”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.
