Oath of Hippocrates

by Sudarsan S

  The professor had to turn around looking for its origin. The boy had his hand raised. The sleepy ones jerked up at the sound of a voice that was not the professor’s.

  “It wouldn’t. Not directly. The skin is a skin after all. Once you agree that the similarity starts there, proving is that much easier.”

  “Point taken, sir”, said the boy. Professor nodded and smiled in satisfaction. “But, sir”, the boy continued, “we do know that some rodents remain in constant abrasive contact with certain thistles and brambles, with no seeming reaction, whereas, most, if not all humans are known to exhibit allergic rashes and lesions upon mere contact with the same flora.”

  “A bramble, my young friend, is not after-shave lotion”, Dr. Yadav uttered the words with great deliberation.

  “I beg to differ, sir”.

  “You are suggesting that bramble IS after-shave for you?” said the professor, raising his eyebrows amusedly and looking all around as the class burst into peals of laughter.

  The boy waited for the laughter to subside. He was shaking with nervousness. “Sir, the point is that what is good for the bramble is good for the after-shave. If the bramble can cause allergies to humans, why not the chemicals proven safe on lab mice?”

  “Because, as I said, a skin is a skin”.

  “And, human skin is not very different from lab mice’s? If that is your supposition, sir, I have nothing else to say”, Ramanujam sat down slowly.

  “I didn’t think so,” said the professor. Dr. Yadav turned around to the board not without a triumphant look.

  “However”, went the boy’s voice again. The professor turned around with a hint of irritation on his face. The students murmured. “However, sir, lab mice could mutate and grow resistant to a chemical, which may still be toxic to men. Is that not possible?”

  “Lab mice under controlled conditions, my young friend, do not mutate or fly”, said the professor between his teeth.

  “Except the giant rat of Sumatra, I presume”, countered Ramanujam.

  “There we enter the realm of speculation,” smiled Dr. Yadav.

  “I thought we were in that realm right from the beginning,” retorted the student, freezing the professor’s smile on his lips.

  “Mr. Ramanujam, your point is?”

  “Testing of chemicals and medicines on lab animals is no proof of their fitness for use on humans. There has been a propaganda to mislead the people to believe that it has been proven safe, with the by-line ’proven safe on animals’ not even in fine print”.

  “You may be wrong, or I may be right”, said the professor smartly, “but let us not waste the time of the rest of the students now”.

  Dr. Yadav jumped out of his flashback. The boy had been a bad dream to him. His elusiveness had made the professor dwell in the past, rather than look forward to the glorious future that lay in store.

  CHAPTER 16: One Day at a Time

  “What does the future have in store for us, Rama?”

  “The future? For me, it is one day at a time, Ananta. And, it is best that way. No worry, no care, just the day ahead”.

  “So, what does the day ahead tell you, Rama?”

  “A meeting with Dr. Nanjunda Rao at 11 AM, followed by a job offer for the both of us”.

  “Do you think he is a genuine doctor? There was something about the doctor that bothered me”.

  “What?”

  “I have never seen a ruffled doctor. Nor a doctor in track pants”.

  “You have seen me, an almost doctor, in much less”.

  “That’s different, you are my cousin”.

  “Ananta, doctors don’t go to bed with the stethoscopes hanging from their necks. They are humans, like the rest of us. By the way, what were you nudging me in the car for?”

  “I was trying to get you to see the sticker on the car’s wind-shield”.

  “Why, what did it say?”

  “It said, ’Doctor’”.

  “Thanks, that was timely. Auto!”

  At least three auto-rickshaws refused to go in the direction of 3H, as Hari Heart Hospice was called in short. “Too far out, sir”. “Will have to return empty, son”, were the typical excuses.

  Ananta was beginning to get irritated. “What do you mean, you will return empty? You will be inside the vehicle, right? How can the vehicle be empty? If there is something empty, it is your head?” He had to be physically restrained by Ramanujam.

  The fourth one obliged. “Two hundred rupees”.

  “Let us get down, Ananta, and take the bus. We can’t afford to pay that much”.

