Hijab

by Guruprasad Kaginele

  I told Kuki, ‘Your blood reports look alright. However, since there is some risk, we must send you to Minneapolis. It is not safe to discharge you without a cardiology evaluation.’

  Kuki replied, ‘Please don’t doc. I will not go to Minneapolis. Please…let me go.’ He started shouting.

  I stepped away to inform the police officer sitting outside and get an ambulance ready while Kuki kept yelling.

  15. Movie-Making

  Kuki’s words bothered me for a long time. An ordinary drug dealer had thrown some light on incidents unravelling in Amoka. In fact, in all of Minnesota. None of us had thought that a routine medical procedure widely accepted and practiced by the healthcare community could be offensive to a faith. No text book had taught us that Cesarean section is a taboo to certain religions and culture. I had thought that we learnt a lot about the Sanghaali culture after that meeting with Dr Mohammad Mohammad. However, after my conversation with Kuki, I was more confused as to what I needed to know and more importantly, what I didn’t need to know. Or as Kuki put it, does faith succeed in exerting the right kind of pressure where the law of the land fails?

  Were things really happening the way Kuki claimed? Had the religious leaders of the Sanghaali community ruled that bearing children by ‘cutting the belly open’ goes against their beliefs? Had these women resorted to suicides fearing excommunication from their religion? Or had elements like Kuki exploited this fear to their advantage by resorting to every dirty trick of the trade—jihad, religious war, the call to sacrifice lives for the greater service of god, etc.?

  And after all, it is not as if I’m some big shot that Kuki must explain and clarify these questions to.

  What do I do with this information? I had not shared it with anyone except Srikantha. Not even with Radhika. However, the thought that I knew something about these suicides that no one else did was kind of suffocating. I thought that I should share it with someone, and get the weight off my chest.

  It was at this time that Rick Jackson had called Radhika and me for another meeting. I had asked Radhika if she had any prior knowledge of such a meeting. And she said that she had none.

  There were not many attendees in the meeting. There was Radhika, Powell, Amoka’s police chief, a couple of strangers and me. Radhika sat next to me and took my hand in hers. Her hand was sweating. I squeezed her hand and gestured to her not to worry.

  Since Rick Jackson was the president of the hospital board, he called the meeting to order. ‘I want to say this is an informal meeting. I think we all know each other. But our higher ups want to make it as formal as possible. So, I think it would be appropriate to have a formal introduction. Let us start with me. My name is Rick Jackson. I’m the owner of the law firm, Jackson Associates. I’m also the president of the hospital board.’

  Radhika and I introduced ourselves. The strangers that were present there apparently worked for the State Health Department as contractors. They had inscrutable titles like chief liaison officer, director of performance excellence and media consultant. For a moment I couldn’t help wonder why the government would outsource these positions. Then I realized that this may not be the time to delve into such thoughts.

  Jackson continued, ‘We all know Katie Couric, right? She was working at America’s NBC channel a few years back. She was happily married to a very handsome man and had two children. She made good money and was quite comfortable with her life. Unfortunately, her husband was diagnosed with colon cancer at forty-two and died within six months of the diagnosis. It was a life changing event for Katie. She had lived a life of privilege and celebrity all along and this was a big blow to her. She was clueless about what to do with her life and she quit her job and stayed home for the next six months. She was clinically depressed. Then her psychiatrist had advised her, “Look Katie, you can either stay home brooding over your husband’s death or you can tell the world about what can be done to avert such untimely deaths. Use your fame for the greater good of the world. And you all know what Katie did, right?”’

  It was not clear to me why Jackson was parroting this story, which the world knew by now. I replied, ‘Yes. She had a colonoscopy performed on herself on national TV in front of the whole world.’

  Jackson added for the benefit of the police chief, ‘I think we are all familiar with colonoscopy, right? It is a procedure that involves the inserting of a tube, with a camera at its tip, from the anus up to the intestine to check if there is any cancer inside. This test saves about ten thousand lives every year in America.’

