Page 112 - FATE & DESTINY

FATE & DESTINY

“You look stressed,” he said. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Go wait in the lobby. We’ll call you when it’s
over.”
We sat on the staircase, next to the OT door, and said the rosary. After a few rounds, my rosary string snapped
and the beads scattered about.
“Oh, no! That’s a bad omen,” I mumbled.
“What’s all this?” blurted Choki, picking the beads.
“Sorry. Maybe I pulled hard on the beads.”
We picked all we could. And the surrounding people helped us.
Dr. S.K. Mitra came out at 3:00 pm. He beckoned to us. “Operation is successful. We’ve eviscerated a portion of
the large intestine and joined it to his rectum. You’ll find the baby in ICU, seventh floor.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I said.
Choki and I scrambled up the stairs, two steps at a time. Rinchen groaned in a semi-conscious state. We attended
him in turns, all night. The next morning, Rinchen flinched his fingers.
“Rinchen,” said Choki. “Open your eyes, dear.”
He opened his eyes and cried and soon went back to sleep. Towards the evening on the third day, he ran on a
high fever. As he writhed in agony, lumps of glutinous blood spewed out of his rectum.
“What’s happening?” blurted Choki. “Oh, no! Call the doctor, please!”
The on-duty doctor phoned Dr. S.K. Mitra and said, “The surgeon is not coming today. He is busy.”
“Okay, I’ll phone him,” I said, dialing the number with shivering fingers.
When Rinchen groaned harder, Choki said, “It’s over now. Everything is over.”
“Relax, please,” said the doctor. “Nothing will happen to the baby.”
Dr. S.K. Mitra arrived after half an hour and observed the blood. He frowned. “Nothing serious. You shouldn’t
have phoned me. I was busy.”
He conversed with the on-duty doctor in their vernacular and slogged out.
“He said it happens after surgery,” said the on-duty doctor. “Don’t worry, please.”
The next morning, Dr. S.K. Mitra came and went through the record sheet, and instructed something to the
nurse.
As he turned to go, I said, “I am sorry for bothering you last night. We thought something was wrong with the
baby.”
He wobbled out, drooping his shoulder.
With each passing day, the baby recuperated. I carried meals for Choki from the guest house. At night, I curled
up in the lobby with other attendants. Reading newspapers was the only means to kill time. And sometimes, tea out
in the street seemed to help a lot.
Daytime, people crammed the lobby. So, I would sneak out to the tea stall. One late morning, I sat beside a man
reading the INDIAN EXPRESS.
“Can you pass over that paper to me, please?” I asked, pointing at the DECCAN CHRONICLES on the glass
table. “Sorry to disturb you.”
He smiled as he passed it over to me. “Never mind.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Where are you from?” He glanced at me from above his reading glasses. “Mizoram?”
“Bhutan,” I said. “You heard it?”
“Yes.”
“You been there?”
He shook his head. “I heard about it from my friends.”
“It’s small but a heaven-on-earth country,” I said, dusting the newspaper. “You’d want to visit it. Many Indian
tourists go there.”
“Really? You got a patient here?”
“Yeah. My baby is in the ICU.”
He removed his reading glasses. “Your baby?”
“Yes, a baby boy. Operated last week.”
“What for?”
“Intestine,” I said. “It was narrow and ganglion cells were missing. The surgeon said they removed a portion of
it.”
He clucked his tongue. “Oh, poor baby.”
“It’s okay. And you, sir?”
“My boss is inspecting the hospital.” He got up and rushed out. “My boss. Bye, see you tomorrow.”
I waved. “Okay.”

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