Cursed

 Beerad, Rajputana

British India, 1930

Captain George Baxter of the Northern Command of the British Indian Army was sick of the bloody heat. He constantly cursed the moment when he had volunteered to sign up for this bloody reconnaissance mission of the bloody Thar desert. The only reason he had done was because the Major had assured him it was the best thing to under the circumstances. 

 “Move it!” He screamed at his men. What a miserable lot they were, he thought. Most of the men had volunteered for the mission simply because they would have had to face a something much worse, had they stayed back, just like him. It was a different matter that the only crime most of these men had committed was defaulting on the heavy taxes imposed by the Crown. 

He was determined to hunt down the bastard who had blabbed to the General about his ‘questioning methods’. It had after all been just one filthy Indian who had been blinded. He had been really old too. It was not like the loss of eyesight would make much of difference to the remainder of his lousy life on the planet. What was there worth seeing anyway in that rotten little hut of his? He actually thought he’d done the pathetic bastard a favour; he would spend the rest of his days comfortably confined to the bed, whilst his wretched progeny took care of him.

“Sir?” It was Subedar Bahadoor Singh, the deputy assigned to him for this mission. “The men are tired. There’s a village coming up right around the corner. May we stop, sir?” He asked with some trepidation. 

“Tell those lazy bastards that we keep moving till I say it’s time to stop.  I have been with the lot of you the entire time, and you don’t see me wanting breaks.” Captain George Baxter conveniently omitted the fact that he was travelling on camel back, under a cloth secured to the seat for shade, whereas all the other men were on foot.  Bahadoor Singh had been provided with a mule, but if that idiot chose to use the mule to carry their provisions and luggage rather than ride it, so be it. After all, it was not as if he hadn’t tried to intervene.

One the first day of this wretched mission, he had ordered the lazy buggers to carry their own luggage as well as the provisions. But it had been most tiresome when they kept losing consciousness, and they had had to stop ever so frequently. He had reluctantly given his nod to Bahadoor Singh’s plan of loading up the mule. The fool wanted to suffer. Who was he to stop him?

“But sir...” Bahadoor Singh tried to plead with folded hands on behalf of his men.

“One more word out of your mouth, and I will have you buried right here.”

Bahadoor Singh hurried away as fast as his legs would carry him. He knew the Captain very well, and did not doubt for one instant that he would make good on his promise if he did not follow the order. 

Baxter smirked as he watched Bahadoor Singh convey the news to the men. It was so comical to see the hope on their faces being replaced by a morose expression. He wasn’t the one to fall for their sorry excuses, no sir! He saw right through them. What they needed was a good whipping to get them moving along. If only he could have his way! He held up his hand to shield his eyes against the sun, that would soon dip below the horizon. And with it, the temperature would plummet. Maybe they should stop after all. A village meant availability of food and drink, and if he were being honest with himself, he would rather have something hot for a change, than the cold canned stuff they had been having for the last few days. His face lit up into a malicious smile when he recollected the happenings of the previous night, when he had told the men, just as they were starting dinner that what they were having was canned beef. He had literally rolled on the floor of his tent in mirth as he had watched the simpletons panic. Of course he hadn’t ordered beef to be served! Wasting meat on the imbeciles would be absurd! It had taken Bahadoor Singh a good half an hour to convince them that it was not beef they were eating. Some fools had chosen to go hungry! Baxter found it utterly ridiculous that the men refused to eat beef as their religion forbade it. 

“Bahadoor Singh!” He called out.

“ Yes sir?” Bahadoor Singh hurried with folded hands to Baxter. Baxter liked the fellow’s subservient attitude the best of all. He smiled.

“I have decided that we should stop at the village. I am a reasonable man, after all.”

“Thank you sir! Thank you! The men would be most grateful!”

“Go on ahead then! Find a suitable place for my stay. Take the mule. If the village is really as near as you claim, I don’t see why the men can’t carry the luggage and the provisions for the short distance.”

