considered to be a crime there. One day he found a puppy on the kerb. He took it home and cared for it. Its antics made him happy. He laughed for the first time in his life.  Then he died.

KURU 3

He gulped down the single malt and  confided to his friend: " Man, I have liver cirrhosis". His friend poured him another large drink, looked him in his eye, and said  earnestly: "Well, who would have thought!" 

He picked up the glass and drained it again. He then laughed like a maniac till he was dead.

P.S: Thanks to Pankaj Phukan for the inspiration.

SOPHIE'S DREAM

Our little Sophie, once a dream she had
She conquered giants and dragons mad.
Riding the bleak lands, evil she killed,
With true courage, her heart she filled.
Delving underground, ghouls she fought,
All the dark souls, in her net she caught.
Her legend had travelled far and wide,
Fearing her wrath, the immoral did hide.

But then she awoke in her tiny little bed,
Feeling confused: very happy, yet so sad.
Our little orphan, sweet Sophie dear,
Waking up again she could not bear.
She slashed her wrists: frank blood flowed
Brave, brave Sophie; to death she bowed.

SIX-6-SIX

Bondibu.

The name infused her little heart with courage, warmth, and happiness. Bondibu. Her bestest friend. Bondibu. Six year old Pihu’s sole guardian and protector.

She had known Bondibu since she was one year old. She had stopped sleeping well. One night she had woken up crying in her crib. Howling, from the nightmare she had dreamt. Her Momma had come running to her. She had cradled her back to sleep, before she could tell her Momma  about her fears. But  the mother must have felt her daughter’s terror. The next morning Bondibu was waiting for her near her crib. “He will protect you. Always. As will I,” Momma had said. And Bondibu had been with her ever since.

One day, just before her sixth birthday, Momma had a fight with Da-da. Well, they quarreled most of the time, but this had been THE BIG FIGHT. Then he had left the house. And then Momma was found hanging from the ceiling fan in their bedroom. Or had she already been dead before Da-Da had stormed out? Momma ceased to be no more. Pihu didn’t know what had happened. Not that it mattered anymore, since she found herself alone with Bondibu in an orphanage on the day she turned six. She cried into her pillow till her tears dried. And she wept before she slept.

The orphanage was a good place. Well not a bad place at least. The nuns running the place were kindly. But they insisted all the children attend the church on Sundays. They didn’t realize that Jesus bleeding on the cross reminded Pihu of her mother swinging from the fan by a rope. Only sometimes the rope wasn’t a rope at all. It was a huge black snake that coiled itself around Momma’s neck and forced the life out of her. The same black snake that had tried to strangle Pihu in her dreams before she had met Bondibu.

Time went by. Pihu started school in the nearby convent. She grew lonelier as she grew older since she had never been able to make friends. She had outgrown her only childhood friend, who now sat in a desolate corner of her tiny world. By the time she was fifteen, she had forgotten that Bondibu did even exist. He sat silent as he watched Pihu folding back into herself.

Pihu’s bad dreams had returned the year she turned fifteen. The old black snake had now metamorphosed into a strange beast with burning eyes and big fangs. Something vaguely familiar. Something, she was quite sure, she had seen in her past but couldn’t remember when. She stopped sleeping well again fifteen years after it had stopped forever. She had strange nightmares in her restless sleep, and she saw terrible visions in her waking hours. She went to the head nun of the orphanage for help. “Keep faith in the Lord, my child. Pray, and He will make things right,” was the answer she got. But the more she went to church, the more Jesus reminded her of her Momma. And the more she thought of her Momma, the more the beast taunted her sleep. Until one day, she was startled out of her never-ending nightmare to see the vermin standing right next to her bed. Dirty,. red fire was pouring out of its eyes. Or what must once have had been its eyes. Its fangs dripped venom all over her coverlet. She whimpered in fright. She remembered Bondibu in that moment of abject terror, and begged for his help. The very next moment she realized that a plastic teddy bear the size of her hand couldn’t possibly help her. But Bondibu burst out of the desolate corner of Pihu’s little world and started growing in size. He grew till he was twice the size of the beast. He bellowed at the beast and grabbed it in a bear hug. The fire started to burn out from the monster’s eyes as it seemed to collapse and coalesce into Bondibu. Pihu felt safe and went back to her nightmare.

It was the sixth month of the year, with six days to go for Pihu’s sixth birthday. She woke up to the sound of raised voices coming from her parent’s bedroom. Her parents were at it again. The voices became louder until her Momma’s voice was suddenly cut off. She groggily rose out of bed and, with Bondibu clutched to her chest, tottered into the master bedroom. She saw Da-da’s hands around Momma’s neck. His eyes were smoldering bits of ember and his foot long fangs dripped venom as he slowly chocked the life out of Momma. Pihu realized that her father was the beast, the serpent that resided in her soul. She screamed as the darkness descended upon the world and her guardian angel died in her heart.

“NOW, I AM DEAD”

I am a taxi driver. I run the route between Sibasagar and Jorhat in Assam. Now, there is a river bridge on that route at a place by the name of Gamon. They say that ghosts and ghouls live under that bridge. I don’t believe that shit.

So, this monsoon night, I had dropped off a family at Sibasagar. I am driving back home in an empty cab, finding no passengers on the way back. I see this lady with a bundle in her hand, standing on the bridge. The rain had stopped a little while back, but she is wet to the bone. I stop the car.

“Yes”, I ask

.

“Please help me and my baby”, she says, “there is a witch here who eats babies. I was alone at home when I felt her coming for my child. I am a widow and I don’t have any neighbours. So I ran away. Please take me to a hospital. My son is sick and hungry.”

