I regard myself as a rationalist. Being a doctor, I remain so even today, but my rationality no longer stands on strong foundations.
A long time ago, I was on night shift at a hospital and, having been satisfied that on my mandatory rounds I had found nothing wrong, I closed the door of my chamber and settled down for some rest. I eased out of my moccasins, lay down and opened a recently purchased bestseller. After about half an hour, I heard a distinct languorous knock on the door. I got up and slipped into my shoes. There was another knock. “Who’s there?” I asked. “Doctor saab, ek mariz hai,” came the reply. I opened the door within seconds but found no one.
My chambered opened to a long corridor with no room in between. It was practically impossible for
anyone to traverse the corridor so fast. However, I did not pay much attention to it. Attending to the patient was even more important. I made my way to the beds and learnt that no one had gone to call me. Everything was fine. I went to another room and everything seemed quite unperturbed there as well.
While making my way to the top floor, I found a boy coming down with a call book in his hand. I rushed with him to the patient who needed attention and found a just expired local lad.
On checking patient details, I found that the boy was a non-Bengali. Everyone, however, assured me that no one had gone to call me.
My efforts to explain the incident—conscious-subconscious, sleep, dream, imagination — are yet to bear fruits.
Even now, I can recollect those fateful words, “Doctor Saab, ek mariz hai!”
