Born to Serve

Chronicle city’s bus stand was more crowded than usual, that day. Why wouldn’t it be? After all, it was Wednesday; one of those two days in a week, when Dr. Saha used to sit in his clinic, which was established in the older part of the city. On Mondays and Wednesdays, patients used to come in thousands from far off places to queue in front of the clinic from early morning to be treated. This was going on for several decades.

Dr. Saha’s father senior Dr. Saha was Chronicle city’s most famous doctor. Dr. Saha was a heart patient but he furtively used to eat all that which was not suitable for his health. He kept familial relations with his patients. He once asked a poor peasant “What is the hurry in marrying off your daughter?” Before the patient could say anything he put a wad of thousand rupee notes in peasant pocket and said “Don’t think that I am giving this in charity; I will redeem it with due interest. Don’t worry, I will not take it from you; your daughter would pay off this loan, when she becomes a doctor, just like me.”

For fifty years, he had treated patients from Chronicle city and many other cities. From incurable to life threatening, all kinds of diseases were treated here, in this clinic. For thousands of families, coming to the Saha clinic, was like visiting the Kali temple and offering prasad to the Goddess.

Then suddenly one winter morning senior Dr. Saha passed away. Nevertheless, he had passed on his profound knowledge of medicine to his son, Kunal Saha. He used to say “To become a good doctor the framed paper degree of MBBS is not enough; one must be good human being to become a true doctor. My son is more virtuous than I am. He could have gone to London, but he did not.”

Anyway, the act of leaving one’s country cannot be a yardstick for measuring one’s virtuousness. Nevertheless, the virtue was in there that the father son duo used to treat the poor for free and for the rest they would charge a nominal fee.

Senior Dr. Saha used to sit with his son in the clinic for several years. He believed that God has blessed him by making him a doctor as if he had delegated a part of his duty to his trusted entourage saying, “Go do my work, I have a lot of other things to do.” He had always said to his son, “People should not feel the difference between visiting the Kali temple and coming to this clinic; in both the places, visitors should be relieved from their sufferings. After all, medical practice is service to humankind not a business.”

He used to feel pity when he saw how the medical profession was deteriorating. Doctors in big cities were hand in glove with businessmen in sucking up poor people’s money. Two years back his father had an operation, so he had to spend a lot of time in the hospital. There he saw peasants, who had sold their lands and wives’ jewellery to visit hospitals hundreds of kilometres away from their homes to save the lives of their dear ones. These were the same people, on the pretext of whose treatment the government had sold lands valued at crores of rupees, at the price of cowries. These doctors operated on peoples’ hearts, but they did not have a heart of their own, senior Dr. Saha used to think.

Dr. Saha, who used to be in jovial mood every day, was chirpier today. Do not make wild guesses. He did not find a new love, at this ripe old age of sixty-five. In fact, Mrs. Srija had won him over fifty years back by showing off her proficiency in Tagore songs and poems. He was excited, because his son was returning home today, after completing his graduation in medicine. Two Dr. Sahas were already there in the family and now, a third was arriving.

Dr. Saha’s son, Sayak, was the apple of his eye, his pride. In fact, he was the only weakness of a discipline-loving father, for whom the old doctor had to break the rules of his own making.

Just like the D.M. and I.G. bungalows, Dr. Saha’s clinic was also quite famous. The clinic was fully packed; seats, benches and on the dais in forecourt, people were huddled together. Dr. Saha’s assistant Chotu was shouting patients’ names from the appointment roll, when the doctor saw two men in suits standing amongst a throng of ordinary people wearing shirt, pants, saree and salwar. He shouted from his chair, “Personal matter not here; come to my residence tomorrow ten o’clock sharp.” The suited men went away.

It took three hours for the doctor to attend to all the patients. After that, the doctor set off for the railway station in his old car, to receive his son. The train was late by an hour. He kept strolling on the platform. After a few minutes, he bought a newspaper from a nearby bookstall, sat down on a bench and started reading it. Right on page one, spanning the whole of the page was an advertisement. Just one glance at it made the doctor smile.

