A tingling sensation of the slap had continued to persist on my cheek many minutes after it had been
rendered upon me by an angry young man who had walked into my lodging without warning. He had
immediately been whisked away by a group of youngsters who had been conversing with me.
It was as a part of my course field work
that I had come to stay in a tribal village in the infamous Gadchiroli district
of eastern Maharashtra. The first semester of my Masters in Social Work had
been rather uninspiring and I was looking forward to making the most out of
this end-semester field work.
I had packed little and had prepared myself to journey through the dense jungles of this forest covered district as
best as I could. But the start had been rather daunting and I was still
recovering from the slap. It had only been an hour since my designated NGO at
Kurkheda had dropped me off at Khidiritola village in Korchi block.
Amid all this tension, Krishna kaka the
head of my host-house began to frantically apologize to me. I managed to meekly
smile and reassure him with a ‘thike hai’ (it’s ok). He had sensed my unrelenting
unease and sat in silence with a lowered head and a crestfallen face which
continued to hold an innocent smile of embarrassment.
After a few moments of silence, Krishna
Kaka began to ask questioningly, “You are comfortable in this house na baba? I know it is small but I hope you are happy.
We do not have much to build a finer house.”
I reassured him again saying how despite the heat outside, it remained cool inside their home. This was the
magic of a mud house.
After a brief moment of silence, I enquired, “Who was that
boy?”
Kaka replied in his broken Hindi, “Kaun (who) Ganesh? He’s a good lad. Just a little disturbed. His name is Ganesh. Do
forgive him baba.”
He slowly began narrating to me the anguish
of Ganesh whose brother had been diagnosed with mouth cancer a year ago. A
certain health centre which shared a name similar as that of the NGO I came from had allegedly cheated him of a lot of money. They had promised to
bring his brother Suraj in good health. But soon after they took him into a
hospital in the block town of Korchi, his situation began to get complicated
and they claimed that immediate surgeries were required to be carried out.
Later that evening, a weeping
and apologetic Ganesh told me how after a week the doctors had told them that Suraj's life could not be saved. He told me how the doctor treating Suraj had all along kept
the family uninformed about what was exactly happening with him. Ganesh later observed stitch marks on Suraj's abdomen indicating that
the doctors had operated upon him there. He failed to understand why a patient admitted for mouth cancer had to be operated upon on the abdomen.
The doctors had failed to answer his questions about why they had done so and had instead demanded for the remaining medical fees to be paid before the body could be handed over to the family. The medical expenses had led Ganesh into a large debt. I
was told later that he had been a little unsettled ever since.
Ganesh continued to speak incoherently of
the various problems that had befallen his family. I began to picture a moment
three years ago when I had met with a bike accident late into the night. Serious
injuries had led to a cerebral hemorrhage which needed immediate attention. I
woke up alive after 10 days of complete sleep in the ICU of a posh hospital in
Chennai. A team of top-class neurologists and Anesthesiologists had been treating
and operating upon me all along keeping my parents informed at every step about
any developments in my condition.
A part of my skull was removed and a titanium
mesh was placed instead to keep me safe. The doctors later informed me that had
I been admitted any later than when I was, my chances of being alive would have
been very unlikely.
The hospital I had been admitted to was
just a kilometer and a half away from the place of my accident. The hospital nearest to
Khidiritola was at Korchi 40 kilometers away. And the only means of
transportation in the case of an emergency...
...a bullock cart.
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