A Suitable Boy(259)
‘Are you thinking of him now?’
‘Yes.’
‘And are you in despair?
‘Not just now,’ confessed Mrs Rupa Mehra.
‘What are you feeling just now?’ asked Dr Nuruddin.
‘How peculiar all this is.’
Translated, this meant: ‘That you are mad. And so am I, for putting up with these questions.’
Dr Nuruddin touched the eraser on his pencil to the tip of his nose before asking: ‘Mrs Mehra, do you think my questions are not pertinent? That they are impertinent?’
‘Well –’
‘I assure you that they are very pertinent for understanding your condition. In homoeopathy we try to deal with the whole system, we do not merely confine ourselves to the physical side. Now tell me, do you suffer from loss of memory?’
‘No. I always remember the names and birthdays of friends, and other important things.’
Dr Nuruddin wrote something down on a small pad. ‘Good, good,’ he said. ‘And dreams?’
‘Dreams?’
‘Dreams.’
‘Yes?’ asked Mrs Rupa Mehra in bewilderment.
‘What dreams do you have, Mrs Mehra?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘You don’t remember?’ he responded with genial scepticism.
‘No,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra, gritting her teeth.
‘Do you grind your teeth in your sleep?’
‘How do I know? I’m sleeping. What does all this have to do with my diabetes?’
Dr Nuruddin continued jovially: ‘Do you ever wake up thirsty at night?’
Mrs Rupa Mehra, frowning, replied: ‘Yes, quite often. I keep a jug of water by my bedside.’
‘Do you feel more tired in the morning or in the evening?’
‘In the morning, I think. Until I do my recitations from the Gita. Then I feel stronger.’
‘Are you fond of mangoes?’
Mrs Rupa Mehra stared at Dr Nuruddin across the table: ‘How do you know?’ she demanded.
‘It was only a question, Mrs Mehra. Does your urine smell of violets?’
‘How dare you?’ cried Mrs Rupa Mehra, outraged.
‘Mrs Mehra, I am trying to help you,’ said Dr Nuruddin, laying his pencil down. ‘Will you answer my questions?’
‘I will not answer such questions. My train is leaving from Howrah in under an hour. I have to go.’
Dr Nuruddin took down his copy of the Materia Medica and opened it to the relevant page. ‘You see, Mrs Mehra,’ he said, ‘I am not conjuring up these symptoms out of my head. But even the strength of your resistance to my questions has been helpful to me in my diagnosis. Now I have only one further question.’
Mrs Rupa Mehra tensed up. ‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘Do the tips of your fingers ever itch?’ asked Dr Nuruddin.
‘No.’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra, and breathed a deep sigh.
Dr Nuruddin stroked the bridge of his nose with his two index fingers for a minute, then wrote out a prescription, and handed it to his dispensing assistant, who began to grind various materials up into a white powder, which he distributed into twenty-one tiny paper packets.
‘You will not eat onions or ginger or garlic, and you will take one small packet of powder before each meal. At least half an hour before each meal,’ said Dr Nuruddin.
‘And this will improve my diabetes?’
‘Inshallah.’
‘But I thought you would give me those small pills,’ protested Mrs Rupa Mehra.
‘I prefer powders,’ said Dr Nuruddin. ‘Come back in seven days, and we will see –’
‘I am leaving Calcutta. I won’t be back for months.’
Dr Nuruddin, not quite so jovially, said: ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You didn’t ask me. I’m sorry, Doctor.’
‘Yes. And where are you going to?’
‘To Delhi, and then to Brahmpur. My daughter Savita is expecting,’ confided Mrs Rupa Mehra.
‘When will you be in Brahmpur?’
‘In a week or two.’
‘I don’t like to prescribe for long periods,’ said Dr Nuruddin, ‘but there doesn’t seem to be much choice.’ He spoke to his assistant before continuing: ‘I am giving you medicines for two weeks. You must write to me at this address after five days, telling me how you are feeling. And in Brahmpur you must visit Dr Baldev Singh. Here is his address. I will write him a note about you later today. Please pay and collect your medicines at the front. Goodbye, Mrs Mehra.’
‘Thank you, Doctor,’ said Mrs Rupa Mehra.
‘Next,’ called Dr Nuruddin cheerfully.
7.46
MRS RUPA MEHRA was unusually quiet on the way to the station. When asked by her children how the appointment with the doctor had gone she said: ‘It was peculiar. You can tell Kuku that.’