“Water, water, Mother, a little water … water.”

He was the only child, and he had been suffering from fever for the last ten or twelve days. It fell on me to treat him. After passing my medical examinations, I worked in this place as a house surgeon. Now, I’m posted back here as an assistant surgeon.

I discovered that the boy had typhoid, and I knew that there could be many complications. The chief among these was acute flatulence, and drinking too much water would only aggravate the condition. So, I gave strict instructions to all: “Be careful. He will feel very thirsty, but you must not give him any water. A few pomegranate seeds, maybe, or one or two spoons of sago water mixed with a little milk or a tiny bit of sugar candy – that’s all. But if you give him any water to quench his thirst, remember, it will be disastrous.”

The sick child’s throat, indeed, his entire body, seems to dry up with thirst. In a thin and strained voice, he says, “Mother, water, please, a little water.”

The suffering of her child pierces the mother’s heart to the core; she seems...