This post comes as a sequel to the earlier one. Hence, for better comprehension, please go through the post titled “THE ONLY TRUTH”.
It was near midnight when I had started penning down the previous post. And by the time it was finally posted, the sun had crossed the horizon of International Date Line, changing the date to 3rd August 2011. The date has been an important one in my life for reasons galore. It was around 0100 hrs that I finally went to sleep. I was awakened in the morning by my ringing phone. Half asleep, I picked the call from my ‘home’. The next moment, all my consciousness sprung back when my dad told me about the death of my ailing brother-in-law. The burns had got the better of him.
I rushed to the hospital and while on way, informed my senior officials about my unavailability and briefed my subordinates regarding the important tasks of the day. Once inside the hospital, the similar scenes came before my eyes, the only difference being, I could relate to the ‘hopeless ones’ in a better way this time. I hurried to the emergency ward. While crossing the aisle, the pungent odor of dried blood and hospital refuge did irk my olfactory nerves, but now it somehow felt more agreeable. I reached his bed and found him lying in the same fashion I had seen him a few days back. The bandages looked the same as did his limbs. The swell in the neck had alleviated. The eyes had been closed. The breathing had stopped. Nothing else had changed.
My dad, mom, bhaiya, mamaji had all reached before me. My sister who had been crying on my mom’s shoulders started wailing aloud when she looked at me. She then hung on to my shoulders as I tried to console her. She had been devastated. Her in-laws were not there as they had returned to their village for taking a break the previous night. The kid was still there but was not very sure about the happenings. Maybe, he was still trying to assimilate the cause for this weeping business. Leaving them to my mom, I moved to the outer porch where the male members stood in clusters. While one group was trying to put pressure on the deceased’s employer for adequate compensation, the other one was busy arranging the formalities of the hospital.
I went to the first group which had two of my cousins and a few more acquaintances nabbing the employer for higher compensation. The fight for life had transformed into fight for money in a matter of hours. Both parties reached a compromise after about half an hour of heated arguments and counter-arguments. Meanwhile, the other group had zeroed on to nothing as the police officials responsible for writing reports before post-mortem had not yet arrived. It was only after 9 AM that the Sub-inspector came along with two other policemen. The shift changed at 0800 hrs, but the team signing off had left at around 6 AM, said another guy who had been waiting for the post-mortem of his relative since morning. We were third in the list.
Upon inquiry, one of the policemen said that the post-mortem form had to be purchased from the autopsy building which housed the department of forensic sciences. Two members rushed to get the form. They came back in half an hour, after they had paid the demanded commission for the supposedly out-of-stock forms. Another policeman came to us asking who would be giving the statement. He then took the deceased’s father who had arrived by then, to a corner and explained something in his ears. Later I came to know, it was a bid to explain him the complicacies that could arise if his demands weren’t met. I was taken aback. So were rest all members who had not seen the post-mortem process hitherto. The more experienced ones finally framed a statement. The sub-inspector after completing the report of two deaths went for a stroll rubbing tobacco on his left palm. This also was a bid to ensure their commission. I tried to stop him but to no avail, as this was his regular job. Incidentally, the MLA of the region was also there to visit his acquaintance and upon information, he also spoke to the policemen but it was only after another half an hour that the sub-inspector returned.
It took another hour to get the report lodged as the inspector kept asking so-called pertinent questions of which one was the clothes worn at the time of death. Feigning dissatisfaction at the reply, he asked us to go and get it confirmed by the people in the mortuary where the body had been locked. The in-charge there said the man with the keys had gone for tea. He opened the lock only after taking a hundred rupee note. The first part of the post-mortem thus got completed in three hours and after spending around thousand bucks.
The actual process of post-mortem took another couple of hours. This period at the hospital normally ranged from an hour to a few days depending upon the amount of bribe paid to each and every fellow of the department. The doctors changed the murders to normal deaths to get money. They even threatened the bereaved family members that they would change the normal deaths to murders unless they were paid adequately. The operated bodies would be returned without stitching back unless due share of every fellow was paid. Even the men with keys of lockers wouldn’t give the bodies unless they had money for chai-paani. These were tackled properly so as to get the body at the earliest as we were already delayed and the body had to be taken to village for the last rites.
Lastly, the ambulance-drivers put up their show refusing to cross the Ganga-bridge for Hajipur giving excuses of long distance and jams. One finally agreed at triple the normal fare. We moved out of the hospital at around 4 PM finally and reached the village rahimapur at around 5:30 PM only to be greeted by a hell lot of cries and wails. The ladies lost their well-preserved patience at the sight of the body.
Amidst all the cries, I felt an itch deep within. The death was a colossal loss for all of us, but we would soon get over with it, as happens with every death. These tears would dry in a matter of days or months at max. But how would the system escape its death. That day, my hopes for a corruption free India had a fatal jolt. I had seen people hailing Anna and still taking bribes at the DRM’s office. But extolling money from a grief-stricken family which had just lost a young earning member could not sound worse. One Lokpal cannot curtail corruption by 65 percent, nor can the supports to Anna on facebook.
As of now, I plan to raise the issue to the so-called reformer CM with the help of media, but I am not sure of the results. The panacea lies in reforming ourselves. The worm has percolated to the deepest layers and relates to the greed in the far nooks of the conscience of every individual. These suckers who suck money out of dead bodies are also one of us. Unless the worm gets weeded out of everyone of us, including that mortuary keyman, the struggle to free India of corruption would remain a lame one.
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