  ‘Did she really get a colonoscopy done on national TV?’ The police chief asked.

  I had a feeling that the chief may be feigning ignorance. How can he not know anything about this incident! This had made big news all over America.

  ‘After Katie Couric’s colonoscopy, there was increased awareness about colon cancer and colonoscopy among all Americans, and the number of people getting colonoscopies doubled the very next year.’

  I started to get the drift of where he was going with all this talk, but nothing was clear yet. I was aware that he was setting a precedence to his plan of the YouTube video of a Cesarean section but when he mentioned network TV, I suspected that he was gearing up for something much bigger. I did not utter a word.

  The police chief said, ‘Wow! Look at the strength of the media.’

  Radhika asked, ‘Strength of the media or Katie’s popularity?’

  ‘Both. If Katie had her colonoscopy done in a regular hospital, it would not have made such big news, or if some average Joe had his colonoscopy done on national television, it would still have made news, maybe not on this scale.’

  Radhika said, ‘Ok. Why is this incident important to us now? Why are we discussing it?’

  Rick Jackson looked at the police chief’s face.

  The police chief said, ‘Look, six women have committed suicides in this state. What do you think is the common factor? Cesarean sections and Sanghaali women. Hence, we have racked our brains trying to get to the bottom of this mystery and the role of these C-sections in these suicides. Experts have gone over the medical records of every patient. They have tried to contact their family members. But no one has got any real lead. All tracks have gone cold. We are unable to come up with any explanation for these suicides. Someone might have brainwashed these women that they may die or may not be able to bear children in the future if they underwent this surgery.’

  For a moment I thought about sharing what Kuki had told me. The instant this thought occurred to me, I could feel a scary intuition of being sucked into a giant vortex. Words failed me, and I remained silent.

  Rick continued, ‘Our experts have studied this situation thoroughly and given us some suggestions. Let the investigation proceed as planned. On our part, we need to come up with ways in which we can effectively educate these Sanghaali women and show them that these are safe surgeries. However, we have to do this very strategically and need to be careful on how we communicate with them.’

  I now understood why Rick Jackson had raised Katie Couric’s case here.

  ‘So, do we also need to telecast a Cesarean section on TV?’ Radhika laughed.

  Rick Jackson said, ‘Exactly my point,’ and looked at the officials from the state’s health department. The woman who had the tag of ‘Media Consultant’ clipped on her, spoke. ‘My name is Molly. I’m a media consultant with the Health Department. We have decided to shoot a short documentary on the Cesarean sections for our Sanghaali community. Our intention is to show them that the Cesarean sections you do at your hospital are safe. We need a local touch for this documentary. It will be shot right here in this hospital. The patient should be from this community. The commentary will be in Sanghaali with subtitles running in English.’

  Radhika replied, ‘Are you going to shoot this with real patients and real doctors?’

  ‘Radhika, that’s why it is called a documentary,’ said Jackson.

  Radhika and I fell silent again.

&
nbsp; Jackson said, ‘Both of you should speak up and participate in the discussion. Be team players. What good would it do if you don’t participate?’

  I said, ‘The problem here is not that of Cesarean sections. Isn’t it more about the “once a C-section, always a C-section” issue? They strongly believe that a C-section would curtail their chances of having more children.’

  ‘May be so. But we need to start somewhere. Your guess is as good as mine on what we get out of this. We have no control over future deliveries. For now, we can show them that there is no danger from the present one,’ chimed in the woman from the Department of Health.

  Rick whispered in my ears, ‘Guru, this is damage control. This nuisance started from our hospital. We must show the public that we are taking it seriously and not winging it. I know it looks like a sham, but as she said, we must do something. We must act on it. I have already alluded to this with you before.’

  I assumed that Radhika may have overheard our conversation and wondered how that may have registered in her mind.

