Chapter 18 Delusions of Grandeur
I grew up believing I was destined for something great.
When I was in high school, I thought I would become a senator or a Supreme Court justice.
Somebody special, somebody who could change the world.
Adulthood kicked me in the ass. When I had my freak accident, I realized that if I had died, my life would have meant nothing.
I was hit by a car and then forgotten in an ER hallway for hours until I almost died.
Nobody would take my case or help me sue the hospital, because they didn’t care.
I had cost Aai so much money, so much pain, for nothing.
I was helpless, powerless, too weak and tired to rebuild my life.
And if I had died in the fire, I would have died the world’s biggest idiot, because this whole time I’ve trusted Muya, and this whole time, he’s been a traitor.
He’s probably working with Asmodeus, and they’re laughing at me right now, a classic good cop, bad cop duo.
They’ll end up with my power one way or another.
He tried to set me up, just the way he did Usha, and I walked right into his trap.
Every time Muya told me that he hated humans, that he thought me beneath him and his notice, he was telling me the truth and I still fell for it all.
And because of my own stupidity, I have put Aai in danger.
I call her before I can second-guess myself.
“Aai, I have something to tell you.”
“What the hell is going on with your clinic?” she demands immediately. “Are you being threatened? It’s time to leave.”
“It’s not that. It’s…” I know she’s going to think I’m crazy, and the words get stuck in my throat.
At last, I manage, “It’s a demon.” There’s total silence on the other end, which I take as my cue to confess everything that’s happened—the Art Institute, Muya, Asmodeus, the dancing visions.
“I know I sound insane, but it’s true, and—”
“That man today. He didn’t feel right. I took one look at him and wanted to pray.”
“He was under a demon’s influence, that’s why. Human, but controlled by a demon.” Like me. It makes me sick to think of Muya’s power inside me, to think of what he put Usha through. Usha, whose work was so similar to mine. The song remains the same.
Aai FaceTimes me. The moment I pick up, she starts moving her fists in circles, whispering to herself. I recognize it immediately as a ritual to dispel the evil eye. We are well beyond that, but I obediently fake blow on the camera and hang up as she leaves to toss salt down the drain.
When she calls back, she says, “You need to stay with me. It’s too dangerous for you to be alone.”
“It won’t help. You’re in danger, too. Maybe you should stay with Rima Aunty.”
“I’ll come stay with you. I’ll be there in an hour.” I hear movement in the background, as though she’s already started packing.
“Aai. No.”
“Last time I checked, I’m your mother. I tell you what to do, not the other way around.”
“Let’s not start—”
“You’re in danger! You cannot expect me to do nothing.”
I hate hearing the anger and hurt in her voice. She has a point. “You’re right, I’m in danger. But I also have powers to protect myself, and…”
“What, you think I can’t take care of myself? You think I’ll get in your way?” I pinch my leg in frustration, because that’s exactly what I think, but I can’t say that. In the pause, she adds, “Have you even been eating properly?”
“Seriously?” I snap. “We’re talking about demons and you’re asking if I’m eating right?
This is not the time.” I take a deep breath, and say more calmly, “I know I haven’t given you a lot of reason to trust me, but I need you to trust me right now.
I’ll give you my location, so you can check where I am whenever you want.
And if I don’t respond to your texts quickly enough, then you can come find me.
But right now, I need some space to figure this out. Please.”
There’s a long silence on the other end. Then she says, “At least consider quitting your job. I know you can find a different one. These demons are attacking your clinic, you’ve said it yourself. If you remove yourself, you’ll keep yourself safe. And it might help keep your clinic safe, too, yes?”
“I can’t. Aai, you know that. What I need from you is information. What do you know about Muya? What stories were you told about him?”
“There aren’t many,” Aai says. “Only that Shiva defeated Apasmara and dances on top of him to keep him at bay. He’s dangerous.”
“I know that,” I say. “But how do I stop him?”
“You should try praying.”
“Aai—”
“What, demons are real but my prayers are not?” That shuts me up, and she continues, “I’ll talk to some friends and go to the mandir to ask some of the gurujis.
