A REPORT ON AN INTERVIEW
WITH IMHRAT KHAN, THE MAN WHO
COULD SEE WITHOUT HIS EYES
by
Dr John F. Cartwright
BOMBAY, INDIA
DECEMBER, 1934
That sounds mildly interesting, Henry told himself. He turned over a page. What followed was all handwritten in black ink. The writing was clear and neat. Henry read the first two pages standing up. Suddenly, he found himself wanting to read on. This was good stuff. It was fascinating. He carried the little book over to a leather armchair by the window and settled himself comfortably. Then he started reading again from the beginning.
This is what Henry read in the little blue exercise-book:
I, John Cartwright, am a surgeon at Bombay General Hospital. On the morning of the second of December, 1934, I was in the Doctors’ Rest Room having a cup of tea. There were three other doctors there with me, all having a well-earned tea-break. They were Dr Marshall, Dr Phillips and Dr Macfarlane. There was a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ I said.
The door opened and an Indian came in who smiled at us and said, ‘Excuse me, please. Could I ask you gentlemen a favour?’
The Doctors’ Rest Room was a most private place. Nobody other than a doctor was allowed to enter it except in an emergency.
‘This is a private room,’ Dr Macfarlane said sharply.
‘Yes, yes,’ the Indian answered. ‘I know that and I am very sorry to be bursting in like this, sirs, but I have a most interesting thing to show you.’
All four of us were pretty annoyed and we didn’t say anything.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I am a man who can see without using his eyes.’
We still didn’t invite him to go on. But we didn’t kick him out either.
‘You can cover my eyes in any way you wish,’ he said, ‘you can bandage my head with fifty bandages and I will still be able to read you a book.’
He seemed perfectly serious. I felt my curiosity beginning to stir. ‘Come here,’ I said. He came over to me. ‘Turn round.’ He turned round. I placed my hands firmly over his eyes, holding the lids closed. ‘Now,’ I said. ‘One of the other doctors in the room is going to hold up some fingers. Tell me how many he’s holding up.’
Dr Marshall held up seven fingers.
‘Seven,’ the Indian said.
‘Once more,’ I said.
Dr Marshall clenched both fists and hid all his fingers.
‘No fingers,’ the Indian said.
‘Once more,’ I said.
Dr Marshall clenched both fists and hid all his fingers.
‘No fingers,’ the Indian said.
I removed my hands from his eyes. ‘Not bad,’ I said.
‘Hold on,’ Dr Marshall said. ‘Let’s try this.’ There was a white doctor’s coat hanging from a peg on the door. Dr Marshall took it down and rolled it into a sort of long scarf. He then wound it round the Indian’s head and held the ends tight at the back. ‘Try him now,’ Dr Marshall said.
I took a key from my pocket. ‘What is this?’ I asked.
‘A key,’ he answered.
I put the key back and held up an empty hand. ‘What is this object?’ I asked him.