The Humanoid – IVa

( Part IV )

Odisha Sarkar appoints me.

” What about my accommodation ?  There is no habitation near the dispensary. I have to sleep somewhere in the night” I asked desperately.
” That is non of our concern. It is the village committee’s look out.” Said my boss.

[ The incident happened at the very beginning of my career. In those days I needed one mandatory year of state service to be eligible for a teaching job in the medical colleges . I knew that there had not been any such appointment for last 4 years. 4 years senior alumni of my college have been waiting in periphery for that one single post which may appear or may not in the near future. “Ok, Let me give it a try”, I thought. ]

-1-

The friendly Conductor

On the tenth day after circling health Secretariat of my state , I collected my appointment letter from Odisha Sarkar Bahadur. Good. It was a small village in the erstwhile undivided Balasore District. Reasonable. I was lucky to be posted near my home district. Or so I thought. Next day I boarded a deluxe AC coach to Balasore. On the way I showed my appointment letter to the conductor for his guidance. The deference was obvious. At Chandikhol he ordered a special cup of Chai for the doctor saab and filled me the details of my venture.
I must get down at Bhadrakh Bypass, a particular stoppage and change for a local van. After another 10 kms, I must get down at ‘Kolha’.

“Be Careful to get down at the right point. Sir. otherwise you will be over carried and again you have to trek back.”

Although vans ( called Trekkers) ply frequently but the drivers hustle the passengers for that extra money.

“No money, thank you sir. will you take any snacks ? It is definitely my pleasure sir. I will be waiting for your return journey. Namaste.” said he.

I was delighted with my new found status.

-2-

Trekker Travel

We all were packed into a small van (called Trekker) like sardines into a can. There are trekkers plying every 10 minutes but all are jam-packed. I have been waiting for more than one hour for a seat in one such trekker. This time I did not want to miss the passage and wait longer. I jumped into an already packed van. It’s a miracle that I could still be fitted inside it.The six kilometer road was soaked in hot sun, seasoned with itchy dust and smelly sweat of my co passengers. We acrobated the journey by bending our body into all possible anti gravity postures. On the way the trekker stopped every km to pick up and pack fresh sardines in. finally it was over.
I got down and surveyed my surrounding for further course of action. it was a quintessential Indian village. Dusty roads meandering through Gulmohar trees and few occasional thatched roof cottages. When I enquired about the hospital, the people showed that extra concern reserved for a rural practitioner. Everybody just pointed their fingers eastward and repeated, “one furlong”. After trudging several ‘one furlong’s and crossing one bullock cart and several bicycles borne villagers, I stopped near a thatched inn and introduced myself and asked for the direction. That did the wonder. The innkeeper shrieked. immediately a little boy appeared from nowhere . He saluted me and unshackled one rusty bicycle from a tree and carried me. Ever since I have enrolled into medical college, I have forgotten how to ride pillion in a village bicycle but managed successfully. We crossed several lane without any trouble. Then he deposited me on the bank of a small stream gurgling further east. Pointing a rickety finger at the opposite bank he said, “There it is, on the opposite side (.. of the stream.). I followed his gaze. Hell, nothing was visible. I thanked him any way and he left in a hurry waving good luck to me.

-3-

A journey I can never forget

The tidal river was never bridged. I stood on its bank wandering how to cross to other side. Suddenly I realized how desolate Lord Ram must have felt that day standing on the bank of the south sea and looking for his spouse. He had at least Laxman on his side.
Have you ever seen a dried river bed which fills up twice in a day during high tides? It was practically a 15 meter water stream flanked by two mud beds of 10 meters on each side. The local wear like Dhoti or Lungi (mundu) with hawai slipper is best suited for it. You can pick up your slippers in your left hand and gather the lungi in your right so that you can effortlessly wade through the mud and water. But I had just completed my MD and was just going to my maiden work place. so I was lavishly dressed. And then I had a company. Yes, he was another co passenger must have walked all the way after getting down from our trekker. He was appropriately attired. Suddenly he let out a shrill high pitched cry from his mouth cupped by both his hand. It was long and a bit pulsatile. The nearest equivalent will be the intermittent summer whine of a lonely dove (titar) in that harsh sun. It was a long, eerie and almost surreal one that pierced the lonely afternoon surrounding us and reached to the other bank of the river. He went on and on. Soon we were joined by others who also joined the chorus. it was fantastic. Presently a lone echo came from the other bank. And then I saw him. He was a bent old man. He descended majestically into a raft made of wooden planks and moved towards us. He was the lone ferryman, the transporter for us. For all who want to go to my hospital.

