Whenever new children joined the Gurukula, the first few days would always be difficult for them. Especially the nights. Some would quietly cry remembering home. Some would somehow hold it back. Some would simply sit silently without speaking to anyone.
At such times, I would keep them engaged somehow — with conversations, stories, or small incidents from life.
One evening, while talking like that, I happened to mention an experience of mine.
Around that time, a severe skin problem had spread all over my body.
Itching… swelling… boils… no matter what medicines were tried, proper relief was not coming. The discomfort itself had become exhausting.
Then Dr. Suresh Negalaguli suggested something unusual.
He was not someone who spoke carelessly. There was calmness in the way he examined patients. More than medicine, his confidence itself would give half the relief.
“Let us try leech treatment once,” he said gently.
At first, even hearing it made me uncomfortable. But the trust I had in him was greater than my fear.
So I agreed.
Carefully, he placed the leeches over the affected areas.
The children listening to the story sat silently, half curious, half frightened.
Within a few days, the swelling began reducing. The itching slowly settled down. My body itself felt lighter.
That experience had stayed strongly in my mind.
But children listen differently.
For them, a story is never just a story.
The very next day, a few boys came running to me.
“Mathrushree… Naresh has a painful boil on his leg.”
Naresh Bhatt was one of those children who trusted me deeply. Even for cleaning a wound or applying medicine, he would come and sit only near me.
The boys immediately connected my old experience with his condition.
“Let us try that leech treatment for him too,” they said eagerly.
I stopped them immediately.
“These things are not to be imitated just because one incident worked somewhere. Different leeches exist. Some may even be poisonous. Proper knowledge is necessary.”
But once excitement enters children’s minds, warnings rarely stay for long.
Somewhere nearby, from wet fields and water channels, they caught a few leeches and brought them.
Naresh sat quietly.
His leg had swollen badly. Even touching it lightly caused pain.
The boys stood around with complete attention, as though some major treatment was about to happen.
Even I became uneasy.
Still… somehow… amidst all that confusion, we proceeded.
But the leeches themselves did not really do anything.
While trying to place them… while adjusting the cloth… while pressing near the swelling… suddenly the boil burst open.
Thick yellow pus mixed with blood came out at once.
For a moment, everyone fell silent.
Then all the boys shouted together.
“Mathrushree… it worked!”
We cleaned the wound properly. Applied turmeric and medicine. Tied a bandage around it.
Outwardly, I remained calm.
But that entire night, sleep never came properly.
What if the infection worsened?
What if fever developed?
What if his parents questioned me the next day?
While the children slept peacefully, responsibility alone remained awake beside me.
The next morning, before I had even finished my work, Naresh came running happily.
“Mathrushree… the pain has reduced!”
The swelling had indeed reduced. He was walking much more comfortably.
All the boys proudly declared that the leech treatment had cured him.
But I made them all sit down quietly.
“It was not simply the leeches that healed him,” I explained patiently.
“The boil had already ripened inside. When pressure fell near the swelling, the pus collected within burst and drained out. Once that happened, naturally the pain and swelling reduced.”
The children listened silently.
I did not want excitement to slowly become blind belief.
Some old treatments may truly contain wisdom. But without understanding, imitation itself can become dangerous.
Even today, when I remember that incident, I do not first remember the children’s excitement.
I remember that long night.
That silent fear.
That responsibility.
Years pass.
Children grow up.
Incidents end.
Yet some memories continue travelling within us for years together.
Like old railway bogies slowly moving along the tracks of memory.
Some pass noisily.
Some quietly.
And some… return unexpectedly, even after many years.
For Kannada Version Click Here
Originally written in Kannada by Veena Shanbhogue as part of Nenapina Haliyalli Sarida Bogigalu (ನೆನಪಿನಹಳಿಯಲ್ಲಿಸರಿದಬೋಗಿಗಳು).
English translation and digital preservation by Sumanth Shanbhogue
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