Living a small life isn’t about the financial shortage but it is rather an account of uneventful days. My life in Mirzapur has been nothing but a number of such “normal” days. Being a doctor at Dr. Rawuthor’s Hospital and residing in the Doctors’ Quarters, everything around just surrounds it. If anything happens out of it in a normal day of mine is the narrative of my little girl’s eventful day at school. Kids have this extraordinary talent to make any time special. They do not have an “okay” day in their lives. They have good days, bad days, sad days, happy days and tough days. But for us adults, most of the days are either normal or just okay.
“Dr. Lyla…You can have all that you get”, Dr. Rawuthor told me when I joined the clinic. Well it’s in fact a clinic with minimal facilities but considered as a hospital since you can’t find another medical aid within five kilometers of radius. Being an ophthalmologist, all that I can have is from those who come for the purpose of taking or renewing their driving license and a few routine check ups of those like Uncle Gregory who seem to spend some time reading a little. Thus, the thought of a fixed salary was a distant one as the clinic was more like a charity hospital. The patients were mostly the natives of Mirzapur who were struggling to meet their ends. We didn’t have expensive facilities either that attracted or demanded money.
When I came here with Rustham after our marriage, Mirzapur seemed very interesting to me as a girl born and brought up in the heart of the city. Rustham though a doctor by profession had chosen to become a writer which was more apt for his rebellious nature. He was the third of six sons. He had an emotionally tough childhood. His parents got separated and went away in search of their own good fortune leaving the boys with their grandparents. When I first met Rustham his grandparents had already passed away and the brothers were all busy building their own careers. As of me, I was the only child to my rich parents. They both died in an accident when I was just ten. I grew up with a distant uncle and aunt of mine who took great care of me till all the fortune my parents had left drained. I later moved to an orphanage that aided my studies. So practically we were both orphans. At the time of our marriage Rustham told me, “I know you want the comfort and care of a family but I have neither of them to offer you… let’s build one”. But my fate was devoid of those things. Rustham breathed his last two years ago. It was also an accident. Many had the opinion that it must be a murder considering Rustham’s character. He earned more enemies than friends. But I do not have such suspicions. Rustham spent five days in the hospital after the accident. He spoke to me about the incident and how a young man came to his rescue. But unfortunately on the fifth day, he had a cardiac arrest. Death was never a stranger in my life. It was the cruelest villain that left me alone with my daughter. But at least I have her. If not for her, for whom shall I live!
It’s still hard for a single mother even if she is working to be on her own. Everyone seems to be very much interested in reminding her how incomplete she is. Dr. Rawuthor however never treated me any different after Rustham’s death. He had always been Rustham’s friend. He is a man of insight; well respected by people of all walks of society. If anything did harm to his image or the clinic was the unfortunate death of Chandrashekhar, a wealthy businessman of Mirzapur. It happened some twelve years ago, to be exact, a year after I joined. He was brought to the clinic as he suffered from a minor heart attack. The condition wasn’t that bad but still after providing primary medical aid Dr. Rawuthor had suggested to take him to the facilitated hospitals in the city which he himself refused. He was under observation for two days and at the eve of the second day he died. It was most probably a murder and I had myself witnessed the chaiwala boy running out of Chandrashekhar’s room with a syringe in his hand. Shanthi who was an elder nurse in the clinic was also with me. Shanthi had been suffering from epilepsy. Though her condition was under control on medication, the incident and the commotion worsened her state and she too breathed her last within two days. The disappearance of the chaiwala boy without a trace and lack of proper evidences made it unclear if it was a murder. However, it was an unforgettable incident in the clinic’s history. Dr. Rawuthor had been blamed since then by those who sought an opportunity to ignite a communal riot. But the fact is that Dr. Rawuthor never really had a religion. He was that man with leftist ideology and openly criticizing all those religious people regardless of their religion. Chandrashekhar on the other hand was not a very good man either. His morality had been questioned many times, especially his treatment of women. Nevertheless, those who seek a problem in every situation, it was an ample one.
