Tag Archives: schizophrenia

My Best Friend, Jojo

Posted in Short Stories English by

I had been living in Room 106 for as long as I could remember. The room had soft-padded, pale green walls and a white ceiling. There were neither windows nor ventilators - only a single door, which was always locked from the outside. A single fluorescent light, right in the middle of the ceiling, kept flashing at all times.

I hated that white light with a cold and seething vengeance. The brightness was merciless as it eroded the peaceful darkness behind my eyelids. And the light burnt with a noise - a humming noise like there was a swarm of angry bees, lurking and hiding behind the light; ready to appear and attack me when the light was switched off. I hated the light but wanted it to stay on forever. My fear of the bees greatly exceeded my hatred of the light.

What was that sad, lonely place? I had simply no idea how I happened to end there. Where in the world was this place located - which street in what city? I did not know. I had been living there for so long that I had forgotten so many important things like ‘when’, ‘what’, or ‘where’. I guess that’s what happens when we stay too long in one place. We become trees. We know ourselves and are aware of our own existence. But we do not know the exact location at which we stand. It is a terrible state of existence or perhaps blissful – terrible because we lack context, and blissful because not knowing everything is bliss.

Thrice a day, like Swiss clockwork, a small drawer within the door opened up silently and someone slid in a tray laden with food and medicines. I used to eat the food and take the red, green and white tablets without fail. Why did I do that? The answer is fear. I did it because I was so very afraid.

I was afraid because when I refused to eat or when I flushed the tablets down the toilet, strange, white-clad men barged into my cell and took me away. They dragged me to another small room and tied me to a narrow metallic bed. A strange contraption was put around my head. One man slightly nodded to someone beyond my field of view; and then the agony began.

Burning white sparks filled my eyeballs and seared my brain. I wanted to scream, but I could not. I wanted to move but I could not. I felt a thousand blades inflicting cuts all over my body, simultaneously.

The pain did not come in waves. It came and it stayed. It throbbed in and stung each one of the millions of my nerves and it felt as if I was being skinned alive. Muddy tears streamed down my cheeks, while my eyes remained wide open - trying to see the invisible demons of pain. Then suddenly the pain stopped its cruel and merciless onslaught. But the memory of the pain kept on echoing inside my head. I involuntarily relaxed my bladder and felt the warm wetness spreading beneath my buttocks and legs. There was no embarrassment or shame. There was only relief and fear - relief from that terrible pain and fear of the pain, making a decision to return unannounced.

I did not live alone in Room 106. I lived there with my best friend, Jojo. His existence brought me joy. In fact, Jojo has been with me as far as I can remember. He has been like my own shadow - following me wherever I go and being with me wherever I am.

If it were not for Jojo, I would have killed myself a long time ago. He refused to let me go, no matter how hard I tried.

‘Not yet, my friend….not yet!’ He cuddled me softly while snatching the razor blade away from my strong grip.

‘Why the hell not?’ I screamed. ‘I just want to leave.’

‘It is not yet time for you to leave.’ He patted my shoulder, ‘You have to learn and understand more.’

‘Learn and understand?’ I laughed. ‘You must be out of your fucking mind. How can I learn or understand anything within the confines of these padded walls? I cannot see the outside world. I cannot hear it.’

‘Yes, true….very true indeed.’ He nodded his head wisely, ‘But this will not be so for long. A day will come soon when you will learn your final lesson.’

‘The final lesson?’ I asked him sarcastically. ‘Learning this final lesson will be your last gift to the universal conscience. You cannot leave before this one final act.’ He said, while smiling kindly.

When Jojo stopped making sense, I often thought of believing what Doctor Morrison once told me.

‘Jojo is not real, Tom. You think he is real, but he is not. He is just a figment of your lonely imagination.’

‘Please tell me, my good Doctor, what is your definition of ‘real’?’ I asked him, while enjoying watching the sunlight, filtering through the mosaic glass panes.

‘Reality is a mutually agreed-upon observation. Jojo could be real if we both could see and observe him. But I cannot see him despite your insistence that he is sitting right beside you.’ The doctor had his back to the window and the sunlight was making a hallo around his bald shiny head.

