A steady stream of people are going in and out through the glass doors of the main entrance. Each time the doors open, I see nurses dressed in white and nuns in wimples going about their business.
I’ve never been inside a hospital, never been this close to one. Even from here, twenty feet from the entrance, I detect a strong odor—foreign to me—but I don’t know where it comes from, or what it is.
A young nurse who has just come through the door seems to sense I’m lost and asks if she can help me.
“Yes, please. Do you know where Mrs. Kumar works?”
She tells me that around the corner of the building, to the left, I’ll see a door marked “Community Clinic,” and points the way. She’s assuming I can read, which makes me grateful to her, and I thank her for her help.
There are two doors on the left side of the building, but only one has writing on it. If not for the nurse, I wouldn’t have known which door to try.
When I cross the threshold, I find myself in a room with walls painted the color of lichen. The four people sitting on chairs set against one wall are wearing vests and skirts and local headdresses. A pretty woman in a sari sits behind a desk writing something on a piece of paper. She wears black eyeglasses and pink lipstick. Her hair is styled in one long braid down her back.
When I step forward, she says, “May I help you?”
Before I can answer, Lakshmi Kumar steps through a white curtain covering the entrance to another room and calls out “Nimmi!” She has on a long white coat that’s covering her sari. I can tell by her smile that she’s pleased to see me. Suddenly, I feel self-conscious. In my finest dress, silver jewelry and the medallion on my forehead, I look so out of place. The hill people, the receptionist and Lakshmi are in their everyday clothes. But Lakshmi grins at me reassuringly.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she says. “I’ll be right with you.”
She holds the curtain open to allow another woman to exit the room they were in. She’s a hill woman, and the girl whose hand she’s holding has a fresh white bandage on her arm. The woman and child go to the front desk, and Lakshmi follows. To the woman behind the desk, she says, “Please tell her to put ointment on the wound only after she has washed her hands with hot water and soap. Tell her it’s important.”
The receptionist repeats Lakshmi’s instructions in another dialect, and the woman wags her head to indicate she understands. Lakshmi smiles at the child and fetches a red balloon made to look like a monkey from behind the desk. It looks just like the animal balloons the vendor next to my stall sells. That must be where Lakshmi buys them. That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
Lakshmi, grinning, turns to me. “Tell me you’re taking me up on my offer.”
I wag my head, which can mean yes, or no, or we’ll see.
Lakshmi grins as if I’ve said yes. She turns to the receptionist. “Sarita, this is Nimmi. You’ll be seeing her more often.”
Now Lakshmi takes me by the arm. “Come. I’ll show you the garden. But I must be quick because we have a few more patients waiting. Dr. Kumar is in the other exam room. When he’s finished with his patient, I’ll introduce you to him.”
She leads me into a long corridor. A few steps farther and we’ve come out of the back of the building, where I see a neatly laid-out garden that’s twice as large as the footprint of the clinic. It’s surrounded by a wooden fence. Each row is carefully labeled, I imagine with Lakshmi’s handwriting on a wooden stake. I can see the soil has been turned recently and some rows have been tilled but not yet planted. Off to one side are more mature trees, like nag kesar, whose leaves our tribe always uses to make a poultice for head colds. I spot a spindly tree, struggling to survive.
Mrs. Kumar sees where I’m looking, and laughs. “That’s me being hopeful,” she says. “The powder I make from a sandalwood tree is good for relieving headaches, but I haven’t found the right place for it. I’ll keep trying until I find it.”
Three-foot shrubs are planted next to the trees. I recognize moonseed, brahmi and wild senna.
“I’ve set some rows aside where we can grow the flowers you provide for poultices and treatments.”
Lakshmi talks as if I have already accepted her offer. When I nod, again, I realize I haven’t said a word since I came into the clinic.
“In Jaipur I used herbal remedies made from native plants to heal women’s ailments. I’ve been doing the same in Shimla, using plants that grow only here. Shimla’s climate is so different from Jaipur’s. I had to learn about the native herbs and flowers that grow in this soil, in these foothills.” She pauses, looking at me. Maybe thinking that she’s telling me too much? Or is she waiting for me to respond to what she’s telling me or to ask a question? I’m not sure, so I say nothing. In a moment, she continues.
“There’s so much more to learn. That sik dish you made from local fruit for one of our patients? If you can do that, just imagine how much more you can do with medicinal plants that grow in the higher elevations. You could help so many of the people who come to our clinic, Nimmi. Let’s try growing those same plants in the Healing Garden and see what happens!”
Lakshmi’s blue eyes are sparkling with excitement, and she bends down and grabs a handful of soil. “I’ve put different ingredients in the soil, trying to make it as rich as it can be—and also a little less acidic.” She lets the dirt—moist, black, free of twigs, pebbles and leaves—fall through her fingers. “Mostly I’ve been using pulverized limestone—” She stops, turns to me and laughs. “I’m going on and on, aren’t I?”
She rubs her hands together to get rid of the soil. “Shall we get started on the paperwork to see that you get paid on time?”
As always, Lakshmi exudes confidence. I have to wonder if she’s ever failed at anything. If any of her many plans have not worked out. Is she so confident because things always go the way she means them to? Did she always know Malik would agree to go to Jaipur for his apprenticeship? Does she mean to keep him there...forever?
“After we’ve done the paperwork, I’ll introduce you to the staff,” she says, already on her way to the back door of the clinic. “We’ll draw up a list of plants you think we’ll need to fill out our garden. Our tools are in that shed. I use dung for fertilizer—cow or sheep or goat, depending. Bhagwan knows there’s plenty of the stuff to go around, though certain of the staff complain about the odor of the sheep dung!”
The afternoon passes quickly. Given my dress and jewelry, most of the staff I’m introduced to would normally stare at me on the street, but here they’re polite to my face, murmuring welcomes. I can tell by the way they defer to her that they obviously respect Mrs. Kumar. After we wash our hands—with more soap than I’ve ever used in life at one time—she introduces me to her husband. I’ve been curious to meet the man Malik has told me so much about. Dr. Jay, as Malik calls him, is tall, taller than anyone I’ve met. His black-and-white curls are in disarray over his forehead. He has gray eyes, both observant and kind. When he first sees me, his eyes flit to my silver medallion, my skirt, the overhead ceiling fan and his shoes. He’s shy, like my Rekha. His smile reveals two overlapping front teeth. I find myself smiling back at him.
“So this is the mother of the charming Rekha and little Chullu! Pleased to meet you. If Sister out there weren’t watching me, Rekha would be able to charm me out of the whole lot of animal balloons Mrs. Kumar stocks!” The skin around his eyes crinkles into small folds when he smiles.