I, being a very religious person, had strong disagreements with Dr. Rawuthor in many of his statements. But I had such a strong sense of respect for him that I never reported it straight at his face. Other matters in which I have disagreements with him includes him assigning me at the labor room in the case of absence of Dr. Prameela just because I was the only remaining lady doctor, and his silence at Shahid, the recently joined pharmacist who frequently preach his love for me. Both the matters disturb me equally.
Once nurse Rosey told me that she had an infatuation on Shahid from the very first day he joined the clinic but when she approached him, he had told that he had already fallen for me. She added how he described how much he admired the twinkle in my eyes every evening when I go to the gates to receive my Riya returning from school. For a widow in her thirties another love life is not forbidden in our society unless it becomes illegal or immoral. But for me, I already feel like in my fifties. I have the whole memory of my youth in my heart that I had spent with my Rustham. At this state the advances of someone in his twenties makes an impression of insult though I doubt I may be secretly enjoying his strange descriptions of my charisma. But accepting another man in my life is so far from possibility as I could still sense Rustham everywhere.
Everybody in the clinic is now well aware of Shahid’s fascination for me but we had never had any talk in person except him occasionally offering chocolates to my little Riya which I had never permitted her to accept. But today, during the lunch break he suddenly dragged me to the not so easily noticeable room at the corner of the stairs. The room is used to keep wheelchairs and stretchers which are stored for emergency cases. Those frequently used ones are often left in the corners of verandahs. The room was barely lit. I could not see his full face except the eyes that was visible through the narrow light passed through the door. I never thought I had such fear for death. I had always thought that death was a cruel companion in my life and when it arrives I shall shake hands and join the rest of my family with pleasure. But when I was alone at that room even though the way he held my arm was not hurting, all I could think was my little Riya crying alone at the clinic’s gates unknown of her dead mother. I gathered my strength and broke the silence, “You cannot kill me.”
“What makes you think that I would kill you when all I said was how much I love you.”
“Do you think this bearded and your fake love will hide the little murderer you were?”
“I know… I had known this since I came here that you had recognized me. I always kept an eye on
you if you would anytime disclose it out here. But you never did and I wonder why.”
“Everyone shall have a fair chance to repent but to trust again is a different story.”
“You are right. But haven’t you ever thought why would a young boy of fourteen do such a crime? Or who made him do it.?”
“Every murderer has a justifying story. One should be brave to take revenge but it takes much greater courage to forgive.”
There was an empty desk at one corner of the room. He freed my arm, moved slowly, sat down on the desk and asked, “Would you mind sitting here? I have been carrying this heavy burden for so long. I wish I had someone to speak to.”
He was so emotionally taken aback, inhaling forcefully to prevent him weep. I couldn’t be that rude to leave the room. So I decided to listen to his story. He said, “That man impregnated my mother and abandoned her. Soon after my birth, she committed suicide out of the shame of being alive. Remember Shanthi? She was my aunt. To prevent her from the same tragic story of my mother’s, I had to end that cruel man’s life. Who will help a teenager to kill somebody? I didn’t know why but I asked Dr. Rawuthor for help. He gave me the solution and a new life and identity. But the poor soul of my aunt couldn’t bear the pain…”
He couldn’t say all that he wanted to because his tears had already covered his face. As for me, I felt a sense of shock as well as regret at the same time. I had felt Shanthi had been really close to me, yet I couldn’t realize the pain she had gone through. I couldn’t help either of them. I remained a silent witness who never even tried to seek the truth. I didn’t know what to do then. I just tapped his shoulders. I couldn’t say a word. I left the room silently. At the evening, when Riya arrived, I was waiting for her at the gates. Shahid came and offered her a chocolate. As always she looked at me to know if she could have it. And for the first time I nodded my head. She smiled and received the chocolate and said “Thank you Bayya!”
Thinking about it, I don’t really feel it right how Dr. Rawuthor made a young boy commit a crime. But he has always been a man of insight and I could only list it as one of the many disagreements I have with him but never discuss. If only Rustham was here! If only I had someone to speak to!
