7.3 Vir
Anant was silent as we rode up in the lift together. He and I were about as close as brothers can be who haven't spent much time together in the last several years. Although neither of us ever spoke about it aloud, a few years ago, we had had an intense disagreement over the will of our late father and after a short but intense legal wrangle, things had never been the same. Unlike with divorced couples, things had never gone really bitter or nasty, but as my American clients like to put it, we still had 'issues'.
Still, we weren't American, and we weren't 'divorced'. We were Indian, emotional, and family after all, and even though we hadn't spoken for well over a year when I called Anant earlier today, I always knew that if and when, God forbid, there was a medical emergency, each of us would come through for the other.
But that didn't make everything hunky-dory again. As Viveka used to say when she was a baby and our only child at the time, we were 'not okey-dokey' with one another. Far from it. Things had been said, and lawyers had said other, worse things, and the final settlement had been motivated more by a desire to 'get it over with' without spilling more 'blood', metaphorically speaking. And now, as we were alone together for the first time since I had entered the hospital, I sensed that distance between Anant and me, that yawning chasm between our hearts, even though we stood in a hospital lift barely six feet wide and twelve feet long.
I felt a pang of sadness, both for the stupid, pointless, legal inheritance fight that had shoved us so far apart, as well as for the all-trusting innocence of my children during those tender infant years. It had taken them a while to understand why 'Anant-tau' didn't come over as often anymore, nor we go over to his house as often, and why they rarely saw their cousins any longer.
As Sarla and I always agreed, when you bring children into the world, you make a silent pact with them: to make the world as cosy and comfortable a place as possible, and to love everyone and keep hate as far away as possible, for as long as possible. Sometimes, it wasn't long enough, or far enough. And when those negative emotions touched your children, it hurt a lot more than a fall from a bicycle.
I must have passed a hand across my face, or showed my state of mind for just a moment, because Anant glanced up at me sharply. I glanced at him and our eyes met briefly. Something passed between us, and I knew that he knew what I was thinking, and he glanced down quickly, and I knew that he was thinking and feeling much the same as I was.
For a moment, foolishly, that classic scene from Hindi movies flashed through my head: The estranged brothers embrace, clap one another on the back, and cry out what fools they were for ever having fought in the first place. Old-time veteran Pran Bhalla, with his sneering smirk, would have played one of the brothers--or the father? Vhy could probably reel off the names of a hundred films containing variants of that scene, but he wasn't here now. Anant was here and yet he was a million miles away.
Anant looked up again at me, and seemed to come to a decision. Suddenly, he stepped forward, raising his hand--just the way he would if he were about to embrace me. Hope blazed in my heart.
Then the lift doors opened and a nurse bickering with a wardboy entered brusquely, and the moment was broken, like dropped glass full of water. Anant moved his arm to let the ward boy and the nurse passed--she greeted him respectfully, he was the head of surgery here--and we stepped out onto yet another polished hospital floor. Dr Patel was waiting for us in the corridor itself and he came up the moment he saw Anant. I glanced at my brother, but the moment had passed, and we were back to playing the roles we all play in this world, acting no less than old-time veteran Pran Bhalla in all those vintage films.
Dr Patel was a relatively young doctor, thin, tall, balding, and with heavily lidded droopy eyes. He spoke quietly and quickly to Anant as I waited, then both of them turned and glanced at me. I didn't like the expression on their faces, almost identical.
I went forward. Anant made a perfunctory introduction which only worsened my anxiety.
To my relief, Dr Patel sensed my tension, and came straight to the point. "Mr Vatsal. Your wife is in a coma."
"A coma?" I stared at him. "What do you mean, a coma?"
He glanced at Anant, who nodded briefly. Patel went on. "Do you know what is toxic shock, Mr Vatsal?"
"Please call me Vir," I said. "No. I don't know, what is toxic shock?"
He started to explain, launching into what threatened to be an elaborate technical discussion. Anant saw my growing impatience and broke in curtly. "Basically, Vir," Anant said. "She has toxins in her system, and that's keeping her unconscious."
"Toxins?" I said, not understanding still.
"Poison," Dr Patel said simply, proving he could speak English as well as technicalspeak. "The poison is very powerful, and it seems to have been on the weapon that was used upon her."