And I’ll read up online. I’m sure all the good sources will be in Hindi or Sanskrit, so I will translate them for you. Don’t worry, Nisha.”
The next day I lie in bed, paralyzed by visions of death and despair, until the doorbell rings.
It turns out to be JJ, holding a take-out bag filled with chocolate chip pancakes and blueberry French toast. We used to do brunch all the time in college.
I drag myself out of bed to let her in. She tidies up my neglected kitchen while I brush my teeth, and then we eat and chat about the various Netflix shows we’ve been watching.
Eventually, the conversation turns to Aaron.
“Why are you letting him work at the clinic?” JJ asks with a wrinkle of her nose.
“I’m not letting him do anything. It wasn’t exactly my call, and he’s provided a lot of abortions since he’s been there.”
“Don’t you think that makes him inconstant?” she argues around a massive bite of pancake stack.
“I have to hope he’s changed…”
“Or he’d be like that resident in the news,” she says. “What a disaster.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry!” Her tone is bright, but at my anxious expression she pulls up something on her phone and turns it toward me.
It’s an article headlined, Medical Resident Sues After Being Fired by Program.
The subheading explains, Dr. John Doe alleges that he was fired by his obstetrics program after refusing to provide abortions on religious grounds, but in a press release the program stated that Doe was fired because of mounting evidence that he was recording abortion patients and sabotaging abortion-related equipment.
My stomach drops as I skim the article. John Doe doesn’t contest that he was secretly voice-recording appointments, breaking machinery, and trying to talk patients out of having abortions.
He only claims that these actions were normal, valid responses to being “forced” to provide abortions.
The program director gives a comprehensive statement explaining that the organization grants religious exemptions to residents who request them, but Doe never asked.
He states that Doe in fact volunteered to assist with abortions, and that the program is investigating whether Doe was purposefully infiltrating the program to try to “expose” its practice—they are considering legal action against Doe for clips of counseling sessions posted online.
Doe has already found another placement at a religious hospital.
Could Aaron be doing something like this?
I remember his past betrayal like a gut punch.
It was JJ who noticed Aaron first. I was so focused on getting her into the clinic that I didn’t bother glancing at the protesters.
But JJ was nervous about getting her IUD, and trying to stall, when she made eye contact with Aaron.
She grabbed my hand, and I knew immediately she had seen something scary; we were in sync back then. I looked up and—
It was as though lightning struck us both.
I am sure it looked like I was the patient, JJ the protector.
I know what Aaron thought in the moment.
He was wrong. All I could think about was what an utter idiot I was.
But I still texted him. I thought maybe we could talk it out.
JJ told me not to, and then held me when I cried after Aaron Robinson made it clear he never wanted to speak to me again.
She rubbed my back and reminded me over and over that he wasn’t worth it.
I cried over an anti. I’m still embarrassed about it, but at this point it’s no longer even in my top ten worst moments.
“He wouldn’t do this, right?” I say. “What if it’s some anti plan to send a bunch of undercover residents to abortion providers?”
“I didn’t mean to freak you out,” JJ says. “There’s not a big conspiracy.”
I snort. How wonderfully naive. “You remember what he was like then. What’s more likely, that he’s really changed or that he’s faking it?”
“He sucks, but I mean, if you had been doing what he thought you were doing, I get why he’d be mad. Super shitty to ghost you and make assumptions without hearing you out, of course, but it’s hardly on the same level as this.”
I chew my piece of French toast to give myself time to think. I realize that JJ doesn’t know how this story ended. I went alone. I told nobody. Still, I want to defend myself from the implication.
“It would have been fine, though, don’t you think? If he was an anti, he didn’t have a right to know… If that’s what I had been doing.”
JJ looks at me like I’m crazy. For a moment, I see a flicker of something dance across her face. “Of course he would have had a right to know! It would have been his baby. It would have been unforgivable if you”—she swallows as though the idea horrifies her—“aborted it without telling him.”
My cheeks burn and I look away.
That evening, I see a bizarre message from Aai.
