Who Wears the Breeches?

WHO WEARS THE BREECHES?
Adapted from JALADHAR SEN’S Grihini Roga in Bengali

Dr. N. R. DEOBHANKAR

By the time I return from office it is usually six in the evening. When work piles up, it is even eight or eight-thirty. “Why should he not work late?” murmur the subordinate staff. “Doesn’t he pocket full four hundred every month as Bada Babu, the Head Clerk? As the salary, so the service. We get a beggarly 40 or 50 and do what we can between 10 and 5. Isn’t that only fair?”

So much for the office. As to the situation at home, it is still worse. Let me take you into confidence: Returning from office a bit early, that is 6-30, one evening, I discover the lady of the house lying down in our bedroom upstairs, with the fan whirring overhead, and the old maidservant sitting at her feet. As I enter, the maid, whom we call Shyama’s Ma, says in a rasping voice, addressing no one in particular: “So the Master has decided it is time to return home! That is something at least!”

Being unable to fathom the cause of this very cheerful welcome, I inquire: “What’s the matter? Why is the Mistress lying down? Has she a head-ache or…..?” Cutting me short, Shyama’s Ma says with stinging sarcasm: “What should she do but lie down? Go about dancing and carousing? It is three days since my child was ill. But does anyone care?”

Here I must explain that Shyama’s Ma is an ancient servant, who has brought up my wife from childhood, and who came to us with her as a sort of dowry. She is called Shyama’s Ma, after her daughter, and is devoted to my wife, of whom, under stress of emotion, she still speaks as “my child”. Naturally she is in entire command of the household, and no one dares to contradict her. Besides, who else is there to do so, apart from my wife and myself? We have a daughter, but she has been married these two years, and is happily settled.

Not caring to aggravate the situation by questioning the grave charge leveled obliquely against me by Shyama’s Ma, I say meekly, “I would have rushed from office earlier, had word reached me that the illness was so serious.” “Is the illness only of today?” asks Shyama’s Ma pointedly. “It has been going on now for a month. At lunch the poor child tries to swallow a morsel of rice. Can you call it a meal? She sits at the plate just for form, and gets up and returns to bed straight away. Till five in the afternoon she lies prostrate. Neither is it for pleasure that she leaves the bed then. When I try to dissuade her, she brushes me aside. ‘It is time for Master’s’ return, she says. ‘Who is there to look after him if I don’t?’ But what does Master-care? Is there any strength left in my child?”

All through this vigorous indictment I find no hint as to what sort of illness it is, or how and when it started. At no time before have I heard or seen anything unusual. Since, in the prevailing tension, it would be sheer folly to say so, I humbly admit guilt and, rallying all the sympathy I can muster, say: “That is so, indeed. She has suffered a lot. I slave at the office like a donkey the whole day, and have no energy left to carry out my domestic duties. But for my inattention her health would not be so ruined. Well, let us leave all that aside now. Regret won’t mend what is over. So what is the good of dwelling on it? We must think of the present. I’ll run to Dr. Lalit just now and get him here at once.”

While the maidservant was vehemently impeaching me, the Mistress had kept silent. But the moment I mentioned Dr. Lalit, she flared up. “Why go to the extent of having Dr. Lalit?” she asked sarcastically. “The compounder Sricharan would do just as well for me!….It’s all my own wretched fate and nobody’s fault!”

Do you catch the point? I, who adorn the post of Bada Babu, should think of consulting Dr. Lalit of the locality for the critical illness of my only wife and better half!...Dr. Lalit, who has not even a horse carriage, let alone a car, who does not ask for–and would probably never get–more than one rupee as his visiting fee! To have the audacity to call such a one to attend upon the Presiding Deity of my hearth and home, in her precarious state! Could temerity go further?

Making a forlorn attempt to recover from this faux pas, I exclaim: “How hastily you draw conclusions! Am I getting this Lalit to take up your treatment? Don’t you see, in a dangerous illness like yours, it is necessary to have a doctor at hand all the time? That is why I want to send for Dr. Lalit, while I proceed to get a Specialist.” What I said silently to myself, however, had better be left unrecorded!

