'She Was Found Lying By The Roadside'

She had been found lying at a roadside near the nursing home. They had called the ambulance and the police around midnight. She had lost a lot of blood. A few policemen had dropped in and enquired on her but then left quickly.

She lay there, her eyes swollen and red, severe bruises on her hands, three broken ribs and the left leg in a plaster. The doctor had shared her reports. The internal bleeding had been arrested.

I sat on a rickety steel chair at the foot of the bed, my back against the wall. It was a clumsy nursing home, the green paint peeling off, mould on the windows, dilapidated window frames, the sheets were a yellow white and the nurses looked more like prison matrons.

The staff was rattling away in Bengali, a scuffle with the cleaner. They hadn't cleared the urine tray for a while and the flies were having a field day around the injection needles and bottles in the dustbin near the bed.

It was around 12 pm and the stench of the disinfectant was overwhelming. She would gain consciousness occasionally.

"When did you come?" she finally muttered.

"Earlier this morning." I wasn't sure which hand could be held and if I would hurt her.

She had been found lying at a roadside near the nursing home. They had called the ambulance and the police around midnight. She had lost a lot of blood. A few policemen had dropped in and enquired on her but then left quickly.

"Why are you here, Karthik?"

"You had two emergency numbers listed on your mobile. I was one of them."

She muttered. "I had yours in there by mistake. You're not reliable. You give up too easy..."

I moved closer to her and stroked her head. "Take it easy... let's get you better..."

She nodded, ever so gently...

She dozed off again. I strolled outside the nursing home, had chai in an earthen cup and absorbed the Kolkata air. I wasn't sure why I was her emergency contact. I didn't know anyone else in her family or friends. How well do you know someone if you don't know the people and relationships in their lives? Can they have an identity without?...

It was well past 5 pm before she woke up and sat on the bed. She sipped lemon juice and nibbled at some bread she had been served. The doctor who had treated her wasn't around and I was sitting clueless on what really got her here.

"Are those your bags?" she enquired.

"Yes."

I held her hand gently.

"Have you ever thought about having children?" she asked. I wasn't sure where she was going with this.

"I need to find a woman first. I'm quite old fashioned that way."

I wanted to burst and scream to understand what had happened to her and why there wasn't anyone else there.

"Why would you want to have children?" she asked, as she coughed.

"Seems to be the logical thing to do."

"Do you feel any attachment to them? Are you close to any kids?"

"A few cousins in my very large extended family."

"Do you think you and I will ever be ready to have children?"

My mobile had been receiving notifications and kept chiming. I switched it into silent mode.

"You do know that they would get my genes as well, Tamalika, and there's nothing you could do about it."

She laughed, though in pain. She slapped me on my hand. "Come on. We both wanted to touch, hold, embrace each other. At least I did, and I couldn't have been way off the mark here. Or, could I?"

I didn't respond. This was awkward at best...

She held my hand. "But you would make for a really bad husband. I don't think you will understand me. And, you have a wicked temper."

And, this from a woman who specialised in walking away. "Do you want to be understood?Do any of you want to be understood?"

"You think this is funny Karthik. Me in this room. You, in this room. This hospital bed. These damn white sheets and that god damn awful smell. That ugly nurse outside and my broken arm, and bruises all over my leg and this bloody black eye. That filthy ward boy pushing people around on wheelchairs and beds with squeaky wheels!"

"I don't."

"And why did I get here, Karthik? What have I done so goddamn wrong that I find myself here? I don't deserve this. I didn't want this. Any of this."

"What happened Tamalika? I am here, right?"

She glared at me.

"Don't look at me like that. I've just lost a baby Karthik. The baby couldn't make it through the beating."

I shot up. "You had a what?!"

A doctor in his sixties with the name tag Dr Arun Bhattacharya appeared on the scene and tapped me on the back. It was a thick Bengali accent.

I realised that there was so much I had wanted to say to her, but as ever, the words never came.

I walked out of the room with the doctor.

"She has been through a lot, Karthikda. The x-rays show some hairline fractures and, of course, severe bruising on her face and abdomen. It looks like she had been dragged across the road before she was left there."

"And the baby?"

"The attack was too violent, Karthikda. Didn’t stand a chance. Do you know anything about this? Who was the father?"

"No doctor. I don't."

"Karthikda, I do hope you understand. She is not telling me anything about it. I cannot help her. I can treat her, but not help her. I have taken her consent for the abortion. It would be too dangerous for her to proceed with the pregnancy."

"She needs help, Karthik. I hope you can?"

"How many weeks or months was the baby?"

"11 weeks"

It had been six weeks since we had last met in Mumbai, and 11 weeks would have meant that this had something to do with her time in Mumbai. Had she been seeing someone else? What was she doing, getting into a fight on the streets of Kolkata? And with whom? Had she been two-timing me? Was she actually involved with someone else? Had she been that deceitful? This was really messed up.

Excerpted from 7 Dates And The Bullet by Upendra Namburi, published by Indie Press, with the kind permission of the author, Upendra Namburi.