One of my co traveller lead me the way. He picked up his freshly starched and pressed white attire in his right hand, slippers in left, then stepped into the innocuous looking mud. I removed my shoes and socks, rolled my starched trouser up to knee and ventured into the mud. It was ankle deep. Thank God. Soon all of us were water borne.But the ferryman waited and waited. The raft swayed and swayed. After an eternity, two more passenger joined us. Then we set sail.
It was the most audacious journey of my life. The raft swayed like a leaf. I did not know swimming. I started praying to all my childhood Gods at once, lest any of them may be busy in their business of saving other friends. And the journey was over. Again the muddy water and mud and finally I set foot on my duty soil for the first time.
I followed my newly found friends into the paddy fields stretching to horizons. For miles and miles it was flat without any construction. Soon all my friends vanished into small specks in the vast amphitheater of rural Odisha. In a paddy field you don’t have to follow a beaten path. You are the creator of your own path in any of the 360 degree direction. I was directed towards an invisible stone palatial building.
The paddy has been freshly harvested. The soil was still soft and treacherously slippery. Have you ever walked on the stumps of a harvested paddy field ? The stumps of the cut crop are sharper than arrows of Arjuna. It is more slippery than the icy peaks of the Himalayas any time. I picked up my shoes in one hand and ventured into the vast midland, slipping once or twice but balancing well. The field was full of lovely birds picking up fallen crop. The sun was a blinding bright. Air was having an exotic fragrance. Then I saw them, the field rats as big as cat. Oh my God. I could spot a rattle snake swallowing a frog. The poet in me left in a hurry. I started calling my favorite gods in serial and soon crossed the field and reached a fairly big stone structure. It dwarfed the occasional thatched roof cottages here and there. It rose like a block of laterite Tajmahal, its platform rising to my shoulder height from the ground with a narrow stair leading to a closed door. Not even a squirrel was visible. The new village hospital to be commissioned by me. I was the first and only one in the employment roll. No pharmacist, no drugs and obviously no patients. The all in one Chowkidar cum Safaiwala cum attendant cum dresser was a volunteer from the village. I did not know this. So I have not informed him about my sudden arrival. He had gone to another village for his morning round and would not return by sun down. These are some wisdom I gained later. But now, I, the Shahjehan was standing in front of my Tajmahal with folded trousers and shoes in hand and looked around for any help.
Then I saw the cluster of thatched roof cottages at a distance. It was the Odisha Sarkar’s only other initiative in that region. The village primary school. I joined them. They were only three. Food is being served. They welcomed me and I gratefully shared their lunch. They advised me to carry every essential from blade to food to kerosene from across the river. Nothing is available on this side of world. Time had stopped here. The school operates daily but all the staffs stay across the river. They come in batches of twos or threes carrying their own essentials, stay here for four days soon to be relieved by another fresh team. Their self arranged mess closes on Friday to restart on Tuesday, because Sunday is a holiday. But as the first doctor setting a foot here, I should report to the village head who can arrange my stay there.
-How far it is ?
-Two miles.
Then why did they build a hospital in this desolate place? Who will come two miles for a bottle of mixture ?
Well, no village head wanted to surrender such a prestigious project to his competing neighbor. Ultimately Sarkar Bahadur has to select a no man’s land in the greater interest of people. And what better option than this high land of paddy field that was equal distant from all the villages. the village heads did not mind walking two miles for a bottle of medicine than surrendering the credit of hosting the Zonal Medical Centre to his competitor. After all, the head has to keep his turban high.

-4-

I met my Boss, the CDMO

Next day I went to meet my Boss in the District hospital of Balasore. She was a bored fat lady about to retire shortly. She surveyed me carefully from top to bottom from the moon of her gilded glasses and squealed like a stuck pig,”look young Doctor, No group D staff would be posted to that Health unit. That was the part of the agreement between the GramSabha( the village self management committee) and us. The village will arrange the infrastructure, unskilled manpower etc. We will only provide medicine and doctor. you are the Doctor. You can collect the medicine from the store.”
” what about Pharmacist, nursing staff ?”
” It will be provided in due course.”
“How shall I carry the medicine to that place ?”
“You can take the ambulance to carry the medicine from here.” a rare benevolent gesture.
” There is a river in between. It is another two kms on that side.”
” That is the look out of the village committee. This hospital was inaugurated by the health minister in a hurry in view of the local election. We have expressed our inability to make it function at such a short notice. Everything will be arranged in due course. it will take time.”
” What about my accommodation ?  There is no habitation near the dispensary. I have to sleep somewhere in the night”
” That is non of our concern. It is the village committee’s look out.” She waved me off like a fly on her table.” And you will not get any House rent allowance. As per our agreement, the village will accommodate the staff on their own“
” Am I appointed by the village committee or by you ?”
But she was not in a mood to give me any more of her precious time and just waived me off.
So I hiked my second ride to my work place in the hospital ambulance, to the small village dispensary, my Kurukshetra.

