‘If you go back to your friend, he may recall his thought process when he received the book and confirm what I said. However, he may not recall it at all because it was a subconscious process. For example, while we two are talking just now even as we are on an interesting topic, there are many other thoughts that flash through our minds at the same time but do not get registered.’
‘I am still amazed at the prediction in my dream about the exact page number of the write-up in the journal?’ Virji had come to seek a definite explanation.
‘It is also likely that your friend leafed through the journal casually as we do when a new book comes into our hands, and found this interesting title on the Bhagwan, a personal experience which he thought you would like to read. His mind must have registered page 63 and the thought got transmitted to you since he thought of you in the first instance when he received the book. That is possibly how you dreamed about it.’
‘You seem to make it all deceptively simple. In fact, he did utter the exact same words, that though he was not a great reader, he browsed through the journal, and found some interesting captions.’
‘That might answer your riddle.’
‘Not fully, sir. There still has to be a reason why the dream occurred to me. Does the page 63 narrative relate to me in some way?’
‘It does; it fits exactly with your personality and temperament. It could be a reiteration of your resolve to spend judiciously every penny of the donations you receive for our mission hospital which you hold sacred. And Ravi, your friend, might be aware of it. Most likely, he knows you would have done exactly likewise under the circumstances—carried the pipe and saved a rupee. That is how a fleeting thought must have flashed in his mind that you would relish the devotee’s experience. In a way, you are no less a devotee. You devote your precious time in the service of patients by managing our charitable hospital.’
‘You are right, sir. Ravi is one of my closest friends; my life is an open book for him.’
‘So there you are.’
‘What is your explanation of the narrative on page 63? How did the author of the story hear the mysterious voice admonishing him to hire a tanga to carry the pipe?’
‘I think it was the voice of conscience. Like you, he must have been a conscientious person keen to save every penny of the ashram.’
‘Thank you, sir; I am overwhelmed and mystified. It is rather difficult to take it all in. I will have to learn more about human psychology.’
‘And parapsychology,’ I added.
‘Is it a branch of science or mysticism?’ Virji finally confronted me directly.
‘Yes and no. In psychology, it is not easy to set up experiments as we do in other sciences, or postulate theories and confirm or deny them in the laboratory. Here the laboratory is the human mind, as vast as the cosmos.’
‘In short, you agree that, as of now, there are certain things beyond ordinary reasoning and understanding, and not within the grasp of science. We have to accept that miracles happen and a spiritual person can work them for us. We call them Bhagwans.’
‘Call them miracles or paranormal phenomena if you so like. As I said, there are people specially endowed, just like a student being more gifted than others in a class, one having special mathematical prowess, another adept with the brush, and yet another a sports wizard.’
‘Don’t you then believe in the existence of a superior force that guides our life?’
‘I didn’t say anything to the contrary. And yet I believe that the force resides within us.’
Befuddled, he thanked me and left.
Reaching home, Virji went into his puja room for his customary meditation. He came out animated, phoned the chartered accountant (CA) that he would like to meet him as early as possible.
‘What is so urgent?’ the CA asked him.
‘I would like to spare you the job of filing the income tax returns for Shriya Bhatt Mission Hospital. I want to come over to collect the files from you.’
‘Is there any particular reason?’
‘I will have to come over to explain.’
‘Come straightaway.’
Virji drove to the CA’s office and came to the point directly. ‘I have decided to maintain the accounts and also file the returns by myself and save the fees I pay you. Since it is a charitable institution, we would like to exercise thrift in spending the hard-earned money of the donors.’
‘But I have been doing it for all these years; is there any special reason to change your mind?’
Virji recounted his dream.
The CA heard him in rapt attention and became thoughtful for a while. Then, as if galvanised, he took Virji’s hand in his and shaking it heartily said, ‘Thank you for coming here and relating this amazing story. Can I make a humble suggestion?’
‘Certainly, yes,’ Virji replied.
‘Why don’t you let me continue with this job? Henceforth, I will do it gratis. That will be my small contribution to your mission.’
Virji thanked him profusely and took his leave. He was amazed the way his dream was unfolding in real life. Unable to contain his excitement, he phoned to apprise me of the CA’s commitment.
‘I am glad. It seems your dream has a dream ending,’ I said.
‘You were right about the superior force within us. I am convinced of the close link between science and spirituality, between faith and cold logic, between you and me...’
‘The unifying theory of cosmos,’ I exclaimed.
‘Exactly.’
I could visualise his boyish grin as he said those words.
NOTES
tanga – carriage drawn by a horse
tangawalla – tanga driver
OVER A CUP OF COFFEE
Announcing her entry with a whiff of perfume, she greeted
Dr Kaul with a smile of familiarity and took her seat.
‘Remember, I was here last year?’
‘Well?’ the doctor replied uncertainly. He couldn’t recall her despite her exceptional vivaciousness.
‘I am Archna Raina from Mumbai. I had come for headaches that had made my life miserable.’
‘So, how are you faring?’