I let them into the car. “Please don’t look back”, she says, “I have to breast feed my baby”.

“Okay”, I say and start driving.

After a little while, I hear munching sounds coming from the back of my car.

Crunch. Munch. Is this lunch?

I don’t want to look back but I can’t stop myself. I am curious. I adjust the rear view mirror. I see her eating her baby. She looks up and bares her lips. She says through bloodied teeth "I told you not to look back. I will have to eat you too. Eat. You. Alive. I am not hungry”.

I sigh. Now, I am dead…

STEPHEN KING II: CUJO

He barked, stopped, and he barked again.
He barked loud to ease the shearing pain.
Through his bared teeth, spittle drooled,
The show of love didn't have him fooled.
He gnashed his jaws, and pulled on the leash,
He couldn't fathom this agony of his.

She sat in the car, a scared little girl,
Cradling her baby: her living pearl.
Paralyzed she sat, her fear not far,
That rabid dog could reach her car.
It had been days, months and years,
Inside the car, she shed her tears.

After one day, the baby died
Oh' the Mother, how she cried!
She jumped out and strangled the dog,
Her mind was all but a fog.
He yelped once and then was still,
The rapid dog was her only kill.

STEPHEN KING I: PET SEMETARY

I have a cat, Oh' so wild,
She is sure the devil's child.
And she died but I buried her there,
Where violet lights at me stare.
I have a wife, she loves me a lot,
Though on occasions we have fought.
And she died but I buried her there,
Where violet lights at me stare.
I have a son: he is very bad,
Whatever maybe, he is still my lad.
And he died but I buried him there,
Where violet lights at me stare.
My neighbors they scream at me,
That I never believe in Thee.
Let them die, for all I care,
With my God, all I will share

And all died but I buried them there,
Where violet lights at me stare.
All of the dead, all came alive,
When I buried them on that lonely night.

KURU 2

Arjun had heard of a magnificent country far, far away. He wanted to see its greatness. One day he set out South. First he walked over hills and dales. Then he swam. The last few years he ran. When he reached his destination, he realised that the world had ended. He laughed mirthlessly.

MALPRACTICE AVERTED

Deepak was a twenty one year old graduate student living with his parents in the suburbs of Jammu city. It was the month of August and the heat was stifling. He had slept outside on the verandah of their kutcha house the previous night. He woke up at dawn as usual, took his morning bath, and sat down to study as his final exams were just around the corner. Suddenly he felt some vague discomfort in his stomach, which he chose to ignore. But the discomfort gradually started to turn into pain. It was initially bearable and he thought that it would pass off after he had his breakfast. But food offered no relief and within a couple of hours he was writhing in pain. His father was away from home. His worried mother called the neighbours for help and took him to the government hospital at nearby Jammu.

            Dr. Reetika was a lady doctor, if one can call someone who swore like a sailor a ‘lady’. Her ambition had been to be the wife of a business tycoon, but she had instead been forced by her parents to enter the medical profession. Her rich and powerful father had bought her a seat in a private medical college, and then had paid an awesome amount of money to get her a permanent job in the government hospital at Jammu. She was least concerned about the welfare of the patients, usually doing them more harm than good. All she was concerned about was taking home her hefty monthly salary. The salary, she thought, she more than deserved for putting up with the stupid patients, and cursing and screaming at them eight hours a day for seven days a week. It was this very same lady that attended to Deepak at first, and it is not surprising to note that he would have died had it not been for the efforts of a Dr. Pathak.

            Dr. Pathak was the younger of two siblings. He father was a civil servant and his mother a homemaker. He was a young lad of about ten when he watched the movie Anand, and from that day on he had dreamed of becoming a doctor. Unlike Reetika, he got his seat into the government medical college on the basis of his merit, and had passed out with a few gold medals to his name. He had then applied for the post of resident doctor at the hospital at Jammu, where he impressed all the interviewers with his formidable theoretical knowledge as well as razor-sharp clinical acumen. Add to that his sweet disposition and he had fast become one of the most loved and dependable doctors of the establishment.

            Back to the story. So Deepak’s mother brought her son to the hospital. By that time, he was in the throes of agony. Dr. Reetika was playing Angry Birds on her smart phone inside her cabin. Her lips curled down in disdain when she saw the groaning Deepak wheeled in on a stretcher by an orderly, accompanied by his mother.

            “What happened?” she enquired from where she was seated.

            “My stomach is paining,” the patient said through gritted teeth.

            “Since when?”

            “This morning. It started suddenly. I thought it would go away once I had my breakfast. But it has been increasing ever since.”

            “You study?”

            “I am doing my graduation.”

            “How much alcohol do you drink?”

            “I don’t drink ma’am.”

            “How many pegs did you take last night?”

            “I told you I don’t…

            “Shut up, you idiot,” the lady screamed. “You take me for a fool, huh? You must have downed half a bottle last night, and now you have acute pancreatitis. And your foolish mother brings her dear son here thinking he is oh-so-sick. Wasting my fucking time.” She turned to the attendant and said, “Take him to Radiology and get an ultrasound. Also ask the nurse to send all the blood investigations.”

            “Will you not even examine him doctor?” Deepak’s mother asked.

            “So now you are the doctor? Go on and treat your good for nothing son yourself, then. Why don’t you give him some more whisky? He will be fine then.”

            “He is a good boy, madam. He has no bad habits.”

            “Are you trying to teach me, you illiterate woman? Get out and get the investigations if you want this bastard to get better,” Dr. Reetika said and promptly got back to the paused game.