Bahadoor Singh knew better than to argue. He gathered some men and rode ahead on the mule. Truth be told, Baxter was glad that they were stopping at the village. It was understood that the best accommodation available, possibly of the village headman, would be given up for him; there would be some form of entertainment arranged in his honour; animals would be slaughtered especially for him. After the one miserable week of camping, what was in store seemed nothing short of luxury.  And all that attention made him feel important. Well he was important. Wasn’t he solely in-charge of this mission for Her Majesty?

But his hopes soon died down when he reached the ‘village’. It was nothing more than a settlement of around eight to ten lousy huts, with mostly old men in it.

“You call this a village? You fool!” Baxter angrily lashed out at Bahadoor Singh.

“I beg your pardon sir. But they have a well with fresh water.  The headman has kindly agreed to accommodate us in the village. Though they do not have much, they are happy to share.”

“As they should be. I want fresh meat served today Bahadoor Singh. I won’t take no for an answer.” That was the least Bahadoor Singh could do for him.

“But sir, they have no animals available for slaughter. This is a settlement of scholars, a settlement of pious men.”

“Shut your bloody gob. I said I want meat, and if you’re too cowardly to use force, I shall gladly do it!”

“Sir please don’t! They’re powerful men!” Bahadoor Singh threw himself on Baxter feet, and held on to his legs. 

“Get away from me!” Baxter kicked Bahadoor Singh hard in the stomach, and he fell away groaning.

“Don’t do it sir! I beg you!”

Baxter drew his pistol and looked at the squirming figure of Bahadoor Singh on the sandy ground.

“If you utter another word, I will shoot your head off. Am I clear?” Baxter had not raised his voice, but the words were said with so much malice that Bahadoor Singh fell silent. Baxter stormed into the settlement. There was a cow tied to a wretched looking tree in front of one of the huts. He ordered his men to untie it. When none of them would do as told, he did the deed himself. That’s when the old man emerged from the hut.

There was something so strangely powerful about the old man that Baxter stopped in his tracks. He was practically naked, except for the thin loin cloth tied around his waist, and a thread of some sort worn across his torso. His head was clean shaven, but for a few strands of long hair at the back of his head. His face was clean shaven as well. There was a vermillion mark in the shape of a rising sun painted on his forehead. Baxter could not be certain of his age at all, but simply knew somehow that he was very old. 

Though Baxter would not admit it, the appearance of this man had put him off his stride. But giving up now meant losing face in front of his men. 

“Move aside, old man!” Baxter pulled the cow by the rope that was tied around its neck with all his might, at the same time bodily trying to push away the old man.

“Stop!” The old man said with force. Baxter was surprised to find that the single word was spoken in English. “Think before you commit this great sin.” His voice was gentle, yet very forceful.

“You stop with the gibberish, old man! I want fresh meat, and I shall have it.”

“What harm has this gentle old being caused you? She has served my community her entire life. Now she is revered by every person of this small settlement. If you kill her for personal gain, you will seal your fate.”

“And what are you going to do, you old fool? I dare you to stop me!” Baxter drew out his pistol again, pointing it straight at the old man. Though he did not want to admit it, he was strangely scared. He felt like a threat that needed to be taken care of. Something urged him to pull the trigger. 

Nothing could have prepared him for what happened next. The old man vanished right before his eyes! Baxter was shaken to his very core. The pistol dropped out of his hand. He looked around and saw his men kneeling on the ground around him, praying. That’s when he came back to his senses. 

“Stop this bloody nonsense! Up on your feet this very minute!”

“He disappeared sir!” said one of the men.

“Obviously no such thing happened! The sun was in our eye that is all! Now get this bloody cow moving if you don’t want to die a painful death!” When none of his men moved, he threw his knife and threw it, killing one of his men. Shocked, the others scrambled to their feet. Even though they were entirely unwilling to what was ordered, they did it, fearing for their lives.

“The meat won’t be as tender as I had hoped, but it is fresh meat.” Baxter’s arrogance was firmly back in place. He kicked one of the men to get him moving. It had been really stupid of him to lose his mind like that. Of course it had been a stupid trick of the light. The old man had simply gone back in, since he had scared the wits out of him with the pistol. He firmly ignored the tiny voice in his brain that said it had probably not what had happened. He was Captain George Baxter, one of the most feared persons in his regiment, he told himself.

