By Sandip Gyawali
The telephone rings. Hurriedly, Madhav picks his cell phone, but the ringing doesn’t stop. Scratching his head, he puts it down and picks up the telephone.
“Hello, is this Ramesh?” asks a woman from the other end.
“Sorry, wrong number,” Madhav answers, gently.
He drinks a sip of coffee and begins to work on his computer. He continues editing articles which he has to submit this evening. Being the sub-editor of a national daily, he cannot escape his hectic schedule. He sometimes works in the evening too. His boss never edits anything. That’s why Madhav has to do everything on his own.
Its 5 pm. Today he plans to leave early. He begins to pack his things and searches for his bike’s key. He finds it inside the keyboard drawer. He locks up the window and marches towards the door. Suddenly, the phone rings again. He picks it up.
“Hello, isn’t this 002121?” a woman asks.
“Sorry, it is not.”
“But I dialed the number correctly,” says the woman from the other end.
“Can I help you? Who are you looking for?” Madhav asks.
Quickly she answers “My mother is in the hospital. She needs two pints more O negative blood for surgery. I posted help in a Facebook group, and somebody gave me this number.”
“I’m sorry Mam, that person must have given you the wrong number.”
“Please help me find somebody with O negative blood,” the woman implores.
“I’m A positive. I cannot help.”
“Sorry, I disturbed you,” the woman says.
“Wait, give me your number. Let’s see what I can do.”
“It’s 012123. I’m at Mid-City Hospital, emergency ward, bed no. 12.”
“I’ll call you in two hours,” Madhav says and puts the phone down.
He locks his cabin’s door and gathers his colleagues into the hall. “Is anybody with O negative blood group here? If so, put your hands up,” he says.
Everybody murmurs.
He sees no hand raised, and decides to leave the office. He enters the parking lot, starts the bike and skids off towards the hospital. In thirty minutes, he is at the Mid-City Hospital. He runs towards the emergency ward. But he sees no patient on bed no. 12. He picks up his cell phone and dials 012123. The woman answers the call.
“Hello.”
“Where are you? I’m at Mid-City Hospital.”
“I’m sorry, we just moved to the Trauma Centre. Have you arranged blood?”
“No, I haven’t, I’ll contact my friend.”
“Please come fast; we’re in the emergency ward, bed no. 23.” The woman hangs up the phone.
With many thoughts playing inside, Madhav moves towards his bike restlessly. He doesn’t want to go to the Trauma Center. He had planned to drink beer with his friend that afternoon; that’s why he had left the office early. With daylong hectic work, he is very tired. His friend must be waiting for his arrival. Madhav calls his friend and asks him to come to the nearest shopping mall. He decides to neglect the woman and instead goes to receive his friend. To go into the market and start shopping for garments.
In a while, the woman calls again, “Are you here?”
“No.”
“My mother is dying, please come fast.”
“Wait, I’ll be there.”
Madhav feels angry and hangs up the phone. He hasn’t seen her, he doesn’t know her, so he doesn’t want to take the responsibility of that woman’s mother. Therefore, with his friend, he walks towards as different sector of the market. They enter the trial room of a garment shop and try different brands. While trying the clothes, Madhav changes his thoughts, and says to his friend, “Hey Aaron, aren’t you O negative?”
“Yes, I am. Anything wrong?” Aaron says.
“No, a woman is calling me to give blood. I thought you could help.”
“Then why we’re here? Let’s move to the hospital.”
“Wait, I said I’ll come after two hours. Let’s buy our things first. We can go there later.”
Madhav doesn’t know that the woman’s mother is in a serious condition—or he doesn’t care about that. That’s why he intends to spend his time, shopping. But Aaron decides not to waste time. So they decide to leave.
Madhav starts his bike, and they head towards the Trauma Centre. When they reach there, hurriedly, Aaron enters the emergency room.
“What’s the bed number, what’s the bed number?” he asks impatiently.
“It’s 23, I guess.”
“There’s no one in 23.”
“Let me ask the nurse.”
Dialing 012123, Madhav moves to the help desk and asks the nurse about bed no. 23. The nurse says, “The patient was with her daughter on a scooter. A truck hit them and they fell into the ground. Since the mother was without a helmet, she had severe injuries on her head. That’s why she needed blood immediately. Nobody arranged the blood. So she passed away.”
The nurse’s answer shocks Madhav. His cell phone falls on the ground, and the display glass shatters. He sits helplessly on the ground putting, his hands on his head.
“What happened?” Aaron asks.
“She’s no more,” he answers.
***
[Sandip Gyawali (b. 1977) is a young Nepali poet from Palpa, Nepal. A student pursuing a Masters’ Degree in English at Tribhuvan University, he has occasionally published his poems, stories, and critical writing in Nepali media. He writes both in Nepali and English.]