Page 141 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

I got up and said, “I will pay the bill.”
“I will pay. It’s my treat.” He looked at the tea man and said, “He won’t take it.”
“Hum nahi le sakta,” said the tea man. “Bari sahib nahi manega.”
“Chinta mat karo,” I said. “Kuch nahi hoga. Leji.”
The tea man glanced at my friend. “Nahi.”
My kind host grinned. “See, he won’t take it. It’s our culture.”
“Oh, thanks for the treat.”
“You are welcome. See you next time.”
Even after two weeks, Dr. S.K. Mitra didn’t talk to us. When our baby’s surgeon—who was supposed
to console us during such moments—ignored us, we lost faith in him. Nothing was worse than seeing his
ghoulish face. When he walked in, I sneaked out to avoid contretemps.
On the evening of the eleventh day, they shifted the baby to the pediatric ward. The baby blabbered
and sat up with each passing day. But he needed the intravenous drip. No feeding. It pained me to see him
crying for food.
“We should ask the surgeon about the baby’s food,” I said.
“Please do,” said Choki. “He has taken nothing till now.”
“But how? He ignores us.”
“Why not? You must ask him. He can’t treat us like an enemy.”
“Fine. I’ll do”
In the afternoon, I waited in the lobby for Dr. S.K. Mitra. He came out of the ward, slumping his
shoulder.
I shuffled after him. “Excuse me, doctor. Can I feed the baby with something? Like—”
In a tight, irritated voice, through his gritted teeth, he blurted, “No!”
I looked around. People were watching me. I blushed. “No? Why not?”
“Not yet time!”
The belligerent scowl on his face suppressed me from disputing. I scrunched my teeth, watching him
wobble out of the glass door. “Why is he always rude?” I went behind the building and leaned against the
wall, trying to revive my sour mood. It worsened.
Days later, Choki pouted as I walked into the ward during the visiting hour.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Dr. S.K. Mitra insulted me today.”
“How?”
“I told him Rinchen flinched, that his tummy rumbled, but you know what he said?” Her eyes scowled
at the door. “He said Rinchen said nothing to him, and I must not complain too much.”
“That fatso curmudgeon!” I said, gritting my teeth, “I must report this matter to our liaison officer.”
“Please don’t. He will ignore our baby.”
“Don’t worry. This is what I want him to stop at once.”
“For our baby’s sake, please.”
“Don’t worry. He would continue with his obscene manner if I don’t.”
Mr. Ngawang visited us the next day. “How’s the baby?” he asked.
“Improving.” I glanced at Dr. S.K. Mitra standing beside him. “We have a situation, sir.”
“What is it?”
“I think the surgeon is ignoring my baby’s treatment. He is rude to us. We can’t ask him anything.”
“Why should they get angry? We’re paying.”
I glanced at Dr. S.K. Mitra over my shoulder. He hung his head in silence. In the ward, he dressed our
baby’s wound and said, “We will discharge the baby two days later.”
Mr. Ngawang said, “That’s pleasant news for you.”
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