Amara

By Supriyo Chatterji

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Part 1:  

The Flowering

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Supriyo Chatterji 

Prologue 

Abdul pulled at his bidi and breathed out a cloud of smoke. The hospital was busier than  usual today. People bustled about their business in a hurry, talking in concerned tones  about their loved ones; elderly women and men were being wheeled out and helped into  cars.  

It was just another summer evening in Delhi. After the heat of the day, the cool evening  breeze was a welcome relief. It blew over the parking lot and made Abdul’s bidi burn  brightly as he drew on it. Clouds were gathering over the horizon, there was just a hint of  moisture in the air.  

‘It must have rained somewhere nearby,’ Abdul said to himself as he watched the setting  sun dip behind the grey clouds. 

A bunch of Abdul’s fellows were playing cards under the banyan tree. He considered joining  them, but he had no money. Besides, Rajiv had told him to stay close to the ambulance in  case they got a call while he slept.  

Abdul hated his job. Being made to drive around the city catering to rich, well-to-do pricks  got under his skin. However, it did put food on the table and Abdul didn’t have any skills  other than driving. Whatever he had learned of emergency medicine had been through  sheer experience. Now that Jamal, his eldest son, had come of age, he planned to get him  employed with him as well. 

‘Only if Fareeha had been alive today,’ he said to himself looking on at the card game. He  mused on how all life is really a gamble. There is no certainty about anything. All things  happen by the will of Allah and all that anyone can do is mould themselves accordingly. 

The people who came to the hospital also gambled with their lives. Putting their trust in  someone unknown all in the hopes of curing whatever ailment had struck them. Indeed, the  entire world spun around with just hope and faith that Allah’s mercy would see them  through their trials.  

Just as he ended his train of thought, Abdul heard the dispatch crackle on. He opened the  door and picked up the receiver.  

“This is ambulance number 23,” he spoke into it.  

“There has been an accident on the Expressway. You and Rajiv need to go over there  immediately. We are uploading the exact location onto your GPS,” said the dispatcher.

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Supriyo Chatterji 

“On our way,” said Abdul and hung up the receiver. He took a quick drag from his bidi,  chucked it out and shook his partner awake. Rajiv had been sleeping with his cap over his  eyes. He looked annoyed at being woken up.  

“What is it?” Rajiv asked while yawning. 

“Time to move,” said Abdul and closed the driver’s door. He started the engine and drove  the ambulance carefully out of the driveway. 

“Where are we headed,” asked Rajiv after they had put the hospital behind. “Noida Expressway,” said Abdul, “Some accident.” 

“Must be one of those rich bastards driving around with his mistress,” said Rajiv  indifferently. “I hope they both die before we get there.” 

Abdul shot an angry look at his partner. He did not have much love for the wealthy. But he  respected the sanctity of life. Despite hating his job, he took it very seriously. He knew that  Allah would never forgive him if he let someone whom he could save die. It was a code he  lived by.  

“We should be nearing the scene by now,” he said to Rajiv after they had gone some  distance. 

“I think I see it,” said Rajeev pointing at two yellow blinking lights in the distance.  Surprisingly, there was not a soul around. Normally, people would have stopped to check.  But today, there was nobody. The entire expressway was deserted except for those two slow blinking specs of light. 

As Abdul drove the ambulance up to the wreck, the headlights glinted off a wide streak of  blood stretched along the road. Just then, a large mound of something flashed in front of  him. Abdul swerved the ambulance to avoid it, only to run over it with his back tire. A bolt of  terror rushed to his brain and he hoped he had not run over something alive. 

In his 15 years driving the ambulance, Abdul had seen more than a few emergencies. But  somehow this one made him feel like it would affect him more than any previous. He stopped the ambulance next to the car and they both got out. The Honda Civic had been  wrecked from the front. Its windshield had been completely shattered and the hood was  twisted out of recognition.  

The first thing that Abdul did after getting down was go check on what he had run over. He  didn’t have to go far. Only a few steps and he came upon the corpse of a cow. The poor  thing had been long dead before Abdul ran over it. Its rib cage jutted out in a bloody mess  from its chest. Blood trickled off the bones like some desecrated fountain. Abdul caught  hold of his talisman and recited a silent prayer.

By Supriyo Chatterji