Living Hell

by Vivaan Shah

  ‘Well,’ the doctor sighed, ‘as per the reports of your blood test, the sample indicates traces of Phensedyl.’

  Nadeem’s heart skipped a beat. He froze and lay back on the bed without moving a limb.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. And the traces are fresh, indicating that it was ingested into the blood stream not too long ago. Now tell me the truth, son. Have you been ingesting cough syrup?’

  ‘Heavens, no, doctor. I don’t even drink alcohol, I’m a teetotaller. I’m Muslim! I’m not allowed to drink.’

  The nurse got him some water and Electrol, which he downed in an instant.

  ‘What did you last have to eat or drink?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘A cup of tea,’ said Nadeem, as it dawned on him.

  The doctor asked the nurse to fetch a tray of hospital food. He had been told by Warren that Nadeem had not eaten anything all day. Warren and Rohini entered the room, with Mehul following them inside out of concern.

  ‘Is everything all right, sir?’ he asked timidly.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mehul,’ said Nadeem, as he sat upright.

  ‘I have to return to the shop. It’s closing time and I have to pull down the shutters and lock the cash register.’

  ‘Yes, Mehul, you may leave. Thank you very much,’ said Rohini.

  ‘I’m extremely sorry,’ he said. ‘I hope you understand.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Nadeem.

  As Mehul left, Warren and Rohini went up to Nadeem’s bed. She sat beside him, checking his forehead and his chin for bruises. There was an ice tray next to the bed on a table stand. Warren stood still, not knowing what to do or say.

  The hospital food did not in the least look appetizing, and the elaborate procedure with which it was served to him only succeeded in making it appear all the more uninviting. The nurse turned the lever to incline the bed so Nadeem could sit up straight. Warren looked sullenly at the food. Its morose characteristics seemed a matter of fascination for him.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ asked Rohini.

  ‘Slightly better,’ said Nadeem. ‘I’m extremely sorry. I hope you will forgive me for this.’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to ruin our date.’

  ‘It wasn’t a date. Plus, if I knew I was going out with a sick man, I probably would have turned the other way and run, but I’m glad I was there to catch you when you fell. It’s times like these that a stranger comes in handy. You would have done the same for me.’

  ‘I’m eternally grateful to you for that.’

  ‘I’ve saved my number on your phone,’ she said, handing him his phone. ‘You take care of yourself and if you need anything, give me a call.’

  ‘I was hoping to use that line on you.’

  ‘You’re the one who needs help, Nadeem, not me,’ she said, getting up from the bed and swinging her purse as she turned to walk out the door.

  ‘You want Warren to drop you home?’ asked Nadeem, chivalrously.

  ‘Na,’ she said, turning aside. ‘Thanks, anyway! I’ll get home safe.’

  ‘How are you going to get back to Juhu at this time?’

  ‘I’ll go by rickshaw.’

  ‘Message me when you reach home,’

  ‘That was one line I was hoping you wouldn’t use on me.’

  ‘Nevertheless.’

  ‘If you insist.’

  As she left the room, Warren sat down beside Nadeem, leaning in towards him to ask what the matter was.

  ‘I’ve been poisoned,’ said Nadeem.

  ‘By whom?’ asked Warren.

  ‘By Inspector Nagpal.’

  Warren’s eyebrow rose, taking the shape of a question mark.

  ‘Call Machhiwaala,’ said Nadeem tossing the phone to Warren. ‘Ask him whether the bottle of cough syrup was empty or half-full when he last saw it.’

  ‘How does that make any difference?’

  ‘If it was empty, then all of it was poured down Makhija’s throat, and if it was half-full then it was like that when it was in the possession of the police, and it’s empty now. That’s why Srikant insisted on making tea.’

  ‘Why the hell would they spike you with it?’

  ‘That’s what I want to find out.’

  Nadeem pushed aside the tray that obstructed his way and adjusting the recliner, jumped out of the bed, much to the nurse’s protest. He informed the doctor that he had some urgent business to attend to and, after much persuasion, was permitted to be discharged. When he asked how much the total bill came to, he was astonished to find out how reasonable it was.