‘Perhaps it is just a matter of difference in perspectives.’ I reflected while exchanging a secret smile with Jojo. We both enjoyed those discussions very much.

‘Difference in perspectives?’ The Doctor removed his rimless spectacles and started polishing the lens with his white handkerchief - a favourite pastime of his. ‘What do you mean by the difference in perspectives?’

‘What if you didn’t know this was a pencil?’ I said while picking up a lead pencil from the small rectangular vase. I rolled it within the grasp of my fingers and then pointed it at the Doctor - the sharp graphite tip directed right at the middle of his bewildered eyes. ‘What do you see exactly from your perspective?’

‘I see something meaningless - a small black dot surrounded by a pale wood-colored octagon.’ The Doctor said, but I could see faint shadows of fear lurking deep within the Doctor’s blue eyes.

‘Exactly!’ I chuckled. ‘You see something meaningless, but I know I am holding a pencil in my hand.’ ‘Jojo is not a pencil, Tom.’ The doctor said while standing up. ‘I am afraid you have to stay with us a bit longer than I expected.

But Doctor Morrison was wrong. Jojo was real - as real as my own self. That no one else was able to see him was perhaps because of a difference in perspectives.

I first met Jojo the day the old turtle in our backyard died. I was sitting on the grass, cradling the dead turtle’s head on my lap. I was caressing his cold, mottled shell and was crying big, fat tears of loss.

‘What is wrong? Why are you crying?’ I felt the comfort of his shadow before hearing his words.

I looked up. The sun was in my eyes and I couldn’t see his face clearly. So I squinted under the palm of my right hand. Slowly and gradually, his face began making sense. A warm smile under two dark and shiny eyes. The eyes were under the umbrella of thick bushy eyebrows and unkempt hair. He was a little older than me, but dressed and looked exactly like me.

‘I am crying because the turtle doesn’t talk to me anymore.’ I explained from behind a grey mist of tears. ‘He doesn’t move, and he doesn’t laugh. There is something wrong with him, and I can’t seem to put it right, no matter how hard I try.’

‘The turtle will never walk and talk again. He will neither laugh nor smile.’ The boy said in a matter-of-fact tone.

‘But why……?’ I felt a fresh torrent of tears ready to burst forth. ‘What is wrong with him?’

‘Nothing is wrong with him. He is just dead.’ He announced.

‘What is ‘dead’?’ I asked. It was a new word in my vocabulary.

‘Dead is when a living being meets death. And death is when a living being completes one journey of life.’ He explained while sitting down on the grass beside me.

‘One journey of life?’ I was surprised. ‘Are there more than one journey?’

‘Oh yes!’ He smiled at me. ‘There are countless journeys of life - one coming after another. We live to die one day and we die to live another day.’

‘I hate death.’ I said after a while. ‘I hate it because it makes me sad.’

‘Death is not a time to be sad or cry.’ He laughed a small laugh. ‘Instead, it is to be rejoiced and celebrated.’

‘And why should I do that?’ I felt offended. ‘Death has taken away my best friend.’

‘Life doesn’t end with death. It flows on along the river of time. It flows from one being to another - to be lived and experienced and to be felt and sensed anew.’ He explained kindly.

‘And where has the turtle’s life flowed to?’ I asked with hope overcoming my sadness.

‘Perhaps it has flowed into me. Perhaps I was once the turtle.’ He placed his hand over mine, and I sensed warmth.

‘I called him Jojo.’ I pointed at the dead turtle. ‘I like this name.’ He smiled. ‘You can call me Jojo, too. I will be honored.’

‘It’s good that you no longer want to kill yourself.’ Doctor Morrison smiled at me.

‘Yes!’ I nodded my head. ‘Jojo has convinced me that my purpose has still not been fulfilled.’

‘And what is your purpose?’ The doctor asked, inscribing notes in his yellow notepad.

‘My purpose is to understand and learn the final lesson.’ I explained with a smile.

‘It is a good enough reason.’ The doctor said without looking up from his yellow notepad. ‘Is there any other reason?’

‘Yes! I am also afraid.’ I shuddered at the lingering memory of pain.

‘Afraid of what?’ He asked.

‘Pain!’ I replied.

The doctor looked up but didn’t say anything.

