Tuesday, 6 June 2017

Anamika's Curse

Put this on the girl.” The astrologer held out a small copper tube on a black string. “Then she’ll be all right.”

Anamika’s mum snatched the tube as though it were a life raft in the middle of the ocean. “You’re sure she’ll be all right?” she asked, her thin face filled with desperate eagerness.

“Didn’t I say so?” The astrologer held out his hand for the money. “I’ve checked her horoscope. It’s just a malign influence of the planets.”

Anamika’s mum nodded, fumbling in her handbag. “But the doctors in the hospital said…”

“What do the doctors know?” The astrologer’s oily face shone with sweat despite the small-bladed ceiling fan stirring the air in the room. He had two lower missing front teeth. When he grinned, as he did while taking the roll of pink two thousand rupee notes, the remaining teeth looked like yellow-brown pegs stuck in his mouth. “Doctors know nothing except what their foreign books tell them. It’s just a matter of correcting astral influences.”

“Yes, well…” Anamika’s mum still looked anxious. “How long will it be before she’s fully healed? I mean, she’s been fainting and we’re scared of what might happen at school, and…”

Anamika wished they didn’t talk about her as though she weren’t right there, perched on the chair whose sharp edge was digging into her thighs. She didn’t want to be there anyway. It wasn’t she who’d wanted to come.   

“Didn’t I tell you she’d be all right?” The astrologer peered over their shoulders at the door, already waiting for his next client. The waiting room outside was so crowded that people were spilling into the street. “If you don’t have faith, it won’t work anyway, and…”

“No, no, I didn’t mean anything.” Anamika’s mum jumped up quickly, as though the astrologer would take the amulet back. “Come on, Anu.”

Anamika hated being called Anu. She climbed off the chair slowly, trying not to let it scrape her skin any more than it had already. The soles of her bare feet flinched from the grit in the thin carpet. It was a very dirty room, with dust on the shelves and streaking the one window. Even the astrologer looked dirty.

“Why doesn’t he make himself look better if he knows so much?” she asked as she and her mum put on their shoes outside. “At least he could use his astrology to lose some weight and fix his teeth.”

 Her mum glared at her. “Don’t say such things about these people,” she snapped. “They’re so good that they never do anything for themselves. Don’t you want to get well?”

“Yes, but…” Anamika tried to find words to adequately express what she was thinking. “What I mean is, if it’s so easy, why do people go to doctors? Shouldn’t they – ”

“Shh,” Anamika’s mum snapped, with a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure that nobody was listening. “Do you think all these people are fools? Don’t they want to get well too?”

Someone had been listening. It was a fat woman with a thick bun of hair. “He’s a very good astrologer,” she said severely. “He gave my Rahul an amulet, and he got a job interview call in only a few weeks. It wasn’t his fault that the board was biased and didn’t give Rahul the post.”

There was nothing Anamika had to say to that.

“Whatever he says comes true,” the woman said.

“Come along,” her mum said, mollified. “I’ll get you an ice cream.”


 Of course Anamika didn’t get better.

“I can’t understand it,” her mum said. “She fainted again in school today. And she’s growing thinner by the day, you can see it. The astrologer promised that his amulet would cure her. Should I take her back to him tomorrow? Maybe if he gave her a stronger amulet, or a ring with a power gem...”

“Don’t be stupid,” Anamika’s father snapped. “The amulet is useless. The astrologer is a fraud. I could have told you...”

“You could, could you?” her mother yelled back. “Then why didn’t you? Why didn’t you once tell me to not take her there? And now what do you want me to do?”

They leaned across the dining table at each other like snarling animals. Clapping her hands over her ears, Anamika went to her room. But her room didn’t have a door, just a curtain, and she could still hear them.

“Just tell me,” her father was raging, “why you never told me that this bad blood was in your family.”

“My family? My family?” her mum screeched in reply. “Nobody in my family had this in their lives. It must be your family.”

“Don’t lie,” her dad shouted back. “It’s not as though I even wanted a daughter. If we’d had a son...”

There was a shocked silence, which was at last broken by Anamika’s mother.

“All right,” she said. “So maybe someone cursed us. Maybe it’s our punishment for something.”