He had hardly finished his second cup of coffee, when the train arrived. Sayak was about to get down the platform, when Dr. Saha materialized before him like a bubbly God and said “Surpise!” Sayak was very happy. He hugged his father and then together they left the station. They got inside the car. Dr. Saha started driving and Sayak took the paper from his father. On the front page was the same ad, on seeing which his father had smiled. Written in bold letters were words, ‘Chronicle city to get its first private hospital.’

“Chronicle city is becoming advanced,” said Sayak.

“No matter how many private hospitals open up, now my son is here, the best doctor in Chronicle city,” replied Dr. Saha “Now I will retire and you will become the new Dr. Saha of Saha clinic.”

The mohalla greeted Sayak as if he was a warrior prince returning home after winning a war. He was not just Dr. Saha’s son, everyone in the city knew him. “Dr. Saha’s son has graduated from a big varsity. Of course, he will be a good doctor like Dr. Saha,” said someone.

Dr. Saha had always perceived medical profession as a service to the society. For this reason, his clinic was not a money-minting machine, but a factory of good health. He had earned a lot of fame and blessings but could not earn a lot of money. His father had bequeathed his ancestral bungalow to him. The bungalow was becoming old, like him. Architects had said that a portion of the bungalow had become so weak that it was too risky for anyone to live in it. Hence, according to their instructions Dr. Saha had renovated that portion of the bungalow by taking a loan of ten lakh rupees from the bank. The Chronicle city’s famous doctor had a concealed truth, which was unknown to his patients who had blessed him all along. The truth was that that he was unable to repay the loan, which he took from the bank. Yesterday, the two suited men who came to his clinic were from the same bank.

Next morning, according Dr. Saha’s instructions, they reached his residence. Sayak seated them and asked them if they would like some tea or coffee. They denied the offer. “Is father expecting you? He only attends to emergency cases in his house.”

One of the agents cleared his throat and said, “No sir, we are from the bank. We came here just to inform you that if the loan is not repaid within eighteen days we will have sell this house.”

Dr. Saha appeared buoyant from outside; but there was a time bomb ticking inside him. Behind the smile of this wizened doctor was the greatest fear of his life. His inability to pay off the loan would force him to sell his beloved bungalow. Dr. Saha assured the agents that the loan will repaid in time. He then sent them away. But ten lakh rupees! A doctor who used to treat his patients at very nominal fee and never evaded income tax by giving receipt to every patient and who had perceived medical practice to be way to serve humankind rather than a business; was today at crossroads.

***

Next morning like every other morning, he went out for his morning walk, taking his walking stick with him. Within every ten metres, he would meet a friend. On the roadside, there were some hoardings; apartment culture was taking shape in this city. Some of his friends had suggested that he should sell his house, pay off the loan and shift to an apartment. He scribbled down the numbers of some property dealers, which were printed on the hoardings. However, when he reached his bungalow he stopped dead. In front of him, was his beloved bungalow, awaiting him, just as his father would wait for him to descend from his school bus. It was this bungalow, in the lounge of which, he had learnt off-spin bowling technique from his father; where his grandmother would call the people of the mohalla, during Durga Puja; where a twenty one year old girl had won Kunal Saha’s heart by reciting a poem by Tagore; where, wrapped in a red shawl, just a few inches longer than his arm, his son Sayak, was brought from the hospital.

He entered his house. His wife Mrs. Srija had spread out all her jewellery on the bed. She said “Sell these and pay off the loan.”

Dr. Saha’s eyes were streaming. He said, “Srija, now my son is here, I am not alone. No matter what happens, I will not let this bungalow to be sold. I love this bungalow as much as I love my son. I know that my son will save this house.”

Three days passed by, only fifteen days were left, from the eighteen days granted by the bank. Sayak was completely engrossed throughout this crisis period. One Monday when Dr. Saha returned from his clinic, he found Sayak waiting for him. He seemed happy. He said, “Papa, I have found a way out of this crisis.” Dr. Saha heaved a sigh of relief and replied, “I knew it son, only you can save us.”

“My college friend, Anil Gulati, is here. He is waiting in the drawing room. He is now, the biggest businessman in this city; he has turnover of one hundred crore. He wants to open up a private hospital in this city. I have told him that he can build on our land. It will get constructed within a year; you will be the chairman and I will be CEO and we will have twenty five per cent stake in the company,” said Sayak, “Well, how is the idea papa?”