  “Wha..?”, Ananta exit the auto in protest.

  “How much are you willing to pay?”

  “Sorry, I will have to look for other means. My offer will offend you”, responded Ram, looking for the next auto.

  “Never mind. Say it first”.

  “Hundred.”

  “What? Do you know the cost of diesel?”

  “I told you, you will be offended and you forced me to bargain”, said Ram pretending to take a moral high ground.

  “One fifty”.

  Ramanujam opened his wallet and responded, “One hundred twenty is all I can pay you”.

  “You are the first ride for today and I don’t want to start the day inauspiciously. Get in”.

  Ananta got in murmuring, “One twenty. Any idea what you plan to ask the doctor when we reach there?”

  “What we ask and what he will give depends on how his mother is doing, Ananta”.

  “We seem to be moving very slowly, Rama. Every other vehicle seems to be blowing smoke into my face”.

  “Don’t take it personally. They are blowing into everyone’s faces. Why is the traffic so slow here?”

  The auto-driver turned around. “Why does the sun rise in the East? Why is water wet? I take it you are from out of town. This is the Silk Board junction, if that means anything to you. It is a law of nature that people and traffic should choke here”.

  “Rama, this man is more philosophical than you are.”

  The drive on Hosur Road was blissful. Ananta had never seen auto-rickshaws that ran that fast.

  “3H”, said the auto-driver, glumly.

  The two boys got down and paid the driver off. The driver grumbled again about the first ride of the day, made an abrupt U-turn and went the wrong way.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen. There was an emergency case today. So, how are you?”

  Now, he looks like a real doctor, thought Ananta.

  “Very well, sir. How is your mother?”

  “Stable. I had her moved from that nursing home to 3H, where she will be under good care. She wants to meet the gentlemen who saved her life. Maybe after a few days”, smiled Dr. Rao with gratitude.

  “We just happened to be there, sir”.

  “Of course. By the way, before I forget why you are here, I spoke to the Administrative Head of 3H and she has identified two positions which need temporary assistance – your tenure may be extended based on how you perform. I have no doubts about your ability to do the job right”.

  “Thank you, sir. Sir, whom do we need to speak to?”. It was Ananta.

  “Oh, you speak!”, laughed the doctor. “The X-Ray room needs an assistant and you will go there. And, you who are to be a doctor will usher in the patients at the paediatric division. Your job will be to read out the recent case history from the respective patient’s medical file to the visiting doctors when they are talking to the patients’ parents. The respective departments have been informed. Proceed and introduce yourselves as my referrals”.

  “We are most grateful for this assistance, sir”.

  Dr. Rao smiled again. “Do not hesitate to approach me for any queries. And one more thing. Do you guys like cricket?”

  “Surely, you are teasing us, sir?” responded Ananta, “Who doesn’t?”

  “It is settled then. I have a couple of complimentary open tickets for an IPL match between our Royal Challengers and a visi
ting team some time in the next couple of months. I can’t possibly use them. They are yours.”

  “Thank you, sir”, Ananta almost grabbed the tickets from the doctor's hands rather awkwardly, as if the offer was valid only for the next few seconds.

  “I have already started liking my job, Rama. You were right about being shown a way”, Ananta gesticulated by waving the tickets in front of him, as they walked down the corridor.

  “Free tickets were not what I meant. Anyway, it is time to work and hold on to it. Find your way to the X-ray room and I will find my way to the paediatrics building”. We will meet at the temple in front at 6:00 PM. I know you love cricket and you love grandmother's pickles, but don't even think of mixing them. For the IPL matches, I am told outside food is not allowed”.

  CHAPTER 17: Food for Thought

  “Outside food is not allowed”, rang the voice. Dr. Yadav looked in the direction of the voice. It was Pyare Mohan. It was his way of saying that the spread at his supper table was the best in town. It had been an hour past sunset and there was quite a crowd of party-men of all hues at Pyare Mohan’s farm house. It was not the Saturday after their phone-call, but many weeks later. Pyare Mohan had, apparently, been busy with matters of state. But, he made good on his promise of a weekend party at the farm-house.