Thus, having no altemative, I left home at that late hour, without changing my office dress, and started in search of a reputable doctor. The question was, whom should I approach? Were I to report the so-called grave condition of my wife to Neel Ratan Sarkar or Bidhan Roy, I would be driven out as a lunatic, or perhaps, impelled by pity, handed over to the police for being locked up in an asylum.

Then I remembered Dr. Bose, who was said to be an expert in temperamental troubles of this kind. I did not know him very well, having just met him a couple of times at some friend’s. We knew each other by name, and had exchanged courtesies when brought face to face by chance. But that was all. There was no question of any intimacy. Still, as I had heard many people speak highly of him, I decided that he was the right man.

I knew where he lived, and learnt he was in when I reached there. Within a few minutes he came down and, seeing me, smiled in welcome. “Ah, here is Bijoy Babu!” he greeted. “Do come in.” I followed him and took the proffered chair. “This is a late hour and you are still in your office clothes,” he remarked. “What is worrying you?”

“Would I come to pester you at this time, Doctor Babu, had the matter not been serious?” I replied in apology. “I hope you are not engaged. It will take me some ten minutes to state the case.”

“I’m not going out just now,” said he. “Take your time. I’ll close the door so as not to be disturbed.” He shut the front door and, turning on the fan and lights, asked me to begin.

“My wife is, it seems, terribly unwell,” said I to make a start. Before I could proceed further, he interrupted me. “This ‘it seems’ part is a bit perplexing, Bijoy Babu,” he put in.

“The fact is, Dr. Babu, I don’t quite know what the illness is,” I continued. “I leave home at 9-30 in the morning every day and return at 6.30 or 7. At no time have I seen the wife suffering. To me she appears as I am accustomed to find her all these 18 years. There are no children to try her patience. We’ve only one daughter, and she has been married these two years, and pays only fleeting visits. There is an adequate household staff, including cook, maidservant, syce, coachman and others. The Mistress is not required to go through any domestic drudgery. This is the ground, Dr. Babu. Well, this evening, a short while ago, I returned from office as usual, only to find the wife in bed, and her old maidservant glaring at me. This maidservant has raised my wife from childhood, and has been with her all these years. Everyone calls her Shyama’s Ma, after her own daughter. With the prerogative of such association she refers to my wife as “her child”. The moment I stepped in, this evening, I was faced by Shyama’s Ma pent up with resentment, and accusing me of callousness towards “her child” who, it seems, had long been “seriously ill”. You can imagine, Dr. Babu, how thoroughly dumbfounded I was at this news and the gratuitous charge. All that Shyama’s Ma said of the illness, interspersed with a scathing commentary on my heartlessness, went completely over my head. I could not follow a word. They say you are an expert in peculiar cases of this type, and may therefore be able to make something of this. Shyama’s Ma says that every day “her child” comes down for lunch at 11, but doesn’t touch food, and goes to bed, only to leave it at 5 in the afternoon. So severe is her suffering! When I return home at 6, I neither see nor know any thing about all this. The good lady herself has indicated nothing till now. It is only today that she has kept to her bed even after 5….This is all I can report to you, Dr. Babu. This is why I have to seek your help so urgently at this hour.”

Listening to my story, Dr. Babu smiled. “There is no need for you to say more,” he remarked. “I think I can lay my finger now on your wife’s illness–as well as on your own.”

“My illness!” I exclaimed in surprise. “Have you not been attentive to what I narrated at length? It is not I but my wife who is the patient, Dr. Babu. As for myself, I am perfectly sound.”

“We’ll see about that later,” he replied, still smiling. “Tell me what you want me to do how. Am I to go and see your lady just now?”

“Good heavens! No!” I cried. “That will ruin every thing! If you come just now, do you imagine my wife will be impressed, by your status, or respect your instructions about the treatment? ‘What sort of Specialist you have brought?’ she will question me. ‘He has evidently no patients on hand. Is an Expert ever available the moment he is asked?’–This will be her reaction. Though so learned, you don’t seem to have considered these aspects, Dr. Babu. What I propose is that you merely give me an appointment for tomorrow, and visit the patient accordingly. I shall return home now and explain to my worthy lady that you had no time at present, owing to your vast practice, of which I shall give a colourful description. This will build up her faith in you, without which no treatment can succeed. Do you approve of the plan?”

