Abdul Chacha

It was already twilight when Abdul decided to return home. Today it was no different from the previous day, he had earned almost nothing while he had waited full day in the scorching heat for passengers to board his cycle rikshaw. The ten-rupee currency note in his pocket was his only earning for the day. With a resigned look Abdul felt the harmful effect of the technological revolution. In the last six months the roads have been crowded with battery driven autorickshaws and suddenly no one wanted to board his cycle rikshaw. With almost an empty stomach, Abdul pedaled his rikshaw to his hut. His aging legs ached while he put all his strength to cycle the rickety structure on the pot holed road, frequently he tried to fill his lungs with more air to gain power but every time this exercise made him cough. In the last few weeks he had noticed that when he would spit after a bout of cough there was a dash of blood in his sputum.

Abdul had no energy left in him when he reached his hut and he lay on the layers of rag which by no imagination could be classified as a bed. It was a good two hours later that Abdul heard a tweaking sound heralding the opening of the shanty door. Feroz, his teenage son, walked inside with a big polythene bag which he unceremoniously dumped in a corner. For a few moments no one spoke, it was Abdul who asked Feroz about his day. Feroz informed him that due to the visit of some politician the roads had been cleaned by the administration and he had difficulty in collecting the polythene garbage from roadside dumps. Feroz digged his hand in his trouser pocket and fished out some crumpled currency notes. Abdul took out his only currency bill and handed it to his son. Feroz rose and silently went out; within fifteen minutes he walked back with two black polythene packets containing a few rotis and cooked vegetables. Within minutes both father and son finished their dinner. Abdul lit a biri and slumped on his rag.

The Awasthi’s adored their daughter and wanted her to become a doctor. Rashmi was in the twelfth standard and was obediently deep into studies. Every day at dot ten in the morning she would go to the coaching classes for her forthcoming NEET examination. It had become a routine of sorts that Rashmi would find a vacant rikshaw beneath the tree just a stone throw from her house. She preferred a cycle rikshaw because the battery rikshaws always came with many passengers. Abdul had also become used to the sight of a teenage girl boarding his rikshaw to go to the coaching institute. She seldom spoke anything but on rare occasions when she would want to stop for buying something, Rashmi would invariably refer to Abdul as ‘chacha’. Abdul loved the innocence on her face and sometimes Rashmi’s gestures brought a silent smile on Abdul’s heavily creased face which had already seen sixty-four summers. Since the short journey to coaching institute had almost become a routine, Abdul never asked her where she wanted to go, he knew the destination. The journey of twelve minutes was always uneventful but Abdul got a ten-rupee wage which he would keep without any qualms. Off late, sometimes, this was the only earning for Abdul in the whole day.

While days melted into months, Abdul’s life saw no change. Everyday he would fight with his aching limbs to get up at six in the morning to go to the municipality tap in the adjacent lane to fetch the two buckets of water. Feroz would make a few rotis and the father son duo would find something to eat for a frugal meal which was both the breakfast and the lunch. The daily life of Abdul was indeed in sharp contrast to the routine of the health-conscious affluent society where a frugal meal was partaken out of choice to follow the fashionable calorie restriction diet. As Abdul would start his rikshaw in the morning, Feroz would embark upon his garbage collecting routine walking past garbage dumps and finding recyclable items. Sometimes he would be lucky to get a good bagful of garbage which would be sold to the bigger agents of garbage who would then send the same to the recycle plants.

In one of his sorties to an adjacent locality, Feroz noticed that a big hospital had come up. Upon his further enquiry with fellow rag pickers, Feroz understood that this hospital was a medical college where new doctors would receive their training. Feroz made a mental note that one day he would try to meet someone in the hospital and request for some kind of a job.

Although there was a hush silence in the big board room of the Crescent Hospital, the countenance of the board members advertised that everyone was happy. On a cue everyone stood up and from the side door, Dr Rastogi, the MD and CEO came in and walked briskly to the top end of the long oval table and took his seat. The smile on his face amply radiated to others that the CEO was in a happy mood. Not that the mike was in a wrong place but as a habit, Dr Rastogi slightly changed the mike’s angle and bending forward by a few degrees said ‘Beautiful morning everybody’. The meeting had started.

