Asylum Dweller’s Diary

Asylum Dweller’s Diary

By Sudipta Das

Published by Raider Publishing International a Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Sudipta Das

Smashwords Edition

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Prelude

You might have heard the adage ‘fact is stranger than fiction’. When you finish reading this story of my friend and his unique world, as told by him, and I tell you who he is, you may be compelled to revisit that adage.

First, let me introduce myself. I am Dr. Adam Smith, psychiatrist and psychologist. I have more than a dozen prefixes and suffixes to my name in medicine, psychiatry and psychology, acquired from as many universities from all over the world. I have even studied and practiced ancient Chinese medicine and Indian Ayurveda. Along with my team of specialist doctors, paramedical personnel and other staff, I run one of the most advanced, state-of-the-art mental health research centres and asylums of the world. The name and location of the asylum can not be disclosed due to technical reasons.

I joined this asylum twenty years ago. Since then, we have treated and cured thousands of out-door and in-door patients with various peculiar mental disorders and ailments. One of these patients was like no other. As head of the asylum, I usually allotted the responsibilities of the patients to other doctors who consulted me from time to time whenever any critical situation arose. However, I kept this fellow mostly under my direct supervision. He was a long-time inmate of Cell Number 121. He called himself Kit.

When Kit was first brought to our asylum, I had just completed a couple of months work here. He was six feet tall; had a medium but muscular built. He was fair complexioned, his oval face crowned and contoured by luxuriant brownish hair. His nose was sharp and lips pink. However, his most striking feature was his bright, brown eyes, which stared with the innocence of a child. Overall, he looked handsome and spoke in a husky, resonating voice. He was mostly gentle and cheerful. You could not help liking him. He was about thirty-six then.

The people who brought him here said that he was found by fishermen at a sea-shore about 352 kilometres south-west of our asylum. He was lying on a boulder with his face down, naked, all soaked up and senseless. Initially, he was admitted to a hospital near the shore. There, he responded well to the treatments given to him and recovered quickly. Nevertheless, at first, he did not speak at all. Then he started uttering a few words, but his pronunciation was like that of a baby learning to speak for the first time. They thought that the scar at the back of his head had something to do with it. Kit, however, rapidly improved his articulation.

It was then that they realised that something was seriously wrong about this otherwise absolutely normal person. Firstly, when asked about his identity and residence, he told them that he was a great warrior named Kit and that he had come from a planet millions of light years away from here. Moreover, one night they found him absent-mindedly talking to the air before him in absolutely strange-sounding words, accent and tone. So they brought him to our asylum.

At first, Kit did not let me examine him. Pleadingly, he told me, I am not a lunatic, you see. These guys are utterly mistaken and don’t you pretend to be my doctor. I just need a place to wait for some time.

It was clear to me from his facial expressions, gestures and body language that he strongly believed in every word he had said. So, I softly told him, I shall be your friend. I shall provide you with the place you ask for if you allow me to examine you.

Having no other choice, he agreed reluctantly. I began by examining his head. There was no external sign of injury except the scar at the back of his head. Clinically, I found him perfectly healthy. His scans and pathological reports were quite normal too. My initial diagnosis was acute and spontaneous impersonation and hallucination, probably caused by severe emotional stress.

I gave him Cell Number 121, which is on the second floor, just above my living quarters on the first floor of the central building of our asylum. This cell has a large window, which opens towards south in the direction of the sea shore where he was found. Since then and until a month ago, I have assiduously tried every bit of my knowledge and expertise that I gathered through years of diligence. However, Kit showed no sign of improvement. With ever-increasing conviction, he emphasised that he was right and we were wrong. He continued with his bizarre behaviour.

Gradually, however, he became friendly to me. He told me, in bits and pieces, about this strange world of his. He told me that his beloved visits him from time to time. However, he never gave me the details. He was fond of reading. So I gave him books on literature, philosophy, history, science and many other subjects. He read them all with avid interest. I also put a television set in his cell.

One night, I was about to retire to my bed after a day’s hard work. I heard some utterly strange, yet melodious, sounds coming from Kit’s cell above. Realising that he was singing, I quickly slipped into my house-coat. I picked up my violin, my favourite pastime, and rushed to his cell. I quietly opened the door of his cell and found that Kit was sitting in his chair facing the southern window. I sat on the edge of his bed. He continued singing and I started playing my violin in harmony with his singing. I tried my best to meticulously follow the incredibly beautiful combination of notes that he was singing. The experience was at once soothing, rejuvenating and heavenly. When we finished, Kit gently turned to me. A godly smile lighted up his face. He generously praised my accompaniment and said that this was a prayer song to his deity. Later, I realised that, in my hurry, I had forgotten my sound recorder.

In all these twenty years, hardly a day passed without me visiting Kit’s cell. A month ago, as usual, I went to Cell Number 121 for his routine check up. To my horror, I found that Kit was not there. The southern window of the cell was open. Its high gauge steel grid was broken. I guessed he had escaped with the help of the rain pipe that ran along the window. I immediately alerted everyone and informed the local authority. A search party was organised, but Kit could not be found anywhere.

We never found out, for sure, where he had come from twenty years ago. There was no past record of him anywhere in the world. Now it seems as if he has vanished into the thin air. I am perplexed to understand how he could break the high gauge steel grid of the window of his cell and then dodge the advanced surveillance system of our asylum. Till today, Kit is yet to be found. Nevertheless, I found, on his table, the following letter, along with an old, soiled diary.

Dear Doctor,

Tonight will be my last night at your home.

I have already told you that, every now and then, she comes to me, transcending the barriers of time and space. Till her last visit, every time she had said that she had to go back, as my spirit was not strong enough yet. But, last night she has promised me that tonight she will come and take me with her, out of your home. She has also promised me that, from now on, she will always stay here, on your planet in this corner of the universe, only to be with me for as long as I have to stay here. Then, when the right time comes, we will go back to our planet together.

Doctor, you have taken good care of me at your home. I thank you for your hospitality. Just do this last favour to me. Do