Oath of Hippocrates

by Sudarsan S

  CHAPTER 13: Flashback in the Hatchback

  “For us, it will be a new phase of life”, smiled Dr. Yadav to his wife as he left his apartment.

  “I am sure it will be”, responded his wife with characteristic lack of enthusiasm as she shut the door, after seeing him walk up to the stair well. A middle-aged woman with middle-class mentality was how her husband had called her a few minutes earlier.

  All through her husband’s steep rise through the hospital hierarchy, Mrs. Yadav stayed grounded in reality. Pride goes before a fall and vanity before destruction, she would tell her children within her husband’s earshot. She disliked trying to live someone else’s life and believed that heart’s content mattered more than money content.

  She was scared of the latest update from her husband on his likely elevation as the head of the country’s highest food and drug authority and the lifestyle he wanted to transition to. Though born to riches, Mrs. Yadav was raised not to display wealth ostentatiously.

  Meanwhile, her husband, in his own merry thoughts, reached his car in unusually cheerful demeanour. His friend, Pyare Mohan was due to be proposed for the vacant ministerial berth. All else will follow. As he opened the rear door to keep his case, he noticed the rather conspicuous dent on the door. He always did. This will have to go, thought the doctor. Not the door, but the car itself. The head of FADRA will not have a hatchback in his stable, he thought as he slid into the driver seat and spun the car out of its slot, down the cobbled-stone pathway and out into the traffic.

  The dent. It had been around for the past two years. It had been there since the days of student discontent, when a projectile hit the car. With an eye on the by-elections, the Health Ministry had ruled that pass-outs from fully or partly government funded medical institutions need to mandatorily spend their first two years as doctors in rural areas. This was quickly denounced by the student bodies. Even the left-wing student body could only make half-hearted noises in agreement with the ruling, considering that the left-wing parties were not part of the ruling coalition.

  To the students’ surprise, the Dean and Director came out with a strongly-worded statement that denounced the government order as opportunism and that the government should stop with funding the institutions and not bring in electoral politics. Dr. Yadav had maintained a stoic silence in public, while discreetly sending signals to the powers-that-were that he was, indeed, in favour of the government order and rued the missed opportunity of serving in the villages when he was younger. Meanwhile, friend Pyare Mohan and his father were on the streets shouting that anybody who opposed the G.O. was a closet capitalist, disinterested in places where the real India lived.

  The students refused to turn up at classes, going on leave en masse. Except one. Apparently, Ramanujam had told the student bodies that he did not like being forced to not attend classes as much as they did not like to be forced to go to the villages. The student body leaders decided that one student would not make a difference and let him enter unscathed, except for a stray stone that hit his forearm.

  Dr. Yadav met the Dean in person. “Sir, I have one way to break the impasse”.

  “What is it, Yadav? I don’t want the strike, but I have the same opinion as the students – they should not be forced against their will.”

  “True, sir. But, it is only up to the students to fight it out. I would suggest having an open debate between the students themselves. This will bring to the fore the real issues and help convince them to return to class.”

  “But, Yadav, all the students are striking. Is there anyone to speak against them?”

  “Yes, sir, there is one. If there is anyone he respects and listen to, it will be you, sir. If you don’t mind, I will have him meet you”.

  The Dean did not mind and Dr. Yadav promptly despatched Ramanujam to him, contemplating on his master stroke. On one side, if the issue settles itself, the Dean will hail Dr. Yadav as the trouble-shooter. On the other, Ramanujam will become the single-most hated person in the vicinity. Dr. Yadav had outdone himself that time.

  The debate was set in the large auditorium. The student body head spoke vehemently about individual rights and the right to make choices. He was clearly passionate about what he felt, and was reeling out data about failure of forced re-location plans in the past. He completed his speech adding that the teachers who had never spent a day serving in the villages were supporting the G.O. His speech was met with wild cheers from the student community. The Dean felt the urge to join in the applause but held on to his chair’s arms tightly under the façade of maintaining neutrality.