            An hour later, Deepak was still in the Radiology Department waiting for his turn and his health was deteriorating gradually. His speech was starting to slur, he was finding it hard to keep his eyes open, and there was no respite from the debilitating pain. At last the ultrasound was done and the patient was taken back to Dr. Reetika.

            “Hmmm it is a normal scan. Let us wait for the blood reports. Take the patient to the detention room and give him pantoprazole and diclofenac injections,” Reetika said, barely looking up from her smart phone.

            “Won’t you at least examine him? What kind of doctor are you?” Deepak’s mother sobbed.

            “Shut up and do what I say, you old hag. Otherwise take your stupid son to a private hospital. There are too many patients here as it is. All of you come here to get admitted and have free meals. Bastards,” she said and gestured to the orderly, who wheeled the patient out.

            Ten minutes went by and the nursing orderly brought in the blood reports. All the investigations were normal. Finally, she reluctantly got up from her chair and went to the detention room to examine the patient.

            “Yes, what’s your problem?”

            “Pain here,” Deepak slurred, pointing to his abdomen.

            Reetika brutally jabbed at his abdomen. The patient grimaced in pain. “I am also seeing double,” he managed to add.

            “Your son is a drug addict,” Reetika said with complete authority.

            “No!” his mother vehemently opposed.

            “Yes. You just aren’t smart enough to know it. Otherwise you would have been a doctor too,” she said with a smug smile. “These are withdrawal symptoms. Give him some of whatever shit he takes and he will be all right. A bloody junky wasting my time.”

            “Please save him, madam. He is my only son.”

            “You should have thought about it before giving him money for drugs. Or does he steal to get his kick? Drug addicts can go to any lengths to get money, even murder.”

            “Don’t talk like that. My Deepak is a good boy. He has no bad habits.”

            “I can see that,” Reetika said with another smug smile.

            Deepak was rolling about on the examination bed and his breathing was starting to get labored. “Please do something!” his mother entreated.

            “Okay, okay. Take him to the Psychiatrist. It’s his case,” Reetika brusquely said and walked back to her cabin, slamming the door shut behind her. She picked up her phone. Damn, three missed calls from her boyfriend. All because of a stupid fucking junky. She dialed her boyfriend’s number.

            Meanwhile, Deepak was being taken to the Psychiatry wing by the orderly when Dr. Pathak came across them in the corridor. Seeing the condition of the patient he enquired what was wrong. “He is having stomach pain since morning. Now he can’t speak properly and says he is seeing double. The doctor there says he takes drugs, but my son is a good boy.”

            Warning bells began to ring in Dr. Pathak’s mind. “Drug addict my ass,” he told himself. His sharp mind flew into overdrive and quickly started eliminating conditions which would present with similar symptoms. Two remained: myasthenia gravis and krait bite. Myasthenia gravis is a neurological disorder in which there is progressive weakening of the muscles leading to double vision, slurred speech, paralysis of the respiratory muscles and ultimately death. Krait bite is another not dissimilar condition having the same end result. Kraits are snakes of the cobra family. Their venom stops nerve conduction and causes muscle paralysis. Bite marks of kraits are notoriously hard to find, Dr. Pathak knew from experience. “Rush him to the ICU immediately. I will inform the Anasthetist and get there.”

            Dr. Pathak examined Deepak thoroughly in the ICU. His blood pressure was falling and his pulse rate was high. He could barely keep his eyes open, saliva was drooling from the angles of his mouth, and his breathing came in labored gasps. “Nurse, give him a shot of neostigmine injection. Let us rule out myasthenia first.” It didn’t work. The patient was deteriorating fast. By that time the Anaesthtist had arrived at the scene. “Sir, I think he needs to be put on artificial ventilation,” Dr. Pathak said. The Anaesthetist nodded and got to work. Within a minute Deepak was breathing with the help of machines through a tube inserted into his wind pipe. A more thorough examination revealed a couple of small bite marks in the patient’s right armpit. “Krait bite,” Dr. Pathak muttered to himself. “Nurse, give him injection hydrocortisone. Then we shall start him on anti snake venom. I think we still have a chance to save his life.”

            The diagnosis now established and a plan of action charted out, intensive management was initiated within seconds by the highly trained staff of the ICU. He was fed through intravenous lines, and antibiotics were given to prevent lung infection due to aspiration of stomach contents. The multivalent anti snake venom did its magic and the patient slowly but gradually recuperated. He was weaned of the ventilator on the fourth day and declared completely fit on the seventh. He was discharged on the eight day. Deepak’s parents could not hold back their sobs and the flow of their tears as they bowed down with folded hands in front of their God: Dr. Pathak. Thus, malpractice was averted. Or would it have been murder?

IT MAY

It may feel cruel, lying on a bed of straw,

Lonely and sad, and all your wounds raw.

Raw from the chaffing that you have just felt,

Or from the dead hand that nature had dealt.

It may feel comfortable, with a loved one around,

Your feelings seeping warmth, becoming unwound.

Unwound, because it is wanted you feel

Or because you think it is a fair deal.

It may feel good, you may be grieved.

You may feel you have been deceived.

Deceived by fate, and deceived by your inaction,

Doomed to suffer, in the hands of another fraction.

It may feel happy, you may feel pale,

That what you feel may yet be stale.

