Chapter XX

Ramesh, the silent lover, is making progress in the love front—he scales a Himalayan peak to secure a rare flower for his damsel

Chronic additionals, whether they qualify by evoking the sympathy factor in examiners or by more sordid methods, are not timid and unsure of themselves when they walk the wards as internees as one might expect them to be. Patients look up to them, and they have no difficulty in playing the role of senior medical men.

“Dr. Partha," said Ramu one evening, "the duty surgeon last Tuesday, was not able to convince a patient with duodenal perforation to consent to surgery, and had to ask his internee Muthuswamy, who was two years his senior, to talk to the patient. Muthuswamy asked the patient just once, and the patient signed the consent form without a murmur.”

            “Dr. Partha weighs forty kilos, and stands five‑four in his shoes. I can well imagine the patient’s reluctance to place his life in his hands,” said Nambi.

            “He had a large head full of brains,” said Ramesh in his defence. The doctor was a medal winner in his student days, and was an excellent teacher.

            “Have you seen him operate,” said Nambi. “He is clumsy. More like a battlefield than an operation theatre when he operates. He should have taken up medicine. He is good discussing differential diagnosis. He never seems able to come to any definite diagnosis.”

“He discusses differential diagnosis logically,” said Ramesh once again in defence of the assistant professor. Presently he also joined the ranks of Dr. Partha critics.

            “You know Gayathri is now posted in his unit,” said Ramu, “and Dr. Partha is showing an abnormal interest in her.”

            “You mean a normal interest,” said Nambi. Ramu laughed and apologised for his mistake.

            “Is she responding?” asked Nambi.

            “I don’t think he has any more success than the many others who have been after her for the past four years. I think she must be having an interest in someone outside our college; a relation may be.”

“Why do you think she must have other interests?” asked Nambi.

“Possible, isn’t it,” said Ramu. “Unless she has an interest in some man why should she be averse to so many highly eligible men she meets here. A cousin maybe of her parent's selection, and for all we know she may be already engaged to him. What is Ramesh’s scientific appraisal of it?”

            “I have not made any scientific appraisal of that girl’s or any other girl’s love interests,” said Ramesh somewhat sharply. He however put in a series of questions to himself. 'Is it possible that she has an interest in someone? What did it matter to him if she has an interest in someone? What proprietary rights did he have that he should take other men’s interest in the girl as a personal challenge to himself?’ Ramesh was much disturbed. Unaware of the turmoil going on inside Ramesh the other two continued the topic relentlessly.

            “The Tuesday before last on his duty night,” said Ramu, “Dr. Partha asked his fourth and final year students to come to the ward at eight in the night for clinics. He has never done that before, and what is more, he wanted fourth years also to come. These unofficial night clinics are for exam going final years only. He had a gala time flirting with the girls, Gayathri principally. He arranged night clinics last Tuesday too. This time the fourth years skipped, and you know what the little fellow did? He said he had an emergency and sent them all away.”

            ‘Sound thinking by the fourth years,’ said Ramesh to himself. When Ramesh got back to his room he was unable to concentrate on his books. He went to the library as usual. He glanced anxiously at Gayathri's usual desk. She was there; in some way Ramesh found it reassuring as if he had fears of her having flown away. He picked up a book on preventive medicine but found it impossible to concentrate on the love life of Culex mosquitoes. He went to his favourite subject pathology for solace; but for once the subject failed to grip. He wisely decided to go to his room and sleep his depression away. He changed and put off his table light. He lay down and covered himself with a sheet and, as was his wont when he had problems of any sort, he gave himself up to self‑analysis. During these sessions of self‑analysis Ramesh was quite merciless with himself.

            The conclusions he came to he set out in proper order. One, he was a silent admirer in the most contemptible sense of the word. Two, he was too shy and too timid even to call his admired one by name and was thus not equipped to take part in any competition, if there should be one, for the girl’s favours. Three, that left him with but one option—treat her with the neutrality with which he treats the other girls in the college. He felt relaxed. He pulled the sheet over his head and composed himself to sleep.

            Ramesh found it easier to keep up to his resolve than he had expected. At the end of a week he considered himself cured. He wanted, by a test, to prove to himself that he did not care ‘two hoots’ what plans Gayathri had towards other men. To this end he broached the topic of Dr. Partha's wooing to Ramu.

 “None at all,” said Ramu, “He has been no more successful than others, and with the postings ending in a week’s time one can definitely say that there is nothing to report,”

            “That proves that she has either a boy friend elsewhere or is already engaged,” said Ramesh.

“That’s what I thought some time ago, but now I feel that it is not so.” Then Ramu, without bring aware of it lobbed a grenade. “May be she loves some one and her love is not making any progress because the man of her choice is one of the silent lovers our college is teeming with.” He laughed.

“A poignant situation,” said Ramesh swallowing hard. “Unless a miracle happens they may part for ever without knowing the feelings they had for each other.”

The Gayathri bug which was quiet for a couple of days was now not just biting again—it was stinging. ‘Was he the man? Could he be that one? No, that is not possible. He has been darting glances at her during class hours, but he has never caught her doing so.’ Ramesh was tormented but there was nothing he could do but suffer pain in silence.

