The Ones You Didn’t

“So this is where you reveal the magic,” said Dr. Abhinash Samant as he entered the studio.

Vijay turned around and greeted him with a smile. “Welcome to the small studio of The Shadow History. I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”

Abhinash closed the map app on his phone. “The roads are like a maze, but technology comes to the rescue,” he said, looking around. “The studio is quite spacious for a YouTube podcast. And the ambience is excellent.”

Vijay smiled. “Meet Bunty Bhai. He helps me with the production.”

As Bunty Bhai greeted him, Vijay added, “Why don’t you freshen up? I’ll ask someone to show you to the makeup room.”

Inside the makeup room, the artist said, “Please freshen up. We’ll do a quick touch-up in five minutes. Would you like tea or coffee?”

Abhinash picked up a bottle of water from the table. “This will be fine.” He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Did you send the promotional material to Vijay?” he asked. “I don’t see anything here.” Without waiting for a response, he continued, “And make sure the Dronagiri video is shown during the podcast. I don’t want any goof-ups. Fix it.” He disconnected the call.

He adjusted his coat in front of the mirror, inspecting his clean-shaven face for missed spots.

The makeup artist entered. “Shall we start?”

“I’ll just do a light touch-up, sir,” the man said as he opened his kit. “We want a natural look on camera. Bunty Bhai will handle the rest in post-production.”

Abhinash smiled faintly as the brush moved across his face.

Vijay stepped in. “We’re ready. Whenever you are.”

Abhinash stood up, looked at himself once more in the mirror, and said, “Fine. I’m ready.”

They walked out together. The studio was set. Two cups of coffee steamed gently on the table. The lighting was warm, the yellow bulbs blending neatly with the walls. A stack of books lay on the table: Doctor on Wheels. Resting on top was a magnifying glass. That was the signature prop of The Shadow History. Abhinash glanced at it and smiled. “At your age, you need an ophthalmologist, not a magnifying glass.”

Vijay laughed. “My eyes are fine. This is to magnify history, to uncover the hidden side of the guest.” He added casually, “I got a call from your hospital. I hope everything meets your expectations.”

“Of course,” Abhinash replied. “I was telling my staff they were worrying unnecessarily. After all, it’s The Shadow History. Everything will be perfect. Did they trouble you?”

“No,” Vijay said. “They were just doing their job. In a way, we’re like surgeons. Ready just in time. Not before.”

Both laughed. Vijay took his seat on the couch and gestured for Abhinash to sit opposite him. From behind the camera, Bunty Bhai said, “Rolling in five… four… three… two… one.”

Vijay: Dr. Abhinash Samant, one of India’s well-known general surgeons. A man credited with saving thousands of lives. Known for his skill and for his commitment to improving medical access in rural areas. It’s an honour for The Shadow History to host him today. We’ll talk about his journey and his upcoming hospital, a project very close to his heart. Welcome to the podcast, Doctor.

Abhinash: Thank you for having me.

Vijay: Let’s begin at the beginning. Why did you choose medicine?

Abhinash: I come from a very rural part of India. My father was a daily wage worker. In our basti, the nearest hospital was twelve to fifteen kilometres away. On paper, that doesn’t sound like much.

He paused, then continued.

When there’s no transport and the road cuts through paddy fields, it takes hours. I once saw a man die because he cut a vein in his leg and couldn’t reach help in time. While the world was talking about going to the moon, we were struggling to reach a hospital.

Once, a doctor came to our village for vaccination. I asked him why he didn’t stay back. He said there weren’t enough doctors in the cities either. If he stayed with us, who would take care of them?

That day, I decided I would become a doctor. My father sold his land so I could study.

Vijay: That determination shows in your career. You chose to return to underserved areas, while most doctors move towards corporate hospitals. That isn’t a common path.

Abhinash: After my studies, I worked in a corporate hospital. One evening, I was speaking to my wife, Sonam. She works as a freelance strategist for corporates and political campaigns. I mentioned how patients from across the state came to the city for treatment. She asked a simple question: shouldn’t hospitals be spread across the state instead?

That question stayed with me. Wasn’t that why I became a doctor in the first place?

Vijay: So she pushed you towards Doctor on Wheels.

Abhinash: Yes. I worked five days a week at the hospital. On weekends, I went to the suburbs on a scooter, treating patients. Later, I bought a van. Some friends joined me. We divided the city into zones and covered one each weekend. A lot of people benefited. I wrote about it in my book, Doctor on Wheels. There are many stories from that time.