  ‘Well, good thing she brought me here,’ he realized.

  ‘It was the Café Coffee Day guy’s idea,’ Warren told him. ‘She didn’t know what to do. Told me she had never been in such a situation before.’

  ‘Ya?’

  ‘Ya . . .’

  ‘She tell you anything else about herself?’

  ‘Na . . .’

  ‘You spent two hours with her in the waiting room. After a point, you run out of magazines to read.’

  ‘She was on her phone the whole time. A bit too preoccupied in it, if you ask me.’

  ‘Well, sounds like someone else I know,’ he clicked his tongue at Warren, slinking off to the bathroom to unleash a urine sample into a canister the doctor had given him.

  While exiting the hospital after settling the bill, he persisted to marvel at how accommodating and affordable it seemed to be. He assured Warren that the next time anything happened to him, it was their services he would be using.

  ‘What’s the name of this hospital?’ he asked.

  Warren turned back to look at the board above the main entrance, that stood beside a red cross.

  ‘K.L. Hospital,’ he read from it.

  Nadeem stopped, turned back slowly and reading the board himself just to be certain, darted back across the foyer into the main entrance. He asked the night clerk the way to the pharmacy but was told that it was shut. He still insisted on being shown where it was and was told that it was behind the hospital and had a separate entrance. Warren followed him all the way around the perimeter of the hospital to the pharmacy, which lay in the corner of the compound towards the back. The shutter was pulled up, but Nadeem was sure he could perceive a faint glow emanating from the inside. Warren too detected it and proceeded to bang on the shutter as Nadeem called out into the grills through which he climbed high enough to peep inside. There was a presence shuffling about the racks and shelves. Nadeem tried to call out to whoever it was, but no one responded. He quickly crept into the hospital through the back entrance near the lavatory and, winding his way through a corridor, which was in absolute darkness, reached the entrance to the pharmacy. The door had a sign on it saying ‘Closed’ but it was not locked. He pushed the door open to enter when he heard the sound of a carton falling from a height, followed by the sound of Warren banging on the shutters from the outside. He could not see anyone immediately as he looked through the shelves and behind the counter. The pharmacy was apparently empty. There was a stepladder next to one of the shelves, near the farthest corner of the pharmacy. It seemed to lead to an attic, which opened through a trapdoor to a concealed chamber. Nadeem climbed the ladder to gaze inside the attic. He spotted a small, timid-looking man hiding behind one of the shelves. He wore an unusually thick-framed pair of spectacles and the collar of his shirt was worn out and stood upright. His expression was alarmingly uncertain, his eyes were large and magnified in the lenses through which they appeared. Nadeem puzzled over his nose that had about it the distinctive flare of a beak, admiring the growth of hair that sprung out from his ears and trespassed on to the hair that ran around the corners of his head, fortifying the top into a bald patch.

  ‘May I help you?’ the man asked.

  ‘What are you frightened about?’

  ‘Are you a patient?’

  ‘Are you the pharmacist?’

  The little man’s head began to shudder vigorous
ly, as if extremely agitated. He fumbled with the crates and cartons that he was handling, and adjusting his spectacles spoke in a most indiscriminating tone.

  ‘If you are not admitted to the hospital,’ he began, ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to leave otherwise I will be forced to call the authorities.’

  ‘I advise you to do nothing of the kind,’ said Nadeem, as he shot a glance at the telephone that hung near the calendar. ‘For if you do not comply with my requests, I am afraid it is I who will be forced to call upon the authorities.’

  ‘What do you want? Who told you about this place?’

  ‘I was brought here on account of a sudden and unaccountable illness that upset my prior condition. For I can assure you that I have always been in the pink of health and have never needed the urgent medical attention that I was forced to endure over the past few hours.’

  Nadeem always liked the smell of a pharmacy, the bland synthetic flavour of its fragrance. Like the smell of the plastic coating over a Becosule capsule. A sort of indefinite quantity, difficult to put one’s finger on, but sufficient enough for the acutest sense to grasp. He glanced over the strips and boxes that lay stacked in the compartments of the shelves. Beneath the shelves lay a column of drawers, all labelled with names, each more complex than the other.

