The Therapist

As a psychiatrist, my practice often involved dealing with all kinds of people. Most are forgotten into oblivion, some interesting maniacs are remembered for some time, but a very few cases are such which are forever etched into memory. One such was the case of Shyam. I will never, ever forget it. It was not the peculiarity of the case which had etched it in my memory, but for the events that followed it.

I still remember the day, 8th January, Monday. I was about to shut the clinic. In fact, I had even sent my secretary home. Then, he came. He was an innocent looking man, the kind which could not even hurt a fly. With demure expressions and teary eyes, he entered my cabin and pleaded, “Doctor! Please help me!” I was taken in with pity on this poor tortured soul. I asked him to tell me what was happening to him.
“Doctor, I love a girl, but she hates me, and I cannot keep her out of my mind! Please help me!” he pleaded again. Now this was familiar territory for me. I had counseled hundreds of cases like him before.
I asked him to relate his full story to me without interruption. He told me how he had seen the girl, two months ago and had fallen instantly in love with her. Next day, he had proposed to her and upon being rejected, he could not digest the shock. He had since lost all interest in life. The plot was too similar to many young boys and girls I had counseled. A long practice often tends to desensitize doctors. What was a heart-rending story for this man was ordinary daily routine to me.

I asked him whether he knew that the girl was married or not. He replied that she was indeed married to a psychiatrist. The last word made me jump. My next question was very specific, “Do you know the name of his husband?”
“No sir, I don’t know.” He replied. I heaved a sigh of relief. I asked him the name of the girl. His reply gave me a jolt. “Her name was Sunaina.”, he replied. A series of images flashed in my mind- me marrying a beautiful girl called Sunaina, she complaining me about a psychopath harassing her, she disappearing two months ago and her rotting body being found in a man’s bedroom in a badly mangled state.
This bastard had killed my wife! I took my revolver - a licensed revolver capable of firing 6 rounds, which I kept for emergencies, from the cabinet below my desk. But before I could do a thing, Shyam took out his gun and ordered me to write a certificate, certifying him as a manic. My hands were trembling and I was barely able to hold the gun. Just one slap from him made me drop my gun. The next moment, all I knew was a sound, a searing pain in my chest and a smoking gun.

In the precious few, painful moments before death, I heard him talking on his mobile phone, “Sunaina darling! I have killed your husband. He has even registered me as a patient. So, at the time of crime, legally, I was not in my mind and will not be punishable! Your plan has worked. And yes, that old dead body in my room has been buried. Now, nobody can separate us!”

Sitting in heaven, I am waiting for the two people- Shyam and Sunaina, who have sent me here. As I said, I will never be able to forget this particular case.