He was sick of this bloody country. There was nothing here but heat and diseases. Once this damned mission was over, he would put in his papers and head back to England. It was true that staying for a few more years meant he would retire with a better pension, but enough was enough. After all, he had left England and joined the bloody army only because there had been whispers of domestic violence after his wife had died. There wouldn’t have been any violence if the bitch had listened to him. Then she had had to go and commit suicide. His father-in-law had been livid, and had demanded a thorough investigation. It was lucky for him that he knew the inspector quite well. It was the inspector that had suggested joining the army as a way out. 

It had all worked out well, with the war being declared. His superiors had often remarked that Captain George Baxter was like a possessed man on the battlefield. What they didn’t know was that he simply liked killing. He had also been commended for extracting information from the enemy soldiers; the methods had been conveniently overlooked. He had now been away from England for nearly ten years. He was confident that the whispers about him murdering his wife had now died down, and since he was a decorated army officer, he would return to a warm welcome, and vastly different circumstances than when he had left. But there was time yet, and for now, he had to get the rascals to prepare his meat.

“Sir?” It was Bahadoor Singh, and Baxter could tell from his face that he had brought some unpleasant news.

“What now?” The party had decided to camp just outside the settlement. The men had absolutely refused to camp within the settlement, for the fear of further offending the holy men, no matter how much he had whipped them. He had been tempted to put a bullet through another one of them, but that would be taking things a bit too far. As matters stood, he was going to have a tough time explaining the death of one of his men on a peaceful mission. If any of the men blabbed, he was done for. But he would make sure they didn’t, even if it meant pulling the tongues out of their bloody mouths.

“The men are refusing to slaughter the cow.” Fear was etched on Bahadoor Singh’s face as he said these words. Captain Baxter cursed the air blue. 

“Fine. I’ll do it myself. But remember, there will be hell to pay for this insubordination.” The words that came out of Bahadoor Singh’s mouth shocked Baxter.

“We are all prepared for it, sir. Nothing that you can do to us will come close to the sin of having the blood of a holy animal on our hands.” Though Bahadoor Singh said this with folded hands as he usually did, there was some emotion in his eyes that Baxter could not quite place. He decided to disregard it for the moment. Slaughtering the bloody animal had become a matter of pride now. He would have to do it, for no reason but to save face in front of his men.

“Superstitious fools all of you!” Baxter angrily strode away to the place where the cow had been tied, and with a mighty blow from his sword, beheaded the animal. There were cries of horror, lamentations, and prayers for mercy from God from his men. Baxter, with his clothes soaked in blood, turned around and yelled at the men to shut the hell up. But they were too far gone to even listen to his words. It looked like he would have to clean and cook the animal on his own. But he was up for it. 

None of the men met his eyes as he roasted large chunks of meat on the fire that he had built. In fact, they were giving him wide berth, moving as far away from him as possible. 

“Come have some of this delicious meat Bahadoor Singh!” He called out jeeringly. Bahadoor Singh pretended not to hear him, and went away in the direction of the well. Baxter laughed out loud. It was quite amusing to watch the way in which the imbeciles were behaving. He tormented others in a similar manner, and laughed with malice when they tripped over themselves in order to put as much distance between him and themselves. He drained the last of his whisky from his hip flask, and stood up and stretched. It was time for bed. It would have to be in a tent yet again, but this damned mission would end soon enough, and he would finally go back to England where a life of luxury awaited him. The dowry he had received from his wife had been quite substantial after all, and he could finally use it.

Baxter spread out the sleeping bag, and tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. The men were all asleep, or pretending to be asleep. He knew they were only doing it to avoid any possible interaction with Baxter. Had it been any other day, he would have made them pay. But it had been a strange day as it were. Closing his eyes, he stretched out. Just as he was falling asleep, he heard a rustling noise.

“Who the bloody hell is it?” He sat up wearily, supporting himself on his elbows. “You! You dare step into my tent?”