THE DISAPPEARANCE

            The board outside the room read “Acute Ward”. Dr. Amit Sharma looked at it with a rueful smile. He liked to refer to it as “A Cute Ward” as a private joke, although there was nothing cute about the patients admitted there. He was a renowned psychiatrist at that famous corporate hospital, and had treated numerous patients with varied mental ailments in that very ward. Sometimes successfully, many a times with less or no success. A new patient had been admitted the previous night. He was a top notch executive in an advertisement firm, and had been brought to the emergency by his wife in a state of confusion and excitement, screaming at no one in particular to leave him alone. The resident doctor on duty had admitted him as a case of acute psychosis and informed Amit over the phone, who advised the patient to be sedated with midazolam and placed in restraints.

         

That morning he had met the patient’s wife and talked to her for about an hour to get the history and the details of the case. The illness was sudden in onset. There were no similar episodes in the past. He was a supposedly healthy person without any medical conditions. He took liquor socially, but did not involve in any other substance abuse. There was no psychiatric illness running in the family that the wife knew of.

         

Amit straightened his coat and walked into the room where Bhaskar Dey, the patient, was being held. He was held down to the hospital bed with restraints on his hands and feet, as well as around his midsection. He seemed to be sleeping. Amit lightly rested his hand on the patient’s shoulder and softly said, “Mr. Dey?”

         

Bhaskar’s eyes fluttered open. They were looking glassy from the sedative that had been injected into him the previous night and again that morning. “I am your psychiatrist, Dr. Amit. How are you doing now?”

         

“How am I doing? HOW AM I DOING? HOW WOULD YOU BE DOING IF SOMEONE PUMPED YOU FULL OF DOPE AND TIED YOU DOWN TO A BED, HUH?” he screamed at the top of his lungs while struggling against the restraints that held him down.

         

“Calm down. Calm down now, Mr. Dey.”

“CALM DOWN YOU SAY? I AM AS SANE AS YOU ARE BUT YOU ARE TREATING ME LIKE I AM SOME KIND OF PSYCHOPATH! I AM NOT MAD, DOCTOR, I TELL YOU.”

“No one is saying you are mad, Mr Dey. You had to be sedated and put in restraints because you were behaving very violently when your wife brought you in last night.”

“Hmph! What do you know? You would be frightened out of your wits too if you see what I had seen. Please take these straps off me doctor, they hurt.”

“Okay, but only if you promise me not to start hitting everyone around you or yelling your head off.”

“I won’t. I told you I am not crazy.”

“Well then, I will ask the ward boy to untie you and escort you to my chamber. Please don’t create a scene or else you will be put in restraints again,” Amit warned, and left for his chamber on the ground floor of the same building. A little later Bhaskar walked in with a glum look on his face, accompanied by his wife. Her name was Poonam and she was looking overtly worried.

“Please take a seat, both of you,” Amit said with a winning smile.

They sat down. Both of them were a little fidgety. Amit offered them water but they declined.

“So, Mr. Dey…

“Please call me Bhaskar, doctor.”

“Okay, Bhaskar. What went wrong last night?”

“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

“Well, try me. I have heard a lot of weird stories in my clinical practice.”

“That might be true. But my guess is that you heard them from people whose brains are fried. I am not crazy.”

“I never said you were, Bhaskar.”

Bhaskar covered his face in his hands for a moment and shuddered. He then leaned forward and, looking directly into Amit’s eyes, asked earnestly “Do you believe in ghosts, doctor?”

“Ghosts?”

“Yes, ghosts. Or spirits, apparitions, negative energies, or whatever else you may like to call them.”

“I can’t say that I do Bhaskar,” Amit answered with a sidelong glance at Poonam.

“I didn’t use to either,” Bhaskar said mysteriously.

“And that has changed?” Amit queried.

Bhaskar nodded his head furiously. “I saw one last night.” A sniffle could be heard from Poonam. She started clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap, and gave the doctor an imploring look as if to say “Please cure my husband. What has gone wrong with him?”

Amit looked at Bhaskar. He was reasonably young, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. He had not changed into the hospital garb as yet and the suit he was wearing, though crumpled, looked expensive and well-cut. He didn’t look like someone who was out of his mind. But, from experience, Amit knew that people sometimes responded rather inexplicably to stress.

“Before you tell me what happened, let me just ask you a few questions. Just to know you better. Is that okay with you, Bhaskar?”

“Absolutely,” pat came the reply.

“How long have you two been married?”

“What has that got anything to do with this?”

“Please just play me along.”

“Twenty one years.”

“And how many children do you have?”

“Two sons. The elder one is a first year law student in Delhi, and the younger one is at a boarding school.”

“Do you people have any marital discord? Any domestic problems?”

“No. We are perfectly happy together,” it was Poonam who answered.

“How is your sex life?”

“What do you mean how is our sex life?” Bhaskar sputtered indignantly. “We are fine together. Can you stop asking me these personal questions?”

Amit nodded once. “Okay, okay. What about work? Are you under any stress? Is your performance at work declining?”

“No. I am not under any kind of stress or duress. What has all this got to do with what I have been through?”

“Actually stressed out people sometimes tend to hallucinate and…

“HALLUCINATE? IT WAS NO FUCKING HALLUCINATION!”

Poonam patted his arm and said, “Cool down honey, he is just trying to help.” Bhaskar closed his eyes for some time. He had regained his composure when he opened them again. “I am sorry, doctor. But it was not a hallucination.”

“Anger management issues” Amit wrote in the little notepad he kept on his desk. “That’s alright,” he said with another smile. “How is your sleep?”

“I have no problems with sleep, doctor.”

“Last couple of questions. Are you on any medications? Do you take any psychoactive substances? Say, for example, marijuana?”

