Dr. A. Mukherjee, M.D. Nothing else. No parade of degrees filling pages, no glittering accolades from foreign universities. Yet, to the people of this town, he is almost godlike. Patients believe that if they can just stand before Dr. Mukherjee once, half of their ailments vanish.
A doctor in his mid-forties, Dr. Mukherjee barely has time to eat or sleep while visiting patients. His attendant struggles to keep up with the constant influx of people trying to register for an appointment. Every day, the number of patients exceeds the limit Dr. Mukherjee sets, and the poor attendant gets scolded regularly.
The situation has reached the point where Dr. Mukherjee starts his consultations at around 11 a.m., but patients begin arriving as early as 2 or 2:30 a.m. The town is surrounded by many villages, and most of his patients are poor villagers. Despite his growing fame and reputation, his consultation fee remains surprisingly low. He could easily raise it but chooses not to, considering the plight of the poor.
It was nearly 4 p.m., and Dr. Mukherjee was exhausted and drained. His body couldn’t take it anymore. He needed rest—undisturbed, long, and peaceful rest. Just then, the young attendant entered the chamber.
“What now?” Dr. Mukherjee asked, slightly irritated. “How many more? I need to rest. And before that, I need a strong cup of tea. Inform inside.”
“Sir, for now, no one else. There’s just an elderly woman who won’t listen to anything. She’s insistent on meeting you. She won’t say what’s wrong, just that she needs to see you. She’s absolutely stubborn.”
“Alright, send her in.” Dr. Mukherjee waited; a bit concerned.
It was autumn. The soft rays of the late afternoon sun streamed through the ventilator and fell obliquely on the chair where patients sat. Just then, he saw an elderly woman hesitantly pushing the door open and entering. She seemed to be over 60 years old. She walked slowly and stood before him.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, but as soon as he looked at her face, he was startled.
“Is it… you, Bouma?” (daughter-in-law in Bengali, but often used endearingly for close individuals)
The woman’s face, heavy with hope and doubt, lit up like a fluorescent lamp. At the same time, she appeared deeply astonished.
“Anibaba (a term of endearment), you recognized me? After all these years, you still recognized me. I can’t believe it. How are you, my child? It’s been ages since I saw you.” She said all this in one breath, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face.
Dr. A. Mukherjee, or Anurag Mukherjee, stood up from his chair and faced the woman.
“It’s been so long since I saw you, Bouma. Where have you been all this time? What happened to you? Alright, we’ll talk about everything later. Come, let’s go inside.” Holding her hand, he began to walk toward the inner part of the house.
As they walked, a flood of memories and events filled his mind. How strange the human mind is! School ended so many years ago. At first, he used to remember those days vividly. And every time he did, his heart would sink, and tears would well up. He would feel like running back to Bouma.
Then came medical college. Over time, Bouma’s memories began to fade, lost in the demands of life. In these many long years, he hadn’t thought of her once. And yet, Anurag knew very well how unbearable those days would have been without Bouma.
Meeting her today after all this time felt like a massive door—not just any door, but a grand gate—opening wide. And through it rushed the past, pouring into the present like a tidal wave.
When Anurag’s mother passed away, he was very young. He didn’t even remember her face clearly—just a vague outline, hazy events that felt like they belonged to a past life rather than this one.
His father never remarried, despite the suggestions of relatives. They coaxed him initially, as people usually do, but soon lost interest and stopped following up. Despite the challenges of raising a motherless child while working a job, his father refused to remarry.
Anurag’s father had found a dependable housemaid who had been with their family for years. This woman managed the household and took care of Anurag while his father worked. She made up for the absence of a mother as much as she could.
Still, Anurag’s father worried constantly as he watched his son grow. Returning home late from work, he had little time to supervise Anurag’s studies. Though a tutor was hired, his father couldn’t sit with him for lessons late at night.
When Anurag reached sixth grade, his father made the difficult decision to enroll him in the residential school at Ramakrishna Mission in Narendrapur. This meant he would stay in the hostel and study there. The decision was not easy, and his father spent many sleepless nights debating it.
He worried: Was he doing the right thing by sending his only son away? Could he even live without his child nearby? Questions like these haunted him.
But in the end, the Mission’s reputation and Anurag’s future sealed the decision. There was something else too. Anurag, the motherless boy, didn’t even know how to pour himself a glass of water. The maid, Shila Mashi, stayed with them and took care of everything. Everyone had indulged Anurag a little more because of his mother’s absence. No one ever thought to teach him the basics of managing a household.