  Ram came up to the stage with prepared notes. Stage fright had caught hold of him tightly. As he tried to straighten the set of notes, his hands shook violently. The students were chuckling aloud. “Friends, I am in agreement with our leader”, the audience was shocked into silence. Dr. Yadav saw ominous signs. When Ram starts an argument with an agreement statement, it doesn’t bode well for the opponent. The statement will be followed with a ’But’.

  “But, I believe there is a middle path. I believe I have a right to attend classes, which you have stopped from happening. I believe the villages need doctors, but not against the will of the doctors. Speaking for myself, I came from a village and will probably go back there. One last thing.” Some of the tech-savvy students were giggling at the phrase. This “One last thing” statement was leagues removed from the “One last thing” that Apple Head Steve Jobs would say.

  The students were amused. This lad was putting forth no argument and seemed to be sinking – physically and rhetorically. The Dean leaned over to Dr. Yadav and murmured, “This is the guy who was supposed to close the conflict?” Dr. Yadav gulped and stared straight ahead.

  “Late in their careers it is unfair to ask the teachers to go and serve in the villages and earn pittances. Rather, I have this suggestion. Will our government that has brought out this order in haste, think at leisure and enact a law to start a set number of medical institutions in or near rural areas, make way for rural students to join locally and serve locally and ensure that the cream of the cream of the medical professors are sent to those institutions as teachers with no loss of pay or perks?”

  For the next few seconds of silence from the podium, the auditorium was abuzz with chatter. The audience was confused on whether the speaker was speaking for or against the student’s demands.

  The speaker continued, “That, friends, is my middle path. A means of finding, growing and retaining local talent for rural areas, excellent teachers who lose nothing and back to classes for us. If this sounds sensible, I request the Dean who has spoken out so eloquently in this issue to take this up with the ministries”.

  The crowd erupted into a thunderous applause. The Dean grabbed Dr. Yadav’s arm and whispered in his ear, “You were right about the boy, Yadav. Great going”. Dr. Yadav’s face fell as he turned to the Dean’s face looking for traces of sarcasm. There were none, he had meant those words. The boy had evaded humiliation once more.

  Dr. Yadav’s reverie was broken as the car ahead screeched to a halt at the signal. He slammed the brakes hard and lacking the seat-belt harness, his body gently lurched forward and back safely.

  CHAPTER 14: ’Stroke’ of Luck

  The old lady lurched forward and back violently before collapsing on the pavement. It was a quiet misty morning on the streets of Bangalore. The streets were bereft of human population in those pre-dawn minutes. At a distance, two youths stood under a tree, stretched themselves and resumed walking.

  “Day 2 begins, Rama. Any plans for the day?”

  “We will be shown a way.”

  “How philosophical! I remember the chapter on ‘Two penniless boys in Brindavan’ in Paramahansa Yogananda’s ‘Autobiography of a Yogi’. Here we are near Brindavan Gardens ...”

  “Brindavan Gardens, dear Ananta, is in Mysore. We are near Lal Bagh. Coming to your point, I will knock at the doors of some popular hospitals seeking a job.”

  �
�What about me?”

  “A way will be shown”.

  “Of course”, laughed Ananta. “Tell me something, why are we the only people on the streets?”

  “That is because we are from out of town. Bangalore gets up a little late.”

  “Is that what I think it is?”, asked Ananta, pointing across the street. Ramanujam did not answer. He sprinted across the street and quickly knelt down beside the splayed old woman. He checked her pulse and quickly turned her over. There was a gash on her chubby cheek and a look of agony on her face.

  “Alive, but barely”, muttered Ram, as if to himself.

  “Should we call the police, Rama?”

  “Go through her purse and look for ICE.” Ananta could not figure out if it was a note of urgency or of panic in Rama’s voice. Rama started pounding her chest and blowing air into her mouth.

  “What are you doing?”

  “CPR”.

  “CP or what?”