‘I am not afraid of the pain alone.’ I elaborated. ‘Pain comes and passes through me like wind passes through the leaves. It is chaos when the cold wind of pain blows, but when you stop focusing on the chaos, the chaos of pain becomes the order of peace.’

‘That’s indeed an interesting approach.’ The Doctor looked up at me thoughtfully.

‘I am only afraid of the pain that comes along, holding the hand of fear. Fear is what stops chaos from turning into order.’ I emphasized. The doctor didn’t respond to my comment, so I looked outside the window of his office. The bright sun reminded me of a summer afternoon from somewhere far away in my past.

‘You are crying again?’ Jojo asked me kindly.

That particular summer afternoon, I was Tarzan of the Apes and was trying to climb the mango tree in our backyard. The climb was going quite well, actually. It would have been perfect had I not tried to stand on a branch and yelled like Tarzan. It was in the middle of that jubilant yell that the branch snapped, and I fell onto hard ground, some six feet below.

‘Yes!’ I said, holding my bleeding knee. ‘Can’t you see I am bleeding?’

‘Yes, you are bleeding.’ He peered closely at my wound. ‘Does it hurt much?’

‘No! It does not.’ I retorted. ‘It feels like a fairy has kissed me.’

‘Haha!’ Jojo threw back his hairy head and laughed.

‘Don’t laugh, please.’ I requested him while snorting away my angry tears.

‘Okay! I won’t.’ He grew serious. ‘But why don’t you tell me how it all happened?’

‘I was trying to be Tarzan………………’ I started and told him all about my burning desire to climb the tree, the intoxicating thrill when I was standing on the branch and yelling, and finally, my hurtful fall.

‘Hmm! Did you like being Tarzan?’ He asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

‘Oh yes!’ I nodded in excitement. ‘I loved it.’

Then we both looked at each other and laughed our heads off at the hilarity of the circumstances.

‘Does it hurt now?’ He asked after a while.

‘Huh?’ I checked the wound. It had stopped bleeding. ‘Not as much, I guess.’

‘Do you know why your pain has faded away?’ Jojo asked.

‘No, I do not know.’ I was bewildered. ‘You tell me.’ ‘It doesn’t hurt anymore because you stopped focusing on the pain.’ He held my hand and looked deep into my eyes. ‘Once you ignore the pain and once you refuse to become the playground of pain, it moves away.’

‘I think there is no longer any need to keep you locked up.’ Doctor Morrison smiled at me. ‘We have a wonderful room available and will be shifting you there today.’

‘And will we be………?’ I hesitatingly asked. ‘Will we be able to walk in the garden?’

‘Oh of course yes, Tom. You will be able to walk as much and for as long as you want to.’ The Doctor acted as if he didn’t notice my using the word ‘we’.

The new room was perfect. There was even a large window providing a lovey view of the lush green, hospital grounds outside. It was heavily barred of course, but it didn’t matter. Me and Jojo, we both loved it.

Life was settling into a routine once again. But this time the door wasn’t locked from the outside and there was no cold silence. Instead, the nurses’ duty station was just down the hall and I could often hear them playing music.

Ah sweet music! It reminded me of the times gone by and all that was once beautiful. It reminded me of the people that I once loved and those whom I had lost.

Then one day I met Barbara. She was a very old and sweet woman who lived next door and kept on smiling constantly. But when her demons came visiting, she transformed into a wretch, afraid of even her own image in the mirror.

Her frail body writhed in agony while the nursing staff forcefully held her down and injected her with strong sedatives. The visit of the demons took its toll and she stayed on bed for the next few days.

‘What is wrong with her?’ I once asked Timi, the kindest and most communicative of all the nurses. ‘Schizophrenia!’ She whispered back. ‘Just like yours but far more intense and darker.’

One rainy night I was jolted out of my medicine-induced sleep.

‘Wake up Tom!’ Jojo grabbed my shoulders and shook me. ‘Wake up for God’s sake!’

‘What….?’ I sat up bewildered and disoriented. ‘What is wrong?’

‘There is something wrong with Barbara.’ He motioned towards the next room. I tried to focus and could hear loud sobs.

‘Let’s go help her.’ Jojo was being very assertive.

I dragged my body out of the comfort of my bed and started looking for my slippers.