  “Look, the good doctor is still in his work clothes”, laughed Pyare Mohan. “Always duty-bound, eh? If I come close enough, I may smell traces of anti-septic”, laughed Pyare Mohan again.

  Suddenly, Dr. Yadav felt a little less than fresh. All the other guests seem to be bouncing around as if their day had just begun. Pyare himself was looking like a fresh fruit with a couple of drops in him. Yellow polo with a ruby red collar neatly tucked into Levi jeans made Pyare Mohan’s paunch a little more prominent than usual.

  “Well, you look quite different that your normal self, Pyare Mohan”, smiled Dr. Yadav gesturing at the politician’s attire.

  “What did you think? We politicians earn money just to wear white-and-white all through the day? Sounds a bit too...”, the politician tapered off looking for words.

  “Gandhian?” offered his friend.

  “Gandhian? What has that poor chap got to do with this? This is not the time to think about that great man. Go in and fill yourself”, Pyare said pointing to the bar shelf, and spun around to meet another guest.

  They looked really genteel, thought Dr. Yadav, sipping his orange juice. It just takes a few drops of alcohol to take off that aura. A few junior politicos introduced themselves to Dr. Yadav. As a friend of Pyare Mohan, he was expected to have the minister’s ear on their needs.

  “So, you are a doctor. Good. The world needs doctors. Can I ask you a medical question?” The man evidently had drunk as if Prohibition was going to be enforced the next day. Dr. Yadav predicted that he was about to seek diagnosis for his lifestyle illness. With remarkable coherence of words for his level of inebriation, the man continued, “You have developed small-pox vaccine, right?”

  Dr. Yadav was in the mood to amuse himself. “Not me. But, my friend Jonas Salk did.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. By saying ’you’, I meant the doctor community. You guys invented polio vaccine, right?”

  “Yes”.

  “How come you couldn’t develop one for common cold?”

  The doctor had heard this one before, but didn’t see it coming from a slobbering drunk politician.

  “It could be because common cold doesn’t kill people or maim them for life”.

  “But I heard of a guy in my village who died when he sneezed”.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He sneezed and fell in front of the tractor and was run over by it”.

  “Ah, must have been suffering from rhinotractoritis. Not common cold”.

  “That explains it, this is why we need doctors”. The politician stumbled off.

  To explain idiocy, you don’t need doctors, thought Dr. Yadav. He moved on to the next room where a group of ladies continued chatting oblivious to his entry and subsequent exit through the glass doors towards the swimming pool. The cool evening breeze rustled a few plants. This is life, thought the doctor. Not the party, but the house, the pool, the luxury.

  A glass broke at a distance. Dr. Yadav peered into the darkness on the other side of the pool in the direction of the glass-break. He could see some movement near what looked like a pool chair. It was probably a calf rubbing its neck against the chair. Or, was it a couple getting cosy with each other?

  Not wanting to be a witness any further, he beat a hasty retreat to the indoors. This was a different room from which he had come to the swimming area. The large room with white decor had all of three people sitting transfixed looking in the direction of Dr. Yadav’s entry. They were looking at the wall next to the door whence a cacophony of horns was erupting. Dr. Yadav turned around and noticed the cricketers looking life-size in the giant television set.

  Cricket – the great leveller. The game that induced monomania into the minds of all sections of people is now his last refuge from the ennui of the party. This alcohol-free intoxicant should help him pass the rest of the evening. Before long, the host rolled in.

  “What’s up, guys? Refill for your empties? Good. No, Yadav, no refill for orange juice. You are insulting my bar,” laughed the politician as he prepared to leave the room.

  Dr. Yadav got up and collared Pyare Mohan at the door-step. He mustered as much politeness as he could and asked, “Pyare, it has been weeks since we spoke about the missing boys. He has published an article in the Capital Times. Any news I can look forward to?”

