‘Sir! I will give skin incision.’
‘And I will cut his sternum.’
Two girls put their wish list. A type of pledge. Or demand.
Don’t know, exactly what was that. Other days, I usually found those young
doctors giggling and gossiping. Always as cheerful as school girls. Not
thinking of dusty Kathmandu. And ‘go to hell’ to the political system and
politicians. Even one did not bother about not having her name in voter list in
recent local level election.
And all of a sudden, I was hearing this sort of demand. No giggle. No
smile. No pledge. Just a sort of final decision. With stern faces facing me.
After a momentarily thought, I gave a nod. From corner of my
eyes, I could see their happiness. Happiness to cut Charles Sobhraj. Both of
these young doctors decided to resign last month. And they postponed for only
one reason. To witness the surgery. Surgery to fix Charles Sobhraj’s heart.
Now they are getting a chance to be part of. Chance to cut
his skin. Subita had a first voice and happy to cut his skin while Ansu was
dreaming to open his chest.
‘Hey! I am repairing Charles Sobhraj’s heart valve.’ Back at
home, I announced.
Poonam, herself a doctor, did not answer.
‘I am fixing his heart.’ I repeated.
See looked back. Excitement or happiness was far away. Even
she did not react. Not an usual presentation from her side.
I could guess that cold response. She had some distant
memory about Charles. Her father was a junior police officer at Tihar Jail,
from where Charles escaped. She heard about that incidence. As a young girl, she
witnessed those sleepless nights and tension her father went through. And now
her husband is talking about the same notorious man.
Mr. Charles Sobhraj.
From the sound coming out from her room, I could guess the
scenario. She went through all documentaries on that cunning man on question, including one by
National Geographic. Definitely her mobile was overheated streaming YouTube.
During quiet and tense dinner, she asked. Also quietly.
‘Does he have a Heart?’
****
(to be continued.....)
