Behind her, the window was open, outside he could see Bulli Babu, his faithful sahayak from his bachelor days, digging up a patch of garden. Mastana, their Alsation, was barking. His breath was coming out in gasps now. The dull pain in his wrists was getting sharper. The blood stains were spreading into fat clouds on the pale blue sheets that Viju had recently bought from the Air Force Shop. “Viju,” he called out one more time, “I will die. Take me to the doctor.” Viju looked at him blankly and then at the blade in her hand. Her eyes moved over to the two gold bangles her mother had given her on her last wedding anniversary, the blade still in her hand, she touched them lovingly. Then snapping the blade in two, she started sharpening a pencil with one half of it. The other half she put in her son’s study table drawer. Pencil sharpened to a fine point, she put in in his geometry box, keeping the blade next to it, placing the rubber on it so that it didn’t move.
Then she picked up the phone and dialed the number she had never forgotten. “Hello Amma,” she said hoarsely. “Amma, you have to book your tickets. Today, he tried to put sleeping pills in my tea. He will kill me. Amma help me,” she said. Her light brown eyes were covered with a film of tears. When she put the phone down and lifted her head to face him again, the tears had spilt over and were dropping off her eyelashes. These were the same eyes he had fallen in love with 20 years back. She was looking at him with fear and hatred. “Viju,” he whispered, his breath coming in bursts. He wanted to coax her to help him in the soft tone that she usually listened too but the pain was unbearable. He couldn’t speak anymore. Viju did not take her eyes off his. She picked up his half drunk mug of tea from the bedside. And then smiling the same hesitant smile that his son had too, she got up and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
“Bhaiya, sahab so rahe hain,” he heard her calling out to Babu. “Unko disturb nahi karna. Main Veenu ko tuition se le ke aati hun.” Slipping out of consciousness, Col N Ventakesh heard the car start, then reverse under the porch and leave. He heard the sentry opening and closing the heavy iron gate. He tried to call out but no words left his dry tongue. Finally, he shut his eyes in acceptance. He should not have kept her schizophrenia a secret. The doctor had been warning him it could get dangerous. He had also told him to keep the Alprax out of her reach.
Schizophrenia is a mental disorder that usually appears in late adolescence or early adulthood. Characterized by delusions, hallucinations, and other cognitive difficulties, schizophrenia can often be a lifelong struggle. This story is not based on a real incident or indicative of the illness.
For a real and heartwarming story about the illness, read:
https://www.independent.co.uk/news/long_reads/schizophrenia-henry-cockburn-mental-illness-father-son-patrick-art-folkestone-triennial-art-festival-a7940126.html
Caption for top picture: ‘In the distance I could see people looking for me under the night stars with flashlights. There was a dog barking. But I was not afraid because I felt in the care of the tree’ painting by Henry Cockburn who was diagnosed with schizophrenia at age 20.