  ‘New stock?’ Nadeem asked.

  The little man dropped one of the cartons as if in affirmation.

  ‘I would like a bottle of Phensedyl,’ said Nadeem.

  ‘We’re closed,’ the man insisted.

  ‘There’s a patient registered in your records under the name of Chintan Makhija.’

  The little man’s face shrank on hearing that name.

  ‘I was sorry to hear about him,’ he sighed. ‘The police have already been here.’

  ‘I know, which is why I’m here. You see, one of the prescription slips that the late Mr Makhija had used to purchase medication from you was forged.’

  ‘Forged?’

  ‘Yes. When was the last time Mr Makhija had come down here to procure his medication?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  Nadeem browsed through the drawers and compartments, much to the little man’s dismay. He tore apart the entire attic looking for their stock of Phensedyl. On finding a bottle, he immediately turned it around in order to check the bottom. It said, ‘Best Before 2/3/2020’.

  ‘Did he buy a bottle of this from you?’ Nadeem asked.

  ‘Yes . . . but . . . uh . . .’

  ‘What about the Dexedrine?’ Nadeem stopped him mid-stride, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck with the inquiry.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘And all the other nonsense the doctor prescribed for him. I don’t think you realize the gravity of the situation . . . Mr . . .’

  ‘Nair.’

  ‘Nair. In the entire area, your pharmacy is the only one the police have zeroed in on. It’s bound to be investigated in relation to his death. Dr Kang has conveniently taken off for his medical convention, leaving you here to face the music.’

  Just then, the little man’s phone burst into activity. A deafeningly banal tune played out as his caller tune, loud and clear for everyone within a five-mile radius to hear. He literally jumped upon hearing it in his pocket and tried to reach for it to shut it up, but by the time he managed to get a hold of it to put an end to the incessant noise, Nadeem had already vacated the attic and was making his way down the stepladder. He had satisfied his curiosity and, having put two and two together, made for the door with the intention of acting upon his recent findings. He wondered whether to first inform the doctor upstairs or Inspector Gaekwad. He decided to go with the latter and started dialling Inspector Gaekwad’s number as he reached for the front door. The little man tried to hurry down the attic in pursuit of Nadeem but stumbled over a fallen carton and got entangled in a mess of cardboard at the stepladder. Nadeem turned to look back towards the attic as he put his hand out to push open the door. As the door slid open and his neck turned back in place, he floundered at the exit. Outside the door stood a person whose features, on account of the darkness, were not clearly perceptible. It was apparent from his demeanour that he was eager to get in, but all that was distinguishable from his silhouette was that the man held a phone to his ear, not who he was or what he was doing there. On noticing the presence outside, Nadeem immediately retreated into the pharmacy and closed the door shut from the inside, putting his phone away. The ringing of the little man’s phone could be faintly heard from the attic, almost as if the phone itself were growing anxious from not being answered. By now, Warren’s knocking too had ceased. Nadeem quickly hid behind one of the shelves, concealing himself from the sight of the encroaching party. Through the gaps between the shelves, he had a clear view of the entrance. The front door to the pharmacy creaked open as the figure emerged from the darkness of the corridor behind him. It was the eminent Dr Vengsarkar himself, in person. He was accompanied by one of Inspector Nagpal’s deputies, Dilip, who stepped back and slowly tilted his eyes up to the attic.

  ‘Mr Nair,’ Dilip called out. Mr Nair promptly popped his head out, greeting the doctor and the policeman with a good deal of reverence and business-like haste. He first looked at Dr Vengsarkar cautiously, then at Dilip, nodding with a firm yet polite air of casual sincerity. He then went on looking about the place, preoccupied in trying to find Nadeem, as he descended the stepladder. Dilip held out the forged prescription. ‘You know it’s illegal in the state of Maharashtra to facilitate the unauthorized sale or purchase of any kind of pharmaceutical prescription drug,’ said Dilip with the knowing air of a supposed expert on all matters concerning the law. ‘The penalty for breaking this law is two years, sometimes two and a half, depending on the nature of the dosage and medication. And what we have here isn’t exactly child’s play. It’s enough to send a man to the point of no return.’