In the next forty-five minutes, Dr Rastogi informed everybody that the Crescent Hospital has received the Government approval for a teaching facility to start MBBS course for fifty students. Next, he asked all Heads to outline their requirements that each of the Departments must fulfil as per the mandate of Medical Council of India. All Departments including Medicine, Surgery, Ophthalmology, Orthopedics, Gynecology, Biochemistry etc proposed their requirements. The Head of the Department of Anatomy started by making a weird request. The Head of Anatomy informed the Board that for a teaching hospital there was a requirement of at least two dead bodies. Without dead bodies teaching was almost impossible. As seconds ticked away, everyone slowly realized the gravity of this requirement. Although everyone agreed that the requirement was genuine, no one could provide any answer. The Head of Anatomy continued that this was a difficult task and the hospital authorities must provide a decent budget for this requirement.

It was a hot Saturday afternoon and Feroz was on his garbage scouting mission. Today again he had meandered towards the new hospital which he observed was being renovated. Following his urge to find a job, Feroz’s mind again prompted him to go inside the hospital and talk to someone. Feroz walked to the hospital gate and went inside. He stood aimlessly at the end of the long corridor with lines of rooms all displaying something written on the door.

Dr Anand left Crescent Hospital Board meeting and changed the setting on his phone from ‘airplane’ to ‘normal’. A sudden deluge of messages alerted Dr Anand that his wife had called him several times. He tried to call back but for some reason his wife didn’t pick the phone. Slightly worried, Dr Anand decided to go home to check with his wife. As he walked the long corridor, he came across a young boy with a big polythene bag slung on his shoulder. The boy seemed too dazed by the hospital setting. Dr Anand tried to evade the boy but realized that the boy was moving in his direction trying to seek his attention. A doctor’s impulse made Dr Anand stop for a moment. Feroz folded his hands and blurted out a request which was rather impolite but genuine. He asked Dr Anand whether he could get any work in this hospital. Before Dr Anand could say anything, the boy said that he can do anything. The fact that he had to go urgently to his home was playing in Dr Anand’s mind. He fished out his visiting card from his pocket and gave it to Feroz saying that he may come tomorrow and meet him. As Feroz held the visiting card, Dr Anand was already on way to his home in his car.

Feroz kept that card inside a polythene cover and tucked it inside his shirt. That night he dreamt that he was wearing a shirt and a pant and working in the Crescent Hospital. Twice during the night, he woke up and looked at the watch lest he be late in going to the hospital. A strange excitement engulfed Feroz.

In his best clothes, the ones he had kept from the last year Eid, Feroz reached the Crescent hospital at around ten. Clutching the visiting card in one hand as it was some kind of a lifeline, Feroz went inside the hospital. After a few queries he reached a room where Dr Anand was sitting. Dr Anand beckoned Feroz to sit on the stool which was kept for the patients. Dr Anand asked Feroz what he did for a living and tried to gauge his poverty. In a voice devoid of any expression, Dr Anand asked Feroz to find a dead body. Before Feroz could even blink his eyes, Dr Anand said that the hospital would give him one lakh rupees if he brought a dead body. Feroz looked back in bewilderment, the only dead body he had seen in his life was that of his mother two years back. The mere mention of the dead body made him break into cold sweat. Feroz did make an effort to say something but at that very moment, Dr Anand’s phone rang and he became engaged in conversation. Dr Anand gestured Feroz to leave. Clutching the visiting card which till now was the harbinger of great hopes, Feroz traced his steps back to the gate. Trudgingly he returned to his hut. Abdul had already gone with his rikshaw.

That night when he lay on the ground to sleep on his tattered rug sewn sheet, Feroz played back the events of today’s morning. The preposterous suggestion of finding a dead body was still baffling his mind. However to add to this insane request, somewhere the image of a lakh of rupees also had made a mark in his mind. Feroz let his mind drift. He started thinking about getting a dead body.

