Story 19: Homecoming

Part 2

When Abir woke up the next day, the doctor told him why he was here. Before he could express his gratitude, his thanks had been brushed off matter of factly and the doctor had hustled him off to wash up and come have some food, completely ignoring all his protests. His backpack had been brought in later by Mohit to the clinic, his driver's license helping him identify it as Abir's and the doctor had brought it over.

Cleaned up and in fresh clothes, Abir felt more human when he came back and it was then that he saw the doctor's wife. She was an elegant lady with a warm smile ready for him as she asked him if his head was hurting still but Abir could see that the smile did not reach her eyes. There was pain in her eyes and the lines on her face showed that she had lived with that pain for years.

She left for the clinic soon, leaving the doctor to give Abir company for breakfast. As they ate, Abir learned the reason for the pain he had seen in his wife's eyes.

"We are both doctors. We had our own clinic in the town but we decided to move it here to my hometown....This was my parents' home." he explained in between mouthfuls of food after having bombarded Abir with questions about what he did, where he lived, who was in his family, what he was doing....

Abir desperately wished to know if the family only consisted of the couple but he did not know how to ask. The doctor answered the question for him on his own "Our son LOVED it here. We used to come down here almost every weekend and he loved the wide open space, the trees... After we lost our son, we needed a change.. the village needed a clinic too and here we are now in the place that he loved" he said. Abir sensed the grief in his voice although it was carefully concealed.

"I am sorry" he said instantly and the doctor looked up at him quickly. "NO..... no, our son is not... I mean, I don't know for sure but I hope..." he said, the words trailing off and Abir did not dare press anymore. After a few minutes the older man went on, a faraway look in his eyes. "Hope.... It is a wonderful thing, Abir, it keeps you going when there is nothing left for you to hang on to.." he said, his voice unusually serious.

His own emotions threatening to overwhelm him, Abir found himself blurting out before he could stop himself "What do you do when you have fought for something so hard, when you have hoped for something so hard that it consumed you and then you realize that it is never going to happen?? How do you keep going on then?" he asked, his voice soft, agonized.

The doctor looked up at him sharply, his eyes taking in the deep hurt in the young man's eyes, the pain in the voice and the vulnerability that had made him reach out to an utter stranger. Understanding that his answer could make or break Abir, he stood up and walked outside to the courtyard. Abir followed him. The doctor gestured to the village scene that lay outside- little homes, children playing in the street, shady trees, men and women going about their work. "Abir, there is so much out here in the world. Can we not find a new hope to hang on to?? A new dream?? A new goal to motivate us?"

"Have you found one?" Abir asked, quietly.

"I have not given up on my old one yet" the doctor reminded gently. "Here, in this village, when I look at the children whose lives I save, I see my little boy in them.." He caught the unasked question in Abir's eyes and went on. "We lost him in Mumbai, in a crowd, by the sea. We searched hard but we could not trace him. The police were convinced he drowned; they closed the case but...I still hope. He was just four when we lost him..."

This time the father could not hide the pain of his loss from permeating his voice. Abir felt his eyes well up. Feeling guilty about having brought up the painful memory from the past, he quickly tried to think of a way to change the subject and switch back to a cheerier topic and his eyes fell on a huge, ramshackle structure to the side of the house. It seemed like a temporary shed but it was very old.