The Radiant Star

I always loved looking through the windows. From the window of my house, I could see a part of Himalayan range along with the green hills beneath them. From the window of my hostel during my medicine study years, I enjoyed seeing a large greenish ground and tall trees that stood as the walls of my hostel. Here, in a small district hospital, I could see the plains with plantations and a few huts. Sometimes, if I am lucky enough I could see women returning from day’s work singing all the way.

As a new doctor, I came to this hospital of the rural Terai district some two months ago. In the beginning days, neither I liked the place as I could see no mountains or hills, nor the people as their dialects annoyed me. But soon I found myself too busy that I never got enough time to think about it.

I have to work hard, as I am the only doctor in the hospital. Three more doctors should have been working here but all of them visit the hospital once or twice a month to claim the paycheque and to sign the attendance. The peon in the hospital told me that they all have private clinics in Kathmandu, some 16 hours bus-ride from the nearest bus station.

I have no intention to stay here forever. I would do the same after learning few techniques of using loopholes of administration. I stay in a small bungalow, some five minutes away from the hospital. I come to hospital early in the morning and return late night to find the cosy bed. My breakfast, lunch and dinner all are served in the doctors’ cabin.

And it was the same routine that particular day. I came from a round checking up the admitted patients, there was only 12 of them and was waiting for the maid, who brings me food. I was looking through the window. The greenish plantation lay as far as I could see; a few people resting in the shadow of trees; some children playing on the field ignoring the hot sun and the empty path that starts from the hospital gate and vanish into the nearby village.
“Doctor Saab, your lunch is here,” said the maid who had already spread the plates and bowls on the table.

“What the course, Anju?” I asked.

“Its dal (soup), bhat (rice) and acchar (pickle), no tarkari (vegetable curry) today,” answered the maid. Anju carefully poured out the contents of tiffin carrier to the plates and left the cabin.

I ate slowly thinking about the nothingness of the life in the hospital. All the day looking the poor people with nothing but diseases and talking with them in a language I find difficult to weave correctly. I find myself in a void, far from family and friends, the lively nights and the fast moving city life. Everything here moves slowly. I even suspect that the arms of a watch move slowly.

“Did you finish doctor saab?” asked Anju peeping through the cabin door. Here peeping face reminded me of a small niece. She would peep into my room and call me ‘doctor, I am ill’ and would run away leaving me a smile. I even missed her teasing here. Suddenly, I thought of visiting home for few days.

“Doctor saab!” I should have stargazed, as Anju called a bit louder.

“Come in,” I asked her. She moved in.

“Where you live?” I asked her. He stared at me, probably thinking what had happened to a saab in front of her who seems to have cured dumbness after a month. I had never asked her any personal query in such a long period. What I have known about her was only her name, not even the surname, but had always smiled at her whenever I met her.

“In nearby village,” answered Anju. I knew she was pointing out to a small village of about 30 huts, about 10 minutes east of the hospital.

“Who live with you?” I questioned.

“My parents, my brother and myself.”

“Good, just four,” I said as I slipped the plates towards her. She collected it and went away smiling at me. I loved the smile, and compared it with the smile of my niece.

Days passed without any major event. I could have used a photocopy machine if I had a habit of writing diary. During these days, I inquired much about Anju’s family, her study and much of their personal things. She always answered me smiling. I grew a type of affection to her; I could not figure out what was it. It was probably that I thought her as my niece.

“Doctor saab, I have an invitation for you,” Anju announced one day before taking away the plates. “If you promise to accept it, I will say it.”

I was surprised. She had never demanded in such a way any time. “Okay, I will accept it. What’s it?” I told her.

“A fortnight from today, there is my marriage and you should come as you have promised,” she spoke quick, almost in a breath, and ran away leaving me stargazed.

I cursed myself for the promise as I was planning to spend three weeks in the home back in Kathmandu and had already taken the leave for it starting from the day after. One of my friends had called me saying that he and I should open a clinic. I have consented, and was already in my way to leave behind the void life.

****TOP****

I cut short my leave and came back after ten days. But in those ten days, I made every arrangement for the new clinic that would be inaugurated in one or two months. My promise to Anju brought me back early. I even bought gold earrings to present her, investing half of what I am paid at the hospital monthly.

In my room in Kathmandu, I wondered why did I buy an expensive present. I was staring at the glistering gold, when my niece tiptoed into the room without my attention. “What a nice thing to present to my future aunt,” she teased me and ran away. I was surprised. I ran after her, caught her and told her -”There is a little girl like you back in the hospital who is going to marry. And the earrings are for her.” adding that she would get even better when she would marry. She grinned, I kissed her and let her go away shying and grinning.