It was the old man. Baxter tried to reach for his pistol, but found that he was unable to move. “Get out!” He tried to scream, but no words came out of his mouth. They seemed to be stuck in his throat.

“Captain George Baxter, you are a sorry excuse for a human being. Your entire life has been a series of sins upon sins. The act of great evil you carried out today by killing an innocent animal, which was revered by my community, has only been one of the many atrocities committed by you. This is your one last chance to repent. Tell me, do you repent your actions? Will you make amends?”

“What nonsense...” That was all Baxter could say before his throat constricted again.

“That was your one chance. You leave me with no other choice.” The old man closed his eyes. His eyes seemed to glow red. Baxter tried his best to move, but was paralyzed. “You shall pay, Captain George Baxter, for every one of your sins. You will know agony like you have inflicted upon countless others. You will lose your mind like countless others who have lost theirs under the torture you inflicted upon them. You will die a long, terrible death. Mark my words, Captain Baxter, for they shall come true. But you shall not know when my curse will take hold. You shall live every single day in anticipation of my words coming true.”

Baxter lay trembling on the floor, covered in sweat, still unable to move. His breathing was ragged, and he seemed on the verge of passing out. Taking in large gulps of breath, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. It had all been a dream. He had dreamt up the entire thing. There were no such things as curses. He simply had to sleep it off. 

Next morning when Baxter woke up, it indeed seemed like a dream. It was a dream, he tried convincing himself. There was nothing wrong with him, and there would be nothing wrong with him even in the future. It was this bloody place; it was messing with his mind. The sooner he got out of here, the better it would be for everyone concerned.

“Bahadoor Singh! Get the bloody men moving!” He said, trying to bring some into command into his voice. But he felt strangely subdued. There was only one thing to do now- finish the mission, and get back to England.

***

It had been five years since the fateful day when Baxter had encountered the old man. He had been living in England for the last four years, and he was a man so drastically different from the one who had left England for India almost fifteen years earlier that a lot of his acquaintances had a strong suspicion that it was a doppelganger who had come back. 

Captain George Baxter, the man who had struck terror in hearts of men, seemed scared of his own shadow. He lived in constant fear of something. He was withdrawn, and spent most of his time locked up in his study. The servants often heard him mutter under his breath- something about a cow and an old man. They could never make any sense of it, no matter how much they tried. Another strange and remarkable change that had come over Captain Baxter was that he absolutely refused to eat any beef! In fact, the man was positively afraid of it! The only regular visitor at the Baxter mansion was Captain George Baxter’s young nephew, Thomas Linsdale, who was his deceased sister’s only son. He was a student of medicine, in his first year, and often came to visit his uncle on the weekends.

“Hello, Uncle! I hope you are doing better today.” Thomas had come for his weekly visit to the Baxter mansion.

Baxter, who had been aimlessly rearranging the books in his study, jumped.

“Thomas! Must you sneak up on body like this? You gave me a fright!”

“Sorry, Uncle, but I did knock!”

“Never mind. So you’re here to stay?”

“Yes. For the weekend.” 

“Good. Good. Glad to have the company.” Baxter said absentmindedly.

Thomas had almost added ‘like I always do’, but then thought better of it. He had heard the servants whisper about his uncle’s strange behaviour. Had he not witnessed it firsthand, he might have never believed it. He had only heard stories about his uncle from his mother, and the first time he had ever seen his uncle was when he had come back to England after serving in the British Indian Army. He had not been too keen on reconnecting, since he had only heard terrible things about his uncle. But since he was his only living relative, he had made the effort.

The change had been gradual: in the beginning, his uncle was merely subdued, and preferred his own company to that of others. Then he had started forgetting things. It had been nothing too serious, and Thomas had put it down to his uncle’s absentmindedness. Of late, he had started talking to himself a lot. He was also supposedly writing a book about his conquests in India, but Thomas had idly flipped through some of the pages, and it was nothing but gibberish about some old man. 

“Sir? Would you like to have your tea out in the garden? It is a lovely day sir!” It was one of the kitchen maids.

