the one i never met

     Life a four-letter word that has a lot of depth in it. It is where we find, meet a lot of people, places, learn new habits, come over many circumstances, and many more. When it is concerned with people a lot of people play different types of roles in our life. Some of them are known to us and few not. But we can’t consider those who don’t have any importance in our life because it is life. Everything is interlinked. I heard it somewhere “we don’t meet people by accident, they are meant to cross our path for a reason”, the impression they left on us won’t leave us. I told earlier, we may or may not know them. probably I am speaking about

                                    Ksvk’s

                                                          The one I never met

         It was 1942, British India where I was working as a doctor. The time Mahatma Gandhi started the Quit India movement.  I never directly involved in the independence struggle by holding the national flag and shouting at the government, but did justice to my profession as I treated everyone with the same respect it may be the English or the Indians, my stethoscope worked the same as my pen and scissor. Being a professional one I couldn’t care about relations. I had to grow far from home when our village was attacked. I lost most of my family. Raised by an English doctor who made me take his job during his retirement and I became a doctor. After some time I lost him too when he suffered from a heavy fever due to aging. I cursed the god and my heart broke and decided never to take any sort of relation as permanent as it may end at any instant. I was then transferred to Bombay, now Mumbai. It was a regional hospital and only hospital in the surrounding forty kilometers.

     The hospital is a two-storyed building. I was the chief doctor, assisted by two general doctors and five nurses. There was a postal office at a distance of five minutes' walk. I generally receive letters now and then from different hospitals and also from the administrative department to know the quantity of medical assistance. The hospital was always guarded by five sepoys as at the times nights were dangerous because of loots done by revolutionaries. Few times they used to hide in hospitals to escape. I am in my mid-thirties when I am posted here. I took some time to get habituated to the surroundings and the people. Initially, the hospital was under the supremacy of COL.B.B. Shekhawat a veteran army man. He was good at his field. A well-known person in society. He used to be conscious at people, he would be getting letters from higher stands of society to know the recommended medicines as he had a piece of good knowledge about it.but when he retired he changed his address and informed his clients, but few people used to write to the old address. And I used to return them informing the change of doctor. I am a man of different and unusual behavior. My staff used to hate me but earned respected  due to the position I held and my way of treating patients. As the national movement getting to peaks, the letters were increasing to know the condition of the place we stay. In the mid of letters, my irritated life reached another level. The days were busy writing letters.

           One day there was a letter on my table, the address of the sender is of a post office from Bombay. The letter was new to me, as it was not from any official to know about the security or the clients of the former doctor, but it is to the one who was my precede. The letter is from a woman. It reads,

Respected sir, This is Zoya. Daughter of Mr k. Krishan. There were many days we cried for our father's health but it was you who helped us in recommending correct medicines, improving his health. Thank you.

          To my knowledge I never helped anyone through letters. I thought of giving a reply to this letter.so I have written one

To Zoya,  Well Zoya, feeling happy to know that your father has recovered from illness. But it was not me who suggested the medicines. The one who helped was Dr. Sherawat  retired and moved to his hometown, the address which I don’t know. So you better thank him and there is no need for replying. Well, take care of yourself and your father. From, Dr. Aryan The chief- doctor

    

      After fifteen days there was another letter on my table to draw my attention. It was the same address that I received earlier. I opened it,

Mr.aryan, This is Zoya, I came to know that the doctor has changed before a week I posted my first letter and it was you, who replied to my letter and gave the medicines, mentioned the absence of dr Sherawat. The letter was written in your remembrance. Thank you sir.

          

       It was 1945, the letter remembered me the hundreds of replies I have given. I replied through a letter welcoming her thanks. That initiated the transfer of letters between us. Letters increased, words decreased. It became my weekly schedule to read and reply  Zoya. The days and nights I spent reading letters and thinking what to reply. Talking to her the hard man in me was dying slowly. The way I behaved with my staff and patients was changed. Now the letters I received were not from officials but Zoya. I used to wait for it, sometimes I alone would go to the post office. The bond between us getting stronger. I taught of meeting her and she was also desperate to meet me but the problem arose in the form of the national movement. The crowd gathered on streets, protests increased. Two years passed between us and it was 1947, august the east Indian company was in a way of declaring the independence and we thought of getting married. I decided who she was and how she was not a matter, we became one was the thing struck me. I have written a letter to her about our marriage and she replied positively. I got the message in telegram. The night I sent a message to her to meet in Bombay, is when the company declared partition. The streets of Bombay was filled with a crowd, burning the streets, etc. I haven't received any reply from her. I went to Mumbai in search of her. I found the address from where I receive was in ashes. Enquired about her. Meanwhile, I was asked to move to Delhi to serve the people there. I have written a lot of letters but haven’t got any reply yet. Waiting to meet

                                   THE ONE I NEVER MET

    

   

     By

      ksvk