The sun over North Bihar had a way of flattening everything into dull, dusty ochre, and the courtyard of the Rajendra Memorial High School was no exception. Under a sagging pandal that smelled faintly of bovine fodder and feasts, Dr. Sen, armed with a fresh degree and a stethoscope that still felt like a heavy costume piece, was discovering that medical school had prepared him for myocardial infarctions, but not for the sheer existential weight of rural nomenclature. The charitable medical camp was a cacophony of coughing elders and sticky-faced children. Dr. Sen sat behind a rickety wooden desk that rocked every time he moved his mouse, trying to maintain an air of professional gravitas while a fly performed a celebratory dance on his nose. He clicked on the next patient file. Then, he froze. “Felani Bedia,” he read aloud. He blinked. He polished his glasses with the hem of…
