A River Sutra by Gita Mehta

Author:Gita Mehta [Mehta, Gita]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Fiction, Literary
ISBN: 9780679752479
Google: PG4eOB16F_wC
Amazon: 0679752471
Publisher: Vintage
Published: 1994-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

Dr. Mitra had been away in Delhi attending a medical conference. Now we were sitting on the wide veranda of the bungalow having tea while I brought him up to date with Nitin Bose's story.

It was late afternoon and the sultry atmosphere that precedes the monsoons seemed to be lifting at last. A light breeze was blowing in from the river, bringing hope of rain.

"An interesting case," Dr. Mitra observed as I ended my account. "But probably not unusual."

A sudden bark of laughter shook the lanky frame on which the white cotton shirt and trousers seemed to flap as if suspended on a hanger. "Someone is sure to commemorate Nitin Bose's recovery by building a temple where he immersed the idol. It will become a place of pilgrimage, attracting hosts of lunatics to your riverbank."

"Have you ever had patients who claimed to be possessed?" I asked, unable to imagine anyone sharing Nitin Bose's ailment.

"Not possessed exactly, but pulled in two directions. Only to be expected when we are sitting on the battleground between the Aryans and the preAryans."

I idly watched a fallen blossom roll across the grass below the veranda. "What does that have to do with being possessed?"

"My dear fellow. This is where the war for the possession of India was fought—pitting Aryan reason against the primal beliefs of the tribals. Though they weren't tribals at all, really. As Nitin Bose noted in his diary, they had a civilization long before the Aryans arrived, with great cities and so forth. Called themselves Nagas and worshipped the Naga, the snake. In my opinion the Sanskrit word for city, nagara, comes from them."

He stretched out his long legs and leaned back into the cushions of the cane armchair, narrowing his eyes against the afternoon sun slanting across the river. "Did you know 'narmada' means 'whore' in Sanskrit?"

I was offended. "That's impossible. The Narmada is the holiest river in India."

He turned toward me, his lean face creased with amusement. "Ah, yes. I forgot. A mere glimpse of the Narmada's waters is supposed to cleanse a human being of generations of sinful births. Just think how pure you and I must be, gazing on this river every day."

I ignored Dr. Mitra's sarcasm. "So Narmada is unlikely to mean whore."

He shook a bony forefinger at me. "I hope you are not contracting the fatal Indian disease of making everything holy, my friend. The Narmada is already too holy by half. Do you know how many sacred spots there are supposed to be on her banks? Four hundred billion, according to the Puranic scriptures."

I didn't argue. Dr. Mitra is something of a scholar on the Narmada, part of the general eccentricity of his nature that has led him to run a six-bed hospital in the small town of Rudra in preference to the lucrative practice that his many medical degrees could have gained him in any of our large cities. He maintains that he encounters more interesting patients here than he could hope to find

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