“You mean do I do drugs? The answer is no. But I did use to smoke grass when I was studying.”

“When was the last time you smoked marijuana?”

“I don’t remember. I told you it was when I was a student.”

“Cannabis addiction? Denial?” Amit scribbled in his notepad. “Okay. Now let’s hear your story.”

“Hmmm. Me and Poonam had gone to Guwahati to attend a wedding ceremony. The day after, that’s yesterday morning, we started back to here. We stopped only once midway for lunch, because I wanted to reach home as early as possible,” he started. “I had work today, you see.”

“What happened then?”

“There is a place about an hour’s drive from here. There is an old cemetery not 100 yards from the road there. I don’t think it is in use anymore.”

“Yes, I have seen the place.”

“We reached that place a little time after twilight. Poonam was sleeping, and I was driving at a leisurely pace. I saw a lady clad in a black saree waving me down by the wayside. I slowed down a bit, but then I remembered the stories people told. Stories involving ghosts that appeared at that site. So I sped up again and passed her without stopping. After about a minute or so, I spied a slight movement at the passenger side of my car with the corner of my eye. I looked. I was horrified. The lady was running alongside the car, backwards. Her long hair was flying all over her the place, and I heard an eerie laughter. I said a short prayer and floored the accelerator.” His voice was strained, his lips quivered, and his eyes were almost bulging out of their sockets.

“He is getting into the groove,” Amit thought.

“The car reached a hundred kilometers per hour, but she was still with us. The speedometer needle inched up towards 130, but she could not be left behind. All of a sudden she disappeared. I risked a glance at the passenger side window to be sure. She was gone. But when I turned my eyes back to the road, she was standing right there. Right in the middle of the road some distance ahead of us. I didn’t slow down and ran into her. But I didn’t hit her. The car went right through her, and it felt for a moment as if I had been buried in ice. There was a deadly chill inside the car. That must have woken Poonam up right then.” He shivered even though the room was comfortable warm.

His wife lovingly put her hands on his face. “Darling, it was you screaming that woke me up. I had not felt any chill.”

“How could you know? You were sleeping like a log.”

“What did you do, ma’am?” Amit asked Poonam.

“Well, I made him stop the car. I took over the driving. He was still shouting something intelligible and…

“Of course I was shouting. A spirit had passed right through my body and I was afraid it would take me over!”

“… flailing his arms about. So I drove him directly to the hospital.”

“You should have taken me to some tantric,” Bhaskar said.

“Delusional,” Amit scribbled. He asked, “Did you drive the whole way, Bhaskar? It’s a long drive.”

“I drove most of the way.”

“You see Bhaskar, stress combined with long stints of driving without any rest might make someone see something that isn’t actually there.”

“I am not stressed and I was NOT HALLUCINATING.”

“Okay, okay. I will prescribe you something to steady your nerves and get some tests done, including a CT and an EEG. You will need to remain in the hospital for a couple of days more,” Amit said, while writing “Diagnosis: ?Schizophrenia/ ?Cannabis induced psychosis”.

“But…” Bhaskar started to protest.

“He will stay,” Poonam interjected. “Let’s find out what has come over you,” she said to her husband.

“Nothing has come over me. I am fine other than the fact that I saw a ghost. Fine, let them do all the tests they want to do. They won’t find anything wrong,” he mumbled.

That evening Amit came to visit Bhaskar again. He was sitting on his bed talking to his wife animatedly. The conversation stopped when Amit walked in. “How are you doing? I have seen your reports. All of them are normal.”

“I told you so, doctor. By the way, do you think I am stupid?”

“No! Why?” Amit asked surprised.

“Because the medicine you gave me to ‘steady my nerves’ is olanzapine. I Googled it. It is an anti-psychotic. I have told you over and over again that I am not crazy. You might as well give me ECT!”

“Direct ECT has been banned in India. Anyways, I have never been a big supporter of ECT. It is known to cause memory impairment as a side effect.”

“Good for me then. I would forget that I had come across a witch and my life would go on smoothly, like before last night,” Bhaskar retorted.

“Look, Bhaskar, it’s not as simply as that. Your work would suffer, so would your family life. Keep taking the medicine and you will be fine. And you can always consult me if there is any relapse of the symptoms.”

“Symptoms? Let me make one thing very clear to you- I am not crazy and I am not going to take olanzapine. Period.”

“Why are being so difficult?” Poonam asked exasperated.

“Listen to me. I have some more patients to visit. Think about your condition overnight. We will talk about it again tomorrow morning,” Amit said.

“Situation, not condition,” Bhaskar replied.

“Yes, whatever. Good night Mr. Dey.” Amit said and turned to leave the room.

“Doctor?” Bhaskar called out.

“Yes?”

“Would you believe me if you saw it too? I can take you there. Maybe be it will be accommodating enough to show itself to you too,” Bhaskar chuckled drily.

Amit wasn’t sure he had heard the man correctly, and didn’t answer right away.

“Come on doctor, where is your scientific curiosity?”

“Sure. Tonight after I finish my rounds,” Amit smiled at him.

“Please don’t listen to him doctor,” Poonam implored.

“It’s alright Mrs. Dey. As your husband puts it, my scientific curiosity makes me want to do this,” Amit said and left the room.

It was after eight in the evening when he came back to Bhaskar’s room. Bhaskar had changed into a fresh pair of clothes. “All set to go, Mr. Dey?”

“I said you could call me by my first name. And yes, I am ready.”

“I will come too,” Poonam said.

“No darling, you stay here. We will be back soon,” Bhaskar said with a reassuring smile and left with his doctor.

