SUDDENLY new medic landed at dead of night. He was third or fourth medic to arrive in our lone town on the Isle of the Meek. It is situated in the vicinity of your prosperous country. The new medic, like his predecessors, arrived on his own. There is a significant common trait among the uninvited medics. They land after midnight. Why don’t they come during the day is an enigma! Why do they think we islanders are sick! Immediately after their auspicious advent, they speak in the identical diction. They use the same words, same phrases, and the same paraphrases to justify their coming to our island. To our utter surprise, they keep on telling us we are an ailing and a diseased community; we compulsorily need to be treated! The medics prescribe same curative remedies that not only do not work, they, on the contrary, inflict us with incurable side effects. We hang around with a tarnished face, and a crooked image. But, the uninvited medics do not understand. They refuse to leave us alone.
The new medic, soon after his arrival, announced, “Oh sick men, women, children and other creatures of the Isle of the Meek, I have come to deliver you from perpetual sickness.”
An old islander, who had seen the arrival and departure of his predecessors, mustered up courage and said, “But, we are not sick, Sir.”
The new medic did not like unexpected interruption from an old meek. He sharply looked at the aged islander, and said, “You people are definitely sick, and incapacitated.”
The old islander asked, “Your honour, how can you say that?”
The medic expanded his massive chest, waved the wand in his hand, and said, “I am wise and all knowing.”
We, the meek islanders, applauded the wise medic thunderously.
“I was deeply concerned about your afflictions.” The medic occupied an elevated rostrum. Like his forerunners he was stout, tough, and unbending. He said, “I had no intention to be among you.”
“Oh!” We unanimously exclaimed.
“I was immensely moved by your pitiable existence.” He said, “I was constrained to arrive in the larger interest of your ailing community.”
We continuously applauded for sometime. He raised his hand. His body language was loud and clear. We stopped clapping. “You are leading a loathsome miserable life. But, you don’t have to lose heart.” He said, “I have come to deliver you from your multifarious ailments.”
We raised slogans, “God save the new medic.”
The new medic again raised his hand, and asked, “Do you want me to cure you permanently from all your afflictions?”
We replied, “Yes.”
He asked, “Would you like me to stay with you till each one of you on the island feels healthy and rejuvenated?”
We said, “Yes, we would.”
He smiled, and said, “Then, I am going to stay with you for at least one hundred years.”
Thereafter, we dispersed. We departed in small groups for our abodes on the island. I joined the company of Mutwala and his nitwit friends. On way to our homes we discussed the new medic.
“The first medic to grace our island was tall, robust, and handsome.”
“He may have been handsome, but the new medic is dashing.”
“You are right brother. With dyed hair dangling on his forehead he reminds me of Dilip Kumar. “
“Has he come with a new prescription for our exaggerated ills?”
“I don’t think he has come with a new prescription.”
“How can you say that?”
“So far he has behaved and spoken like his illustrious predecessors.”
Next day, we were summoned to attend his question-answer session. It sounded interesting. None of his predecessors had ever let us talk. We were always at the listening end.
I talked to my mother, and asked, “In that way doesn’t he appear a bit different from his forerunners?”
My mother smiled, and said, “We womenfolk call it a pressure-cooker theory. We always ensure the steam evaporates from the vents in the cooker. It quickly and safely softens the hardest of stuff in it. If you don’t let steam evaporate, the pressure-cooker bursts with a bang and splashes the stuff all over the place.”