-5-

A friendly Ambulance Driver

The ambulance driver was more supportive than my boss. He drove me upto the bank of the river Mantei. We kept the baskets of medicine in the village watchmaker’s cottage. He was driver’s drinking partner and very helpful. He immediatelly went out to look for the village porter. It seemed everyone was somehow related to him, a local man of immense resources. The Medicines recommended by the pharmacist of chief district hospital contained one box of Malaria injections, few cartons of Saline and a special box of energy injection, B complex, the last one was forcibly packed against my wish. Yet I found everybody was in need of it. So I obliged every one with one round of inoculation started at the the river bank. The porter carried the luggage free. The deaf boatman was all smiles. I did not cross the river again. Instead the precious medicines were delivered to the village headman of the opposite side by my able ambulance driver. Being a medical staff in a remote village seems to have its own silver lining as well.
With a matter-of-fact-attitude, the helping driver also saw me off to the last air -conditioned coach bound for my home town.

-6-

"Please make the Injury Grievous."

The dispensary of my posting comes under Tihidi. It was a PHC and boasted of 3 specialists: one lady Gynecologist, one Pediatrician with one Eye specialist as the in charge of us all in addition to few dispensary doctors like me.

My PHC-in-Charge was all sympathy for me. You need not go to that god forsaken land anymore. You can stay here in Tihidi and work here. I was happy and reached the PHC in time before 8 am next day. The place was totally deserted. Not a soul. Surprised, I went inside. At the rear end of the hospital building there was a tube well. A middle aged man in his lungi was sitting on his hunches and washing his clothes below the tube well. I didn’t know that he was the Badababu of the hospital and the sole occupant of the PHC from 6pm till 10 am.

While rubbing the cake of soap vigorously on the target, he blew a missile of red betel juice at my feet and hissed, “No body visits this place before 10. You are new. You will learn it soon.” He smiled at me and said, “Sir, has asked me to make arrangement for you to stay in the hospital building. You see there is only one doctor’s quarter here. It is occupied by In-Charge Sir. He stays in Balasore and reaches here promptly at 10.30 am every day. Both the Gyneic and Paediatric doctors stay at Bhadrak and reach here before sir. So will you prefer to stay here ?” He looked at me slyly.

I said,” of course, I cannot commute daily from Cuttack.”

“Be careful then” and he showed me the next room. it was a small room with a hospital bed and a window opening to the Main Street. It was the weekly market day. the streets were busy. I gladly retired to my make shift room after a busy day in outdoor. It had no fan. But babu had arranged a creaky oily table fan. I plugged in the fan. It had a garrulous tone which blended well with the noise of marketeers outside. I tried to snatch a minute of rest. Just then, a huge commotion woke me up. A motley crowd of marketeers were at the window. They had a burly man at the front who was supposed to be beaten by the opposition goons and had come for an injury certificate. I didn’t find any injury on his body. so I started writing some pain killer tablets but he stopped me. I had taken medicine, I only need a certificate to teach him a lesson. In the commotion somehow our Babu appeared like lord Krishna coming to rescue of Draupadi in distress. he shooed them away.”Don’t you know that without a Police inquisition, a injury certificate is meaning less. Go and get the police.” The crowd melted at his words. I took off my shirt and I lied down. Half an hour and the same group appeared but led by a uniformed Police constable.

The babu whispered, “It is a case of political vendetta. Just write down whatever you see and dispose them immediately. Any delay will bring more trouble.” thankfully, I made a neat Injury certificate with black moles and all as per the textbook of Juris and handed it to the Police babu.

Barely another half an hour had gone when another man appeared. He had a letter from the Minister or some sort. Half page of the paper had flowing description of a representative of health minister. In the bottom there was a scribbling of 5 words-“Please make the Injury grievous.”

I was perplexed and called for the Babu. He came and shooed them away again,”Arre, the report is taken away by the police. Nothing can be done here. Go to the Police station.”

All the minister’s men slinked away. I thanked the babu for the quick rescue. He gave that sly look again at me and smiled.”Do you still want to stay inside the Hospital campus?”

Suddenly, realisation about the extra sympathy of my In-charge sir donned on me.

I got a life full of lessons about state government service in a matter of just 3 hours. I sat down to write two letters. First one was addressed to Indian Railways. I had qualified for railway job one year back and had not replied to them. One year has passed. I asked whether the offer is still on ?

Prompt came a reply- A letter to report to Bombay VT, the HQ of the Central Railway, now known as Mumbai CST. It also advised me to show the letter at the station and they will arrange AC berth for me to reach Bombay at the earliest.

The second letter was just a two liner that informed Sarkar Bahadur of my resignation from state services. As I handed over the letter to the Babu, my well wisher, he wistfully looked at me, not knowing whether he should advise me to stay for few more days. He didn’t think it was wise to throw away a Paediatrician’s job at Bhadrak (in the 1990s.) because of few local mobs and one incidence. I didn’t tell him that I was not hurt by the villagers but for the apathetic attitude of both my bosses and the “Chalta hai” attitude of the whole system.

That wistful look still hunts me time to time.