"Poison?" I had asked, unable to believe what they were saying. "Weapon? But--" I stopped, not sure what to say. "How could she be poisoned? Isn't there some antidote you can give her?"
Anant nodded. "It's of unknown origin, Vir. We thought it might be snake venom at first, but the profile doesn't seem to correspond to anything in our databas. We're still running some tests, Vir. The moment we find what it is, we'll contact Haffkine and get them to work developing an antidote."
Suddenly, I wanted very much to sit down. Anant sensed this and steered the discussion to an empty conference room nearby. The room smelled enticingly of coffee, and I asked him if he could ask someone to get me a cup. Dr Patel popped out to take care of it. Anant leaned across the table, looking at me.
"Vir, you have to understand, we're doing everything we can to source the toxin, but if there's anything you can tell us that could help--it would really make things much easier." He corrected himself. "It might make things easier."
I stared at him. "What can I tell you? I don't know anything about poisons or toxins."
"I mean, when Viveka attacked her, could she have used something from the house? Some kind of compound she had mixed herself?"
The questions made no sense. Compound? Mixed herself? "Anant, this is Viveka we're talking about. She knows nothing about chemistry. She couldn't have made a toxin or something...I don't even know yet what happened in the house. Maybe someone else attacked Sarla and kidnapped Viveka...I mean, the police are still supposedly trying to investigate the incident."
"So you have no idea what kind of poison Viveka or the attacker might have used? Nothing exotic that anyone mentioned? One of the other kids maybe?"
I resisted the urge to raise my voice. "Anant, what are you talking about? My kids know nothing about poisons!" I tried to change the direction this was going, it was making my stomach queasy. "Why is it so difficult to identify this poison?"
He shrugged. "The database says its of 'unknown origin'."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that scientifically, it's prepared from a base venom or toxin, either vegetable or animal, or a combination of both, that isn't found in any known species of flora or fauna in the database."
"And how complete is the hospital's database?"
His mouth twitched in a kind of half-smile. "It's not the hospital's database. It's an international one, maintained by an association of medical research instituitions across the world. They have no record of any such toxin."
I took a moment to digest that. "So what are you saying exactly? That they don't know which animal's venom or plant's juice this poison was made from?"
He nodded slowly. "Exactly. As per the database, it wasn't made from any plant or animal known to science." He shrugged. "Not in our world at least."
Still, we weren't American, and we weren't 'divorced'. We were Indian, emotional, and family after all, and even though we hadn't spoken for well over a year when I called Anant earlier today, I always knew that if and when, God forbid, there was a medical emergency, each of us would come through for the other.
But that didn't make everything hunky-dory again. As Viveka used to say when she was a baby and our only child at the time, we were 'not okey-dokey' with one another. Far from it. Things had been said, and lawyers had said other, worse things, and the final settlement had been motivated more by a desire to 'get it over with' without spilling more 'blood', metaphorically speaking. And now, as we were alone together for the first time since I had entered the hospital, I sensed that distance between Anant and me, that yawning chasm between our hearts, even though we stood in a hospital lift barely six feet wide and twelve feet long.
I felt a pang of sadness, both for the stupid, pointless, legal inheritance fight that had shoved us so far apart, as well as for the all-trusting innocence of my children during those tender infant years. It had taken them a while to understand why 'Anant-tau' didn't come over as often anymore, nor we go over to his house as often, and why they rarely saw their cousins any longer.
As Sarla and I always agreed, when you bring children into the world, you make a silent pact with them: to make the world as cosy and comfortable a place as possible, and to love everyone and keep hate as far away as possible, for as long as possible. Sometimes, it wasn't long enough, or far enough. And when those negative emotions touched your children, it hurt a lot more than a fall from a bicycle.
I must have passed a hand across my face, or showed my state of mind for just a moment, because Anant glanced up at me sharply. I glanced at him and our eyes met briefly. Something passed between us, and I knew that he knew what I was thinking, and he glanced down quickly, and I knew that he was thinking and feeling much the same as I was.
For a moment, foolishly, that classic scene from Hindi movies flashed through my head: The estranged brothers embrace, clap one another on the back, and cry out what fools they were for ever having fought in the first place. Old-time veteran Pran Bhalla, with his sneering smirk, would have played one of the brothers--or the father? Vhy could probably reel off the names of a hundred films containing variants of that scene, but he wasn't here now. Anant was here and yet he was a million miles away.