“Punishment? Curse? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Maybe it’s something she did in a past life, then.” Her mother sounded weary. “The question is, what do we do now?”

“Take her to the doctors again,” her father replied bitterly. “What else?”

“You know what they said. She’ll need medicine, injections every day, her whole life long. You think we can keep that secret?”

“And so?”

“And so? And so? How stupid are you?” Anamika’s mother hissed. “Who’s going to marry her, with her problem? Tell me that.”

“Is that all you think about? Getting her married? She’s just a girl.”

“Just a girl,” her mother repeated. “And just now you were telling me that you hadn’t wanted a daughter. And don’t you think we should think about it? Even if we’d had another child, who’d have married him, with the bad blood in the family?”

Anamika had thrown herself down on the bed and pulled the pillow over her head, but she still couldn’t drown out their voices. “Do what you want,” her father said at last. “Drag the girl off to some witch doctor if you want. I couldn’t care less.” There was a brief silence, and the front door slammed.

Anamika’s mother came into her room. “Anu?”

Anamika tried to pretend she was sleeping, but the tears catching in her throat made her breathing ragged and uneven, so her mum knew. “Anu, don’t bother about this, all right? We’ll fix this.”

“How?” Anamika asked, her head still buried under the pillow. Her breath, reflected off the mattress, was furnace-hot on her face. She wished she could stop breathing.

“I’ll find something...I’ll ask around. There must be a cure of some sort. Don’t worry.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and left, the curtain swishing shut behind her.


Make a sacrifice at the temple,” Auntie Geeta said. “The goddess answers all prayers, if the sacrifice is big enough.”

“What kind of sacrifice?” Anamika’s mother asked.

Auntie Geeta gestured vaguely. “Gold? The goddess usually wants sacrifices of gold.”

“Gold.” Anamika’s mother busied herself pouring tea. “You mean bribe the goddess?” she asked.

Auntie Geeta made a gesture of exaggerated shock. “How can you say that! I thought you were a good Hindu. You know you can’t get something for nothing.”

Anamika’s mother shrugged. “But it is that, isn’t it? And, anyway, how many people do you know whose prayers the goddess has actually answered?”

“I heard that the jeweller’s wife’s sister had many stillbirths and miscarriages until she...”

“No, no, Geeta,” Anamika’s mother said. “How many people do you, yourself, know whose prayers the goddess has answered?”

“Well, I...” Geeta’s thick-lipped mouth opened and closed, more like that of a fish than ever. “I...”

Auntie Shyama had been watching the whole thing with quiet enjoyment. She spoke up now. “Well, I might know someone...she does amazing things.”

“Amazing things?”

“Yes, with magnets and things. It’s really great.” She patted her thick thigh for emphasis. “She took away my rheumatism pain almost completely. I’ll give you the address.”

Unhappy at being upstaged, Auntie Geeta was about to say something cutting when Anamika came back from school. All three ladies turned towards her. “Anu,” her mother said, “say Namaste to your aunts.”

Anamika bent her head and joined her palms together, knowing it wasn’t enough to please her mother, but unable to do anything more. “Ah, mum...” she began.

“What are you feeding her, Amita?” Auntie Geeta sang out. “She’s as thin as a rake!”

“I do believe the poor child has flu,” Auntie Shyama said. “Come here, Anu, let me feel your forehead.”

“Mum,” Anamika repeated with increased desperation. She felt sweat stream down her face. Aunt Shyama’s huge face began to pulsate, flashing grey and white and grey. “Mum...” she wailed one more time, and fell forwards on to the tea cups.

It was the greatest entertainment Geeta and Shyama had had in weeks.


The hospital room smelt of disinfectant, and Anamika’s hand felt stiff where the needle was stuck in it and held in place with tape. The other hand was swollen and blue where the blood had leaked out from a punctured vein. Her throat hurt, too, when she tried to swallow.

She could hear voices from the doorway, and her name.

“How could you do this to her?” It was the doctor who had examined her this morning, who had embarrassed her by lifting up her gown to look at her all over. Her voice was hard and cold. “The child almost died!”

“You don’t understand.” It was Anamika’s mother. “It’s hard bringing up a daughter, and...”

