Vaccinating A Village

The ride was bumpy. The skies, cloudy. His mood, sour. And the tea, well it had already spilled on his trousers a few moments back. Wasn't a pleasant start for a healthcare worker you may presume. He felt the same. Trying to calm his nerves. He could do nothing about the potholes, nor could he do anything about the spilled tea. But he can look outside of his car window and watch the sun play peekaboo with the clouds. And he did that. Imagining the infinite layer of fluffy clouds taking various shapes, faces of dragons, of people, some of which he seemed to know, while some totally random. For a moment he was transported to childhood, days when he and his cousins ran through those narrow alleyways, searching for the kite which seemed to disobey them and fly on its own, to places unknown. They did find the kite they searched for, but some days they searched for the kite which could take them flying in the sky along with it. The winds would caress their faces as they shall soar through the cotton of clouds and travel around the world. That thought remained a dream.

He looked at his wristwatch. Fifteen minutes at least remaining to reach the tribal village. The car still constantly disco-danced on potholes but the scenery and the thought made his mood, if not totally, but a little bit better. With him and the pilot of the car was the container where the covid-19 vaccines were stored at a low temperature. Yesterday's vaccination drive went better than before. He thought to check the statistics one more time before they reach, just for reporting purposes. Taking out the sheet from his bag he could see the rise in vaccinations. This tribal village had a population count of around five hundred. When they actually started the drive, for the first few days no one came. Then slowly as they started to go into the village and tell them all the reasons as to why the vaccinations are needed, there was a slight peak in interest. But people were skeptical. There was fear. Fear because the very few who took the dose complained of side effects, like fever and fatigue, and body aches. His team couldn't quite understand how to deal with it. They resorted to audio-visual media and showed the villagers all the details one could find about the vaccines including the side effects. A little jump in the daily vaccination count. Out of five hundred, forty-five got vaccinated. Then they requested those forty-five to talk to others, and slowly the count crossed one hundred. But again, a hard stop. Older people were still skeptical.

A second idea came to everyone's mind. The health workers joined hands with the rations department. Get vaccinated and take your monthly ration. There were chances of a backlash and protests, but that helped a bit. The count crossed one hundred fifty. Officials from the government too had come in last week and explained and tried to inculcate the advantages. As a result of the efforts, yesterday's foot-fall was huge. One hundred and fifty people showed up. So, today he went back to the district town to get more doses. He hoped they should be able to cover the entire population's first dose by today. He had requested his team to stay back in the village primary school while there he was, with new supplies. Staying back and interacting with the people, getting to know the community really helps both sides.

End of the road. The next fifteen minutes is supposed to be a walk through the woods, after crossing a mountain river. The bridge literally swings when there's a wind. Waving goodbye to his car's pilot(he droved the car quite smoothly despite potholes), coupled with the container, he started making his way to the village. Nature welcomed him with open arms. There cannot be a better location for a village than this. His mood completely changed to the best possible state just when he heard the laughter of the river crashing on infinitesimal rocks and the whistling of the winds caressing the leaves of trees in the nearby jungle. And a slow, irregular honey-dripped song of an unknown bird. He looked around for it. Probably hiding in some bushes, somewhere. Probably watching him. Smiling, he loosened his mask, breathed in a lung-full of air, and set his foot on the wooden bridge after tightening it once again.

The school was built just as one would enter the village. When he reached it, it was swarming with people. The line seemed like a pretty song, each one singing a particular note. He was very satisfied. Handing over the container very carefully he waved at a few known faces. These few weeks have helped to build some great friendships with people from various age groups.

Removing the mask from his face, he went on to freshen up. Soon the schedule started. There were people from various strata of life.

He met an old man who feared syringes and had to be calmed down before the shot was administered. When he realized it inflicted no pain, he heroically went to the other people and declared it was an easy process and there's nothing to be afraid of.

There was a middle-aged woman who was in a hurry. She had left her grand-child home alone, and fidgeted constantly to let her take the vaccine before some of the others. Others decided the same and she was done as quickly as possible.

There was a person who seemed to be his age and was a well-read man. He talked a bit about how the vaccinations are going on in their area and the neighbouring villages and thanked them profusely for the work. That filled everyone's heart with joy.

Another woman even bought breakfast for all the health workers. She had that motherly instinct in her and after getting her shots made sure everyone had the food and then continued with the work. She reminded him of his mother. The way she made them feel like one of her own, and the smile she gave when he said that she reminded him of his mother, will stay with him for a long, long time.

A kid came with his mother, being fascinated with everything that went on. He was curious to know about the vaccination process and then started crying when he was told that he cannot take the vaccine. It got very difficult to control him. He just refused to move unless he got a shot. Chocolates couldn't pacify him. Finally, a syringe without a needle was taken and playfully injected over his skin. It worked! He went home happily running through the dusty street, his mouth filled with eclairs.

Altogether, it was an eventful day, lots of people vaccinated, a little lunch together with the locals. A spell of rain delayed the proceedings a bit. But it took away all the fatigue. It was almost evening and they sat together to see the counts. Around forty people still left. Probably by tomorrow it should be done. The village heads went back home satisfied as well. They said they'll make sure to announce and send the remaining ones tomorrow based on the vaccination list.

He washed clean and sat near the big water body of the village. A beautiful sight. Lighting a cigarette he dialled a few numbers. Home, parents, and her. The smell of the dinner and the chit-chat reached his nostrils. His eyes seeped in the beauty of the night. The song of crickets filled the atmosphere. There were patchy clouds in the sky. A constant shower was required to kick away the humidity. He wanted to listen to some music. He found the earphones lying inside his right pocket.

Ustad Amjad Ali Khan's rain ragas. Megh and miyan ki malhar. As the maestro plucked the strings of his sarod, each of those minuscule tunes reverberated in his heart. His entire soul immersed into it, the cigarette flickering, he submitted himself to the moment. His eyes kept looking into the horizon. The shades of blue, of the dusk. It all seemed like a picture-perfect frame. It all seemed like the brushstrokes of Vincent Van Gogh, painting the "Starry Night".

The sky seemed to swirl like in the painting, each colour rolling with the clouds around the stars and the moon. On the village tree, they bend with the curve of the branches. The whole effect along with the transcendental sarod in the background made it ethereal and dreamlike. The hills near the horizon seemed to roll down too into the quaint little village. At some houses, the painter seemed to stop and interrupt the flow to draw the rigid structures. Tiny little bushes and trees seemingly softened the inflexibility of the village. Nature seemed to be permeating into the unnaturalness of buildings.

The sky looked divine. Surreal. Beyond human comprehension. He could feel Van Gogh providing finishing touches to this marvel which he's encountering. The straight lines and sharp angles separating the hills, the heavens, and the trees. The village temple, bending and swirling into soft angles but separate from the others, pretty much distinguishable. Amjad Ali Khan's sarod also reached the crescendo, his hands moving faster, the ragas melting into mellifluous music, the sound and the painting juxtaposing together to create an otherworldly atmosphere and soon, it was all over. The music stopped and so did the paintbrush. The sound of crickets could be heard again. He looked around and someone called him for dinner.

He waved and slowly made his way back to the primary school for dinner and a good sleep afterward. There was a low rumbling of the thunder. A streak of lightning soon followed. Maybe it'll finally rain. He smiled to himself and kept walking towards his group. A long day awaits tomorrow, again.

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