Introducing...........the first doctor vigilante- Dr Shyam! This is the first of (hopefully) a series of stories written under same title. For long, the image of doctors has been in the extreme- either Godly, kind and easy to hurt (remember the Parsi doctor in Munnabhai?) or that of a scheming villain or a cruel man who will kill a patient if he doesnt pay up. I have not seen either type of doctors so far. This story is a ttempt by me to restore some sense in theimage portrayal of doctors, and provide some thrills at the same time! Enjoyyyyy!
“The guilty, Dr Shyam Pandey, is hereby charged guilty for the murder of Rajesh saxena. The court orders imprisonment for fourteen years,” the judge read out the statement in a monotonous drone, much unlike the events that led to the statement being read out.
“Dr Shyam, how did a doctor become a killer?” one microphone was thrusted in his face as he was being taken by the police from the court.
He stopped, smiled and replied, “Get your vocabulary right.”
“What do you mean Doctor?”
“Not the right time to explain. Good bye!” Shyam waved heartily as he walked into the police van, chained from head to toe.
“Doctor sa’ab, tell me. Why did you do it?” a police constable couldn’t resist the temptation.
“Listen boy, some people kill because they want to. Others kill because they have to. I killed because everybody wanted to.”
“What do you mean?”
“A murderer kills for fun or money. A desperate man kills because he has no choice. A vigilante, however, kills because the society needs it.”
“A vigilante? Who is that?”
“Well, how long have we got from here to the jail?” Shyam asked.
“About an hour and half.”
“Well then, get ready to be a part of my journey. But beware, it is a bumpy ride ahead!”
And it began…
Dr Shyam paced up and down in his chamber. It was just half past midnight and his hospital’s emergency centre had received its sixth gunshot injury. It was almost a daily routine. He was used to seeing stabbings, bullet injuries and other attempts at homicide since his residency days, but the rate at which the sufferers of violence had increased in recent times, was alarming. As a doctor, he always felt that he was meant to do much more than just treat a disease. He felt he was meant to cure the society. And societies are not cured by treating gunshot injuries. Societies are cured by preventing a gunshot injury from occurring. Expectedly, his phone rang.
“Shyam sir?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“Sir, one more. This time, it’s on the abdomen. No exit wound seen.”
This was an emergency. Somebody had been shot, and the bullet was probably lodged in the intestines, causing fatal hemorrhage or intestinal perforation, or both. Probability was, the patient might not survive till he climbed down two flights of stairs.
In the end, he never did.
“What the HELL is going on in this godforsaken place?” Shyam pounded his wrist on the table after returning to his room. There was no one to reply. It was then, that a voice spoke, “If no one can do anything about it, why don’t you try?” Shyam stood up and walked towards the mirror in his room. His refelection revealed all the years he had spent struggling with obscure pieces of information, hoping to clear the medical entrance exams, the years of his medical college, the struggle of post graduate training and the insane amount of hours put in practice after his post graduation, which ensured that his marriage ended in two years. “What did you gain, my friend? The reflection asked. For once, Shyam was silent. Did he save lives? Yes. But, did he improve lives? No. Did he save people coming with stab and bullet wounds? Yes, sometimes. Did he even try to prevent them from occurring? Never. It was always supposed to be the job of the police, the government, the municipality. Apparently, somebody was not doing their job well. It was something he had learnt the hard way in his housemanship.
“But sir, I ordered the ward boy to collect the lab reports. What can I do if he didn’t go on time?” an innocent Shyam pleaded.
“You lazy ass! If he doesn’t go, then you have to go!” his senior shouted.
“But sir, that’s not my job!” Shyam, the epitome of gullible, protested.
“Idiot! If somebody doesn’t do their job, it becomes yours! YOU are the one responsible for the patients of the ward. Not the ward boy, not the sister.”
The episode was burnt on his mind. If nobody is willing to do a job, it becomes the job of the one who cares. It was time, Shyam decided, that a surgeon cuts out more than just a rotten organ.
“Connect me to the nearest police station,” shyam asked the telephone operator, ho duly obliged.
“Hello, this is Dr Shyam, from Krishna TrauamCare. Can I speak to the PSI there?”
“Sir PSI sa’ab is in a meeting…” the constable answered the routine line, but Shyam cut him short, “Then tell him to stop the meeting now. Its regarding a bomb threat which will destroy this city in half hour if he doesn’t do something!” The response was immediate and adequate.
“This is Police Sub Inspector Maharshi speaking,” a gruff voice answered, “and listen, this better not be a hoax call or I will rip your insides out!”
“That sir, is kinda my job,” Shyam replied coolly, “and let me ask you one thing. How many serial bomb explosions this city has seen?”
“Wait… what?”
“Answer me sir. How many serial bombings has this city seen? How many deaths recorded?”
“One incident, yes. Five years ago. Fifty people died, almost double were injured.’
“And I have seen almost fifty deaths due to gun shot and stab injuries in the last one year. And I run just one hospital. Don’t you think something should be done about it?”
“Don’t you bloody lecture me on what to do. Our team is already…”
“To hell with your team!” Shyam thundered, “ Meet me in half hour if you seriously want to do something about it. I am not telling you what to do. I am telling you how to do it.”
to be continued...
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