“Really, Bijoy Babu, I must admire your forethought,” laughed Dr. Bose. “I must admit I didn’t give as much thought to the strategy of the matter as you’ve done. Youhave proved yourself the better psychologist of us two! Well then, I shall be at your place at 9.30 in the morning. Let me take down the address.”

“Can you not manage to come a bit earlier, Dr. Babu?” I pleaded. “If it is to be 9.30, I shall either have to miss office for the day, or at least arrive there late. In either case, the office work will seriously suffer.”

Dr. Bose thought for a while, turned the leaves of his diary and replied: “I could make it 8-30, if that will suit you.” “Thank you, Dr. Babu,” I replied, “that will do perfectly. Kindly arrive exactly at 8-30. Youmay come a couple of minutes after that, but under no circumstances come earlier even by a few minutes. Do you know why this warning? Shrimatiji will conclude you are short of patients, if you arrive ahead of the appointment.”

“You need say no more,” laughed Dr. Bose. “I quite follow your point, and will proceed with caution. Do not worry!”

“If you will pardon me, Dr. Babu, there is still one thing more...that is...if...if you don’t think me impertinent...”

“Go ahead, Bijoy Babu,” he urged.

“When you get into your car on your visiting rounds, you always wear, I notice, a khaddar dhoti and kurta, and carry a shawl of the same stuff on your shoulder. As to your foot-wear, it is probably a pair of slippers, though I cannot swear. That, Dr. Babu, is the right dress for a dinner appointment at one’s father-in-law’s. If you visit my wife in that attire, she will, I fear, ignore your eminence. I beg of you, therefore, to come dressed smartly as a pukka Saheb, and to use not less than ten English words to every three of Bengali in her presence. Only then will the lady say to herself, ‘Ah! here is a real Doctor indeed!’ You can gauge from the outrageous demands I am making on your goodness how miserable my plight must be. I hope you will forgive me.”

“I quite appreciate your position, Bijoy Babu,” said he sympathetically. “And you are right in your caution. We’ve to deal with patients of various kinds, and to attend upon the mentally unbalanced. What you’ve said is not so irrelevant. Obviously, you can’t be too careful with a patient like the one with whom you’ve to pass your days. Well, Bijoy Babu, you had better go home now. I shall be at your place punctually at 8-30 and won’t overlook any precaution, rest assured.”

I said good-bye, and was on the point of leaving, when one more thought struck me. “Do forgive me again, Dr. Babu. I know I’m bothering you a lot,–but just one more thought I want to...to.”

“You’ve left out something again?” laughed Dr. Bose. “Let’s have it by all means.”

When you get up after examining the patient, I shall hand over to you Rs. 16 as fee. You will then declare curtly that your fee is not 16 but 32. Is that clear, Dr. Babu? This is necessary, so please don’t forget.” Dr. Bose gave a loud laugh. “Bijoy Babu, I’m convinced you are the better psychologist of us two!” he said, controlling his merriment. “Very well,….very well….it will be as you say...I shall demand 32 rupees and accept nothing less!”

Taking leave of the doctor, I returned home to find the Mistress out of bed and sitting on the floor, with the cook holding a cup of milk in front of her, and Shyama’s Ma coaxing her to drink it up. Seeing me, the maid asked whether the doctor was coming. “You know how it is in Calcutta,” I replied. “A Specialist is not on tap!”

“That’s true” assented my wife, giving me a pleasant surprise. “These big doctors are surrounded by crowds of patients. You’ve to go round and round for three days before you can get one.”