Anant looked up again at me, and seemed to come to a decision. Suddenly, he stepped forward, raising his hand--just the way he would if he were about to embrace me. Hope blazed in my heart.
Then the lift doors opened and a nurse bickering with a wardboy entered brusquely, and the moment was broken, like dropped glass full of water. Anant moved his arm to let the ward boy and the nurse passed--she greeted him respectfully, he was the head of surgery here--and we stepped out onto yet another polished hospital floor. Dr Patel was waiting for us in the corridor itself and he came up the moment he saw Anant. I glanced at my brother, but the moment had passed, and we were back to playing the roles we all play in this world, acting no less than old-time veteran Pran Bhalla in all those vintage films.
Dr Patel was a relatively young doctor, thin, tall, balding, and with heavily lidded droopy eyes. He spoke quietly and quickly to Anant as I waited, then both of them turned and glanced at me. I didn't like the expression on their faces, almost identical.
I went forward. Anant made a perfunctory introduction which only worsened my anxiety.
To my relief, Dr Patel sensed my tension, and came straight to the point. "Mr Vatsal. Your wife is in a coma."
"A coma?" I stared at him. "What do you mean, a coma?"
He glanced at Anant, who nodded briefly. Patel went on. "Do you know what is toxic shock, Mr Vatsal?"
"Please call me Vir," I said. "No. I don't know, what is toxic shock?"
He started to explain, launching into what threatened to be an elaborate technical discussion. Anant saw my growing impatience and broke in curtly. "Basically, Vir," Anant said. "She has toxins in her system, and that's keeping her unconscious."
"Toxins?" I said, not understanding still.
"Poison," Dr Patel said simply, proving he could speak English as well as technicalspeak. "The poison is very powerful, and it seems to have been on the weapon that was used upon her."
"Poison?" I had asked, unable to believe what they were saying. "Weapon? But--" I stopped, not sure what to say. "How could she be poisoned? Isn't there some antidote you can give her?"
Anant nodded. "It's of unknown origin, Vir. We thought it might be snake venom at first, but the profile doesn't seem to correspond to anything in our databas. We're still running some tests, Vir. The moment we find what it is, we'll contact Haffkine and get them to work developing an antidote."
Suddenly, I wanted very much to sit down. Anant sensed this and steered the discussion to an empty conference room nearby. The room smelled enticingly of coffee, and I asked him if he could ask someone to get me a cup. Dr Patel popped out to take care of it. Anant leaned across the table, looking at me.
"Vir, you have to understand, we're doing everything we can to source the toxin, but if there's anything you can tell us that could help--it would really make things much easier." He corrected himself. "It might make things easier."
I stared at him. "What can I tell you? I don't know anything about poisons or toxins."
"I mean, when Viveka attacked her, could she have used something from the house? Some kind of compound she had mixed herself?"
The questions made no sense. Compound? Mixed herself? "Anant, this is Viveka we're talking about. She knows nothing about chemistry. She couldn't have made a toxin or something...I don't even know yet what happened in the house. Maybe someone else attacked Sarla and kidnapped Viveka...I mean, the police are still supposedly trying to investigate the incident."
"So you have no idea what kind of poison Viveka or the attacker might have used? Nothing exotic that anyone mentioned? One of the other kids maybe?"
I resisted the urge to raise my voice. "Anant, what are you talking about? My kids know nothing about poisons!" I tried to change the direction this was going, it was making my stomach queasy. "Why is it so difficult to identify this poison?"
He shrugged. "The database says its of 'unknown origin'."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that scientifically, it's prepared from a base venom or toxin, either vegetable or animal, or a combination of both, that isn't found in any known species of flora or fauna in the database."
"And how complete is the hospital's database?"
His mouth twitched in a kind of half-smile. "It's not the hospital's database. It's an international one, maintained by an association of medical research instituitions across the world. They have no record of any such toxin."
I took a moment to digest that. "So what are you saying exactly? That they don't know which animal's venom or plant's juice this poison was made from?"
He nodded slowly. "Exactly. As per the database, it wasn't made from any plant or animal known to science." He shrugged. "Not in our world at least."
posted by Ashok K. Banker at 12.10.05
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