Sick

‘One hundred point four. Mercury says you got fever, Ammu.’

‘Ammu is sick’, said the little Prarthana touching her forehead with her left palm.

Tara looked at her seven-year-old daughter, dressed in the white shirt and blue skirt school uniform, and smiled.

‘You would have to take the day off. Rest today, and you would be fine. How unfortunate to fall sick on the day of your math test, isn’t it Ammu?’

‘Yes, Amma. Very sad.’ replied Prarthana, looking away.

‘Change your uniform, and go to bed. Amma would be back with you shortly.’

‘Where are you going? What if I need you here?’

‘Amma has a very important appointment today that I cannot miss. Take a nap, honey. I would be back by your side before you know it.’

Prarthana shrugged her shoulders. ‘A doctor has to save lives, I guess.’

There were no further dialogues. Prarthana went back to her room, changed her clothes, and blissfully embraced the comforting warmth the cozy bed offered. Tara placed the thermometer in its case and picked up her phone.

‘Hello!’

‘Hi Gowri Ma’am! This is Tara Prakash. My daughter Prarthana is in your class.’

‘Aah. Yes! Tell me, Tara.’

‘Prarthana is unwell, ma’am. She would have to take this day off.’

‘She too! I am sorry to hear that, Tara. A lot of kids are falling sick these days. Should be the weather.’

‘Indeed.’

‘Don’t worry Tara. I would take care of this. Ask her to get enough rest.’

‘Thank You, ma’am.’

Tara hung up and checked the time. It was thirteen past nine. The appointment was scheduled to be at ten, and she wished to be there on time. Punctuality was one of the few traits that she earnestly adhered to. She got dressed hurriedly, picked up her white coat and stethoscope, and reached the garage.

The thermometer that was kept back in its case by Tara still showed the reading at hundred point four.

It was a fifteen minutes drive. Twenty, considering the traffic. She would reach with five minutes to spare. As she drove through the busy city lanes, her daughter’s words echoed in her mind atop Sukhwinder Singh’s rustic singing from the stereo.

‘A doctor has to save lives.’ Tara felt it ironical that she spoke those words today of all days. Her appointment for the day was very unorthodox, to say the least. The first of its kind in her four-year-old career as the Medical Officer at the Central Prison.

She was unsure if she saving lives is what she would be doing today.

The headlines that created a ruckus some ten years ago came back to her. She was in college then. One of the hot-headed young guns.

‘A man had raped and then murdered his own son. The police had found the man in a drunken stupor, his son’s yet warm corpse lying beside him. His eyes were staring at the ceiling as if he hated the sight of his father even in death.

The news had awoken the collective conscience of the entire nation. She remembered organizing a candlelight vigil for the fallen boy whose name was never made public. He had acquired a name from the masses though. Amar.

She no longer believed in candlelight vigils. Those were mere statements. She believed in actions. Today was one such day where her actions could mean something.

The face of the man who had killed Amar was also never publicized. Today, that man would have a face. She imagined looking into his eyes and asking him why. She wanted to know how he would justify himself. Tara knew that no matter how heinous an act was, a person would have to believe in it to commit it. The Holocaust had occurred because Hitler and his army believed in the Aryan supremacy.

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