One Afternoon in 1994.

”Khapa khapa bhagma”, the pharmacist commanded the attendant that Kunal the doctor on deputation didn’t understand. The hospital in this far away from capital, district of Abantipur, with all the two doctors post remaining vacant was almost defunct even if it was placed on the side of the state highway. It was a block head quarter. Smooth running of the ‘Community Health Center’ was a challenge for the district administration. Mr Collector and the Chief District Medical Officer felt helpless; the district in general was running with only twenty percent physicians. It ought to happen, what else if only fifteen out of more than hundred of his batchmates joined the state medical services.

The pharmacist explained there were no patients for last one hour or more, only waiting the official closing hour of twelve noon he hesitated to leave. At the appropriate time whatever he commanded to the attendant meant, ‘Close the windows and doors and let's move’.

“Why the patients are not coming?”

Sir they would come, you be regular sir, where should they go, they must come.

As Kunal stared at him visibly being upset, he changed topic. “Sir you are really facing problem, you did a mistake sir, transferring madam to this district was a bad decision, you know I am about to retire, I have seen many doctors, once a couple joined a hospital the administration gets a scope to utilize them in to solve the problem of two places, of course at the cost of their difficulties.”

Now the doctor’s mood changed, he found a fatherly figure in him. He asked Patibabu why he himself was not doing practice like many other pharmacists did!

‘Oh yes sir I used to do but not now, I am with several ailments and advised not to take much responsibility so I stopped seeing patients, which is the doctor’s original job. I pass my time in reading quality literature, writing poems in my local language, telling stories to the many grand children of the biggest joint family of the district, I belong to. That’s all sir.’

As he told this he handed over a story collection of eminent short story writer Sri Manoj Das, ‘Manoja Panchabinsati’, meaning the twenty five stories.

This may relieve you from boredom, sir.

Kunal ought to sense discomfort being addressed as sir. Patibabu suddenly earned a philosophical and learned image of himself in addition to being fatherly. Kunal thanked him for the book.

He started the book and forgot he had to take lunch before the only acceptable hotel got closed. What a book he exclaimed as someone knocked for the third time when he could believe that he was wanted by some patient in this place.

He opened the door to see a senior employee of the block office, as the man introduced himself with some alien designation. He was reluctant to wish Kunal either with honour or in a lowly manner. That was a better situation for the doctor too. The terms like hello and hi did not prevail at that time in that remote area. Neither he offered a handshake nor did a Namaste. 

 Honourable collector sir wanted your service.

Kunal suddenly became alert and carefully searched all possible nooks to find the jeep of the district magistrate with a roof top light that no where was found.

The messenger smiled with sarcasm as if to tell how at all the young doctor expected presence of his highness in the campus of this unimportant hospital for the sake of an ordinary ailment.

He now did a second smile of contentment to honour himself that Mr Collector chose only him to offer this service of summoning the doctor. He told Kunal to move immediately to the ICDS meeting hall where his highness was discussing with madam CDPO as regards to supplying egg or milk to the malnourished children.

‘But what has happened to the District Magistrate, should he go with the blood pressure instrument or only with the stethoscope!’ There was no other way other than asking the man. The man looked astonished, as if he was asking a question completely out of syllabus. The man sat squeezed on the scooter leaving a little space for the third person to adjust there.

Kunal hiding his reservation to sit in this fashion told the elated man to move on as he would be calling the attendant to find out the BP machine to move with. It would take time. Moreover he had to take his lunch that the hunger pain or pain out of this new tension reminded him.

‘Ok, you come with your own bike but taking lunch will consume too much time that may annoy the Collector.’

But what if the lunch were not available by the time his highness discharged him from his personal service! The scooter moved on and his question followed the scooter till it faded in the air.

He became frustrated. He went alone on his own bike with the tools but without taking the lunch.

When he reached the ICDS meeting hall he could see two young supervisors and the CDPO was being quizzed with tremendous seriousness as regards to improve nutrition of the block. These three known ladies somehow felt relieved to see him. Probably they thought, own health of his highness would take central place and the concern for the block health would find some rescue to take breath. At least they three could breathe some good air.

Mr Collector was a short man with a perfect suit. Kunal was about to smile as he felt the collector was looking marvelously well presented to the three ladies, two of whom were very young. A very tall and plump man as black as a buffalo and as big as a baby elephant was sitting jobless. Kunal knew him as the district judge; he once attended his court as a medical witness. He was definitely bigger than his wife’s maternal uncle at least by ten kilograms which meant he was hundred and thirty kilograms at least.

Kunal paid his salutes to both of them presenting him in the most humble way, possible by a young hungry doctor lifted directly from his excellent story time.

As he sat down on the chair indicated by the collector, he heard him saying, “I was chiefly investigating your presence.” He told the big judge with a sense of authority, “yes this good youngman is staying in the place, excellent Dr..”

‘Kunal’ Sir’, Kunal Prusty, he helped to complete his sentence.

‘Was I not telling you on our way that I ordered meant it always have a possibility to be carried out? Our way of administration should be based on rationality. His place is only thirty kilometers from this place, he can come by bike or bus, stay here three to four days, people are happy. His wife is there to manage that station too. So he was the right candidate to be deputed.’

Patibabu was telling the right thing. What about his two children? What about government rule against these types of deputations? What about his no chance of being compensated? Kunal asked all these questions as the two big men discussed too many things. The judge was listening mostly with silence with rare emarks. Kunal smiled again that surfaced as he suddenly got another burning sensation of hunger making his smile look melancholic.

He now looked through the window and the teak trees outside were in full bloom. He escaped from the difficulties of looking at the eyes of this highness duo.

