the God-Man

The God –Man

I started my first clinic in the center of town, the down town if you will.  (I am not there anymore). It was an area populated by daily wage earners, small (very small) businessmen and drunkards. I could not stay there after 6 pm as that was when the drinking and debauchery started. The friendly pharmacist down the road turned his shop into a video parlour  after 6 pm and showed movies. He also sold some marijuana on the side. To add to my woes, the two main political parties were evenly represented there. They got into drunken brawls and flung aerated pop bottles at each other. The police did not come even if you called.

During the day the area was peaceful and quiet. It was only at dusk that its character changed

 A fourteen year old boy was brought one day. His drunken father had flung a brick at him. There was a large gash on his head and blood was spurting everywhere. The boys eyes were rolling up and he made strange guttural sounds.

“You need to go to a big hospital. He needs a CT scan. I don’t tackle emergencies like this.“

The leaders of the two political parties were milling around.

“Do something,” they said, “otherwise why are you here?”

Perhaps because I do a 9-5 consultation practice and give immunizations?

I did not dare to say this though.

 “I will stich up the wound and give you a letter.”

The bleeding stopped after seven sutures. I wrote out an elaborate and detailed letter, mainly absolving myself from further responsibility.

When I went home that evening I found the letter in a ditch. I did not see the boy again, not even to remove the sutures. Perhaps they are still in his head?

Ten years passed, I shifted to my own premises in a better and safer area. The town was agog with the news of a new God Man. Apparently he sat under a tree on the outskirts of town and prophesied. He saw visions which he described in lucid detail. He was beginning to make a name for himself. People came from far and wide to see him. Foreigners flocked to n him. The village road was full of traffic as vans taxis and buses plied people to him.

My neighbor (her house was next to the clinic) went to see him.

“Yo” she said, “I waited an hour to see the God. What a waste. He is the son of that drunken fool who lived here. He was actually my daughter’s classmate.”

Foreign money started to pour in. He built an edifice for himself. It became a tourist attraction. He employed accountants and mangers. The entire area he used to live in prospered. He employed relatives and neighbours as gardeners, cleaners and the educated ones in the offices, restaurants  and shops for the tourists visiting him .

He gave darshans and people threw money at him.

I wonder if his visions  are temporal lobe seizures.

On the other hand, a prophet is never recognized in his own country!