I was talking to Rima about demons—don’t worry, no specifics—and she told me that Shreya Pillai does that research.
Shreya Pillai is a doctor.
The Pillais never shut up about it.
Doctor of Philosophy, according to Rima.
Google is free and confirms Aai’s story.
I find an article Shreya wrote titled, “Anti-Demon Propaganda as a Form of Colonial Control.” I’ve known Shreya my whole life, so it’s hard to believe that this author could be the same perfect eldest daughter I grew up being endlessly compared to.
But I click on her bio, and it’s unmistakably her.
She’s two years older than me, and we were always friendly at parties and gatherings, but she shone so brightly that it was hard to be too close to her.
Shreya got a 1600 on her SATs. Shreya went to Harvard.
Shreya was a doctor. It was hard not to feel pathetic in comparison.
I assumed she was a Goody Two-shoes, judgmental, uninteresting carbon copy of her parents, and shared their occasionally troubling views.
Now I’m realizing that I didn’t really know Shreya at all. She might be cool, actually.
And more importantly, she might be helpful.
Before I can stop myself, I dial her number. I don’t think I’ve ever called her in my life, and yet on the third ring, she picks up.
“Hello, this is Shreya.” She sounds warm, confident.
“Hey, Shreya, it’s Nisha.”
“Oh, hey. I thought it might be a butt dial or something.”
“No, sorry, is this a bad time? I should have texted or—”
“Are you okay? You sound a bit stressed.”
“I’m fine, sorry.”
“You don’t need to keep apologizing,” she says. “So… what’s up?”
“I know this is super out of the blue, but I was just doing some research and I came across one of your papers. I didn’t know you had a PhD!”
“I never thought you were the type to judge.” The warmth is gone, replaced by an icy affect.
“No, no! Shit, this is coming out all wrong. I think your research sounds very interesting. I admire you for devoting so much time and energy and creativity to it. I just had no idea.”
She snorts, followed by a sigh. “Sorry to snap at you. It’s just most of the people we grew up with aren’t very kind about it, especially because my parents insisted on acting like I had an MD.”
“What will people say?” I joke, and she laughs.
“I’m sure you get that all the time, too,” Shreya says. “I always thought you were so fucking brave, girl. Doing the work that needs to be done, and never caring what anyone else thought.”
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“So, you were doing research for work? How can I help?”
“It’s more of a personal project.” Part of me wishes I could tell her the whole story.
The rest of me knows she’ll think I’m crazy.
“I went down an internet rabbit hole. Demons, aliens, that kind of thing. I noticed that every culture has stories of demons walking among us, wielding supernatural powers, performing magic that nobody else can comprehend. I’m doing a…
comparative study of different cultural myths across history.
It’s part distraction, part preliminary research for a cultural competency module. ”
“Well, if you do turn this into a lesson, keep in mind that people still write about demon sightings, though mostly in rural, less-inhabited areas,” Shreya says immediately.
“Less so in America, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could see a patient who believes in them.
Demons and magic have long served as a way to explain the unexplainable world.
Some days I wish they were real, but unfortunately, people have always been behind the ills of the world.
It’s actually the focus of my current research—the use of demons in mythmaking and storytelling as a means of deflection.
Demonic rationales for the despicable acts carried out by powerful humans.
It’s so much more convenient to have a demon to slay. ”
“I guess,” I say. I thought her words would relax me, but they don’t. I know what I’ve been living. “Thank you for your time. I’m sorry again to call you out of the blue.”
“Please,” Shreya says with a laugh. “I always wished we were better friends, but I figured you were a little too cool for me.”
“Me?” I let out an incredulous huff.
“Yes, you! You did what you wanted to do, you make a difference, you speak your mind. Trust me, at least half the desi kids who know you want to be you.”
I find myself unexpectedly touched. “Do you want to grab coffee sometime?”
“I’d love that. When works for you? I’ll bring some books you might like, to help with your project.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out strangled. Maybe one day someone will write a book about me, a person so deep in delusion she thought demons were real—or worse, proved that they were.