DECAY

He became an errand boy at a government office. He went before others, swept the floors with considerable energy and spent the rest of the day arranging for hot tea and cold drinking water for everyone.

"How old are you?" the man filling in his paperwork had asked. 

"Sixteen," he had answered. 

The man had looked at him, shrugged and entered it into the official records.

His reverie was disrupted by the sound of a sheet being torn. The doctor had made two neat columns, one was a list of specialists Ambika Prasad could consult. The other was an index of the tests he had to undergo without any delay. 

"And this is where Ambika-ji, I stop being of use to you," Dr Sikdar said. He had opened his glasses and was cleaning them with a soft, fresh wipe. "Of course, I know all of them from the club. I can talk to them if you need any help. Getting something clarified, you know. I don't think I can arrange a discount, heh heh."

"You will notice that I have not recommended any clinic or hospital," Dr Sikdar continued, putting his glasses back on. He leant forward, tapping with his pen on the torn sheet that lay in front of his patient. "Most of these guys have their preferences, not that I support such arrangements or anything."

Ambika Prasad folded the prescription into a precise rectangle and put it in the front pocket of his shirt. He thanked the doctor and got up to leave. The doctor's chamber adjoined a pharmacy, it served as a thoroughfare. Dr Udayan Sikdar saw the mild-mannered Ambika Prasad, clad in a spotless white dhoti and a white shirt, slowly walk away towards the light outside.

"You will have to see a specialist, Ambika-ji, you won't be able to go through this alone," the doctor called out after him.