A tale of "blood donation" & a mad man on loose

Viral fever dulls many a things. Mosquitoes enjoy envious power to dull strong people to stick to bed even in sweating summer times. In Bihar, people while away their time, with mosquitoes humming around, waiting for the elusive electricity to light the bulb and fans. 

On one such morning, while in the grip of high temperature, the phone rang quite strongly. On the other side was an unknown person apparently very anxious and worried. 

"ADM saheb shot himself accidentally, while cleaning his pistol and is critical. He needs O- blood urgently," said the voice on the other side.   

A chill went down the spine. In 1997, there were no networking websites to flash the urgent requirement. The call was made to the president of the Rotaract Club of Bhagalpur. In a small city, such clubs answered the urgent calls for help, with willing members not hesitating even for a moment to donate blood.

A year before, a beaming 26 years old member of this club's Ranchi wing was presented before us during a regional conference for having donated blood more than 50 times till then. The man was an inspiration and was truly an embodiment of "service above self", the motto of the club. The same year a doctor had bombarded me with verses of Gita when I had gone to donate blood for a middle aged woman. "You are doing the greatest service of the mankind," the doctor had announced, with so much zeal, that I wanted to do the act whenever required.

But the chill did go down the spine when heard of the requirement of O- blood group. This is a rare group and people are hard to find. It was more depressing for another reason, that only one member in our club had this group. He was our little elephant, than man pursuing bachelors in engineering, weighing about 100 kg but selfish of the highest order.

The little elephant was all what the club was not meant for. He reminded that the motto "service above self" was an idealistic assertion only.

Still, the life had to be saved and for that perceptions had to be overcome for making the best efforts. So, I made an immediate call to the little elephant, telling him what I was told, and explaining that he was the only one who could be of any use.

"I can donate the blood but you need to speak to my father to take the permission," the little elephant said. His father was an engineer in the telecom department. There was no time for arguments and so another call went for his father.

"How dare you call me for blood of my son. Don't even think of this," said the telecom engineer before slamming the phone.

The little elephant was informed of the denial of the permission and followed by lots of calls known to me who could have launched into search of a willing person with O- blood.

After an hour, the elephant, apparently reminded by his conscience that he had been a member of a club known for social service, called to say that he could donate blood if somebody could come near home to accompany him. This was a relief. So, I informed the ADM's man about my efforts in the last one hour and the circumstances under which the little elephant had agreed to answer the emergency call.

The next morning the phone rang again, sounding a little angry, when the viral fever was still at its peak and refusing to subdue against strong antibiotic dose. The man on the other side was the father of the little elephant.

"So, you squeezed blood out of the body of my son. His health has deteriorated and is now bed-ridden. Doctors say his kidney is in serious trouble," he blasted. Threats in plenty followed, with firm swearing that strong action would follow.

I recalled the Ranchi man with over 50 blood donations. He never mentioned that his kidneys ever failed after donating the blood for needy people. 

A day after, a friend called to meet him up urgently. He was waiting in his varanda with a copy of a prominent Hindi newspaper.

"Bhagalpur aspatal mean zabran khoon nikalne ka sansani khej mamla (sensational case of forcible blood extraction)". The headline was screaming at the top of the page, with full details inside along with serious allegations against me. This was my first encounter with a newspaper. The news report had clearly not taken my version. (A decade after the incident I chose to become a journalist myself.)

This is a scandalous news item. We will need to do something and the first thing is to find out who this reporter is, said my friend. An hour later, he got the phone number of the reporter, who when asked to explain his report, claimed that he had gone by the version of the little elephant and his father. The virtue of cross-checking the facts appeared not to have been in his profession. 

A day late, another report appeared in the same newspaper with the reporter's byline; again making the sensational claims but this time he did include one line from my side that the claims were wrong. For three days the newspaper ran the stories and after that it apparently lost the interest. In the meantime, it was found that the reporter was a relative of the little elephant. That time I was not aware that there was something called "paid news".

After the newspaper lost the interest on its own, the father of the little elephant took over, knocking at the doors of the superintendent of the police, the district magistrate. But he did not have any luck at any of these places where the officials told him of the virtues of blood donation and its dire needs. Still, not losing hope, he knocked at the local political leaders but with no avail. At last he made an audacious attempt to petition the leader of the Opposition in the Bihar Assembly but a local leader explained him the whole story and thus his last attempt too failed to get me punished for extracting blood from his son's body.

The phones were ringing quite frequently and it had lost its power of surprise. In one such call, the little elephant appeared on the other side. "I am closing the chapter. There is no point pursuing it further, as the police will take money from you and me too," he said.

The little elephant had closed the chapter. My viral fever had gone by then but was drained equally. 

In the midst of all the drama, the ADM's man had called. He had called to thank.

"The ADM saheb died of his wounds. He was being taken to Patna and on the way he passed away."     

(The incident took place in 1997 but it explains how cancerous the paid news is in the media.)