“Is everything okay, Mrs Sen?”

Madhuri looked at Aditya’s neighbour who had stepped close to her. “No, I’m fine. Sorry, I forgot your name,” she muttered, “it’s been such an evening.”

“No problem, I quite understand what you’re going through. Myself Ramadurai,” he said. He seemed to be in his mid-forties, balding, of average height, with a bulge near his torso. “I’m a stock market consultant.”

Madhuri wondered if Adi knew his neighbour well. When they were together, he used to stay away from all her friends whose spouses had anything to do with finance. Making money out of money is a crime, he would always say. Look how the tables have turned, she thought. Who else but a stock market broker should come to rescue him from his abysmal jump into oblivion? His attempt to jump, she corrected her thoughts.

It came to her at that moment that she should let Ramadurai go back home. It was rather late even for a well-wishing neighbour to wait around in the hospital. “I really appreciate your help, Mr Ramadurai,” she told him. “Without your help, I don’t know what would have happened today. But I think things should be okay now and I can take care of him here. If you want to…”

“Oh, I have no problem. Actually, I think I should stay and find out what the doctors have to say. I still can’t believe that our professor…your husband…would do something like this. He is such a pleasant person.”

“You know him well?”

Ramadurai gave a wide smile. “In these times, it’s difficult to know anyone, Ma’am. The lockdown is over, but everyone is afraid of meeting people. We hardly even meet the neighbours we have known for years. And our professor came only three months ago.” He fidgeted with the plastic coffee cup, “When we first heard of a new tenant, there was a protest. This is not the time to take in someone new. But I Googled professor’s name. And I told the others that we should not turn away scientists. They are the real saviours of the world – aren’t they?” There was a glint in his eyes. Then he added, “I met him a few times on the terrace. I have a bunch of plants there, you see, and I go up to water them. My daughter also comes along with me. He interacted with her too. He is such a nice man.”

“How old is your daughter?”

“Four. She is what you might call a typhoon.” He smiled and continued, “But the few times he talked to her, she was so calm and engaged. Now when you ask her what she wants to be when she grows up, she’ll say a scientist.” Ramadurai started laughing.

The fact that a girl of Tatai’s age had been closer to Adi than his own son stung Madhuri. The anger and the grief returned.

“Are you two…” He hesitated to ask. “Are you separated?” At that moment, the nurse lifted the curtain and beckoned Madhuri over. Their conversation stalled, the two approached her with hurried steps. Only Madhuri could go inside, the nurse informed.

Madhuri parted the curtain and felt she had entered a different world altogether. A world of tubes and monitors, nurses in scrubs scampering from one corner to another, and beeping sounds coming out of all corners of the room. The smell, the low groanings, the sighs. To call it chaotic would be an understatement, and yet, there was an unruffled detachment and cold precision with which the nurses moved around in the apparent chaos.

The sound of a terrible shriek assaulted Madhuri. Momentarily startled, she turned towards it. On a nearby bed, a patient was bleeding profusely. Nurses around him worked furiously to dress the wound. Madhuri wanted to move away but her feet felt numb.

The nurse prodded her to a corner where Adi was lying. A long tube, dirty with vomit, was sticking out of his mouth, as if he had puked out a brown snake but couldn’t shake it off his mouth.

The young doctor was pushing a syringe into a red cannula on Adi’s right hand. Noticing Madhuri, he put away the syringe and looked at her. “Ma’am…we are trying our best. We’re doing a stomach wash. See this tube? It goes through his nose and straight to his stomach. We are trying to aspirate…”

“What is that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” the doctor brushed aside her question. “I have managed to flush out some of the contents from his stomach, but I think you brought him late. A lot of it has already mixed with his bloodstream.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“I’m not completely sure. We will send it for a forensic analysis. But he also took a lot of alcohol with it.”

“Alcohol?” Madhuri was shocked, and for an instant she looked for support to steady herself. “A lot?” she murmured. Aditya didn’t drink, at least when they were together, except maybe occasionally with friends. Had he taken to drinking lately? She asked, “Is that bad…for him?”

“Oh yes, of course. It can be fatal in some cases. Anyway, we’ll have to keep him under observation for a while. We cannot tell you anything for sure. You understand the situation, right?”

She nodded again, not knowing what else to say. The doctor asked her if Aditya was allergic to anything. Was he diabetic? Yes, she replied. What was his profession? ‘Scientist. Biochemist,’ she added.

“Which means he probably knows his poison,” the doctor said grimly. “Is this the first time?”

“First time for what?”

“Has he ever done this before? Is there a history?” The doctor looked straight into her eyes.

“No,” she took a moment to reply. The air conditioning made her shiver despite the shawl. “Not that I…no, this is the first time.”

“Can you think of any reason?” the doctor asked. “Not that I need to know. But as you can imagine, he’ll have to go through counselling if he pulls through this. Also the police…at any rate, we need to keep him under what we call a suicide watch. He may try doing something desperate. Anything. So no sharp objects around, no…”

“Doctor…” For the first time she felt a lump in her throat. “Will he live?”

She found it difficult to utter the words.

Will. She had once told herself not to think of the future. To plan for the future was to wreck your happiness.

He. She had forbidden herself to think of him ever again.

Live. She had once promised herself she’d not talk about such things – life, fate, destiny.

The doctor gave her a smile. “Don’t worry. There is no reason why he shouldn’t. It may be difficult. For us and for him. For you too. But we can’t give up hope, right?”

Excerpted with permission from The Whistleblower’s Wife, Biman Nath, Speaking Tiger Books.

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