‘Thankfully I get very few attacks since then and they are mild and not excruciating like they used to be. This time I have come for a different problem. It is about the pain in my left flank. The doctors conducted several tests, X-rays, ultrasound and blood biochemistry—it is all in the file here— but my problem remains undiagnosed. Finally, they asked me to get an MRI scan. That is when I decided I had enough and came here for your opinion.’
She placed her file on his table with all the reports and prescriptions. But the doctor put them aside. As was his wont, he would like to know more about her symptoms and put her through a thorough examination in order to form his own impression about her illness before he looked at the file.
She was rather vague about the precise location, intensity and periodicity of the pain that had been there for nearly 10 weeks. She moved on from pain to belching, to indigestion, to a gurgling sensation, to erratic bowels, to gases. She was not sure if there were any triggers nor if anything relieved her symptoms. While relating her story, she repeatedly pressed her flank with her fingers, grimacing, as if to convince herself about the pain.
There was nothing significant on examination except for some tenderness where she held her flank with her hand.
He scanned her file.
‘Well?’ he said looking at her inquisitively.
‘Well?’ She posed the question back at him.
‘Anything on your mind?’
‘Only this pain. It is not severe but it is there, a nagging presence that I just can’t get rid of. Can it be serious, doctor?’
‘I don’t think so. I wanted to know if there is anything other than the pain that bothers you.’
She paused for a while and avoided his gaze. ‘Not really... Do I need to go for the MRI scan?’
‘I don’t think so. Your pain s
eems innocuous; you know, one of those trivial symptoms we needn’t worry about,’ he tried to sound reassuring.
‘Do you mean the pain is irrelevant?’ she asked with an offended sense of dignity.
‘I would not say it is irrelevant; I would call it trifling. No symptom is irrelevant; there has to be a reason behind every symptom.’
‘In that case, there must be a reason for this pain.’ She started digging her hand into the spot as if wanting to reassure herself about the pain.
‘Of course, that is what I am trying to probe.’
‘I have flown all this distance with the hope that you will let me know what is going on with me.’
‘I feel you know but may not be aware of it,’ he said, smiling enigmatically.
‘What is the difference between knowing and being aware, sir?’
‘Knowledge is the information about the world around us and our own self that we accumulate through observation, experience and learning. Awareness is much more abstract. It is an understanding of the reality.’
She was confused and looked at him uncertainly.
‘I mean, you need to introspect.’
‘Introspect about what?’
‘There could be an inner conflict.’
She was confused what the doctor meant by inner conflict. ‘Could you not do something—order a test or prescribe drugs— to rid me of this pain?’ she implored.
‘Of course, I will write a prescription, but I don’t think there is need for more tests. More importantly, I would like you to divert your attention away from the pain by deep breathing exercises. I would also recommend daily meditation for 15 to 20 minutes. Together they should work, I hope.’
Having written the prescription, he explained the dosage and handed it over to her. She folded it carefully, tucked it inside her bag and thanked him.
‘When are you flying back?’
‘Now that you assure me that I do not need to undergo any elaborate tests, I might return any day.’
‘Keep me posted; my email address is on the prescription.’
‘Thank you, sir; I feel a lot relieved.’
She kept sitting in the chair. Then, suddenly, ‘Sir, can I ask you out for coffee?’
He looked amusedly at her. ‘Did I hear you right?’
‘Of course, not now; don’t I realise you have patients waiting? I mean in the afternoon, after you are free.’ She looked earnest.
‘Sorry, I don’t go out for coffee. I enjoy it best at my home from my own coffeemaker. Besides, I have a lot on my platter after I finish with the patients. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Let it be at your home, at your convenience.’ Her insistence was puzzling.
‘I don’t see the point,’ he said almost in annoyance and immediately regretted it.
‘Frankly speaking, sir, I feel you are the best doctor that I can have. You cured me last year when others had made a mess of me. I want to be friends.’
‘I presume I am friends with every patient that comes to me. You are no exception.’
‘That is why I would like some time with you when you are free.’ She was quick with her replies.
It convinced him even more that she needed help beyond the medication he wrote for her. Possibly, she wanted to share something that she couldn’t in his busy consulting chamber.
‘All right then, let it be 6 p.m.,’ he relented for he wanted the interview to be over quickly, aware of the patients waiting to be seen.
‘I will report at six.’ She breezed out triumphantly.
Dr Kaul had forgotten about the appointment until Archna came knocking at his door. Just then, Jyoti, his wife, who was on her way out for her customary evening walk to the temple, opened it for her, a whiff of perfume preceding the woman outside.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked her.
‘I have come to see the doctor,’ Archna replied.
‘He doesn’t see any one this time.’
‘I know, but I have an appointment,’ she replied resolutely.
‘In that case, he has made an exception. I will let him know. Can you wait in the porch please?’
‘There is some one for you,’ Jyoti, quizzical look on her face, informed her husband.
‘Who can it be?’
‘A flashy little woman; claims she has an appointment.’ She eyed him teasingly and left for her walk.
Dr Kaul looked at his watch. It was 5:30. He came out to meet her at the porch. She certainly looked flashy in a shining brocade blouse, a matching shalwar and a chunni thrown in style across her breasts, her hair coiffured like a tower on her head.