We found Barbara sitting on her bed – sobbing, while her body shook like an autumn leaf.

‘What is wrong?’ I patted her shoulder kindly. ‘Should I call the nurse?’

She didn’t answer for a while and kept on looking at me. Then she looked around the room like she was expecting someone else to appear out of thin air. She looked afraid – so very afraid. Then she stood up and went to the mirror.

‘It is inside me.’ She announced in a small voice. And then she screamed, ‘It is inside me and eating me up.’

‘Who is inside you?’ I went up to her and stood behind her, holding her frail shoulders for comfort.

‘The demon………the demons……all of them……the legion is inside me and is burning me up.’ She sobbed hysterically.

‘It’s alright.’ I turned her around and hugged her tight. ‘I am here for you.’

‘It is so very painful, Tom.’ She whimpered into the comfort of my shoulder. ‘It hurts so bad.’

‘Don’t focus on the pain Barbara.’ I rocked her gently.

‘I can’t Tom…..I can’t.’ I felt her frustrated tears soaking up my cotton shirt.

‘Tell me…..’ I was desperately thinking of saying something to distract her from pain. ‘Tell me, why do the demons visit you? Why do they hurt you?’

‘Because I have sinned.’ Her body grew tense for a moment. ‘Oh I have so grievously sinned.’

‘We are all sinners Barbara.’ I gently patted her bony back. ‘We are all terrible and pathetic sinners. But no one here is judging you for your sins and no one has the right to.’

‘The demons judge me.’ She whispered back. ‘They judge me and mock me and torment me.’

‘Do not listen to them. The demons are not………’ I so wanted to tell her that her demons were not real. But then I looked at Jojo. He was calmly sitting on the bed and looking at me with understanding and affection.

‘The demons are not what?’ Barbara detached herself from my embrace and looked at me with suspicion flashing in her cloudy blue eyes.

‘The demons are not worth listening to Barbara. Ignore them and they will go away.’

She didn’t answer me for a while and kept on searching for something else in my eyes.

‘You are a good man Tom. You are a very kind man.’ She had probably found what she was looking for. ‘Let me confess my sin to you and then maybe the demons will leave.’

I just nodded my head and softly pulled her back into my arms.

‘It was a winter evening in 1923.’ Barbara started whispering and I concentrated. ‘I was a teenaged girl and a single mother. And my daughter was so beautiful. She was just like a porcelain doll with flawless complexion, all golden curls and deep blue eyes. But I could never appreciate her beauty or the charm of her loving smile, which appeared on her face each time she looked at me.’

‘Ahan!’ I prodded her on.

‘You know why? Do you know why I couldn’t appreciate all that?’ Her voice grew into a harsh whisper.

‘No! I do not know but you can tell me why.’ I caressed her silver hair. ‘You can tell me everything.’

‘I could not see her beauty because I was addicted to morphine. I don’t remember how the habit started. Probably some client injected me and I didn’t object. Once the warmth flowed through my veins and oblivion came thereafter, I was hooked forever. I didn’t like doing it Tom…..I swear I didn’t like it. But I found relief in it. It took me away from all the pain and all the suffering. The world is a tough place Tom, and I so wanted to escape it in any way that I could.’

‘Yes the world is a tough place and life is difficult.’ I said kindly, our bodies rocking gently to the sad music of regret. ‘Please go on.’

‘That night…..’ Barbara’s voice welled up with tears again. ‘That night she was crying. My daughter was crying because she was hungry. There was no milk in my breasts. You know Tom, men don’t like their hookers with dripping breasts. My milk had all dried up and it had been snowing for the last three days. There were no clients to be found. I even tried begging but failed. There was hardly anyone in the streets. But my daughter didn’t know that. She kept on crying and finally I had to leave her alone and go out to search for food. I didn’t want to go Tom. I didn’t want to leave her alone. But I had to.’

‘I understand.’ I could feel my voice choking up too. ‘I completely understand the reasons.’

