Guilt!

            Yes. She’s there again. Like a rule. No! Like a ritual. She stood at my gate as I came out holding my coffee mug. It’s been almost a year since she started coming. I’ve still not gotten used to her. Her presence sends a chill down my spine. She never speaks. But probably a silent curse has been bestowed on me. “Bindu”. I shout, calling my maid. “Ask the guard to shoo her away”. I tell her. But Bindu, my young and enigmatic maid, doesn’t tell the guard. She herself walks down and gently leads the woman away from my house. Bindu has a heart, a golden one. Memsahib, she is just a bit mad, but not dangerous. She tells me. I believe her. I tried offering the woman some money. She took it. Then threw it down, laughed and ran. To where, I don’t know, only to return in the morning. I tried to trade my guilt for money. It was a big mistake, certainly not my first one. I had made another mistake. A much bigger one

               Krishna and I were friends. Good friends from childhood. So when she told me she was getting married I was elated! I bought a shiny red and green dress for myself to wear for the special day along with gold earrings. Gosh! It had been so long since I had dressed up! Coming back home, when I was looking at the piles of clothes and other things I had brought for the occasion, memories of Krishna and me, sitting on my grandma’s veranda piled on as well. I was in Mussorie then. At the age of five, when my parents were trying to make a decent living in Delhi, I was sent to my Nani’s place to live. Nani was old and lived alone in Mussorie. I was admitted to a school, and thus, began a friendship that stood the test of time, distance and memory. Krishna was in the boarding in the same school. She used to come to my house during weekends and Nani cooked her favourite delicacies. We spent hours sitting in the veranda, chatting. We never got bored of each other and our talks never ended. After school, when we took our separate ways, we pledged, we’ll be always there for each other. And so we did, somehow. But we were there for each other. Krishna left to the United Kingdom for her business studies. I went ahead to fulfill my parents' dream of becoming a doctor. I had just started my practice, when one fine day, Krishna called me and told me that she was getting married. Krishna! My shy, sober friend was getting married! I had to go! 

              A month before the marriage my own personal celebrations began. I managed to escape early from the hospital and then roamed the streets of Delhi to look for things I knew nothing about! Anything, which I would like, or Krishna would like. By the end of the month I had various things from probably every shop in Delhi! At night, Krishna used to call me and tell me, with excitement, the pre-wedding preparations at her place, in Hyderabad. I, in turn, told about my shopping sprees. The day I was to catch my flight for Hyderabad my excitement knew no bounds. I literally bubbled with energy and was intoxicated with euphoria. In my over-enthusiasm, I had even done my packing a fortnight ago! I couldn’t sleep the night prior to my flight. The next day when I got up, I danced and sang alone in my apartment. It was Krishna’s wedding!

              My flight was in the evening. I had taken leave for two weeks from the hospital, so I had nothing to do, but to sit and think of the reunion that lay ahead. I was blissful. Little did I know that the events that lay ahead would forever leave a mark on my memory, that too, not in a very pleasant way. In the evening, around 4, when I was checking my luggage for the hundredth time, my phone rang. It was from hospital. The receptionist informed me that I was called, urgently. I was irritated. My flight was in four hours, plus, I was supposed to be on leave. I stuffed my luggage in my car and left for hospital, thinking that from there, I would straight make a move for the airport.

              The hospital was in chaos. The head nurse upon seeing me rushed towards me. Before I could even ask, many voices started telling me what had happened, in a desperate attempt to sink in the urgency of the matter. Of what I could decipher amongst the buzzing of many voices was this – A boy was hit by a truck while driving his scooter. He had severe head injuries, and two of his leg bones had been powdered. There had been excessive blood loss. But the problem was he was brought to the hospital almost two hours after the accident. A blood clot had formed in his skull, which, in turn, was affecting flow of blood towards his brain. A surgery had to be performed urgently to remove this clot if the boy was to be saved. Dr.Solanki, my senior, and the head neurologist were on a week-long tour to Japan.

               The situation was such that I was the sole neuro-specialist then. By the time, I was aware of the whole scene I was almost on the verge of passing-out myself due to sheer pressure and anxiety. I had assisted Dr.Solanki in some surgeries, but those too were minor ones. To suddenly become the in-charge, that too, in such a serious case was beyond my calibre. My hands were sticky with perspiration and fine beads of sweat now adorned my forehead too. I was perplexed. Why wasn’t the boy referred to some other hospitals when there’s no doctor here? “It is because none of the other hospitals are ready to take the case.” muttered the head nurse. “It’s a fifty-fifty situation.” She whispered in my ear. I knew I wasn’t capable of performing this single-handedly. I could not. 

                Plus, I had a flight to catch. Human, they say, is the most beautiful creation of God. Here lay a man who could die anytime, and there my mind thought of my best-friend in her wedding costume, dancing for Bollywood songs. Where is the beauty? I looked around helplessly, seeking a way out. It was then that a screeching voice came running towards me. “The doctor’s here??” The blue sari clad screeching voice said. “Please save my son. I have gone to five hospitals, no one takes him. I am poor. But if you save him, I’ll pay you any amount you want. Just save my son. ”She said and fell on my feet. I was moved. “It’s not about the money mataji.” I replied, trying hard to control my emotions. “But I am new. I haven’t performed any such major surgeries.” “Then call someone who knows it.” The woman wailed. Her blue sari was smeared in dirt and sweat and what not. I took a step back from her. “Rajeev is to get married next month. He is just 24. Please save him.” She said, as I signalled the ward-boy to pick her up from the cement floor. She was helped to her feet.

                 I looked at my watch, 6:30. I had to leave for the airport. I panicked. I peeped inside the small window of the room in which Rajeev lay. He was covered in blood. Had it not been for the oxygen-mask, I would have mistaken him for dead. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t do this. I am new. The boy needs another doctor.  And Krishna … “Mataji.” I said calmly. “I am writing a letter to my friend who is in ****** Hospital. They have good doctors there. They’ll do the surgery and I’m sure Rajeev will be fine. What’s the use of me doing the surgery when there are other good and experienced doctors to do so? ”She sobbed silently. “But they say he can’t be moved now. He’s too critical. And ****** is almost 40 minutes from here.. ” I cut her sentence mid-way and shot a piercing glance at the head-nurse. There was no need to give such extra-information to the patients’ relatives. “Mataji, a team of sisters and a junior doctor will be with you. The hospital ambulance will take you there. Don’t worry.” The woman still sobbed uncontrollably. She looked at me for a while, probably looking for some hint of humanity in them. But they were lost in the flash lights of the marriage ahead. Hastily, I wrote a letter to a doctor I knew in ***** Hospital. The ward boys put Rajeev in a stretcher. His mother still sobbed and looked at me. I consoled her and hurriedly made my way outside.

                 Krishna got married. It was a lavishly laid out grand affair carried out with great pomp and show. She is now settled in the US. Rajeev never made to the hospital I’m told. I am still in Delhi planning to move to some other city now. A woman in blue sari appears at my doorstep every morning. Her sari is in tatters and her face has lines running from every corner. Bindu tells me she’s mad and roams the area aimlessly. Hahaha! Bindu laughs, observing me squirming with discomfort as the lady appears at the gate. “Maybe she wants some treatment from you memsahib.” I am not able to appreciate the joke.