He was sure some treatment his own stomach badly needed either in form of food now or if delayed by injections and antacids. He saw a group of cranes flying from distance to perch on a single tree. Why this single tree, mysterious reason, as mysterious as the Collectors disease.

He increasingly became hopeful as the Collector changed the topic inviting the three ladies to be quizzed again. But the question was fired to Kunal. “OK doctor tell me how to taste the food of the Anganwadi to know the worker is using oil or not.”

Kunal found his mouth loaded with saliva and instantly thought there should be a practical test that might be beneficial to calm his stomach.

But it was only questionnaire round with no practical demonstration. Oh shit… he mumbled but in silence. The memory of his MBBS, Gynaecology viva examination flashed. Examiners were taking all types of dry and salted fruits and nuts, as his turn came late at four PM. The students could not take lunch and were very hungry.  Hunger is a stronger demand than passing the exam; he thought and had to swallow his own saliva, as the questions were fired to him.

 Mr Collector forgot his own problem! Kunal wanted to ask it but could not gather the courage. When he started to mutter, instead of listening to it the collector asked the judge about the merit of playing lawn tennis. The judge this time joined. It seemed both of them had seen the final of the grand slam event between Steffi Graf and Martina Navratilova, late in last night, both of them ought to be great fans of Steffi. Kunal had doubts, was it possible to have this giant like figure for one who was discussing the aces, backhand, forehand, court coverage, speed of reflex and talking the level of fitness of their favourite star. The collector looked at the one lady having a supreme fitness and wished she must be a superb sports woman during her studies. The lady blushed and told, she also wished so but she had not that liberty, she had to cycle seven miles her one side distance to the college as she had to attend all the house jobs and care of her paralytic mother. All other three elder sisters and two younger sisters married early, finding their own grooms.

The dignitaries and Kunal too were listening with attention. Her father could not give up the habit of drinking country liquors. She had to do a lot of hard work to balance between study, earning with tailoring and house hold work.

Oh I see, that made you as fit as Steffi remarked the man with authority. The lady being praised forgot to be annoyed as the two other ladies could not hide their irritation. But that was not marked as the gaze and the discussion both were concentrated on steffi in the hall.

Kunal thought was it possible on the part to be a doctor or the two other people in their respective position, if were grown with the lady’s responsibility.

Of course he did not like the way the lady talked her adversity when her obvious physical good shape was discussed with attention.

Kunal’s hunger told himself had he been in the lady’s place, taking the advantage of the law in favour of the fair sex he should have slapped the district head or reported at the woman’s commission. But he did not venture to tell he was hungry, again his stomach ached.

Suddenly the Collector told the ladies to leave as his discussion changed to the direction of alcohol, probably the beautiful woman’s description of her own father made his highness to think about alcohol.

He mixed alcohol to tennis. He did a comparative discussion of champagne, whisky, wine, vodka, and some other names not heard earlier and his opinion was in favour of wine even if he offered champagne to the guests. He told how he got flu yesterday that made his entire body to ache. Two pegs of wine with two sets of tennis made him better.

Kunal thought an anti cold preparation of half a rupee was a better option.

The judge looked depressed and told in a low voice, his health and dieting schedule is not allowing him to go to the court with his favourite vodka.

It was a stronger emotion for the judge; why else he broke his long time silence.

If the judge was not playing who then dared to play with the collector. One good thing was, the doctor now could know what the collector’s suffering was.

Kunal became brave this time and raised his voice to a level of concern that the boss had no chance to ignore.

‘Are you ok sir, now! Was there fever with rigor and chill, did you do a malaria test sir?  Many fevers are neglected as flu till the malaria attacks the brain. Malaria is under reported sir or else you were to know the truth of my concern. No one should ignore malaria the way the villagers are doing. It is a killer disease sir.’

What he did not tell was that no drinks might cure malaria, playing tennis with if not the giant judge then any ass that was his bottle partner’s status also had no chance to help.

He forgot the other one was the district head and revealed how the health facilities used to suppress Malaria figure as on such death invites cumbersome procedure of follow up and health measures to be reinstalled.

Death!

‘Yes sir death due to Falciparum malaria that affected the brain. It is very dangerous. Any rise of temperature we presume to be malaria unless proved otherwise and that is beneficial sir.’

‘The the district collector will die and you doctors will manipulate to tell his death is due to overdose of wine, ha ha ha. Listen judge sahib what the crazy youngman tells.’

But yes, the collector was controlling his fear that shrouded him completely.

The same man who was elated being Collector’s messenger was immediately summoned. He was sent to call the best laboratory technician to do an immediate blood test. The best! There was only one in this town, the best.

Not only that, he liked to take the bitter pills of chloroquine even if the result came negative. He was not convinced neither he would be before consulting non other than the CDMO. So he abruptly wanted to return back to Abantipur the district head quarter.

Kunal now laughed and the three ladies joined him in laughing.

Suddenly his mood changed! What if the CDMO is charged with the allegation of suppression of facts?

With that, his hunger pain became intolerable and the CDPO offered him a pack of a biscuits meant for the beneficiary kids. The biscuits and a glass of water helped his stomach.

He immediately returned to his home thirty kilometers away.

He did not report at the deputation place of Sudampur and instead remained in leave till his deputation was cancelled.

He suffered from fictitious malaria and his Medical Officer in charge issued the sickness certificate.

Malaria could be as good a disease as the be-wined collector in the tennis court. But who was the imaginary opponent, a question always pondered him! 

This story is dedicated to Dr Ambarish Pradhan, The best possible Medical Officer In Charge.