  “Cockroaches have a unique way of hiding and surviving”. Seeing Dr. Yadav’s face fall, Pyare Mohan continued, “But, it doesn’t happen forever. My men have searched systematically and have eliminated the possibility of this pestilence’s presence in the leading medical institutions in Mumbai. At times, I even suspect if the information that he is in Mumbai is reliable”.

  Trust a politician to turn the tables around, thought Dr. Yadav. “So, what next, Pyare?”

  “We will keep looking. Meanwhile, let me know if you hear anything”. Pyare Mohan’s exit was less merry and more sober than his entry a few minutes earlier. Dr. Yadav returned his presence to the sofa and his attention to the match.

  For the first time, he noticed the teams that were in the match. Time-out was on. A rather rotund member of the Chennai Super Kings was running back to the dug-out with a bottle in his hand. The camera immediately panned to the group of spectators holding aloft a banner that mentioned the rotund player’s name and the not-so-polite remark, “Chennai Supper King”. Dr. Yadav guffawed. It was for the first time he felt free in his mind. “Supper King” indeed. The guy was plump enough to earn that title and close enough to the chairman of selectors, a former player, to be on the squad.

  The camera zoomed closer to the youths who were waving the banner after realising they had been caught on camera.

  “It is HIM”, shouted Dr. Yadav, visibly excited. The other people in the room looked at him in annoyance.

  That was it. The smart ass had deceived everyone about his whereabouts. He was in Bangalore, not Mumbai. Dr. Yadav ran to find Pyare Mohan. In a matter of a few minutes, which seemed too long for the doctor, he found Pyare speaking with a group of businessmen.

  “Pyare Mohan, it is him!”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen”, Pyare Mohan made a dignified move, much unlike a man who had quite a few drinks inside him and took Dr. Yadav to a lonely corner.

  “Yes, Yadav, what?”

  “It is him!” Dr. Yadav was panting.

  “And?”

  “Bangalore”.

  “I thought you were drinking only orange juice”, said the politico testily.

  “No, no, you don’t understand”.

  “In that case, tell me in such a way that I understand”.

  Dr. Yadav inhaled deeply to slow himself down. “Pyare, the boy, Ramanujam is in Bangalore. Not in Mumbai”.
>
  “How exactly, did you hit upon this Eureka moment, Yadav?”

  “The match was on in your TV room and he was in the crowd”.

  “I was right then. In your parlance, Yadav, it is a case of misdiagnosis resulting from being told the wrong symptoms”.

  CHAPTER 18: Rumble in the Concrete Jungle

  “In our parlance, madam, it is misdiagnosis from being told the wrong symptoms. You could have been more clear about the all the symptoms your child exhibited during the past two weeks, rather than just what you believed were important for the diagnosis. It is our job to analyse what is best for the child. For that, you need to tell us what you see”. Dr. Svaminathan of the paediatric speciality was not angry. He simply liked to let himself loose on the unsuspecting parents of the young patients. In this case, the mother had dared to ask why her son’s medical condition had not changed in the past two weeks.

  “But, doctor, I thought his knee problem was related to his fall during games class..”, said the mother.

  “That is why you should leave it to the doctors to do the thinking”. Silence. “Now that you have told me, I will change his medication”.

  “Will it work for sure, doctor?”, the mother’s worry was dripping in her words.

  “Will it work? How do I know? I have changed the medication. We can hope that it will. I would like to see him on Thursday”.

  The mother hastily took the hurriedly-scribbled prescription and left the room with the child.

  Ramanujam ushered in the next set of people. Parents and two children.

  “Which one?”

  The mother pointed to the younger child. Meanwhile, Ramanujam was reading from the file, “... time for DPT booster shot...”

  “Madam, it wouldn’t hurt if the DPT booster gets delayed by a week or so. You may see me at my clinic. There are quite a few people waiting outside for immediate relief. Is there anything pressing that I need to see him for?”

  Ramanujam, despite being annoyed by Dr. Svami’s tirade at the earlier set, was touched by the concern for the waiting patients. The parents seemed to know where his private clinic was.