Vijay: I’ve read it. It’s inspiring. Why did you stop?

Abhinash: The number of patients kept increasing, and we didn’t have enough doctors. Slowly, we were back where we started. That’s when we realised it was time to move from wheels to buildings.

He leaned back slightly.

We’re now launching Dronagiri Hospitals on the outskirts of the city. Far enough to be accessible, close enough for villages. This is just the beginning. The plan is to take it to the district level.

Vijay: Since you mentioned Dronagiri, there have been allegations that the land acquisition involved government favour.

Abhinash: Of course the government helped. The Chief Minister and her administration supported the project. Without government backing, no initiative of this scale is possible. Tell me, what major public project works without it?

Vijay: Two slums were cleared for this development.

Abhinash: And we are building a hospital for those very people, aren’t we?

Vijay: You took their homes and gave them a hospital. Is that a fair way to describe it?

Abhinash smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Abhinash: That’s a very negative framing. Thousands will benefit from state-of-the-art facilities. The displaced families were assured housing. A permanent address instead of a slum. Isn’t that upliftment? If you look through the lens of opposition politics, you’ll only see the downside.

Vijay: I agree the facility is advanced. But it’s still unaffordable for most.

Abhinash: Expecting Dronagiri to solve every problem in healthcare is unrealistic. We’re doing what we can. The government is also working towards expanding public insurance. That’s how access improves, not overnight miracles.

Vijay: Fair enough. Dronagiri isn’t the answer to all infrastructure gaps. Still, many would see this as a significant step.

He paused, then shifted. There’s another area I want to move to. Doctor accountability.

Abhinash: I’m not sure I understand.

Vijay: Ethical practices in hospitals. Expensive medicines. Unnecessary diagnostic tests. What’s striking is the rise of preset diagnostic packages. I recently got a call offering a full-body check-up at a Diwali discount. The salesperson said I might already have a disease growing silently inside me.

Abhinash laughed.

Abhinash: That’s unfortunate and absurd. But we live in a society driven by offers. I don’t support random combos. At the same time, some conditions aren’t obvious. Google searches don’t replace medical training. Experience matters, sometimes more than white papers.

Vijay: Yet many doctors follow predetermined packages and barely spend time with patients. The goal seems to be volume.

Abhinash: That depends on how you see it. With so few doctors, isn’t it better to see more patients? Would you prefer a five-minute effective consultation or wait days for an appointment?

He smiled lightly.

There’s a difference between a clinic and a salon. Between a doctor and a barber. People don’t come to us for conversation. They come because they’re in pain.

Vijay: What about fatigue? Lapses in judgment, negligence; aren’t they inevitable under this kind of load?

Abhinash straightened slightly.

Abhinash: Doctors are trained for pressure. From cracking entrance exams to keeping up with medical advances. it’s not easy. We’re prepared for ...

Bunty Bhai: Cut!

Vijay and Abhinash both turned toward Bunty Bhai.

“What?” Vijay said, louder than he intended.

Bunty Bhai hesitated. “There’s a glitch in the camera. We can’t continue with it.”

Vijay’s voice rose. “Are you kidding me?” He turned to Abhinash. “I’m sorry, sir. This has never happened before.”

He looked back at Bunty Bhai. “Fix it. We won’t get this time again.”

Bunty Bhai made a quick call, spoke in short instructions, then returned to the table. “I’ve sent the makeup and lighting team to the repair shop. It’s a minor issue. They should be back in thirty minutes.”

Abhinash checked his watch. “So we wait?”

“Yes,” Bunty Bhai said. “Just a short pause.”

Vijay lowered his voice. “I’m really sorry for the delay.”

Abhinash waved it off. “It’s fine. I kept the day open.”

He leaned back slightly, as if continuing a thought. “I was saying, from the very beginning; medical entrance exams, years of training, keeping up with advances. It’s not easy. Doctors are built to handle pressure.”

Vijay: Then why do lapses happen? You must have seen the public anger around such cases. You were involved in a controversy yourself a few years ago. A medical negligence case.

Abhinash: The medical council gave me a clean chit. It was a judgment call. There was no perfect answer. I chose the most appropriate course of treatment.

Vijay: But Dr. Mahanto disagreed. He felt another approach was possible.