‘I went out and I found a client almost immediately.’ Barbara continued. ‘It was a miracle. I finally had something in my pocket to buy the milk for my daughter. I started walking towards my apartment building and then I came across my morphine dealer. He was a cruel man – the devil himself in flesh and blood. He sensed I had some dough on me. And then he made me an offer. I have to go home, I said. My hungry daughter is waiting for milk, I begged him. But he kept smiling. Yes go on, he said. But before you go, get some warmth in your blood. Come on….he lured me and I couldn’t ……..I simply couldn’t resist.’ Her voice broke up and she started crying again.

‘It’s okay………’ I held her close, feeling each beat of her guilty heart. ‘Go on, tell me all.’

Hearing these words, Jojo gave me an approving glance.

‘It was morning when I woke up. I was in my dealer’s bed – naked. After a few moments of recollection I suddenly thought of my daughter. I tried to find my clothes but couldn’t. I hurriedly wrapped my naked body in a blanket and ran towards home. I was crying and slipping in the freezing sludge. My knees were badly scratched and were bleeding but I kept on running. I kept on running and I kept on slipping. I thought I could hear her crying. But when I reached home she was………….’ She completely broke down and kneeled on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

‘She was already dead……wasn’t she?’ I asked coldly.

‘Yes!’ She was sobbing, each sob shaking her entire body as if trying to break it into small pieces.

I felt a sudden wave of coldness overcoming my entire being. I felt revulsion and hatred towards that miserable woman. But then I looked at Jojo. He was looking at me and smiling a kind but sad smile.

‘What?’ I asked Jojo confusedly.

‘Remember what all you have learnt so far.’ He raised his hand. ‘Try to feel your own pains. Recall your own sins and your own guilt and regret. Remember every experience that you have had and only then decide if you want to be another demon and judge this poor woman. Or if you want to be a fellow human being and understand her.’

I didn’t answer Jojo. Instead, I turned around and looked at my image in the mirror. I saw an old man whose heart was filled with regrets. I looked at my face closely. There were shadows of guilt everywhere. I could see faces reflected in those shadows – faces of all those whom I had hurt and betrayed. There were so many of them and they all contorted in agony. I looked at those contorted faces and saw my own shame being reflected back.

‘What do I do?’ I looked back at Jojo. ‘What is to be understood here?’

‘There is only a single lesson which needs to be understood.’ He said. ‘There has always been a single lesson and there will always be a single lesson. And this lesson encompasses the purpose of our lives.’

‘And what is that lesson?’ I asked.

‘Kindness….Tom!’ He got up and smiled at me. ‘The only lesson this universe and our lives teach us is kindness. Do not judge but understand and be kind.’

‘And don’t forget that the old turtle was there in your life and I am here because you wanted someone to understand you and treat you with kindness. You never wanted to be harshly judged. Now please show her the same courtesy.’

‘Is this the final lesson?’ I asked him.

‘Yes!’ He nodded. ‘I do think this is the final lesson.’

I smiled back at Jojo and then looked at Barbara. She was still kneeling on the floor, her body shaking with sobs.

‘Come on child!’ I went to her and gently pulled her up. ‘You have confessed all. Let the demons go. Their job is done.’

‘But I am so very tired Tom.’ She hugged me tightly. ‘The demons are already leaving but I also want to go now.’ ‘I understand.’ I whispered in her ear and felt her body relaxing. ‘I will help you move on.’

I am back in room 106. It is still soft-padded, has pale green walls and a white ceiling. There are neither windows nor ventilators – only a single door, which is always locked from the outside. A single fluorescent light, right in the middle of the ceiling, keeps on blinking at all times.

They accused me of killing Barbara. I haven’t denied their accusations. Jojo has also left my side, but I don’t care. Rather, I am happy because I have learnt the final lesson. And I am willing to teach you all the lessons if only you can spare some time.

Tales of the Ancient Turtle: Resurrection of the White Chrysanthemums (Previously, the Three White Chrysanthemums)

Posted in Short Stories English by

What if the man in the mental hospital who hears trees screaming isn’t mad—what if he’s the only one sane enough to hear what the rest of us have forgotten how to listen to?

A poignant narrative about a mental health patient who claims to hear everything in nature speak—trees, mountains, rivers, and a childhood friend, the ancient Turtle, who taught him that “everything carries wisdom within.”

‘Tell me, my dear…’ The old Doctor said while peering at me closely from behind his thick pebbled glasses. His kind face resembled a map of rugged terrain, marked with jagged lines and twisting contours. ‘Tell me, what do the voices ask you to do?’