  I addressed the whole group, ‘Could you please clarify what you are talking about? Are you talking about recording the Cesarean sections that Radhika, Razak or Smith do at our hospital and broadcast them on TV?’

  Molly said, ‘Well, Rick, would you like to continue?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, this Cesarean section must be performed by Radhika. She was the one who performed the C-sections on Rukhiya and Fadhuma. Hence it stands to reason that it is desirable to have Radhika do this one too. One more thing, Razak should not do this operation.’

  ‘Why?’ Radhika asked softly.

  ‘Ok, let’s come straight to the point. We would prefer to shoot this documentary with a pregnant Sanghaali woman. It lends credibility to this project. But no Sanghaali woman will consent to it. If we did succeed in convincing them, what if they kill themselves after this real time C-section on TV? That will prove their point with the much needed publicity they might be hoping for. So, we have decided to settle for the next best thing.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘A South Asian or an African American woman in this town.’

  I said, ‘Zeba?’ I remembered going over Zeba’s medical records as soon as I heard the news of her pregnancy. It was a reflex action then, driven more by circumstances. Today it meant something else. Am I thinking like a leader? Am I one of them?

  Rick Jackson nodded in agreement.

  Radhika was shaken. She shouted, ‘What!’

  ‘Guru. Stop this nonsense. No…no…’ Her lips were quivering, and her eyes welled up.

  Seeing this melodrama of screams and tears unfold, the media consultant was shaken for a moment and held her hand to her chest. ‘My Goodness!’ she said, as if she was invoking the benediction of her god for some sanity.

  I couldn’t be quiet any longer. ‘Rick, I find it amusing that you don’t seem to understand that these Sanghaalis are not the same as Zeba and Razak. There can be a thousand reasons for Sanghaalis not consenting to Cesarean sections. But, Zeba is a Pakistani. She would never say “Yes” to this surgery. In fact, if my memory serves me right, her first delivery was also by a Cesarean section. If you plan to fool the public by showing Zeba as a Sanghaali woman undergoing a Cesarean section on TV just because she is Muslim, you are making a grave mistake.’

  Rick Jackson was quiet for a moment, and then said softly, ‘Guru, you have to believe me here. This is not my idea. There is a lot of pressure from the higher-ups.’

  I asked, ‘To do what? Make a movie?’

  ‘No, to have an unequivocal positive response from our side to these suicides.’

  Radhika asked, ‘Isn’t firing us a better response?’

  ‘Dr Radhika, we have discussed all our options. To tell you the truth, we did discuss firing you. That is not a positive response. This is somewhat like shadow boxing. Sanghaali women are trying to highlight some problem in our system by committing suicide. Their intent is perhaps to make us stop performing the Cesarean sections or ensure that no other Sanghaali woman gets it done. Apparently, this is some kind of jihad. Again, I have no basis for my claims other than the word on the street. It may be impossible to know their real intention. You tell us what it is that we can do. Several people have brainstormed the situation and come to this decision. We must demonstrate to all that this is a safe surgery and we are not at fault for what has been happening in Amoka. Since Zeba’s first delivery was by Cesarean section, if we do a C-section for the second, it can at least prove what we are trying to say.’

  I asked, ‘Who has come to this decision?’

  ‘Doctors, you guys have to understand something. I’m only a middleman doing what has been told to me by my higher-ups. I hope you do the same.’

  ‘What if I do not agree to this proposal? Or if Razak and Zeba do not agree?’

  ‘Dr Radhika, the higher-ups have decided not to fire you only to save the reputation of the hospital. It is true that the Sanghaali women whom you operated upon committed suicide. This can be a significant reason, but then there can be a million other reasons too.’

  ‘Isn’t this blackmail?’

  ‘No. If there was another way of proving your indispensability, I would gladly do so. But then, what can I do? You are not giving me any options. We are desperate! You have to believe me.’

  For some reason, my gut told me that we should trust him.

  Radhika kept quiet. She must have sensed the futility of any further discussion.

