Vicarious Killing, by Paritosh Chandra Dugar

“Sorry, we can’t admit him unless we have the test report,” said the front desk man of the hospital where I had taken my father for emergency treatment. I rushed to another hospital. Their refusal made me run to yet another hospital but in vain. I knew my father’s condition was worsening. His loud breathing alarmed and distressed me deeply. I had no other choice. The test done, I waited for the report for five hours. It was negative. As I entered the car with renewed spirits, the silence inside baffled me. Someone whispered to me, “Let’s go home.”