When I attended Anju’s marriage, I fondly offered her the earrings. She was surprised for the second time, first when she saw me attending her marriage. I stayed till her father and mother bid farewell to her. I could not stop the tears when I saw her tears.

When I was returning, I heard rumours that the groom’s family was not happy with what had been offered as dowry. But did pay no attention to it.
The next day, Anju’s mother brought me the food. She did not go away while I ate. She fondly looked at me occasionally. Probably she knew what I have offered to her daughter as present or she was surprised to see me all the day in the marriage.

“How is Anju?” I asked her.

“What to say, doctor babu?” she said. “We gave them the dowry as much as we could. We even take loan for it, but they are not happy. I fear what would it grow into but hope for end of it.”

I was surprised. “What can happen now? The marriage has already completed.”

“Anything can happen, doctor babu, anything,” her voice abrupt. I was curious to hear more but could not dare to ask more after I saw she was holding tears on her eyes.

After the day, I always avoided Anju from our conversation not to hurt her anymore.

My friend, Binod, informed me that the clinic was ready. I had already made arrangements at the hospital. Like other doctors, now, I will only be coming to the hospitals to claim the paycheques. The assistant at the hospital, who was a local and also was acting director/accountant/and-anything-else of the hospital, smiled mischievously and told me that I learned the system quite late.

It was my final night. Tomorrow morning, I will be catching the bus that will take me the city, plunge me into the sea of people where everything is lively. I will find the life again. It took me so long to find the sleep.

I probably had just slept when loud knocks on the door woke me up. I felt angry, as I had strongly instructed the house attendant not to disturb me at nights or to let anyone else to do so.

“Who’s it?” I asked from the bed.

“Doctor babu, doctor babu,” I heard the voice that I have repeatedly heard in the cabin during the lunch break. I jumped off the bed, wrapped whatsoever clothes fell on my hand and opened the door.

There was the old woman, almost soaked with tears. “They burnt Anju, doctor babu,” she said before collapsing. “Who? Where is Anju?” I asked her trying to shake her.

“She is at the hospital, sir,” Anju’s brother told me. I hadn’t noticed his presence. I instructed my house attendant to use some water on Anju’s mother and ran to the hospital. Anju’s body was laid on the floor at the front door, as the hospital was closed. I could not have recognised her with her burnt face if one of her ear was not holding the earring I had presented her. Her upper part of body was badly burnt.

I felt her nerves, but found no movement, as I have suspected. She was cooling down and one of my lovely nieces had already made the flight to the heaven. My heart pinched. I was dumbfounded. Her father and other people accompanying him probably knew the fact seeing me, as they didn’t asked anything and Anju’s father started sobbing.

I was calm, but my heart was pinching and I wanted to sob in a room alone. Anju’s lifeless body was there, lying on the cold floor. The knew the cold would not affect her anymore, but I directed the peon of the hospital to open the door, lifted her body and put it down on the long waiting bench. I found a green sheet in a room and covered her with it. Before covering her, I tried to see her innocent face, but it was all black.

I could not stop the water on my eyes and did wipe out eyes more than once.
The police came. They told me that they were returning from Anju’s groom’s house. I requested the head constable to talk in the cabin for a while.

What he told me inside the closed cabin horrified me and could not stop tears despite using all my energy against it. The head constable told me its not a new thing in the district, but I could not, however, could not stop them.

The head constable told me that Anju’s groom along with his mother and father used to beat her brutally almost everyday for she did not bring enough dowry. That particular evening too, she was brutally beaten as everyone in the neighbourhood heard her screaming in pain. At around 10 o’clock the groom’s father called every neighbour saying that his daughter-in-law committed suicide.

Someone came with the news to Anju’s father, who suspected a murder, hurriedly went there with some of his neighbours. Someone was sent to inform the police. Anju’s father accused the other side of murdering and brought back the corpse.

The police found that Anju’s groom has already fled. They questioned Anju’s father-in-law who conceded that they beat Anju but reiterated that she committed suicide. But after some threatening by the police, he broke and admitted that they killed Anju after beating and burnt her so to make it look like suicide. The reason behind the brutal murder, as they admitted, is to clear the obstacles for their son’s next marriage.

The post-mortem next day confirmed what the head constable had said. I was still numb. When Binod called me to know why I didn’t come as scheduled all I could say was that I have decided to stay back in the hospital forever.

I don’t know how the event changed me, but Anju’s murder, which I could never forget, encouraged me to stay there; to teach the illiterate people the value of humanism and love; and probably to show them money isn’t everything we should run after.

- 10 April 2003
(Inspired by a true story that I translated from Nepali for The Kathmandu Post.)