Ayurdays 2

The Chief Physician
[This is a part of Ayurdays, a work I did in 1996. I blog it now, because I am undergoing a similar treatment]
By eight in the evening, the Chief Physician, respectfully called Thirumeni, clean-shaven, clad in a white dhoti and slacks walked into the compound through the main gate, followed by a retinue of doctors, attendants and the manager. Suddenly a blanket of silence fell over the whole place. Movements were reduced. Unnecessary lamps were switched off. Some kind of an unnatural order spread and the four of us who were sitting in the veranda now withdrew to the dormitory. The procession moved into the first cottage, the one just opposite to the gate.
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After the first room, the procession turns to our cottage. We four wait at the door watching the progress. First the dark doctor in charge of this ward comes with a bundle of case files. His steps are measured and accurate. Just behind him to his left walks an attendant. He has an umbrella hanging from his left shoulder. The golden border of his folded dhoti shines in the yellow light. After a short gap the great Thirumeni comes. A corner of his dhoti is held in his left hand. He is upright. His white slack is immaculately clean. The thick rims of his spectacles add to his seriousness. He stops for a moment gesticulates something with his right hand in an authoritative fashion. Suddenly the manager runs up from behind, bends down a bit to hold his left ear as close as possible to the great man’s lips yet keeping the two feet distance commanded by caste rules and shakes his whole head. Four others behind him make a small crowd. The manager murmurs something to them. The shortest among the group hurries to the gate.

Now the Thirumeni enters the garden path. The marigolds bend down as if a strong wind passes. Most of the short plants along the path suddenly fold up their leaves and the great man walks in slow majestic strides.

At the doorstep he stops. Looks straight. The whole building turns around a little and adjusts itself to facilitate his entry. All the lights burn as if someone has switched them on. And the great man is with us in the room.

Two large strands of gray hair neatly fall on his broad forehead. His quick eyes focus on my face for a moment. It is a flash. He turns to Asif and jokes something. Then he snatches a case sheet from the doctor, comments on a few empty columns tightens his lips and stands silently, thinking something. A smile appears slowly and he becomes a close friend enquiring about the food in the canteen, the taste of the medicines and making light remarks on Sreeni’s dialect and Prabhakar’s restlessness. The doctor who is perusing a case file walks a few steps, waits for a while and asks something. The great man turns serious again, looks far away into the darkness outside the window and answers in solemn gravity without shifting his gaze.

The nerves and veins and tissues of each patient take shape in front of his eyes. Bones and muscles twitches. Juices and fires of the body become visible through the transparent skins. Even the minute malfunctioning, the little toxic afflictions become clean to his probing eyes. Discerning knowledge accumulated through many generations surface in his mind. In an extra ordinary process of cross matching an illness with its remedy, the secret cognitive faculty brings out a plan of treatment, the complete course that is needed in the extermination of an illness. Very kindly he dictates the treatment. The doctor in charge of the ward takes it down and he moves on to the next patient.
After the world was created and man appeared, the diseases flourished. Then by two letters the Aswini Devathas were raised. They were the deities of all cures. From them through the rishis the techniques of cure reached a few. Thirumeni is one of them. May God keep him well.