  I was unable to keep quiet and said, ‘Ok, assuming Radhika agrees to do this surgery, how do you know that Zeba needs a Cesarean section? And if by chance she needs one, are you certain that she will get it done here?’

  ‘Since she had her first baby by C-section, the probability of the second one also needing one is high.’

  Radhika started blabbering, ‘That’s so not true. She can possibly have a normal delivery. Isn’t she only four months into her pregnancy? Do we have her consent? What if she does not agree? What if she leaves town?’

  ‘Dr Radhika, no one can compel anyone here. This is America. This is a free country. Everyone works here for their own interest. As far as I know, Razak has also come to this country on a J-visa. Like all of you, this job is his existentialist gateway into this country. It determines his right to stay here or leave. And Zeba is five and a half months into her pregnancy; not four months as you think. We have three more months to convince all the parties involved. By then if we get a Sanghaali who is ready for this, then we can cross Zeba off our list.

  ‘You son of a bitch…’—the words stayed in my mouth. Perhaps my facial expression mirrored my words. Dr Jackson smiled.

  I did not speak.

  ‘Guru, Radhika, I can understand your predicament. I’m not such a bad person as you guys perhaps take me to be. If Smith had agreed, I would have had no need to put pressure on you. He has been in this place for a long time now. He is in no mood to listen. Please help us. Trust me, I’m under no illusion that this TV documentary, this movie can change everything. We must do something. The higher-ups are looking at it as a first step.’

  I told him, ‘Whatever is happening here is because of someone’s provocation. These Sanghaali women are not doing these things out of their own volition.’

  Molly said, ‘Is there any proof towards that? There’s not a single complaint registered. The police files have registered them as suicides with no explicit motives.’

  ‘Can we solve such cases based only on Minnesota police investigation? Where is the FBI?’

  Molly laughed loudly, ‘Doctor, do you watch a lot of these Hollywood crime thrillers? Do you even know how the FBI works? Do you think they will keep you informed on everything they do? Your perception of an FBI agent is someone in a dark suit who wears his Aviator glasses and sits in cars with tinted glasses taking pictures, right? Let’s say that if there is a directive from Washington to make a movie like this one, would you agree then?’ She drank water from a bottle
placed in front of her.

  I fell silent again.

  Rick observed the drift of the conversation and tried to change the topic. ‘It looks like there is a lot of yarn being weaved here. I’m confident that Razak will convince his wife. I can promise you that Zeba’s privacy will not be compromised. Other details must be worked out. We shall give you everything you need.’

  I didn’t know what to say to Rick. Time and again when he kept reiterating that ‘Guru and Radhika, you two must believe me,’ I had no clue who to be angry at and whom to suspect. My silence was taken as my consent.

  Did my little chat with Kuki a few days ago have any impact on my words or my silence today?—I reflected on that only later.

  On my way back home with Radhika, I asked her, ‘Radhika, do you think this Molly is really a press liaison?’

  ‘What else? Do you think she is an FBI agent? You know what, I really don’t care! Let me ask you something. This TV documentary or whatever, you did know about this drama right from the beginning, didn’t you?’

  I did not know how to respond to this question. It is true that Rick Jackson had raised an initial proposal with me to record a Cesarean section and post its YouTube link on the hospital’s Facebook page. But I was not aware that this plan had been further repurposed to a documentary of a Cesarean section on a proxy Muslim woman since a Sanghaali was not available. Would Radhika believe me even if I tell her what I knew? For now, I had to give her an answer. ‘A couple of months ago, Rick Jackson had brought this up at a very basic level without much details.’

  ‘Yet, you did not share it with me. Heck, you did not even give a vague heads-up that this was coming. I thought you were a friend! And so did Zeba and Razak! But you turned out to be nothing but an administrator. A teacher’s pet always looking for the management’s approval.’ She closed her eyes. It was hard to miss that she was furious at me.