  “Ananta, she has had a mild heart attack”. Rama took a deep breath and blew again. “Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation could bring her out of danger”.

  The old woman’s head slightly throbbed and she opened her eyes and gave a blank look.

  “Madam, your name. Is there a number?”

  “Rama, why would she carry ice?”

  “ICE is short for ’In Case of Emergency’ contact numbers”.

  “Sure, there is a number stuck behind her mobile”.

  “Her mobile, Ananta? She has a mobile? Give it”, shouted Ramanujam, relieved. He dialled the number written on its back, bent down again and told the lady, “Madam, I am calling this number. You will be OK”. Into the phone, he said, “Sir, there is a lady who has fallen down on the street and her mobile has your number. She is about 70, wearing grey... Yes, sir. She is OK, but for a gash on her cheek. If you could, … The sign says 4th Cross and the other says 9th Main. Yes, we are at the intersection. Sure, sir”.

  “What now?” asked Ananta. He had heard tales of police harassing people who were at the scene of an accident and wanted to get away as soon as possible.

  “The gentleman who attended the call will reach here in two minutes”.

  “We hand her over and run?”

  “We will have to wait and see, Ananta”.

  Presently a silvern Toyota Innova slid up next to them and stopped. A man still in his night suit jumped out and rushed to them. Must be the old lady’s son, thought Ramanujam.

  “She is ...”

  “Ma!” Son indeed.

  The two lads turned away from the scene of emotion. A minute later, the man asked, “What happened?” The lady was sitting with her son supporting her back.

  “Sir, when we were walking down the road, we saw her splayed on the pavement. The gash on her cheek could have been due to the fall and I am not sure if there are any other bruises. The pulse was weak. To me, it looked like a case of mild heart attack. I performed CPR, that is, what you see on TV for resuscitating people...”

  “I know about CPR”, jutted in the man.

  “Her head wobbled for a few seconds and she opened her eyes. Meanwhile, my cousin found her cellphone and we called you. She seems to be herself for now, but I would suggest you take her to a doctor soon”.

  “We will see about that. If you don’t mind, can you help me get her into the car? Gently. That does it. Can you join me in the car?”

  Ananta developed suspicions about this seemingly callous son. Was he the son at all or an impostor trying to kidnap her? He pulled his cousin aside and told him, “Rama, I don’t like this guy one bit. He is up to some mischief.”

  “Hmm. Let us take his invite and find out”.

  With the lady stretched on the mid-section of the Innova, the two boys squeezed themselves into the passenger seat in front.

  “Thanks for saving my mother’s life, gentlemen. She means the world to me”.

  Ananta gave Ram a nudge and pointed his index finger somewhere. Ram failed to see the finger. The man was driving the car in a direction opposite to where he came from. Ram responded, “It is just providence that we happened to be there. Where are we going?”

  No response. The car made a sharp left turn into a compound, where the gates had been left open. Another nudge from Ananta. Ram felt that Ananta wanted to escape.

  The man jumped out of his seat, opened the rear door and shouted, “Emergency”.

  It was a nursing home, housed in a small building. Two men in white appeared promptly carrying a stretcher.

  “Wait here, gentlemen”, the man said towards Ananta and ran with the hospital staff.

  The boys sat down in the waiting area of the nursing home. There were some old magazines lying around.

  “If the doctors don’t kill you, these old magazines will”, said Ananta.

  “Ha ha, how true. The patients won’t die by reading them. They will simply pass along their infection through the magazines. Say, what were you nudging me for, in the car?”

  “Rama, everyone in our family knows I am sharper than you. I wanted to show you something about the man ...”.

  Ramanujam interrupted by clearing his throat. Ananta understood and clammed up. Both pretended to notice the man after he came close and rose from their seats.

  “Sit down, will you? I can’t thank you guys enough for bringing my mother back to me. I am not yet ready to lose her. Tell me, who are you boys and what were you doing on the streets? Who told you about CPR?”