From his friends, Firoz enquired about the address of the nearby graveyard. It was a Tuesday afternoon when Firoz stepped inside the graveyard which was approximately two kilometers from his locality. Even in the afternoon when the road outside was bustling with traffic, the graveyard was engulfed in silence. Feroz found a brick and sat down on the ground. Firoz looked at the graves and tried to count them, his mind mischievously prompted him that each grave was worth a lakh of rupees. Feroz thought of a plan, could it be possible to dig out a dead body from the grave ?

On his third visit to the graveyard, Firoz got a chance to see how a dead body was buried in the grave. A funeral procession had just reached the graveyard and preparations were underway to lower the dead inside the grave. In the melee of the persons accompanying the dead body, Firoz went close to the grave. He looked inside and to his amazement found that it was quite deep. Firoz witnessed the full burial ritual. Slowly as the procedure unfolded before his eyes, Firoz got convinced, albeit grudgingly, that retrieving the dead body from a grave was a very difficult proposition. His one lakh rupee dreams vanished even before Firoz had come out of the graveyard gate.

That night after a so-called meal which barely filled half the stomach, Feroz slept peacefully with no dreams. A yard away Abdul slept with aching limbs. In the last few weeks his cough had become more persistent and every time he spat there was some blood in his cough. For some days Abdul had the lingering laziness and he felt he had fever. The night in the hut was always long and tonight Abdul found his mind drifting to yesteryears. Abdul reminisced that as a boy he used to play cricket on the plot not far from this place. Abdul remembered his father and also remembered how much he wanted that his son should study in school. Abdul recollected how he used to run away from school and indulged in smoking cigarettes and watching movies. Abdul’s train of thoughts hit a block when he remembered the day his father had died from a heart attack. His further thoughts were much more painful and Abdul consciously diverted his mind from the story which was playing in his mind. He was unaware when he dozed off that night.

It was around three in the morning that Abdul felt some unease, he felt he was having difficulty in breathing. Abdul’s persistent bouts of cough made Firoz aware of some problem with his father. He gave Abdul a glass of water. The cough continued and Abdul felt something clog his throat, he coughed and spat. A thick lump of coagulated blood stained the floor. Abdul felt much better. The uneasiness gave way to a tired sleep. Abdul slept so heavy that he did not get up till nine in the morning. Firoz bought some tea in a polythene bag and shared with his father. Abdul did not take out his rikshaw. He felt too weak.

A half a kilometer away, Rashmi was marking on the calendar the dates of her forthcoming NEET examination. She looked at the clock and felt that she must get ready to go to the coaching class. She remembered that this was the last week she will be going to the coaching class. The NEET examination was just a fortnight away. By ten in the morning Rashmi was ready, she was now doing things on rote. As she went out, she went towards the neem tree but then her eyes realized that there was no rikshaw. Rashmi returned to senses. It had been several months since she had missed Abdul Chacha’s rikshaw. It took another couple of minutes for Rashmi to find a battery driven rikshaw. Her mind again got lost in her Physics notes. She remembered she was revising Bernoulli’s theorem.

In the practice tests held in the coaching class that day, Rashmi got the highest marks. Her teachers congratulated her and encouraged her for the forthcoming NEET. The next day also Rashmi didn’t find the rikshaw of Abdul waiting for her. An inquisitive thought did cross her mind but Rashmi was too engrossed in her own story and she paid no particular heed to the absence of Abdul Chacha.

Abdul’s condition worsened in the next few days. His bouts of coughing became more persistent. Firoz felt a sense of panic. He helped Abdul sit on his rikshaw and carried him to a nearby doctor. The doctor, a balding middle-aged man, gave a cough syrup and a couple of tablets to Abdul.

That night Abdul felt no urge to eat. His cough became incessant. It was difficult for him to lie supine. Firoz propped him in a sitting position by placing the old rag to support his backbone. Firoz digged deep into his old trunk and took out the hundred-rupee currency note that he had once hid from his father. Taking the money, he ran out to the next lane to buy a pack of glucose. He returned as fast as he could. Panting and gasping Firoz entered his hut. His eyes found Abdul slumped on the floor. A thick reddish black stream of blood was coming out from the mouth. Firoz felt the pain of his father. He knew he was witnessing the second dead body of his life.