“That would be lovely. Isn’t that right, Uncle?”

“Yes yes.” Thomas was not at all sure that his Uncle knew what he was agreeing to. 

“Shall we go then?”

“Go where?” There was a vacant look on Baxter’s face.

“We’re having tea out in the garden. Come now, Uncle. It is a splendid day.” As Thomas led his uncle out into the garden by his hand, he noticed not for the first time that Baxter looked much older than his fifty years. 

“What are we having for tea?” Baxter finally seemed to be present in the moment.

“Hot scones, sir.” The maid replied with a smile. What happened shocked Thomas to his core. 

“I don’t like scones! Is there no consideration for a man and his feelings any longer?” Baxter started weeping uncontrollably after uttering these words! Thomas could not move from his seat. It took him a few moments to come out of the shock. The maid stood rooted to the spot, muttering apologies, but mostly gawking disbelievingly at Baxter.

“Take the scones away!” Thomas ordered, and was relieved when the maid finally scurried away with the scones.

“Have some tea, Uncle.” Thomas tried to sound soothing, but he had never been in a situation where he had had to comfort a grown man old enough to be his father. To his immense relief, Baxter stopped weeping, and seemed mightily embarrassed to have lost control over his senses in such a pitiful manner.

“I apologize, Thomas. You should have never had to witness this scene. But these are things beyond my control. The curse has taken hold! I’m a doomed man now!”

“Don’t worry about it, Uncle! Finish your tea, and then you can have a nice, long rest!” Thomas said, thinking that his uncle had gone back to speaking in tongues. The poor man was losing his mind.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some invalid!” Baxter said these words with unexpected force. “It is time you know about the curse. I feel my mind slipping away from me, and it is imperative that I tell the story as it happened to at least one living soul. Will you do me the favour of hearing me out?”

“Of course, Uncle.”

“I have been a terrible man my whole life, and now I’m paying for it, just like the old man said. These intense headaches are only the beginning. It will get worse, I’m sure of it. I’m losing my mind!” With what seemed like tremendous effort, Baxter told Thomas the story of his reconnaissance mission of Rajputana, his encounter with the old man, the slaughter of the cow, and lastly the curse.

“Nonsense, Uncle! There is no such thing as a curse!”

“Then how do you explain what is happening to me?”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly scientific explanation!”

“Science be damned! I’m telling you it’s the curse!”

Thomas agreed that it was indeed the curse, seeing how worked up his uncle was getting. Privately, he had made up his mind to discuss his uncle’s case with the newly appointed neurologist, Dr. Vector Cunningham at the university. He was after all the youngest and the most brilliant physician at the university. Perhaps it was true that his uncle was losing his mind, but it was not some bloody curse at work. It was 1935 for heaven’s sake!

Over the next several weeks, Thomas could not visit his uncle, being busy with the end of the year exams. Finally, he was done with the exams, and was contemplating joining the lads for a rowing trip, but a note from one of the servants at the Baxter mansion put a spanner in the works. It summoned Thomas urgently to the mansion, but did not give any reason for doing so. 

It’s your uncle, sir. Come urgently.

That was the entire content of what seemed like a hastily scribbled note. Without wasting any time, Thomas left for Baxter mansion.

“Thank the Lord that you’re here sir!” It was Marie, the housekeeper. “Master is acting all funny, sir! We’ve right lost our wits!”

“But what is the matter?”

“It’s the master, sir!” Marie said, wringing her hands.

“I understood that! What about him?”

“ He’s talking all funny, he is! All he does is talk about a cow! Yes sir, a cow! We thought he was craving beef! But when the cook made beef wellington, he right lost his mind! Yelled the house down, he did! Never been so afraid in my life.” 

“Where is he now?”

“Shut up in his room, sir! That’s where he’s been for the past week. Refuses to come out! He’s been refusing meals too! But Willows, his manservant, coaxed him into eating some gruel.”

“Take me to him.”

