“Oh, that reminds me—one sandwich,” Dr. Avanthikar said, wagging a finger at him. She’d heard them yesterday when the amnesiac promised to bring Hemu the American snack to try, and had decided to allow it. “One.”
Her tone made him happy. It wasn’t the tone of a doctor assessing a patient’s nutrition. It was the tone of a mother allowing her son to bend the rules because she loved him. She cared about Hemu as much as Dr. Zadeh cared about the amnesiac. “Got it,” he smiled. “One sandwich.”
She winked and opened the door to Hemu’s room to show him in. From the couch, Hemu stared at Dr. Avanthikar for so long as she patiently reintroduced the two of them and stuck wire sensor pads on their heads again to hook them back up to their machines, the amnesiac was afraid he’d forgotten everything that happened yesterday. But when she finally left the room and the low hum told him they’d started monitoring, Hemu smiled.
“I thought you might not remember me,” the amnesiac confessed.
“Oh, I remember you,” he said. “I just don’t know who she was, who came with you.”
“She’s a doctor,” the amnesiac replied. “Here to help you.” He tried not to think about her in there, sitting in the room behind the one where they were, listening. If she’d been hurt when she heard Hemu’s words. “But how are you today? How do you feel?”
“I’m all right,” he replied. “I did a lot of thinking last night. About what you said, that you’d remember for me whatever I can tell you. At first I wasn’t sure I was going to talk about this with you, but I think I should. We haven’t known each other long, and I know our afflictions aren’t the same, but I think you’ll be more likely to understand than anyone. I think you’re the best person to tell.”
The amnesiac put his hand up. “I’m honored to hear anything you want to share. But we have plenty of time, Hemu. I don’t want you to feel pressured to share personal things with me until you feel comfortable. The Indian government granted me permission to work with your doctors for a full month, with the possibility of extension if necessary, even. We—”
“That doesn’t mean we actually have a month,” Hemu interrupted. He shrugged. “You know?”
He did know. The amnesiac looked down, unable to meet Hemu’s eyes. “I hope we have more time than that.”
“Me too,” Hemu said. “But in case we don’t, there’s something very important, something I’ve been working on since I was brought here—ever since I realized I’d started forgetting things. I want you to help me remember it.” He drew in a long breath. “Gajarajan Guruvayur Kesavan.”
The amnesiac simply nodded, intimidated by the number of syllables. “Another god?” he asked at last.
Hemu shook his head, expression intensely serious. The wires hung like a headdress from him. “Guruvayur Kesavan was an elephant. Gajarajan—the king of elephants. He lived at Guruvayur Temple, in Kerala.”
The amnesiac tried to keep all the terms straight. “Do they worship the sun god Surya at Guru—Guruvayur Temple?” he guessed hopefully.
“No,” Hemu said. He turned around and patted the cushions of his couch. “Guruvayur Temple is dedicated to the worship of Vishnu, in the form of Krishna. His eighth and final form,” he explained absently, checking beneath another cushion.
“There are a lot of names in the Rigveda,” the amnesiac sighed.
“No, forget the Rigveda for now. This isn’t ancient lore. Gajarajan was real—a real, living, breathing elephant. From the 1970s! I’m not talking about classical Hindu legends—I’m talking about research. Modern scientific research. My research.”
“Your research?” the amnesiac repeated, but Hemu was distracted.
“Where is it?” he mumbled, picking up the pillows to see if anything was beneath them. “Hello?” he called. The amnesiac could see Hemu was working back through what he’d just explained about Dr. Avanthikar, while he still remembered it. “Doctor—with the silver hair?”
After a moment, the door opened. Dr. Avanthikar’s head poked into the room, braid swinging from over her shoulder. “You left it in your sleeping room.” An aide appeared behind her in the doorway, evidently having had gone to retrieve the thing Hemu had been looking for. “Here it is.” She crossed the room to them, something tucked under her arm.
He felt sad to see her then. “Thank you, Dr. Avanthikar,” the amnesiac said, using her name. He wanted to somehow apologize, for bringing out the fact that Hemu had forgotten her overnight.
“It’s all right,” she said to him gently, and smiled. She understood what he was trying to do. She handed Hemu a three-ring binder, nearly stuffed, and went back to the observation room. Tiny corners of mismatched paper stuck out from every angle, pages Hemu had torn out from elsewhere and pasted in.