eFiction India eFiction India Vol.02 Issue.09 | Page 61

STORIES

Unlike the queen, Parijat was not enchanted
to see the blood drops on the pan; she was
not disturbed either. For some months now,
she was discharging blood. It had become a
normal practice with her. She started avoiding the toilet because of this. Once Aravind
told her, enough is enough; you must go
and see a doctor. It is not right to let any
illness last long for any reason. Aravind was
so influenced with an article written in the
newspaper by a doctor that he landed up at
that doctor’s door with Parijat.
The doctor could write very complicated
theories in simple words which could be
easily understood by laypeople. He proved
with arguments that every illness was half
physical and half mental. Adding these to
his qualifications, they arrived at his house
in the afternoon. The doctor was taking
rest at that time. That day, the doctor
had already finished his schedule to meet
patients.
Aravind said, “There is no time limit for
doctors. I have bunked the office today.
It won’t be possible to bunk it again
tomorrow.”
Aravind pressed the calling bell. After a
while the doctor himself came out of the
door. He was a huge middle-aged man.
He looked at Parijit and Aravind with a
questioning glance and before he could ask
anything of them, Aravind said, “Are you
Doctor Mishra?”
“Yes,” the doctor replied.
Aravind continued. “She is my wife.” Then
he described about her illness from beginning to end. The doctor and his guests went
inside and sat down.
Now it was the doctor’s turn to ask questions. “What did you say? Pain in the under
abdomen? Pain in the back? Blood all over
the pan? All right. Let me check.”
Aravind was told to sit while Parijat went
inside the doctor’s examining room. The
doctor lit the room and Parijat lied down on
the patient’s examination bed after climbing

over the two-stepped ladder.
“Yes, a little towards the top. Don’t sleep.
Kneel down.” Parijat knelt down. “No not
like that; on your knees like a four-legged
animal,” the doctor corrected.
This time she went down on her kneels like
a four-legged animal and Dr. Mishra began
checking her. Her muscles started stiffening out. Afterwards she thought, ‘She is a
patient, which means she is an object of
research. The patient’s caste, religion, sex,
and age does not matter; the doctor didn’t
have any caste, religion, sex, or age either.’
Dr. Mishra moved his hand towards the
switchboard and the light above the inspection table was turned off. Parijat’s intuition
informed her Dr. Mishra was not God.
He was also a slave to the senses of eyes,
ears and nose. His hunger and thirst were
immense. There was no element of discretion in his choice, just like a wayward cow.
She stood up before any unpleasant incident could occur and walked towards the
room where Aravind was patiently sitting
and pushed open the slightly closed door
with force.
Aravind asked her, “So did the doctor check
you?” The doctor turned on all the lights of
the room and opened the door wide as he
sat down at his table. Aravind had no choice
but to ask the doctor about Parijat’s health.
The doctor replied, “The patient is very
sensitive.”
Aravind smiled and said, “She is a woman.
That’s why.”
The doctor then replied with disgust, “Yes,
woman or something else.”
Aravind was surprised and looked at Dr.
Mishra—the stomach with six inches of fat;
the dyed hair smeared with oil; the clean
and clear feminine cheeks. This appearance prompted the word “disgusting,” not
Parijat; NEVER Parijat.
Parijat stuffed her mouth with the end of

60

her saree and grew impatient to leave.
Part IV

A

S IT IS, the children turn into
caterpillars during that time.
There is no question of choice or
preference. No mention about hunger or
the absence of it. They can eat everything.
As soon as the bus stops, they get down with
their water bottles and go straight into the
restaurant. After washing their hands in the
wash basin, they occupy a table and order
food. Both she and Aravind sit as nonentities. They order food according to their
choice. They get different kinds of food
such as chicken, and naan (bread and peas
with cheese). The restaurant is inside the
bus stand. A dusky boy with a dirty uniform
pours water onto the greasy steal glasses
from a dirty plastic jug and puts them on
the table. The water bottles brought from
home lie beside the children. They drink
the water from the restaurant with pleasure.
Drops of sweat accumulate on the tips of
their noses. Their noses start running. They
eat with utmost contentment. They keep on
eating even if they are full and not in a condition to eat anymore. At last, they get out
of the restaurant with handful of paanmahuri, the aniseed.
No sooner have they taken a round or two
about the bus stand, they insist on buying
cold drinks. B