I have never jibbed at fabricating a plausible lie when that helped. Had it been otherwise, do you think a mere typist on Rs. 30 like me would have risen to be the Bara Babu on 400? When I noticed the favourable reaction of the wife, I found courage, and drew freely upon my talent for mendacity. While changing into home clothes, I painted a fanciful picture of my vicissitudes in search of a Specialist. Addressing the wife, I said: “You know it is only today that I fully realise how hard it is in Calcutta to get a reputable doctor immediately. Take my own case of this evening. When I left home, I could not decide, in the first place, whom to call in. Ultimately I asked myself: What was more precious–Money or Life? Immediately I went straight to Neel Ratan Sarkar’s place. There I learnt he was himself ill these three days, and could neither come down nor see patients. There was no go but to approach Bidhan Roy. On arriving at his residence, I find him filling his emergency bag. What was the matter? I enquired. He was starting for Narsingarh, or Pratapgarh for an urgent case. The car was ready, with the engine on. The train from Howrah would leave in a few minutes! Intruding in the midst of the bustle, I spoke to the Doctor of my misfortune. He was moved and said: “Do one thing. Go to Dr. Bose. From what you say of the case, he would be the right person. Even if I were here, I would have advised you to get him.” So I hastened to Dr. Bose’s house, for what was the point in delaying? I arrived just as he was leaving for a serious case. He had one foot in the car and had no time to turn . When I spoke of my trouble, he explained how fully booked he was. “I am very sorry, Bijoy Babu,” he said. “There are so many patients to be seen today that I won’t be till 11 at night, and it will not do to see your lady at that hour. Well, let me see,” he added, opening his diary, “it would be very difficult to take up your case before one in the noon tomorrow.” So again I was disappointed. I pleaded hard and promised any fee he would name, all to no purpose. It was impossible for him to come tonight, he repeated. As I would not leave him and as I spoke of the critical nature of the illness, he agreed to make it 8-30, as a favour, and entered the appointment in his note-book. For a moment, I thought of asking him what the fee would be. Then I thought to myself: What is more precious–Money or Life? I’ll pay whatever he would ask. Wasn’t I right?”

Shrimatiji smiled this time. “How tired you must be!” she exclaimed, and instructed the cook and the servant to arrange for my wash and to set forth my dinner. “It is too late for the afternoon refreshment now,” she ordered. “Let the Master have a proper dinner straight away.”

Well, sweet words may not heal hunger, but they do heal ill humour. Finding courage, I began to boost Dr. Bose. “There is a doctor for you, if you want the genuine stuff,” I started. “Look at his practice! Not free from patients till 11 at night! Said it was impossible to come before one tomorrow...After much pleading and pressure, I made him change it to 8-30...This is not our Lalit, but a pukka Saheb….Hardly speaks Bengali...And what a powerful car!” The wife joined in: “Of course, with such a reputation,” she began, “why should he go in for a Ford? It is my good fortune that an eminent doctor like him should agree to examine me.”

So the string of lies was not wasted. The object was gained I heaved a sigh of relief.

Next morning it was barely 8 when the Mistress began to bustle about in excitement. “Look here,” she called me, “you had better go and wait in the drawing-room below. Suppose the Doctor Saheb turns up before 8.30! You must be ready for him.”

“What do you imagine? This is no common Kavirajto drop in half an hour earlier and sit gossiping. He will come at the stroke of 8-30, and not a minute before.”

“Don’t I know that?” she said pleasantly. “Still why not await him downstairs?” Though I had already made all preparation, I had to obey her and went below.

As settled previously, Dr. Bose arrived exactly at 8-30, made up as more than a pukka Saheb, and went straight to see the patient. Not a word of Bengali escaped his lips. It was all un-adulterated Bilati. He examined the and front of the patient, asked her a few questions in halting Bengali, and asked me a few more in English–which I answered in Bengali. It was the routine cross-examination that doctors carry out.

“The trouble is serious no doubt,” he pronounced at last. “But a month ago I cured a case exactly like this in three days, with six doses. The patient here too can be set right similarly. The drug I prescribed was not available in any store. I had to procure it for them myself from a European chemist. That happened to be the last bottle in his stock, and I bought it for Rs. 10. Only 6 drops for 6 doses were used. The rest is still with me. You’ll have to come down to my place for it at 10-30. I’m not free to return there just now, but as this is a critical case I shall manage to meet you for 5 minutes. There will be 6 doses, one to be taken morning and evening, starting from today. Then we come to the question of diet. In this illness this is the main thing. If there is any irregularity, all will be lost. That is why you’ll have to be in charge yourself. If you entrust it to the cook or maidservant or anyone else, I shall not be answerable for the consequences. You’ll therefore have to miss office for 3 days. Here is the diet schedule:

12 noon 6 ounces of cocoanut water;
3 P.M. 4 ounces of butter milk;
7-30 P.M. 6 ounces of whey.