Firoz sat next to Abdul’s lifeless body. In an involuntary gesture he grasped Abdul’s hand but the hand was limp. Firoz wept. At this age he had never in his dreams contemplated what needs to be done in these circumstances. Firoz was dumbstruck. He clung to the dead body and cried.

A good three hours had passed and Firoz felt the loss of warmth in the lifeless body of his father. He looked at the watch, it was three in the morning. A few dogs were barking in the locality. By now his mind had accepted the grief. His mind had started contemplating more worldly things. He remembered the graveyard scene where he had seen the burial of a dead body. It was within these thoughts that he remembered his visit to the Crescent Hospital. He remembered the words of Dr Anand ‘arrange a dead body and we shall give you one lakh rupees in cash’. Firoz felt angry at himself to have even thought of such a thing at this point of time. For a few minutes Firoz’s mind started showing him some past memories, he remembered the day when as a child his father had taken him to the local mela and bought a few toys. A lone tear trickled down from his already puffy eyes. He again glanced at the lifeless body and again the cold words of Dr Anand reverberated in his mind. This time the offer of Dr Anand didn’t seem to pinch him as much as it did a few minutes ago. Firoz thought of the amount of money which Dr Anand had promised. With father gone and no support, maybe the money could entirely change his life. Firoz made a decision.

Firoz used all his rags and the old blanket to wrap the body of his father in a way that no part of the body was visible. He carried the body to the rikshaw which was parked outside and put the body on the rikshaw seat using the foot rest as support. He inspected that the body was stable. The watch showed that it was quarter to five. Firoz could hear the morning azaan from the far-off mosque. He started pulling the rikshaw taking care to move it slowly and carefully. As the day was about to break, Firoz reached the Crescent Hospital. He chose a spot under a tree and carefully laid the body on the ground manipulating its contours to mimic a man deep in sleep. He waited for Dr Anand.

Dr Anand was a worried man, yesterday he had been summoned by the CEO Dr Rastogi who had told him that the preparations of the Anatomy department was lagging behind the deadline set by the Medical Council of India. Thus today Dr Anand had decided to go early to the hospital and call a meeting of all faculty members of Anatomy department and explore how they can find a human body for teaching purpose. Dr Anand parked his car and walked towards the entrance of the hospital when he saw someone running towards him. It took a couple of seconds for him to recognize the boy. He had met this boy in his room sometime back. Firoz, with swollen eyes and tears running down his cheeks, stood hands folded before Dr Anand. Before Dr Anand could understand this development, Firoz said in a trembling voice ‘doctor sahab, I have brought a dead body’.

Four men silently picked the body and placed it inside the ambulance. Firoz stood at a distance watching his father for the last time. The ambulance moved towards the mortuary. Dr Anand placed a hand on Firoz’s shoulder and led him to his room. Today he made Firoz sit on the chair and offered him a glass of water and some biscuits which he kept in his drawer. Firoz on his part was engulfed in his own kaleidoscope of thoughts. Dr Anand opened his drawer and took out a wad of currency notes and kept the same in an envelope. He handed Firoz the packet and watched his reaction. Firoz said nothing. He wanted to go to his hut.

For two days Firoz stayed put in his hut. At times he felt extreme emotional pain thinking that he had lost his father. On the third day he ventured out. He went to the shop where he knew they sold battery rikshaws. The shop owner took his Aadhar copy and by four in the evening Firoz was on the wheels of a brand-new battery rikshaw. A strange sense of joy which a pinch of melancholy swept his mind. Firoz had started a new innings in his life.