Amit drove his SUV with Bhaskar riding shotgun. They had driven for better part of an hour when Bhaskar pointed out the place. Amit pulled up by the side of the road. “I see nothing.”

Bhaskar was looking disappointed. He looked around. Suddenly he clasped Amit’s forearm and pointed towards the right. “There. See that light? I suppose that’s where the cemetery was.”

“Where?”

“There. It has started bobbing and spinning!”

“Oh! I see it now.”

“Are you satisfied now, doctor?”

“Of course not! It could be someone swinging a lantern. Let’s go and check it out,” Amit said opening the door.

“No! Don’t go. Please don’t go!” Bhaskar lunged after him. But amit was already walking towards the source of the strange light. Not knowing what to do, and too scared to stay back in the car alone, Bhaskar followed Amit.

Poonam started to get worried when Bhaskar and the good doctor didn’t return till midnight. She tried her husband’s mobile number, but he didn’t pick up the call. She asked the receptionist to try and call Amit, but there was no answer from him either. She became almost hysterical and called the police. She told them the whole story. The officer on duty promised to send a patrol car looking for them. Half an hour later, the patrol found Amit’s SUV. They searched all around with flashlights but couldn’t find the missing persons. They called in and more policemen arrived with sniffer dogs. The dogs traced Amit’s scent till the cemetery, where all trail disappeared. The police were stymied. The search went on more a couple more weeks. Announcements were made on the TV and the radio. Print ads were published. All to no avail. Nothing was heard of the duo ever again. They had inexplicably disappeared without a trace.

Poonam still laments her loss, but still maintains the hope that her husband would come back one day. She often wonders, while sitting alone in their bedroom, whether it would have been better if she had taken Bhaskar to a tantric. She knew that she would never know the answer.

DEAD, NOT ALIVE

Salil was in the last leg of his compulsory rotatory internship, and had about three months to go before he became a Registered Medical Practitioner. He had completed his Medicine and Surgery rotations, and was posted to the Casualty department. He had learned quite a bit of clinical medicine and was fast becoming an adept clinician. The senior doctors trusted his judgment and allowed him to handle patients on his own and dispose them off, or admit them, as he deemed fit. And he was, what the medical fraternity calls, “heavy footed”. A “heavy footed” person is a doctor during whose duty a lot of serious patients usually come to the hospital, call it happenstance or call it divine intervention.

            He was on duty that night, with another internee named Arijit. The postgraduate student who was on duty, Dr. Aman, knew Salil from his medicine rotation.

            “Salil, I need some sleep, yaar. I know you can handle the patients. And you got Arijit to help you. Try not to wake me up unless there is some real emergency, okay?”

“No problem, bro. Sleep tight. I will hold the fort for ya!” Salil replied.

It was a dark, moonless night. The skies were overcast, threatening rain. Arijit and Salil sat under an old banyan tree just outside the casualty and shared a smoke. Salil was starting to feel bored. There had not been many patients till then, and he liked to stay busy while at work. They sat there in silence for some more time, long after the cigarette was burned out. It was almost midnight when Salil slapped his friend on the back and said, “Let’s hit the sack. Might as well get some sleep.” They walked back to the doctor’s duty room after Salil informed the nursing orderly on duty to wake him and not Dr. Aman if some patient came to the emergency.

Salil was in that state of wakefulness which precedes sleep by moments, when there was a knock on the door: “Sir, there is a patient.”

He put on his shirt and went to attend to the patient. It was young boy of about 15 years of age. His father had brought him from some obscure village far away, because he had been vomiting blood since that evening. Salil assessed the patient and found him to be in a state of circulatory collapse. His pupils were dilated, his pulse was barely palpable, and his blood pressure could not be recorded. His heart was beating though, and he was taking shallow breaths. Salil went into over-drive. He started two intravenous lines and started to pump fluid into the boy. Meanwhile the patient had vomited blood two more times. Salil started him on the injectable medications known to help arrest bleeding. Arijit was also woken up and joined him in managing the patient. After the patient received about two litres of fluid, his pulse could be felt and his blood pressure became recordable. Salil now felt somewhat confident that this young life could be saved, but he needed blood transfusion. He went up to the father and said: “See, uncle, the condition of your son is serious. We need to give him blood.”

The man just stared back with a blank face. Salil looked him up and down. He looked like a daily wage worker. “Uncle, your son is in a critical condition. His life can be saved, but we need to give him blood. I am giving him all other medicines. But there needs to be blood in the body to carry oxygen, see? And he has vomited so many times.”

“Okay,” the man replied.

“So, go to the blood bank with this form. They will give you what I want. But in return you have to donate your blood. And call someone from your village tomorrow. We will need more donors, okay?”

“How much money do they charge?”

“They don’t charge any money for the blood. But you will have to pay about 500 rupees for some tests. They you donate your blood and they will send to me what I have asked for here,” Salil said pointing to the requisition form.

“I don’t have any money.”

Salil was in a fix. He scratched his head for a while. “Wait here, I will be back.”

He went into the treatment room and called up the blood bank. “Hello, this is Salil, the intern on duty at casualty.”

“Yes sir?”

“I needed about three units of blood for a patient here.”

“No problem. Send over the requisition form along with the donors.”

“Actually there is only one donor available now. I have talked to him to get some more people in the morning.”

“No issues, sir.”

“Another thing. He doesn’t have any money to pay for the screening tests.”

“I can’t help you there, sir. You have to talk to the Medical Superintendent if the charges are to be waived.”

“Okay, let me see what I can do. Thanks.”