Abhinash: Of course it was possible. There’s always another option. But hindsight is always perfect. Decisions are made in real time, with the knowledge of the team involved. It’s easy to give opinions from a committee room. When was the last time he operated on a patient?

Vijay: It still cost a life.

The shift was immediate.

Abhinash: We don’t kill people. We save lives. I’ve devoted my entire life to that. When people question us, it’s disheartening. For heaven’s sake, we’re doctors. We serve mankind. We are not gods. We work with knowledge, not miracles.

Vijay: Are you saying it was a mistake?

Abhinash: I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. A panel reviewed the case. I don’t need to justify myself to people who don’t understand medical science.

He paused, then continued.

Do you know how many surgeries I perform every day? We feel like failures when we can’t save someone. We barely get time for family or rest. Yet we walk into the operation theatre and make split-second decisions.

Vijay: So it’s fatigue. I’m trying to understand the root cause.

Abhinash: Terminal cancer. Seventy percent burns. Multi-organ failure. Can we save everyone? This isn’t about one day. This is what we deal with constantly.

He leaned forward.

When we declare a time of death, it takes something from us. We inform families that their world has changed forever. And minutes later, we’re expected to step into another operation. It takes more than skill. It takes a strong heart. And yes, sometimes judgment is affected.

Vijay: So you admit judgment can be clouded. That doctors make mistakes.

Abhinash stood up. “Enough,” he said. “We’re done here.”

Vijay looked at Bunty Bhai. Bunty Bhai walked to the door and quietly locked it.

“Sit down,” Vijay said.

Abhinash stared at him. “What is this?” he shouted. “This is ridiculous. Do you have any idea what you’re doing? I’ll have you arrested.”

Vijay’s voice was calm. “Sit down. I know who you are. Let’s stay civil and finish the interview.”

“Civil?” Abhinash snapped. “You lock the door and tell me to sit? Now you’ll see what happens.”

He pulled out his phone. Vijay moved faster than Abhinash expected. He grabbed the phone and slapped him. Once, hard. The sound was sharp. Final.

Silence followed.

Abhinash collapsed onto the couch, clutching his cheek. His eyes stayed fixed on Vijay as tears spilled without permission. His face flushed red. Anger, shock, fear mixing into something smaller. The man who had walked in confident minutes earlier was suddenly quiet.

“As I said,” Vijay spoke evenly, “let’s finish the interview. So, do you admit it was a mistake?”

Abhinash stared at him, mouth open, unable to process the question.

“Answer him,” Bunty Bhai said, his voice rising.

Vijay lifted a hand. “Enough.” He turned back to Abhinash. “Why didn’t you admit it during the investigation?”

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Abhinash said finally.

“That would have been career suicide,” he continued. “My licence would have been revoked. I’ve saved thousands of lives. For one patient, it wouldn’t have made sense to stop serving everyone else.”

“One patient?” Vijay said quietly. “Is that how you see it? Do you remember Rubina Nayak?”

Abhinash frowned. “Who?”

“Rubina Nayak,” Vijay said again. “I’ve studied your career. This wasn’t a one-off. There are patterns. Allegations buried with money. Silenced families. And you call that service. Doctor, you should have gone into politics. You’d have done very well.”

Vijay threw his notepad against the wall. It hit and fell flat.

“You never wanted to serve people,” he said. “You wanted growth. Scale. Money.”

Abhinash: Doctor on Wheels was for money? Three years of serving underprivileged people. Was that a business?

Vijay: Service? You were a lead generator for the corporate hospital you worked for. You referred patients. I checked the records. Your project was their highest referral source.

Abhinash: I treated many people there myself. I referred cases because we didn’t have equipment. That’s standard practice. You’re desperate to make me a villain.

Vijay: Save it for your media bites. Your wife saw the opportunity early. You wrote a book. Built a brand. From commissions to ownership. Dronagiri is a clean upgrade. I’ll give you that.

Abhinash: So how much did they pay you to do this?

Bunty Bhai: We’re not brokers like you.

Abhinash: Then what are you? Goons pretending to be journalists? Say it plainly. What do you want?

Vijay: You can give us nothing.

He paused, then added almost casually, “Or can you?”

Abhinash leaned back. “Name the price.”

Vijay looked into Abhinash’s eyes. “Rubina Nayak.”

Abhinash frowned. “Rubina… Rubina… Who is that?”

Vijay’s voice hardened. “Say her name with respect.”

“I don’t remember this case,” Abhinash said.