“Yes sir! He’s walking all funny too, very rigid like. Sometimes, he can’t even feed himself. Spilled the gruel right down his dressing gown, the poor man. And he screams something nasty when he’s asleep.” She looked around as if to check if there was someone overhearing the conversation, and then continued speaking in a whisper. “Willows says the master writhes around in his bed, like he is in unbearable pain.”

Thomas’s suspicions were confirmed. He was sure his uncle was suffering from some neurodegenerative disorder, and it seemed imperative that Dr. Vector Cunningham examine his uncle at the earliest.

“Uncle! It is I, Thomas!”

“Thomas? Has it been a week already?” Clearly, his uncle wasn’t aware it had been much more than a week since Thomas had last visited. “The curse, Thomas, the curse! It’s getting worse! He said I would know pain more than any I’ve inflicted. Put me out of this agony! I beg you!”

Thomas tried his best to soothe his uncle. Finding some sleeping pills prescribed by the local GP, he offered them to Baxter along with some water.

“Uncle, shall we go out for a ride?” Thomas decided he would take his uncle to see Dr. Cunningham, even though he had no prior appointment. He would simply have to hope that Dr. Cunningham would accommodate him. It had been quite difficult, trying to convince his uncle to come out, but he finally managed it. He was not at all sure how his uncle would hold up on the long ride to the university, but he was left with no choice. It was indeed merciful that his uncle slept through most of the journey. Once they reached, he lost no time in finding Dr. Cunningham.

“So sorry to barge in like this sir, but I think my uncle is suffering from some form of a neurodegenerative disease.” Thomas had introduced himself to the doctor, and had managed to convince him to examine his uncle.

“Get the patient in please.” After a thorough examination, Dr. Cunningham confirmed that Thomas had made the right diagnosis. “I’m not entirely sure, but there are quite a few differential diagnoses. Most certainly some form of encephalopathy. The symptoms do point towards Creutzfeldt- Jakob disease. I’ve been fortunate enough to have been trained by Dr. Creutzfeldt in Germany. The bad news is it is far too advanced. Treatment will only be palliative.”

“I was afraid of that. What causes this disease, sir?”

“We do not know the cause yet. My own research indicates that it might be some sort of an infectious agent.”

“Is it contagious then sir?”

“Fortunately it isn’t. At least that is what is known so far. But can’t be too careful, eh? I presume you will instruct the household staff to take all the precautions? You said he lives on his own, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I will instruct them sir.”

“Right. It shall only be opiods now. It is certain that he will lose all control over his body in a matter of months, and be completely bedridden. You will have to hire a full time nurse.”

“Yes sir. I can’t possibly thank you enough for seeing us at such short notice!”

“Don’t worry about it. Shall I let you in on a little secret? This is my very first case here at the university. I was eager to get started, to be honest.” The doctor said with a smile. “One thing though. What is it that Mr. Baxter is constantly muttering under his breath? Something about a curse, an old man, and I’m not really sure if I heard it right, but did he keep referring to a cow? Incoherent ramblings can be a part of the symptoms, but these weren’t all that incoherent. In fact, the patient seemed fairly lucid whilst talking about these things.”

“It is a bunch of nonsense, sir. My uncle believes that a cursed had been placed upon him by an old holy man whilst he was posted in the British Indian Army for killing a cow, and hurting their religious sentiments.” Thomas briefly conveyed the gist of his uncle’s mutterings.

“I see. Well Mr. Linsdale, they say one doesn’t forget their first case, and this has certainly been a very interesting first case as a specialist. I shall look in on the patient from time to time, and adjust the doses of opiods. They shook hands, and Thomas escorted his uncle back to Baxter mansion. He was even more docile on the drive back, being quite heavily sedated.

Thomas was feeling oddly relieved to have the diagnosis confirmed by a specialist. His uncle’s complete and utter belief in the curse had shaken Thomas, and he had admitted it to himself with great difficulty that a part of him had perhaps even believed the story. After all, the things he had heard about his uncle, from his own mother, who was Baxter’s sister, had been perfectly horrifying. And the story Baxter had told him, just confirmed all that his mother had told him. But the Baxter he had met was drastically different from the Baxter of the stories. Now that they had a diagnosis, they could concentrate on making his uncle’s last days as comfortable as possible.