  “We are from out of town and looking for a job. We were out on the street for a walk in this pleasant weather. It is a surprise that no one else but us and your mother want to enjoy this weather. I am Ananta.”

  “And you?”, asked the man, turning to Ram.

  “His cousin Ramanujam. I was studying to become a doctor. I have skipped a semester to look at the medical world, if I get a chance”.

  “That explains your knowledge of CPR. I wish more commoners were taught this. I am Nanjunda Rao, Cardiologist at the Hari Heart Hospice, with specialisation in Pulmonary Hypertension”.

  “A cardiologist? And I was explaining what CPR was to you”, Ram arose again. He now understood why the man had been saying she will be soon seeing a doctor – he had meant himself. For the moments he and Ananta had turned away from the woman and son, the son had checked the vital signs and satisfied himself.

  “Sit down, please. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I am sorry if this sounds a bit too forward. Is there a possibility of getting me a job in a hospital, where I can get exposure to the practice of medicine, rather than the theory? For my cousin too, he is capable of physical labour.”

  The good doctor smiled. “That is the least I can do for you.”

  CHAPTER 15: Revelation at the Revelry

  “That is the least I can do for you.” The new minister smiled. “I will need to discuss this matter with the persons, you know who, and ensure that there are no issues later. It will take a few days for the announcement to come through. Meantime, I want you to think through these options. Your Dean is due for retirement and his position is coming up vacant. On the other side, is the option of ...”.

  Dr. Yadav noticed that the new minister Pyare Mohan was not mentioning names of people or organisations on purpose. The phone line, despite its age and technological advances, continued to be porous.

  “Yes, you told me. I need to think.”

  “Not exactly Hobson’s choice, eh?” laughed the minister. “Listen, I am throwing a party at my farm house on the outskirts on Saturday. You know where it is? Good. Let us meet and catch up”.

  “Sure, I will be there”, said Dr. Yadav with false enthusiasm. He sighed silently and slid himself into a lethargic pose in this chair. He hated parties of this kind. To him, hobnobbing with the mighty and the academics was acceptable, but with drunk nouveau-riche who wanted to network was infra dig. Nevertheless, if he needed one, he will have to tolerate the other.

  “Are you still on the line, Yadav?”


  “Yes. Any news of the missing boy?” Dr. Yadav tried to change the topic, however unpleasant.

  “None. For starters, if you were to look for him, where will you start?”

  “I believe he will be in a medical institution. He had intended to study medicine as it is being practised on the field and preferably not as an understudy, but as a spy or investigative journalist, if you will”, Dr. Yadav informed his friend.

  “Why does that bother you, friend?”

  “His intent, as I understand him very well, is to look for drawbacks in the system and tie it back to people or institutional processes which may or may not impact us”, responded the doctor.

  “I have a few more days to go before my deadline of a week runs out. I will ensure that discreet enquiries are initiated all over Mumbai’s leading places of work. I hope to have an update when we meet on Saturday. Until then, good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Pya..”. Dr. Yadav held his tongue to prevent the name from being mentioned. No news was bad news. He could only hope for news on Saturday.

  He dreaded the thought of a party on Saturday. Pyare Mohan had been decidedly vague. Dr. Yadav was not really sure if the invite included families of the invitees. For some reason, ’Farm house party’ brought in front of him images of streams of flowing liquor and Berlusconian fun till dawn. It was safer to go without the family, thought Dr. Prakash Yadav. In any case, he could invent an excuse for the absence.

  The evening party, to Dr. Yadav, was only a one-off irritation. The longer term one was Ramanujam. The imp could be smarter than the average person, but he can not outsmart two brains, the doctor thought.

  There was an Op-Ed in the capital’s leading newspaper on the “Ethics of Animal Testing and the Myth of Safety”. The content and colour had the boy’s signature written all over it, but checks on the identity of the writer proved futile. It was probably in the third year he had had the discussion in class.

  “Sir, how exactly does proving a chemical safe on a rodent make it safe for human use?” the voice had asked.