While Firoz was happy to be driving the battery rikshaw, the Awasthi family was overjoyed to see the result of NEET. Their daughter Rashmi had not only qualified but had also secured overall fifth position in merit. Rashmi felt relieved and made plans to go to the coaching institute to thank the faculty members personally. Rashmi wanted to go at ten in the morning to the coaching institute and she went out of her home at few minutes before ten. Her eyes scanned the road for a rikshaw. She glanced towards the neem tree and her mind came up with the memory of Abdul Chacha’s rikshaw. Rashmi remembered that she had not seen Abdul Chacha for a long time. A new battery rikshaw stopped in front of her. Rashmi asked the young driver to drop her at the coaching institute. As she sat on the seat of the autorickshaw, still covered by polythene, she saw the face of the young man. Her mind went into overdrive, she seemed to link this face to some memory. She tried to focus her mind in recognizing this face but suddenly her phone rang. She reached her destination without any hiccups.

The first batch of MBBS students in the Crescent Hospital and Medical College were seated in the large auditorium. Since the students had come from across the State, there were very few acquaintances. Each student was immersed in his/her own thought. In the next hour, CEO Dr Rastogi gave a pep talk to the new students and encouraged them to learn everything diligently so that they become good doctors.

For the Anatomy practical class, the fifty students of the MBBS were divided into five groups. The division was based on the first name and thus Rashmi was in the last group of ten students. The large practical classroom had a big cemented table in the middle. Dr Anand stood at one corner. A heavy smell of formalin wafted in the air. On the cold table a nude dead body was lying supine. Each batch of students would come to the table and stand around the table. Dr Anand would point to certain areas of the body and repeat the same set of instructions again and again. Sometimes a girl would feel nauseating but Dr Anand showed no surprise. Dr Anand knew this class was only to acclimatize the new students to the further set of more intricate anatomy experiments. The last batch of students trooped inside the hall. Rashmi came inside the cold room and reached the edge of the table. She saw the dead body on the cemented table. Her sight drifted to the dead man’s face. She shrieked ‘Abdul Chacha’. Her shriek was so loud that others outside the class also heard the noise. Rashmi fainted. Dr Anand dispersed the class. A stretcher was summoned and Rashmi was wheeled into the ICU.

Even after a week and with advice pouring from all sides, Rashmi couldn’t find courage to go back to Crescent Medical College. There were episodes when involuntary she would start crying saying ‘Abdul Chacha’. Her parents repeatedly enquired who was Abdul Chacha but any such enquiry was replied by Rashmi with more sobbing and crying.

It took another couple of months and many psychological counselling sessions for everyone to come to the conclusion that Rashmi was not emotionally fit for a medical degree.

Five years had passed and Rashmi again excelled in her undergraduate and postgraduate examinations. It was the tenth of October when the UPSC results were announced. The Awasthi family was overjoyed. Rashmi’s name figured in the list of selected IAS candidates.

The cavalcade of the District Magistrate was passing through the old city. Rashmi Awasthi had taken the front seat, as the new District Magistrate of the city she wanted to get a first-hand feel of the town. The street was crowded. At every corner there was a huge crowd of battery driven rikshaw. For some unknown reason Rashmi’s mind went ten years back. The road ahead reminded her to the house where her father lived and from where she used to take the cycle rikshaw to go to the coaching institute. As her mind was meandering in the past, her eyes focused on a lean man, in his mid-sixties, driving an old cycle rikshaw. Rashmi asked her driver to stop. As her car stopped, the other vehicles of the entourage also halted. Rashmi alighted from her car and walked towards the cycle rikshaw with a horde of policemen in tow. The rikshaw driver was bewildered, he stopped. Rashmi approached the rikshaw driver and asked him politely ‘what is your name uncle ?’ Overawed by the situation, the man meekly replied ‘Sahab, Mohan’. Rashmi asked the rikshaw driver very politely whether he would mind if she called him ‘Abdul Chacha’. The man looked lost; he did not understand this question. Rashmi wiped a silent tear which had appeared in her eyes, she opened her purse and gave the rikshaw driver all the money she had. No one understood what had transpired between the rikshaw driver and the new District Magistrate Rashmi Awasthi.

That night Rashmi had a dream. She saw a happy Abdul Chacha driving a battery driven autorickshaw.