Salil stood there with the receiver in hand, wondering what to do next. He was known to the Medical Superintendent, Dr. Saikia, from his days in the Students’ Union, but then it was way past midnight. Would it be prudent to wake him up at this ungodly hour? What would he say? What if started shouting and being abusive, which he had a reputation for? “Fuck it,” Salil muttered to himself, took out his cellphone and dialed Dr. Saikia’s number.

A sleepy, bleary voice answered after some five rings, “Hello? Who is it? What is it?”

“Sir, this is Salil. I am calling about a patient. Actually…

“Is this the time to call young man? Couldn’t you have waited till the morning?” Dr. Saikia yelled into the phone.

“Actually, Sir, I couldn’t have waited. There is this young boy here who is having massive haemoptysis. He needs urgent blood transfusion, but his father has no money for the screening tests. And he looks very poor. If you would waive the fee Sir…” he let the words hang in the air.

“Fine, fine. Do whatever is required. I will sign the bloody forms in the morning.”

“Thank you, Sir, thank you so much,” Salil beamed into the phone.

Dr. Saikia mumbled something and disconnected the call.

Salil called up the blood bank and told them the news. “But I need written permission, sir,” the technician persisted.

“Okay, I will pay the money if you don’t get the paperwork by tomorrow.”

He then went to the young boy’s father and told him that the tests had been made free by the “baade doctor saab”. “Go there now, uncle. Rush.”

Another hour passed by. The patient was stable but there was no blood for transfusion. He called up the blood bank again only to learn that no one had gone there for donation. He went out to the waiting hall to find the old man still sitting there. Exasperated, he said, “Uncle? Blood?”

“Well, you see, Sir, I broke my hand when I was a young man of 20. would that cause a problem?”

“No, it would not. No hurry,” Salil said and guided him towards the blood bank.

The patient’s condition soon started deteriorating. He had another couple of episodes of haemoptysis and was fast going into a state of shock. At that very moment, the father peeped into the emergency room and asked Salil, “Sir, I have high pressure. What if I die while giving blood?”

“You will not die uncle” Salil reassured him. “Just hurry up now, or your son won’t survive.”

“But what if I die? Who will feed my family?”

“Don’t you understand what I am saying old man? Your son will die if he doesn’t receive blood transfusion”, Salil hollered at him.

“Okay”, the old man said, “one less mouth to feed.” And walked out of the room.

Salil was horrified. “Is this your own child? Or is he a fucking bastard?” he shouted at the old man’s back. But there was no reply. Salil shook his head in angst and sorrow, and got back to try save the kid. He and Arijit fought against all hope for close to two hours, but to no avail. The young boy passed away just as the early morning sun was lighting up the dawn sky. Defeated, they sat down on the couch in the duty room. “We did our best. We did all we could”, Arijit consoled a distraught Salil.

 He did not reply. He just sat there with his face in his hands. He sat there thinking how callous people can be. Was poverty the real reason behind it? A young man dies, a family lives on? Or is apathy an inherent part of human nature? He had no answers.

THE EXAMINATION

I have loads of friends. In fact I have been friends with one guy since we were in prep school. Well if you can call our relationship friendship. Now don’t get any ideas, we are not gay. It’s just that we fight so much over such trifles that sometimes I wonder how we have remained on talking terms for so long. But then it is said that people who know each other the best fight the most, isn’t it?

He is called Mikes out of love. And he is loved by all who know him. A decent guy and a great friend. As I have already said, I studied with him since prep school right up to our 10+2. As fate would have it we were selected into the same professional college, and ended up in the same hostel. Call it coincidence or call it happenstance. We were the much exalted first years of our hostel, along with a bunch of other sorry figures. It was a great experience-horrible, entertaining, enriching, and worth remembering for the rest of our lives. We didn’t get much time to study for the first few months. Not that I wanted to study. I like reading more, you see. When the time came for our first semester exams, we found that none of us were reasonably prepared. The others started studying hard for all the subjects. I devised an easier way. I decided to sacrifice one shitty subject called SPM for the sake of passing the others.

I appeared for the exams with the rest of the guys. We helped each other learn new things in the exam hall. We copied shamelessly, that is to say. Now came the night before the SPM exam, of which I hadn’t even had the textbook. I decided to chill out. I didn’t want to disturb the others with their studies though. So I got myself some grass and went to the bank of the Brahmaputra, which is about five minutes walking distance from the hostel. There I sat alone and blew blue smoke. I smoked myself into oblivion till it was late at night. I returned, had my dinner and peacefully went to sleep.

The next morning. The exam hall. SPM exam. Mikes was sitting behind me. The question papers had been distributed. I scanned one side, turned it over, and realised that it felt like I was trying to read Latin.

I turned around, “Mikes, I don’t understand anything.”

“Who asked you not to study?”

“Hey I pay attention in class! I thought that would have helped me get into double figures. I didn’t expect to get a zero!! You have to help me, bro. Otherwise I will have to submit a blank answer sheet.”

“I don’t understand half of this shit either. I will dictate to you all I know, ok?”

“God, you are a savior! I could kiss you,” I said.

“That’s wouldn’t be required. Just start writing. I won’t repeat anything.”

Suddenly I felt like Lord Ganesha, who had been given the task to complete writing the Ramayana with Valmiki reciting it out just once. I told myself I was upto the task.

“I am Ganesha, I am Ganesha,” I chanted to myself, though I don’t have a potbelly, an elephant’s head, a penchant for laddoos, or a mouse for a vehicle!!

“Answer to question number one. Write,” Mikes said.