You must use a measure glass for accuracy. Otherwise, there is risk. That’s why you have to do this personally. I want the medicine and diet to continue for 2 days. Day after tomorrow I shall come and examine the patient again, and may change treatment if necessary. If you report to me that morning, well and good. In any case I shall pay a visit myself. That’s about all. I cannot stay any longer. There are lots of calls to be made yet.”

As Dr. Bose got up to leave, I promptly put Rs. 16 in his hand. Looking at the amount, he said dryly: “My fee for such cases is Rs. 32.” Immediately I paid Rs. 16 more and said: “You are welcome to twice 32, Doctor Babu, if you say the word, and even then the money will be a trifle compared to our gratitude.”

“Thank you,” he replied coldly. “Don’t worry. There is no danger. I expect cure in 3 days.” Saying this, he left briskly.

There was no alternative to missing the office. I telephoned to the Boss from a neighbour’s house at 10, explaining my predicament, and requesting him to send my colleague, Bidhu Babu, for a little while regarding that day’s correspondence. He expressed sympathy and sanctioned 3 days’ leave.

I brought the 6 doses of the miracle medicine from Dr. Bose as arranged, and offered payment, which he declined. Treatment commenced scrupulously as prescribed from that very day.

Shrimatiji was restless all through the day and more at night, which seemed interminable. As the diet was severely restricted to a few ounces of cocoanut water, buttermilk and whey, it was no wonder she was consumed by frightful hunger. But there was no help. The Doctor’s injunctions were explicit!

At last even the night ended. When day dawned, the wife despatched me to the doctor to report that the 2 doses of yesterday had cured her trouble. I was further to say that she could not stand the agonies of hunger any longer, and the diet must be relaxed.

On giving a detailed account to the doctor, he became grave and said: “Obviously, the treatment has proved effective. It is a happy sign that she, who would get up from the dinner plate without touching food, is now tortured by hunger. But that does not mean that I should change the diet so soon. Tomorrow I shall come and examine the patient and decide what would be best.”

A loud groan escaped me. “It is all very well foryou, Dr. Babu,” I said, “to lay down the law. But what about me who have to face the music at home?”

“You must pay for your sins,” he laughed. What then was left for me to do but return home and convey the doctor’s verdict to Srimatiji! She grew perfectly furious, and declared that even a sparrow could not live on the wretched drink which was all that was allowed her! I prefer to draw a veil over the incidents of the second day and the distress endured by patient and attendant alike!

Next morning the doctor came punctually at 8-30 and repeated his examination. “Let’s move to the drawing-room,” he said, turning to me. “Further treatment must be decided after careful thought.”

When we were alone, he said: “Your lady will not be ill again, Bijoy Babu. She is sufficiently chastened during these two days, and will need no medicine now. She will not leave her meals untasted hereafter. But one problem still remains untackled. Your own malady is yet to be cured. Were your wife to fall ill in this fashion even twice a month only, do you know what would happen? Leaving aside the question of medical bills, your repeated absence from office will ultimately drive your employers to sack you. Such a climax may perhaps bring about a cure of your ailment. But, in view of the correction she has just received, your wife is not likely to indulge in such an idle fancy again. Nor will you have to skip office and lose your job. Therefore, your own malady stays where it was!”

“What are you driving at, Dr. Babu?” I asked in perplexity. “I’ve no malady whatever!” Dr. Bose laughed mischievously. “How would you know about it, Bijoy Babu?” he countered. “You are not a physician. There is no apt name in Western Medicine for your trouble. But the Ayurvedamentions Grihini-Roga, the Wife-Disease, all the symptoms of which are present in you. Unfortunately, I do not know the treatment, but I am sure of the diagnosis. Who wears the breeche, in the home?–You or your wife?-Obviously, the latter!...But what is this, Bijoy Babu?...No...no! Not 32 rupees this time–not even 16. You owe me nothing now. Our account is squared!...Namaskar!”