We were both sitting on a concrete bench under the shade of a big banyan tree. A beautiful world, painted with liquid gold by the March sun, surrounded us. It was a small and private mental health facility being run by the good old Doctor, and I was one of its few selected residents.

‘The voices do not ask me to do anything. They just want me to listen.’ I replied.

‘Listen?’ The Doctor asked and scratched his bald head. ‘Listen to what exactly?’

‘Listen to everything — the trees, the mountains, the rivers, and the streams.’ I tried to name all my friends.

‘I see.’ The good Doctor removed his glasses and started polishing the lenses with unusual vigor. ‘And are you able to listen to all those things?’ He asked me when the ritual was complete. ‘The trees, mountains, rivers and……….’

‘…and the streams.’ I completed his sentence.

‘Yes, yes…the streams.’ He eagerly nodded his head.

‘Oh yes, I do!’ I replied with a smile. ‘I like to listen to them. They tell me about life and God, and of His grand system and scheme. They tell me that our universe is just His dream. They tell me of the past, and they tell me of the future. They tell me what is possible and what is not. But the most important thing that they tell me is that happiness is only a momentary lapse of reason and that it is the only wisdom that matters; while sadness is the eternal reality, and is the key to all wisdom.’

‘And when did this all start? This listening to…umm! Well…the things?’ The Doctor asked while getting up and started examining a dried-up chrysanthemum bush very closely.

‘It all started with the Turtle — the ancient Turtle living in our backyard.’ I said while smiling at the warm memory of my long-lost friend.

‘The Turtle is actually right.’ The old Banyan tree told me in his deep, throaty voice. He stood in the exact center of the courtyard and looked all wise and elderly.

‘Everything is alive, my little friend. Everything carries wisdom within, and everything speaks. You just have to learn to listen.’

‘What do you mean? How can everything be alive?’ I asked the tree, growing confused.

‘I am alive. Isn’t this so?’ The Banyan tree asked and chuckled softly. ‘I eat minerals from the soil and sip water through my roots. And we all can speak.’ He said while spreading his rustling branches around. ‘We all can speak — the trees and the flowers, the mountains and the springs, the sky and the moon, and even the stones and the soil.’

‘But why have I never heard them speak?’ I protested.

‘You are hearing me speak.’ The Banyan tree replied and smiled at me kindly. ‘You talk to the old Turtle all the time.’

‘Yes, but…’ I couldn’t find words to express myself.

‘Everything speaks, my friend, but everyone cannot hear the words. There are only a very few who care to make an effort. But anybody who makes an effort can hear the whispers of the universal consciousness.’ The Banyan tree explained.

‘What is that — the universal consciousness?’ The words were too big for my limited childhood understanding.

‘Be silent, you pompous ass! Do not confuse the little one.’ A familiar voice grunted from behind me.

I looked back and there stood my old friend — the ancient Turtle. Half-hidden in the overgrown and moist green grass, he was looking at me affectionately and smiling his kind, toothless smile.

‘Hey, you are finally back.’ I stated the obvious as an excited greeting. He had left for some important task a few days ago, and I missed his company badly.

‘It certainly looks like it, and you look perfectly fine.’ He sounded a bit tired. ‘Anyway, what’s going on here?’

‘I was just telling our little friend that everything is alive and everything speaks.’ The Banyan tree explained politely.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ The Turtle silenced him impatiently with a wave of its arm. ‘I wasn’t here and you thought you could go on and confuse my young friend in my absence.’

‘Oh please, Mr. Turtle, please don’t say anything to the Banyan tree.’ I ran and hugged the tree’s trunk. ‘He is my friend and he didn’t mean any harm.’

It was true. The Banyan tree was one of my many friends. Most of my summer afternoons were spent playing under its cool shade and digging for earthworms. I hugged the old gnarled tree trunk closely and could almost feel a warm and throbbing response, deep under the rough bark.

‘Little one…’ The Turtle admonished me, ‘If you choose to play with the giants, you’ve got to learn their secret little jokes too.’

He sounded pretty serious, but I could see that he was trying his best not to laugh.