2

The university divided the subjects for study in the medical course into three groups. Students have to take the examination for the first group subjects, anatomy, physiology and biochemistry, at the end of two years. They are difficult subjects with anatomy leading the pack in unpopularity with students. The second group consists of pharmacology which is taken after one year, and pathology, microbiology and preventive medicine, taken at the end of year four. They were all, relative to the first group, not unduly difficult. The final group consists of ophthalmology, and medical jurisprudence taken at the half way stage, and after six months medicine, surgery and obstetrics, all three formidable barriers to ultimate qualification. Students attend wards for instructions in these clinical subjects in wards and outpatient’s departments during all the three clinical years. Ramesh was of course at the top in pathology, but was just above average in microbiology except in that part that dealt with immunology. Most students found immunology not easy to understand but Ramesh, to whom the unpopular subject of pathology was of such absorbing interest, immunology was not too difficult. With the help of some outstanding illustrations in the National Geographic, of which his father was a subscriber, Ramesh read all about immunology and was as well instructed in that subject as was possible for a student in the fourth year to be. In the terminal exam he had dealt with that question so well that Mani, the assistant professor, asked the students in open class to go through his answer and treat is as a model.

            That evening Ramesh was in his corner in the library when a soft and familiar female voice spoke from behind.

            “Good evening, Ramesh.” It was Gayathri.

‘Good evening, Gayathri too long no see; what can I do for you.’ That was what Ramesh wanted to say but did not.

            “Good evening,” he said. He pressed the side of his cheek to repress a group of muscles that started twitching. A bull frog would have done better was his appraisal of his performance.

            “I know I’ll have to wait long before your paper gets out of the men’s hostel,” said Gayathri, “but if you have some time to spare please go through my answer paper and comment on it.”

            “I won’t presume to do a thing like that,” said Ramesh decisively. “Please sit down, we will discuss the answer.”

“OK,” she said smiling her famous dimpled smile, pleased no doubt at his modesty. She pulled a chair and sat by his side. For half an hour it was strictly immunology, but after that they talked of other things, mostly college gossip. It was the first time that Ramesh’s conversation with Gayathri had not been strictly business.

When Ramesh floated back to his room he lay down; there was no prolonged self‑analysis this time. He came to conclusions quickly. He will dream about his girl without restriction and he will bravely face whatever agonies that were in store for him.

            The professor of pathology noting Ramesh’s interest in the subject took a particular interest in him. He invited him to his weekly clinico‑pathological conferences where he projected histo‑pathological slides and discussed the diagnosis with clinical professors and their assistants and postgraduates. The professor however advised him not to read any book other than the prescribed textbook, and not spend too much time in the study of pathology at the expense of other subjects.

Ramesh won the gold medal in pathology. He did not take the examinations for the prizes in microbiology and preventive medicine, but Anand did, and won both. Gayathri got second place in microbiology, her third second prize. The university examinations followed. The fourth years were a happy lot; four of the six questions were from their terminal examinations. Rumours were rife that the paper‑setter was their own professor.

“Gayathri is weeping her eyes out,” said Nambi after his evening hour under the trees with Manju. Ramesh looked up from his book.

“Why?”

“She has done one question wrong. Instead of ascariasis she had written about ankylostomiasis.”

“Is it that serious? If she has done the other questions well and her practicals and orals are satisfactory there should be no problem.”

“It is serious it seems,” said Nambi. “Some students, when they do not know one question, pretend as if they have misread the question and write about something they know. This is an old trick. Examiners don’t like cheating; they fail them. If you don’t attempt the question at all you have better chances.” Later Ramu gave detailed case histories of candidates who were good students but failed merely because they did not read the question carefully. It sounded plausible, and Ramesh was concerned.

The next evening Ramesh for the first time went to Gayathri’s table in the library. She looked up and smiled wanly.

“I have never cried as much as I did yesterday, Ramesh,” she said, “but today I’m all right. It was my mistake and I have no problems facing the consequences. But the examiners ticking me off as a cheater is painful.”

“If you so wish I’ll ask Dr. Mani whether writing a wrong answer by mistake is that serious. I will be going to the department to return some slides he wanted rearranged.”

“Please do, Ramesh. I hope you won’t have any problems doing this.”

“I don’t expect any,” he said gallantly. Ramesh’s enthusiasm for pathology made him a general favourite in the department. Most students want to be clinicians and professors of non-clinical subjects like anatomy, physiology and pathology were unhappy that no one chose their subjects for a career. But Ramesh, a prize winning student, being mad about pathology made him a favourite in the department. When Ramesh told the assistant of Gayathri’s mistake he smiled wryly with a knowing shake of the head.

“So smart ones also make mistakes,” he said. “If she makes up for the marks lost in the orals there is no problem.”

“Won’t the examiners mistake it for a deliberate attempt to cheat?”

“Students do sometimes write the wrong answer in the hope that the examiners mark it without noticing. It never succeeds, and never can succeed, but still they try. The professors are smart enough to make out the genuine from the fraud. I am going to the professor’s room presently. I’ll ask him.”

“Please don’t Sir, suppose he thinks that I am trying to influence him?”

“Don’t worry Ramesh,” he said tapping him on the back, “I’ll see to it that he doesn’t get any such idea. Gayathri will not come to any harm.” He smiled again, the same wry smile, and left for the professor’s room. Ramesh felt extremely silly. The assistant was clearly amused at Ramesh, the lover boy, pleading for his girl. ‘Natural enough,’ said Ramesh to himself, ‘but why do they assume that I am doing this because she is a pretty girl? If it had been Nambi might I have not have taken the risk and gone straight to the professor himself? But how to convince this assistant.’ Dr. Mani returned smiling more expansively than ever. ‘Was the professor also smiling away?’ Ramesh blushed warmly as he thought of that possibility.

“You can go straight to the woman’s hostel, Ramesh and tell Gayathri that if she does her orals well there is no problem at all.” And Ramesh left hurriedly. He had all the sly smiles he can take for one day. He didn’t go to the hostel but to the library and there, like the knights of yore, he placed the flower plucked from the very top of the mountain at the feet of the damsel and received her wholehearted thanks.

There is reason to suspect that this act of kindness on the part of Ramesh did not go unrewarded.