I opened my eyes to the bright light that flickered behind my closed lids. Where was I? The white curtains fluttering around my bed, and the equipment across the room, made me feel I was in a hospital. As I tried to sit up, the cannula in my hand pricked me, and an involuntary groan escaped my mouth.

“Doctor, she’s awake.” The voice was young and bubbly.

“Hello, there, how do you feel?” came a graver voice.

“Uhhh, I… I don’t know. Why am I here?”

My voice sounded as if it was coming from a distance.

“Ma’am, you had an accident, and your car was hit from behind by another car. You lost a lot of blood, but you are out of danger now.”

I gazed at the doctor with the grey hair, a man with green eyes and a preoccupied frown.

“Ma’am, what is your name?”

I pondered over the question, and then, without warning, my mind went blank. What was my name? Who was I?

The doctor sensed the confusion in my eyes and placed a gentle hand on my head.

“Don’t worry about it. It will come back to you.” He turned to the young nurse, and gave her a few instructions.

I groped in the dark, my thoughts chaotic. Why was my mind a blank? How could I forget my own name?

“She has amnesia. Give her some time and she will get back her memory.”

I dozed off. The sedatives had taken effect.

The sound of the television woke me up. Since it was a general ward, there were patients along with their by-standers milling about.

Where was my by-stander? Did I even have one, I ventured to ask.

“No, I’m sorry. There was no one with you. We have not been able to trace your family yet. We have given the details to the local police station. I am sure they will be able to identify you, sooner or later.”
The days turned into nights, and the nights saw me dry-eyed, as I stared out at the stars that shone brightly as though they had no cares. I hunted for the trace of a memory, a wisp of smoke that would give me a hint of who I was. The canvas remained blank, tabula rasa, a phrase that suddenly lit up deep within me. How did I remember it? Hopefully, more such words, ideas and recollections would crowd my brain, if what my doctor said was right.

I would watch the television during the day, my eyes trying to hold on to the events that flashed by so swiftly – riots, murders, molestations, music, sports, entertainment. Sometimes, I would get a glimpse of a sudden flash within me, as an armed police force tackled a riotous mob, and I would wonder if my past life had been as exciting.

“Come, Meera, time for your physiotherapy!”

The nurses had nicknamed me Meera. I had no idea why. Anyway, it sounded like my name now. I could now stand up, walk a while, and do things on my own. People around were extremely supportive.

“Come on, Meera, you can do it!” was their favourite clarion call. I found that I could do it. All except recall who I was, who I had in my family. Did I have someone I loved beyond life itself? If so, wouldn’t he show up in my dreams? Or perhaps, nightmares?

My room was my haven now, even if it was inhabited by a constantly moving crowd. I realised that since this was a government hospital, and I had no money obviously, this was the best I could get.

The television blared out news snippets at intervals, which shook me to the core. All around, people were being abandoned and hurt. Even murdered. I looked on with horror as the reporter spoke in an excitable voice about the husband who had got a snake to bite his wife. Another young girl spoke into the microphone about a woman who, over years, had poisoned around seven members of her family. Yet another banner headline flashed across the tiny screen. Serial killer strikes again! I shuddered as I heard the gory details. All the police had was a shadowy profile of a lithe person who had climbed up to the roof of an ancient house and broke open the terrace door. The old woman who lived alone had been found lying in a pool of blood, her jewellery having disappeared, with just the number ‘666’ written in blood on the mirror.

As the story continued, my eyes began to hurt.

“Please switch the channel, Lily. Could we watch something more pleasant?” My voice was quavery and the nurse gazed at me in alarm. She quickly changed the channel and put on some soothing music, before she rushed over to me.

“Meera, are you ok? Do you want something warm to drink?”

As I sipped the lukewarm, but delicious, tomato soup which was blood-red in colour, I felt better. The music entered my soul, stirring a faint memory. I could hear the same music as I sat in a place that had tall green trees. There was a silhouette next to me, a person who held my hand, as we sat in perfect silence. The music swelled and died away, and the memory faded, leaving me curious. Who was that by my side? Did I love the person?

From that day, I found little wisps of memories crowding my mind. However, the moment I tried to capture them, they vanished, leaving my mind in a fog.

The television reporters were gleeful. The husband had been caught trying to urge a snake into his wife’s bedroom. Now it was only the woman who had murdered her family members and the serial killer who needed to be apprehended. Red herrings tumbled out, the police gave an imperfect description of the person – of medium height, apparently very athletic, able to clamber up anywhere and masked, as caught on one CCTV from a distance.

“Meera, time for your medicine! How are you today?”

I smiled at her. She was lovely, this nurse, Lily, who cared for her patients. She looked like a lily too.

“I am feeling great, Lily, thank you.”

“Any memories popping up?”

“I am trying hard, but there is this dreadful fog in my mind.”

“Don’t you worry! The fog will lift one day,” she laughed, her dimples deepening.

“A boy takes his own life after being ragged by his seniors,” the reporter said, her eyes pools of sadness. I heard the whole report, and my heart wept for the parents of the boy. The serial killer case was next in line and though he had not struck for a couple of months, the police were following his trail like bloodhounds. They had gone back to all the spots he had spilt blood in, and everywhere, the number ‘666’ popped up like a motif… on mirrors and windowpanes, on the inside of the back door and on the refrigerator. All in blood!

I lay in bed, my mind working overtime. When would I be able to get out of the hospital? A few dim faces had started coming into my mind, but I could not identify any of them. Lily was my constant companion. She would try and jog my memory.

“Meera, do you remember if you were married?”

“I wonder if you have children. Maybe there is a whole army of people looking out for you… not knowing where to look. Don’t worry. One day the fog will lift!” Her tinkling laughter made me smile as well. Besides, I was feeling much better already. The medicines were working, and the diet had made me stronger and more ready to face the world. All I needed to know was whether I had anyone outside whom I could call my own.

It was a dark moonless night, and I could hear the frogs croaking by the lake behind the hospital. Swat! One mosquito down! I had always hated insects of any kind. As I padded along the sidewalk on noiseless feet, I could hear cars zooming by. Keeping to the shadows, I kept going.

I could hear agitated sounds from the hospital which loomed behind, its windows golden in the darkness. I had taken care to do things perfectly. I had always been a perfectionist. Watching all that television had certainly jogged my memory. I suddenly recognised the dim faces that had studded my mind.

I finished my latest task meticulously, sweeping back Lily’s hair from her lovely face. She looked as if she were sleeping. Only the blood that pooled around her told a different story. I was careful not to get any of it on my shoes. The last thing I did before I bade her goodbye was to write ‘666’ on the white board on which the names of my medicines were written.

The fog had finally lifted.