  ‘Look,’ began Mr Nair, ‘how was I supposed to know that it was a forged prescription?’

  ‘You can read, can’t you? Or are you illiterate?’ Dilip barked. ‘One could say that you indirectly engineered his death by giving him the medication without a legitimate prescription.’

  Dr Vengsarkar nodded. He was trying to cover his own rear end and had to put up a straight face, acting all high and mighty like he had done the right thing by refusing to prescribe Makhija the drugs. ‘There was a reason I hadn’t allowed him any more medication,’ he insisted in as earnest a tone as he could muster. ‘You really shouldn’t have given it to him. It could have been fatal.’

  There wasn’t a grain of truth in what he was saying, but he dished it out like it was wholegrain, gleefully passing on the nourishment of blame. Mr Nair’s eyes kept fluttering about the place like fireflies, his neck turning back and forth in irregular postures.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Dilip asked, his attention suddenly alerted. ‘Is there someone in here?’

  ‘Oh no . . . No one at all. Just a rat or a lizard, I think.’

  Nadeem lowered his head, glancing through a rack of Huggies and Cerelac. It was significantly darker where he had crouched. Only his eyes glowed through the narrow slit between the shelves. Dilip slowly turned towards the shelves, his eyeballs shiftlessly scanning the vicinity with the veracity of a bloodhound. ‘I think I heard something,’ he said softly.

  Dr Vengsarkar stood absolutely still, not moving a limb. He looked around and then at himself. ‘What is it?’ he asked Mr Nair. ‘What are you looking at?’

  ‘Shhh . . . silent,’ Dilip ordered.

  Nadeem bent even lower, practically on all fours to avoid being seen, slowly crawling away into as distant a corner he could creep towards. All of a sudden, there came the pounding of the shutters, breaking the stillness of his posture. ‘Hello!’ Warren called out.

  ‘Who’s out there?’ Dr Vengsarkar turned. Dilip ran out of the entrance in response to check who was banging on the shutters. Nadeem took the opportunity to make a swift exit. He dashed past the doctor and the chemist,
who were standing baffled at the counter, and before they could call out, he ran past the dark corridor that led to the back entrance of the hospital. As he made his way out to where Warren was standing in front of the closed shutter, he noticed through the grills that the lights were being switched off suddenly from the inside. He quickly redialled Inspector Gaekwad’s number and made for the exit of the hospital, as Warren swiftly followed him out. By the time they reached the main road, Inspector Gaekwad had answered the call.

  ‘Hello,’ Nadeem shouted into the phone, panting profusely. ‘Can you hear me?’

  ‘Loud and clear, Chipkali. Go ahead, what’s on your mind?’

  ‘I have just survived a poisoning attempt.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Just a few hours ago, sitting at my own home, drinking out of my own mug.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Inspector Nagpal!’

  ‘Where are you right now?’

  ‘Outside K.L. Hospital.’

  Nadeem felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. Preoccupied in looking into the other direction, he had failed to notice that there was a police jeep parked right outside the entrance. It was a night patrol jeep that belonged to Nagpal’s subordinate, Dilip.

  Dilip politely asked Nadeem to get into the jeep. Nadeem hesitated at first, then turned to Warren and handed him his phone.

  ‘Look,’ said Dilip, smiling uninhibitedly. ‘Get into the jeep and don’t make any trouble; that goes for you too!’ he said, pointing at Warren and promptly confiscating the phone. He snatched it away from Warren and told the two constables in the jeep to grab hold of them and put them in handcuffs. They dragged Nadeem into the back of the jeep, with much resistance from him. He made quite a spectacle of himself in the middle of the road, right outside K.L. Hospital. Onlookers were drawn out of their closed shops and sheds to behold the commotion. The neighbouring watchman, the parked autorickshaw driver, the lost pedestrian and the ragpicker crossing the road, all watched with equal interest and curiosity. Nadeem and Warren were forcefully shoved into the police jeep. The constables tried to drive off the onlookers by yelling at them and waving their arms, but no one budged. On noticing an ambulance arrive at the hospital, the police jeep skidded off as the doors slammed shut.