“In any case, it’s our business,” Anamika’s father snapped. “This isn’t America or England that you can tell us what to do with our own child. This is...”

“This will be murder, if you don’t listen,” the doctor said. “Your daughter is very sick. It is not her fault that she’s sick, and she does not deserve to suffer.”

“Well, then, give us a solution,” her father said. “If you can do that, then, fine.”

“I’ve been telling you,” the doctor said. “Your previous doctors also told you. She’s going to need insulin injections and daily blood glucose checks, and with that she can...”

Anamika stopped listening. The words flowed round and over her, like a river, and stopped having any meaning. She felt as though she was drowning in them, as though they were filling her ears and nose and eyes. She tried to struggle to the surface, to try and breathe.

“All right,” she heard, from a very long way away. It was probably her father, but she couldn’t be sure. With the words clogging her ears, she couldn’t be sure of anything. “We’ll do as you say.”

“Yes, we’ll...” a voice that might have been her mother’s added, from a distance that was as great as that to the stars. “We’ll...”

Suddenly it was very important for Anamika to hear what the voice was saying, but it was from impossibly far away, and though she strained, she could hear less and less. The river closed in and took her under.

Then there was nothing at all.


When Anamika got back from school, Auntie Geeta and Auntie Shyama were slurping tea. They both turned to look at her.

“Anu,” her mum said. “Say Namaste to your aunties.”

“Namaste,” Anamika said dutifully. There was a gecko on the wall, and she watched it crawl up towards the corner. The gecko was small and ugly, but at least it didn’t have to be stared at by Aunties Geeta and Shyama.

“She’s looking good,” Auntie Geeta said eventually.

“Yes,” Auntie Shyama agreed reluctantly. “She’s looking good.”

“Go and change, Anu,” her mum ordered. And, just to make sure the aunties didn’t forget who was in charge here, she added, “Don’t forget to take your injection after washing your hands and feet.”

Relieved, Anamika went to her room. Through the curtain she could hear the women talking.

“We’re taking the best care of her,” her mum began proudly. “She just won’t listen, of course, these girls never listen to anything, but we make sure she gets her injections, and blood tests, and...”

“Injections, what injections,” Auntie Geeta said. “If you’d gone to the temple – ”

“If you’d gone to the woman I told you, the one with the magnets – ” Auntie Shyama said at the exact same moment.

And it was at that point that Anamika threw herself down on the bed and began to laugh.

Copyright B Purkayastha 2017

[This story is for my friend Deaglan and his daughter Niamh, who at the age of eight is successfully coping with Type I diabetes, including injecting herself with insulin, monitoring her own blood sugar, and all the other things she will have to do for the rest of her life.

It is also for every single child sick of diseases that are treatable but go neglected due to ignorance and superstition.]

1 comment:

  1. Wonderful story. I knew a Type I diabetic. Her father sold her to a sheikh when she was 16, and she converted to Islam and went on the Hajj many times, but didn't take her insulin regularly and had lost a toe and an eye when I met her. And after the eyes and toes, the kidneys are next.

    She said she didn't want to take insulin, she'd learned that making the Hajj enough times would cure her, so she was planning to make it again.

    Before 1920, Type I diabetics died in less than 3 years. As recently as 1980, diabetics could only get their blood checked at the doctor's office. They were told to stick to a very strict diet, always the same foods at exactly the same times, and the insulin (obtained at the slaughterhouse from cows and pigs) that a week or two in hospital had been matched to the strict diet they were given. Few lived to be 60. They lost eyes and toes and kidneys and had strokes, all caused by having high sugars. And most doctors recommended high sugars to prevent passing out from sugars that were too low.

    Then came home blood sugar meters. And then new insulins, not from cows and pigs, but from bacteria with human genes that produce human insulin. And then newer insulins that get into the blood faster than normal human insulin (the pancreas puts insulin directly into the blood; diabetics stick the insulin into the fat under the skin, and it slowly seeps into the blood, but now it seeps much faster than before).

    So the diabetics who check their blood frequently and take insulin if their sugar is high or eat something if their sugar is low should have no problems and can live as long as those without diabetes.

    So I do believe in miracles.



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