(Two)
When Anu entered hostel life, it was like being lost in the middle of the ocean. He couldn’t do anything. To be honest, he didn’t even have the courage to do anything. He had to hide his face and cry alone. It was at that time that Bouma came into his life. Bouma was a staff member at their hostel. The boys, and even the other staff, didn’t know Bouma’s real name. Perhaps Sir knew it, meaning the hostel superintendent. Everyone called her Bouma, and over time that name became natural. No one ever thought she could have another name. Bouma began slowly teaching Anu everything. To put it simply, she tried to take care of him with a mother’s affection. Everything Anu had to do to survive, he learned from Bouma. In fact, whenever Anu had fever or chills, Bouma stayed up all night to take care of him. Like the other boys, Anu would call her Bouma, but in his heart, she was his mother. Since Anu’s own mother was not around, Bouma unknowingly became his mother. Up until the secondary school exams, for six years, Bouma came to see Anu as her own son. She kept an eye on him whenever she had free time. She knew by heart whenever he needed something. Several times, Bouma took Anu to her village house, of course with permission from the hostel superintendent. And Anu was the only one who knew Bouma’s real name. Her name was Kajol. But Anu never told anyone her name. At that time, Anu thought that when his studies were over, he would take Bouma to their house with him. Then, there would be no void due to the lack of a mother. He sometimes told Bouma this. Bouma just smiled when she heard it. Whenever Anu’s father came to visit the hostel, he would never leave without seeing Bouma. He would tell his father,
“-Dad, when my studies here are finished, I will take Bouma with me to our home, okay?”
“-Sure, that will happen.” As Bouma knew, Anu’s father also knew this wasn’t possible. Yet, he had to agree with Anu.
(Three)
Bouma, or Kajol, Kajol Sadhu, had been married at a very young age. A few days after her marriage, her husband died in a road accident. Then, as often happens in uneducated, superstitious families, all the blame was placed on the new bride. Various kinds of abuse began. She couldn’t last long. Kajol returned to her parents’ house. In the beginning, she kept to herself, as if all the blame was hers. She lived in agony, as if dead inside. Slowly, she began to return to normal. She got involved in household work and started looking after her nephews and nieces. Her parents never mentioned her in-laws again. Yet, her parents were still concerned about her. Everything seemed fine now, but what would happen when they were no longer around? What if her brothers didn’t care? This happens in many families. At that time, a distant relative of Kajol came to their house. He learned everything about Kajol and asked, “Would Kajol work if she got a job? What kind of job is it?” This man worked in a mission school’s hostel, and they were looking for a helper for the kitchen. If Kajol was willing, he could tell Maharaj. Kajol agreed in an instant. Since then, Kajol has been working in the hostel. Maharaj, hearing everything about Kajol, gave her the job and called her Bouma as soon as he saw her. From then on, Kajol became known as Bouma in the hostel.
In every girl, there is a mother. If time and circumstances allow, this motherhood awakens. In Kajol’s case, this sense of motherhood awakened in her through Anu. The void created by not having her own child was unknowingly filled by Anu. After finishing his studies at the mission school, the day Anu was leaving the hostel to go home, Kajol intentionally distanced herself. By that time, she had realized how strong Anu’s stubbornness was. She didn’t want to create an awkward situation. That day, Anu searched for Bouma like a madman, but no one could tell him where she was. He left crying.
And Kajol? She wasn’t fine either. Losing her husband had caused her pain, but losing a child probably hurt more. Kajol cried like a madwoman. She couldn’t go to work for two days.
After Anu was admitted to medical college, the pressure of studies and his new friends made him forget Bouma. A child may sometimes forget their mother, but a mother can never forget her child, no matter what. This is what happened with Kajol. She never forgot Anu. The love and care she had for him flowed like a river, centered on Anu, and it never stopped. She kept track of Anu in various ways from different sources. She was happy with every success of Anu’s. Eventually, she had to leave her job at the hostel and settle at home. The pain increased after that.
Several years later, one day, she told her brother,
“-Brother, I’m very sad for Anu. I must see him once. I can’t bear it anymore.”
Her brother laughed and said, “-Oh, crazy girl, does he even remember you enough for you to go see him?”
“-My heart tells me he won’t forget me. And even if he does, I still want to stand in front of him once.”
Today is that day. Bouma is now before Dr. A. Mukherjee. Anu, by then, has already taken Bouma inside the house.
“-Look, look, Piya, who I’ve brought, where are you?” Anurag’s wife, probably doing something in the kitchen, quickly came out and stood in front. Looking at Dr. Mukherjee’s beaming face, Piya asked, “Who is this, I don’t think I’ve seen her before?”
“-How would you have seen her? I’m the one who saw her after so many years. This is my lost... I was about to say Bouma, but I said my mother. Do you understand, my mother? From now on, she will stay with us. She has come from far away, make arrangements for her food and drink, she’ll stay in the room next door. Hurry up with those arrangements. I’ll be downstairs.”
“Today I won’t be working in the second half. I’m taking a break, as I’m so happy to get my mother back. I’m going to leave the notice now.”