‘Yes, I remember the Turtle. He was your childhood friend.’ The good Doctor was trying to flatter me, but I knew the truth.

‘You really don’t believe in the Turtle. Isn’t that so?’ I asked him with a defensive smile.

‘It does not matter what I believe in.’ He smiled back at me. ‘It is your beliefs that we are discussing. So you were saying that the Turtle told you that everything in this universe speaks?’

‘So is it true that everything in this universe speaks?’ I asked the Turtle.

It was the very next afternoon, and I was too curious about what the Banyan tree had told me. Besides, everyone else was busy taking a siesta, while I was free to roam the lonely wilderness of the backyard.

‘Oh yes, certainly, everything speaks.’ The ancient Turtle nodded his head. I could see he very much wanted to take a nap under the shade of the rose bushes, but he loved my company far more than his afternoon naps.

‘And what does everything speak of?’ I asked while tickling his old wrinkled head — a naughty but affectionate gesture.

‘Everything speaks with one voice what the universal consciousness wants it to speak of — wisdom and future.’ The Turtle answered while turning his head and looking at me with his soft, grey eyes, and then started singing:

‘Of wisdom and future and of what the universal conscience has in store for you,

of your life and the life of all others, and also of the flow of the river of time

Of what lies ahead, your life is a rose and optimism — a few drops of dew,

while pain and pleasure and sadness and joy, dance their eternal mime’

‘Hmm!’ I was a bit confused. ‘What does the universal consciousness say about me?’

‘What would you like her to say about you, little one?’ He asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

‘What will I become and what will become of me?’ I asked after thinking for a while.

‘Aha!’ The Turtle breathed a sigh of understanding and then started singing again:

‘She says that you will grow and your heart will grow even more,

and you will be wise and generous and kind to all, that’s for sure

She says that you will learn and evolve, with a light in your core,

you will walk the path and the others’ pains, you will certainly cure

She says you will love and understand all if only you find the door,

the door that opens with patience, and then shuts down no more

And she says this will all happen if you learn not to judge and ignore,

what the others say and what the others do — the pious and the whore’

‘But I don’t understand this at all.’ I said, feeling both confused and flustered.

‘Yes, you do not understand yet.’ The Turtle nodded his head wisely. ‘But you will one day. Till the day of understanding dawns upon you, just be patient and wait for the universal consciousness to work its eternal magic.’

‘But what if I fail to walk the path and what if I get lost?’ Suddenly, the fear of some strange possibility in the future gripped my heart with its cold fingers.

‘It doesn’t matter, little one.’ The Turtle said and closed his eyes drowsily. ‘It doesn’t matter what path we walk or whether we get lost. The only thing that matters is that we see, that we observe, and that we learn, while we are walking the path.’

‘Do you remember why you were brought here?’ The Doctor asked me after taking his due time to understand what I said about the Turtle and the universal conscience.

‘Oh yes, I do.’ I thought with bitterness about that cruel, summer morning.

I was on a trip to the hilly areas of the North, and I saw hundreds of trees being cut down. They were all crying with pain while the electric saws cut them into pieces. Their blood was flowing down the mountain slope, but no one but me could see it.

I sat down on my knees and touched the warm blood with my fingers. I listened to the weeping trees and felt their pain vibrating within each nerve and fiber of my own body. It became personal when the trees recognized me and started shouting my name, asking me for help.

‘You can’t do it.’ I approached the foreman of the woodcutters.

‘I can’t do what?’ He asked me, surprised at the welled-up tears in my eyes.

‘You can’t cut the trees. It’s murder.’ I said while trying to muster up some badly needed courage.

‘Trees? Murder?’ He stood there for a moment, confused by what I was saying. But then he suddenly looked up and started laughing hysterically.

‘It is no laughing matter. You are murdering the trees.’ I pleaded again while trying to ignore his insulting laughter.

‘I carry a permit. I can do whatever I want.’ He stopped laughing and replied to me sternly.

‘But they are screaming with pain and their blood is flowing in the valley.’ I begged him.

‘Who is screaming and what blood?’ He was flabbergasted. ‘Are you mad?’

I couldn’t speak as frustration and helplessness boiled up inside me.