‘You are early,’ he remarked, and led her inside the drawing room.
‘I couldn’t wait,’ she replied and made herself comfortable on the sofa. He pushed a tray of dry fruit towards her.
People thought of Dr Kaul as a very private person. Once a neighbour remarked that it was easier to enter a fort surrounded by a moat than his house. But that was far from the truth.His house was a public place in the morning on all week days when he ran his clinic in the annexe. After that his door opened only to friends and relatives, and, exceptionally, to others who sought him for other reasons. Today was such an occasion.
Thanking him, Archna picked a cashew and started fiddling with it.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked, sitting opposite her on an easy chair.
‘Sir, your advice in the morning went instantly to my heart.’
‘About what?’
‘Introspection; seeking answers from oneself. I think that is what you meant.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I was convinced right then about what you said regarding the difference between knowledge and awareness. I suddenly became aware that my domestic problems may be the reason for my physical symptoms. You had suggested it last time as well when I came with headaches but I was reserved about my personal problems, my inner conflict as you rightly put it in the morning. That is why I wanted to discuss it with you in some detail. That is why the coffee.’
‘Go on; let me hear what you have to say.’
‘Sir, I am the third child of my parents. They are simple folk, hardly even educated. My father is not sharp enough to counsel me, while my mother gets sentimental and breaks down when I discuss my life with her. Right from my childhood everyone thought I was intelligent and smart, and full of verve and wisdom that would carry me far in life. Alas, I proved a failure! I am already 33, but my life is in total disarray and there is no one to fall back upon in this cruel world.’ She heaved a big sigh and paused.
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ he commiserated.
‘My failing was to fall for a nonentity. I have graduated in microbiology and this boy had only a high school education. I helped him with his career, for I believed he was bright and ambitious. And he really was. He had ideas; he had passion. He sought the film industry. He was offered minor roles in TV serials and soon picked the nitty-gritty of this business. I, too, was roped in and took to acting like a duck to water, no longer interested in pursuing microbiology. I took only small roles and spent time at home, working hard, cooking, washing, shopping and helping my husband in his work. I didn’t mind sacrificing my career for him. But within a couple of years he went adrift, and I could feel his passion wearing off, the interest in me fading. That is when I started getting headaches. We had squabbles that turned bitter over time as he became more and more unreasonable. Now, it has come to a breaking point.’
‘Has he cultivated other relationships?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, but he has lost interest in me, yet mastered the art of using me. I have become his cook, washerwoman and maid all in one.’
‘Do you have kids?’
‘Thank god, I didn’t fall into that trap. He suggested we have a baby and that would set our relationship on course. But I realised it was only to keep me in bondage. I want to break loose; I am a free spirit. My parents are here in Jammu. They are sentimental wrecks. Their minds have become blank
just like mine. They feel terribly depressed because the person on whom they had pinned all hopes has let them down. They know I mean well by my family, but I have landed myself in a conundrum. I am so caught up in the tiring routine that I am left with no time to think about my own life or about them. That is another reason I am here, to see them and try to comfort them. Besides, something inside me tells me you can steer me to a safe course. It was the impression I carried with me last time I came to you for my headaches. Maybe it is what you called awareness this morning.’
It brought a big smile on his face. ‘Do you still love your husband?’ he asked.
‘I am not sure. He has his own world and I fall outside the ambit of that world. He uses me, and yet I am unable to do anything about it. I am in a prison with the doors wide open but without wings to fly out to freedom.’
‘Can you live on your own? Have you the means?’
‘I think so.’
‘Move out. Tell him so, and stay away for some time. Sometimes distance works wonders, kindles old feelings and desires. There is a famous Kashmiri proverb if you don’t know it already: Proximity turns sugar bitter, and distance sweetens pepper. I would not be surprised if he came back to you on his knees.’
‘That is if he ever had any affection for me. I think he never really loved me.’ She sounded very bitter.
‘You may be mistaken about him. It seems he is passing through a difficult patch in his career. Sometimes we take each other for granted, go about our busy lives and look like strangers in our own home. That does not mean you do not care or you do not love.’
‘So you tell me to move out for some time to let him face my absence. I wonder if it will make any impact on him.’
‘Ah, the agony and ecstasy of separation!’ he said almost wistfully as if he were reminiscing about some personal experience.
It surprised her. ‘I wish that were to happen to everyone.’
‘Give it a try,’ he suggested.
‘Sometimes I feel like coming to Jammu to be close to my parents. I would love to start something here—social service, politics, TV, anything. But I am not sure. We have a closed society here. People ask questions. They are already wondering why I have not borne any children even after being married for four years. I lie to them that I have failed to conceive even as I want to be a mother. They already smell something fishy. Mumbai is a big city, no one cares what you do and where you go, whether you are alive or dead, but here you are hemmed in by society—peering, prying, gossiping. It is a difficult world to live in, be it a small town where you are somebody to be trifled with or a metropolis where you are nobody.’
Room in our Hearts and Other Stories Page 19