Dr. Saha could not believe his senses, that this was his son who was saying all these things. He just fixed a hollow gaze at him. He questioned, “You have told a businessman that he can build a private hospital on our land. Sayak, this is joke, right?”

“We are the ones who are becoming joke. You charge on your patients a meagre fee of forty rupees; you treat the poor for free. All the doctors in the city laugh at us. Do you know that? They say that Chronicle city has two cheap government hospitals; one is the civil hospital and the other, our Saha clinic. Helping others is all right papa, but be practical; think about our family, our financial security. You cannot even repay a loan of ten lakhs. My classmates who are doctors in Delhi and Mumbai earn ten lakhs in month?” Sayak retorted.

Dr. Saha gripped the arm of a chair, in front of him and drawled, “Sayak I used to think until now that I love this bungalow as much as I love you. Now I know that I love my house more than I love you. This house is my ancestral legacy, my father’s blessings. And father had taught me that doctors are public servants not businessmen. Just leave me alone. Come back when you are sane. We will dine together. Take your businessman friend along with you. I do not want chairman’s post and twenty five per cent stake.”

Then suddenly, he hollered, “Baldev! Start the car, fast. E.C.G.! E.C.G.!”

Experienced doctors knew when they would suffer a heart attack. Dr. Saha had suffered an attack. Doctors said that he was very alert, which is why his life was saved. But this was a lie. Though he was lying in his bed in the I.C.U., Dr. Saha’s life was already sucked out of him. His wife who had stayed up all night was looking at her husband’s reticent eyes. The wound in this heart had shown up on his face. Just when she turned to retrieve the medicines from a packet, Dr. Saha gripped his wife’s hands and said, “Srija, where did we go wrong in bringing up our son.” Lying on the bed, teardrops rolled down his cheeks.

In sixty years for the first time Saha clinic was closed. Thousands of patients had come from far off places. “Dr. Saha’s clinic is closed,” this news spread throughout the city, like a wildfire.

The next day a newspaper had printed the bank loan issue on page one. The patients whose diseases either Dr. Saha or his father had treated, phoned each other and joined the crowd at Sarawati tea stall and cried out in unison, “One of the most famous doctors in this city, is in trouble today.”

Four days passed by, then seven, then ten and eventually, that day came, when Dr. Saha had to repay his loan of ten lakhs to the bank. For two weeks he had not spoken to or met anyone. His son had driven a knife through his heart. On the eighteenth day around noon, Dr. Saha awoke from a light slumber and felt something.

Sayak was touching his feet. He said, “Papa, forgive me, I was lost. Here are ten lakh rupees,” he showed him a large packet, “the people of this city and many other cities, donated hundred, fifty, five hundred rupees to complete this amount. The house will not be sold.”

Dr. Saha looked at Sayak and replied, “I do not want this money. The house will not be there. After selling off a part of the land, paying off the loan and leaving only three rooms for us, a hospital will be built on my land, where none would ever have to pay money to save his or her life. Doctors are born to serve my son, not to do business.”

***

Glossary:

Cowries – Shell money; usually consists either of whole seashells or of pieces of them, which were often worked into beads or were otherwise artificially shaped, used in ancient times.

D.M. – District Magistrate

E.C.G. – Abbreviation for electrocardiography. It is the recording of the electrical activity of the heart.

I.G. – Inspector General of the police

Kali – is the Hindu goddess associated with empowerment or strength.

Mohalla – An area of a town or village; a community.

Prasad – A devotional offering made to a god, typically consisting of food that is later shared among devotees.

Saree – A sari or shari, is an Indian female garment that consists of drape that is typically wrapped around the waist, with one end draped over the shoulder, baring the midriff.

Salwar – Salwar or Shalwar kameez, also spelled salwar kameez or shalwar qameez, is a traditional dress of South and Central Asia, especially of Afghanistan and Pakistan, where it is worn by both men and women.

About the author:

Shanil Kar was born in a port city of southern Andaman Islands in India. He had spent his childhood across the length and breadth of the state of West Bengal in India residing in its various district headquarters and mofussils. Later he moved to Kolkata metropolis from where he pursued his graduation. Shanil is a mountaineering enthusiast and an avid bird photographer.

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