***

“You have a visitor, sir.” Dr. Thomas Linsdale’s secretary handed over a card to him. It had been over sixty years since his uncle had passed away. The last few months of his life had been truly pitiable, and Thomas had been relieved when he had passed on. Being the sole heir, he had inherited his uncle’s fortune, and after getting his degree, had decided to settle for a rural practice, operating out of the Baxter mansion. Though he no longer practiced he was nearly eighty years old now, there was still the odd patient who wouldn’t hear no for an answer. He looked at the card and was surprised to find that his visitor was none other than Dr. Victor Cunningham. 

“Show him in immediately,” he told the secretary who was awaiting further instructions.

What business could Dr. Cunningham possibly have with him? It was true that they had stayed in touch sporadically over the years; he would have hardly expected Dr. Cunningham to pay him a visit. Besides, Dr. Cunningham was now at least ninety, if not older. His surprise increased several fold when a spry and upright old man walked into his chamber.

“Dr. Linsdale! You must be wondering why this old man suddenly decided to visit you out of the blue!”

“Well I was, but that doesn’t mean I am not happy to see you. It is indeed a pleasure to meet you after all these years!” They shook hands, and took their respective seats.

“I’ll come straight to the point. They say one never forgets his first case. And your uncle’s case has stayed with me throughout my practice. My initial diagnosis was right, it was CJD. Though we could not have positively diagnosed it in those days, my gut says there was no mistaking the diagnosis. If you have been in touch with the developments in the medical world in the last few decades, I’m sure you must have read about the discovery of prions?”

“I did! Fascinating little things! They act like an infectious agent, but are non-living in the strictest sense of word! They’re mere proteins, there is no DNA or RNA! Yet, they can spread like a bacteria or a virus. Being simply proteins, they cannot be destroyed by antibiotics or antiviral medications. I have seen firsthand what havoc these proteins can cause.”

“So you too read the paper linking CJD to prions? There is no doubt now whatsoever that CJD is caused by prions. We were aware of the sporadic variety, where the normal protein in the brain suddenly starts folding in a misshapen manner, the familial variety where it could get transmitted amongst members of the family like other inherited diseases; there have also been the odd cases transmitted through organ donation.”

“Indeed.”

“But did you know, Dr. Linsdale that a new variant of the disease has just been discovered?”

“I wasn’t aware of it!”

“The way your uncle’s disease progressed was exactly same as this variant disease. Other than his age, every symptom matched to that of the variant form of CJD.”

“So we have a more accurate diagnosis now.” Thomas said. He still wasn’t certain why Dr. Cunningham had paid him a visit specifically to tell him about the new variant of CJD.

“I can see you’re itching to ask why I would come all the way down here to discuss CJD with you, but you’re too polite to do it,” Dr. Cunningham said with a knowing look. “Let me put your mind at ease by telling you that I have finally given up my honorary position at the university, and have taken up residence not far from here. But that is not the only reason.”

“Then what is?” Thomas was extremely curious by now.

“It’s the way this variant disease is supposed to spread.”

“And how is that?”

“By consumption of meat from cows with bovine spongiform encephalopathy. It is also known as the mad cow disease. I’m sure you have heard of it.”

Thomas grasped his desk in shock, unable to process this new information.

“They say this new variant is the human version of mad cow disease. I thought you should know this, seeing how your uncle kept on muttering about a cow till the very end. Thomas? Thomas? Are you alright?”

Dr. Thomas Linsdale had collapsed in his chair.

*vCJD was first diagnosed in a 19-year-old boy in the UK. The fact that it can be transmitted from cows infected with the mad cow disease to humans was proved a couple of years later. UK has reported the most number of vCJD in the world, with maximum cases being reported between 1996 -1999.

** The infective agents causing vCJD are called prions. They are unlike any other infective agents, because they cannot be termed ‘living’. They lack the basic nucleic acids such as DNA or RNA. They are simply proteins that cause the proteins in the brain of infected people to fold in a weird manner, which destroys the brain. Cooking doesn’t have any effect on prions.