Vijay grabbed him by the collar. “I told you... respect. She was not a case. She was my sister.”

The room went still.

Abhinash’s face changed. “I… I didn’t know she was your sister.”

“If not mine, she was someone else’s,” Vijay said. “What difference does it make? She’s dead. You killed her.”

Abhinash looked away.

“It was a simple surgery,” Vijay continued. “Appendicitis. She walked into the operation theatre and never came back. She was twenty-three. She had just started her first job. She promised me a vacation after my exams.”

His voice didn’t rise. That was worse.

“Do you know what it means when a patient goes under anesthesia? It’s trust. They hand their body over to you. And you, blinded by incentives, didn’t even have the courtesy to face my parents. A nurse told my father his daughter was dead.”

Abhinash swallowed. “Which year?”

“Seven years ago. Helious Hospital.”

Abhinash nodded slowly. “I remember now. I’m sorry, Vijay. I tried my best. Sometimes God ...”

“Don’t,” Vijay said. “Don’t put this on God.”

“I accepted it as God’s will once. Then, two years ago, I saw your name again, in another negligence case. That’s when I started looking. I spoke to people in the OT. Hospital staff.”

He met Abhinash’s eyes.

“It was your sixth surgery that day. You were dozing. The nurse suggested postponing. You went ahead anyway.”

Abhinash looked down. “From that day, I reduced the number of surgeries I perform. I was overconfident. I thought I could manage.”

“It was a mistake,” he added quietly.

“It was a murder,” Vijay said.

“Murder?” Abhinash snapped. “It was a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. Haven’t you ever said something wrong on camera and corrected it later?”

“Yes,” Vijay said. “And I corrected it. Now you correct yours. Bring my sister back.”

Abhinash’s fear gave way to anger. “I am not a killer.”

He paused.

“Yes, I earned money. Is that a crime? Being a journalist is your profession. Being a doctor is mine.”

His words rushed out now.

“My father was a daily wage worker. My parents sold land and jewellery so I could study. While others enjoyed their youth, I was preparing for entrance exams. Is it a crime to want security? No one promises to take care of doctors in old age. All we get is gratitude.”

He laughed bitterly.

“You call us gods when we save lives. When one life is lost, we become monsters. I am not God. I am not evil. I am human. Flawed, ambitious, greedy at times. Have you thought what would have happened if I hadn’t operated? There was no other surgeon. She might have died waiting. One mistake, and you erase thousands of lives I’ve saved.”

Vijay didn’t move. “Our mistakes don’t kill people,” he said.

“We never asked to be treated like gods,” Abhinash replied. “When others chase money, they’re smart. When doctors do, they’re greedy. Why this hypocrisy? I studied, I worked, I built something. Why do you expect me to be Mother Teresa? Corrupt officials exist. Greedy businessmen exist. Politicians exist. But only doctors are held hostage to sainthood. We’re doing our job.”

The argument was sharp. Precise. Vijay opened his mouth as if to respond, then stopped. Whatever he had prepared no longer fit.

“If you’re so certain,” Vijay said, “then say it on record.”

Abhinash responded firmly. “No, I won’t.”

Vijay exhaled, slow and uneven. For the first time that day, he looked tired.

“Of course you won’t,” he said not accusing, almost resigned. “I keep forgetting how clean certainty sounds when it’s protected.” He nodded to himself, as if conceding a point he didn’t want to. “I’m not a criminal like you,” Vijay said. “I won’t hold you back.”

He paused, longer this time.

“But answer me one thing. Just this.”

Abhinash waited.

“When you sleep at night,” Vijay said, his voice quieter now, “which face comes first? The ones you saved or the ones you didn’t?”

Vijay stepped aside and looked at the door. Not as a threat, but as an admission.

Abhinash kept staring at him. The silence stretched, awkward and unresolved, like a sentence that refused to end.Then Abhinash turned and walked out.

Two months later, the inauguration of Dronagiri Hospital played on the evening news. Vijay watched without sound. Abhinash stood on the stage, smiling beside politicians. Garlands. Applause. Cameras.

Vijay picked up his phone and called Bunty Bhai. “It’s time,” he said. “Release the teaser. Use the recording from the hidden phone.”

He ended the call and dialed another number.

“Set up the meeting,” Vijay said. After a pause: “This won’t go on YouTube. It will break on my channel.” He hung up.

On the table, the magnifying glass reflected Vijay’s face.