‘Go away, son.’ The old mountain whispered in my ears. ‘They can’t see what you see, and they can’t hear what you hear. You cannot stop them.’

‘I will stop them.’ I told the mountain determinedly and then tried to snatch away the electric saw from the foreman’s hands.

‘Hey!’ The foreman was startled. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

But it was too late. Before he could move, I had already smashed the saw on a stone boulder.

‘Yes, I remember it all.’ I said while bitter tears misted up my eyes. ‘I remember the trees crying with anguish and pain, and I remember the smell of their warm, flowing blood. The memory of that massacre still haunts me.’

‘Have you considered the possibility that the trees were not crying, that there was no blood, and that the mountain was silent as he was supposed to be?’ The Doctor asked me while facing the dried-up chrysanthemum bush.

‘Have you considered the possibility that the trees were really crying, that their blood was staining the slopes, and that the mountain did try to deter me?’ I challenged his assumptions softly, with a sad smile.

‘It was all in your head, son.’ The Doctor said without turning back. ‘It was all your imagination. Only we, us humans, can talk. No one else can and no one else does.’

‘Imagination?’ I chuckled. ‘Why is that so bad? Aren’t we all the product of God’s imagination? Can’t you see that in that context, all imagination is reality?’

The Doctor did not reply and continued with his scrutiny of the almost-dead plant.

‘No, it was not my imagination. I really heard them cry and speak. As I told you earlier, everything speaks — the trees, the mountains, the rivers, and the streams. But not everyone can hear them.’

‘Hmm!’ The Doctor exclaimed and turned towards me with a tired smile. ‘This chrysanthemum plant was planted by my late wife. In her life, the plant gave us such beautiful white chrysanthemums — three flowers each morning and each one perfect in its purity, beauty, and delicacy.’

‘What happened to it?’ I asked while looking at the plant. ‘What went wrong?’

‘I do not know what went wrong. What I only know is that the day my wife died, the white chrysanthemums stopped blooming.’ He said while looking sadly at the plant. ‘But since you claim that you can talk to everything, I want you to ask this plant what went wrong.’

‘Hmm!’ I smiled at the Doctor and then looked at the chrysanthemum plant.

I asked her what went wrong, and she whispered back the truth to me. And the truth made me sad.

‘She says…’ I wiped my tears. ‘She says that your wife loved her and cared for her every day, and her love and care manifested in the beauty of the white chrysanthemums. She says that she is not being loved anymore. Instead, her roots are only watered by your bitter tears of loss and anger. And bitterness can never produce any beauty.’

‘I think it is time for you to go back to your room.’ The Doctor looked at the setting sun and waved at the two white-clad male nurses. ‘It is getting late. We will talk some other time.’

‘Think about it, my good Doctor.’ I smiled at him. ‘Please think about what I have told you.’

After the nurses took away the patient, the Doctor really did think about what the patient had told him. He stood looking at the plant for a while and then smiled and started walking away. But after walking only a few steps, he suddenly turned back. He went to the plant and then sat down cross-legged on the grass.

He thought of his departed wife, and he thought of all the love that she had given him. He also thought of his anger in believing that by dying, she had unjustly betrayed him of her presence. He smiled fondly at her happy memories. He let regret and anger flow out of his heart, and then he started whispering to the plant:

‘I know you miss her because I miss her too,

she had her love for all, not only for me and you

I miss her with longing — a dark and bitter brew,

I miss her for her sweetness, nectar of the morning dew

I treasure you and want to care for you,

but I do not know how, I swear, this is true

I want to love you because she loved you,

but I do not know how — this confession is true too’

The good Doctor sat there for a long time. His tears of sadness and love slipped down his cheeks and fell on the ground, right near the roots of the dried-up chrysanthemum plant. But when his tears dried up, he still did not get up. There was a strange solace in the company of the dead plant. He could almost smell the sweet fragrance of his long-lost wife, and he didn’t want to lose that fragrance ever again.

The next morning, the nursing staff and the gardeners found the Doctor, all curled up beside the chrysanthemum plant. At first, they thought he was just asleep, but when they tried to wake him up, he didn’t respond. He had already left.

Unlike the departed Doctor, the plant was very much alive once again, and there were three white chrysanthemums, smiling and gently swaying in the morning breeze.