Unshaken Faith: The Price of a Promise

Punni Majhi sat before me in my OPD, her eyes filled with faith and expectation. She had traveled from a small village in Jharkhand, carrying with her the words of a fellow villager who told her about me—a "magician surgeon" who could solve any problem.

I didn’t know yet what troubled her, but she insisted that I was the only one who could help. She had been saving for five long years for this moment, and now she was here, ready.

Her conviction intrigued me. What could have driven this young woman to hold on to such faith in a doctor she had never met?

Then, slowly, she lifted the cloth covering her belly. The moment she did, a familiar, unpleasant smell filled the room—the unmistakable scent of fecal matter. My eyes went to the lower part of her abdomen, where an unnatural opening allowed stool to pass. A fecal fistula.

Puni’s voice was steady, but beneath it, I could hear the weight of years of suffering. She told me how, at 18, she had been married. Not long after, she became pregnant. But her husband did not want the child. There was no discussion, no choice—just a decision imposed upon her. A local quack performed the abortion. What should have been a moment of medical care turned into a catastrophe. Something had gone wrong, and soon, she realized that stool was leaking from her abdomen.

At first, she thought it was temporary. Maybe an infection. Maybe it would heal. But as the days turned into weeks, and the smell became unbearable, her husband’s patience ran out. He abandoned her, leaving her to survive on her own. Alone, humiliated, and unable to afford treatment, she took a job as an Anganwadi worker, saving every rupee she could.

Five years later, she had managed to save ₹5000. And today, she placed that money before me with the confidence of someone who believed she had brought exactly what was needed.

I looked at her, at the thin, determined face that had endured rejection, pain, and five years of silent suffering. To her, I was not just a surgeon. I was the answer to a prayer.

I glanced at the crumpled notes she had pulled from her purse. Five thousand rupees. How many more years would it take for her to reach the one lakh rupees needed for the surgery? And how many more years could she survive like this?

Her eyes never wavered. She was sure she had found the right place. The right person.

For me, it was a moment of decision. I could say no. I could tell her to come back when she had more money. But how long would that take? Would she even survive until then?

Or I could say yes. Yes, despite having no plan. Yes, despite not knowing how I would arrange the hospital, the medicine, the blood, the surgical team.

And so, without hesitation, I said, "Get admitted."

Puni clutched her purse tightly and nodded. For her, the journey had reached its final step.

For me, it had only begun.

To be continued………..

Read tomorrow what happened next...

Dr Biswajit Mohapatra