“Do I write ‘write’ too?” I queried.

“Stop being silly, you dumbass.”

Now tell me one thing, how can a dumbass not be silly? It’s a contradiction in itself!

“Carriers are those organisms or things which can….” Mikes continued.

I shut off the memory part of my brain, and fine tuned the part given to auditory sensations immediately, and started noting down whatever he was dictating. The first answer was completed. Oh, and by the way, have I told you that my handwriting is beautiful and Mikes’ is like illegitimate scrawls that can be made by any four year old using a crayon? No? Well, secret no longer now, that.

“Second answer?” I asked.

“You really don’t know anything?” he sounded exasperated.

“You thought I was joking? Well I am not. So go ahead and save my ass.”

Mikes sighed. “I dunno the answer. Let’s go to number three.”

“Anything you say, Sir. After all you are the master and I am but your slave!” I chuckled.

“Stop trying to act smart. Here’s the third answer…

It was a long one and I kept writing as fast as I could without trying to make any snide comments, so as not to break his flow. It lasted for better part of an hour, when the lady invigilator came near us. Mikes was oblivious to all worldly concerns and kept on reciting. She went to him and asked:

“Young man, what are you doing?”

“Why, writing my answers of course,” he answered in all innocence.

“Then why are you saying them out loud?”

My pen hung an inch over the answer sheet, ears all prickled.

“Haaaaaaaaaaaa I can’t remember the answers if I don’t say them out loud.”’

“Huh!”

“I forget the answers if I don’t speak them out to myself.”

“By all means speak them out to yourself. But the volume doesn’t need to be so loud that it disturbs the students around you. Or is it for their favour?” she said and came over to my seat.

He mumbled something and went back to writing, and whispering in a lower tone. I, on the other hand, tried my best to put on my most intense expression to show that I was trying very hard to remember something. The invigilator tapped my desk and I seemed to come out of my reverie.

“We have been instructed to deduct 10 marks from anyone who is found copying,” she said.

I let pretense go down the drain, turned the answer sheet towards her and said: “Please, go ahead ma’am.”

She was stunned. Shocked, maybe, or awestruck. Her mouth was open in a big O. I took the chance and said: “I would get a zero if I don’t copy. I don’t know any of the answers. Please ma’am, deduct the 10 marks and let me continue.”

She shook her head disbelievingly and left us alone. She was not seen near us throughout the exam. So Mikes’ dictation and my scribbling didn’t end upto the last question.

“Last answer is a diagram,” Mikes told me.

“Tell me how to draw it.”

“Are you mad?”

“Haven’t you known it for all these years?”

“Haaaaaaaaa okay, okay. Go to a new sheet. Divide it into three parts by two vertical lines.”

“Done.”

“Now write capital A in the first part. And little below it write capital C.”

“Where’s B?” I asked.

“Shut the fuck up and do what I say.”

“Cool.”

“Okay. The middle of the sheet between the two vertical lines? Write capital B there between A and C. A and C in first part, B in second part between them. Got it?”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Now, draw horizontal line from A all the way to the third part. Another from B to the third part, and one from C to the second part. That’s it.”

“Oh wait,” he said after a pause, “write capital D at the bottom of the third part and make a short horizontal line from it.”

I did all he had suggested even though I couldn’t make head or tail of it. The diagram didn’t seem to make any sense, so I held my sheet up to show him. He glanced at it and said:

            “Perfect. Now for the legend.”

            “Awww there’s more to this? What legend could possibly be behind this shitty diagram?”

            “The labeling, you cretin. Otherwise how will one know what the fuck A, B, C, D and all those lines mean?”

“Oh, now I get you,” I smiled.

He dictated all the rest of it and I was out in five more minutes flat. Mikes stayed back to revise because there were fifteen more minutes to go before the final bell. I found outside that I was one of the early few to leave. Another friend of mine, Arnie, hailed me and asked if I would pass the damn paper.

“Ask Mikes,” I replied rather enigmatically and went towards the college canteen for a cup of much needed coffee. Arnie stared after me with a confused look in his eyes.

The best was yet to come. Time flew as it is always wont to. We got our freshmen’s social and were no longer treated like dogshit. We had even become friendly with our seniors. One fine day I was sitting alone in the common room on my hostel, deciding to have bunked classes. I had a couple of joints and was watching some stupid pop song on the telly, not because I liked it but because the remote was busted and I felt too lazy to get up and change the channel. Mikes comes charging in. Three of our friends were holding him back.

“You cunning bastard,” he was screaming.

“Calm down,” Arnie was telling him, “it’s because of your handwriting. The examiner mustn’t have understood half of what you wrote.”

“No this bastard Neel cheated me. He wrote down everything I dictated to him. And then he wrote some more answers which he didn’t tell me.” Mikes was seething. “Let go of me. I am gonna kill him.”

I had no clue what was happening. Arnie explained.

“You passed SPM. He flunked.”

I started laughing. That must have been the last straw for Mikes. He broke free and charged at me. I was too sluggish and he hit me in the face hard before I could even think of getting up from my seat. I saw stars dancing in front of my eyes. By then the others grabbed him again and dragged him off me. I would soon get to flaunt a bruise under my left eye.

“Don’t you ever talk to me you asshole. Don’t even come near me. Don’t ever dare to show me your fucking face,” Mikes yelled as he was being dragged away.

We didn’t talk to each other for about a month after that. Things were back to normal though when we boozed together at a party. See what I mean about our friendship? But I swear I had written only what he had dictated to me and not another word. It must have been his rotten handwriting, or my blessed luck.