I am Amarkranti Mukherjee, a doctor by profession at a government hospital. My first posting was in Murshidabad. It felt good to have the opportunity to travel alone for the first time, outside of Kolkata. But life here is much simpler compared to the luxurious life in Kolkata. I haven't made any real friends yet. So, on most days, after finishing my hospital duty, I return to the rented house.
The landlord, Mr. Nishith, is a good man. Since I live alone, he occasionally invites me over for meals. He and his wife, Kanak Devi, live on the top floor of the house in three rooms. The ground floor has four rooms—one of which I occupy. The others include a drawing room, a kitchen, and one that is kept locked. In the evenings, loud conversations can be heard from the drawing room. One day, Mr. Nishith personally invited me in. I got acquainted with some of his local friends. After that, I would occasionally join their gatherings.
Mr. Tanmoy was a bit of an elder figure. He often got into debates with Mr. Manomoy on various topics. But I liked Mr. Tarak the most—he was an excellent storyteller. There were also Mr. Ramen, Mr. Bhutnath, and Mr. Nilay. Many others came too, though I don't remember their names.
Around mid-July, it was raining heavily everywhere. On one such day, I had a night duty. While heading out, I ran into Mr. Manomoy on the road. He smiled and said, "Be careful, sir. The roads are in bad condition." I smiled back and walked on. About 500 meters from the house, at a place called Bonbithi More, there's a rickshaw stand. I took a rickshaw from there toward the hospital.
I reached the hospital around 7:30 p.m. There was a large crowd outside. Pushing through, I saw a patient lying on a stretcher, with everyone just watching from a distance. No one was stepping forward. A young boy was frantically shouting, looking helplessly around. There were very few doctors on duty. Surprised, I stepped forward to ask what was happening. Before anyone could answer, the boy ran up and collapsed at my feet.
I helped him up and learned that they had arrived almost an hour ago. Yet, no one had admitted the patient or allowed them to speak with a doctor. What had happened to the patient? He told me, his mom had severe abdominal pain and had been losing consciousness since morning. As I started checking her, a nurse came forward and said, "Sir, don't touch her, she's possessed. She harms others." I didn't know how to respond to such a strange comment. Ignoring her, I examined the patient and realized he had to be admitted immediately. It was already quite late. With the help of a few other doctors, treatment began.
It was around 2 a.m. I was studying some old case files. The emergency building is a little distance from the main building. Suddenly, a nurse came in, visibly agitated. "Please come quickly, sir. The newly admitted patient is having severe breathing trouble." I quickly followed her. As we reached the maternity ward building, I found the gate locked and the guard sitting there. Annoyed, I said, "Why is the gate locked again? She just went in to call me." I didn't hear what he replied—it was all too rushed. I ignored it and took the lift up.
On the second floor, as I was approaching the room, the nurse said, "Sir, you go ahead—Kanchana is there. I'll just come from the adjacent ward after giving some medicine." I went in and saw that the patient was indeed in critical condition. But another nurse there was fast asleep, snoring. I had to call her four or five times before she woke up. "There's a serious patient here and you're sleeping during your duty hours?" I quickly gave some emergency medicines and painkillers. The patient slowly calmed down and went to sleep.
As I was leaving, I asked, "Where's the nurse who was on duty with you?"
She replied, "No one else is on duty with me, sir. Maya didn't come today. I'm alone."
I was stunned. Then who came to call me?
"I didn't send anyone, sir. It's your usual round time. If needed, I'd have phoned you.
True—I hadn't thought of that. I went downstairs. The guard opened the door and asked, "Sir, may I ask you something?"
I turned toward him and said, "Yes?"
"You said earlier, 'Why lock the gate again? She just went in to call me,' but no one went inside."
I only said, "I was in a hurry, that's all."
The next day, after returning home and freshening up, I was sipping tea when there was a knock at the door.
"May I come in, Doctor Babu?"
I got up, opened the door, and smiled. "Come in, Mr. Nishith."
He entered and sat down in the easy chair and said, "Look, there's news about your hospital. A nurse named Maya died yesterday in an accident—she fell off her scooter on the way to the hospital. Look, it's in the paper."
I took the paper in my hand and was deeply shocked. That was the same nurse who had come to call me the previous night. But the accident time mentioned was 7:25 p.m.—I was stunned. She had come to call me around 11 p.m.
There was more. I later learned that the patient in Ward No. M003, Bed 213, had indeed received medicine that night. And it was she who had administered it. I came to know that she was a very responsible person. Many people claimed to have seen her even after her death. Is it possible what you think?