The Insomniac by Luv Parakh

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"This might take some time", he thought.



And time it took. Dubey only began taking interest, when he found that Seshadri was in fact, the childless de facto head of an eight billion rupee business empire. He did pause to contemplate asking why a man such as he, should have to approach a shrink so low down on the food chain, but decided against it, lest he might ponder the proverbial second thought. After this, Dubey tried digging ferociously into the introverted shell of a brain that Seshadri's was, or had become. What he unearthed made him pity the magnate further.

He was a typical case: An only child, he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He had a truckload of acquaintances, but hardly anybody you would call a friend. His lifelong quest had been his father's family organization, which he had nurtured to its present monolithic proportions. He was married early, but his wife perished within the year in a plane crash. He deferred his next marriage, till he had to honor his father's dying wish. That, thought Dubey, was probably where disillusionment began creeping in: with the people around him, with work, and with life. It didn't help that his second wife eloped with her driving instructor. And now when the day of his career was approaching dusk, he had nobody whom he deemed worthy of his trust.



"Doctor...I...I can't sleep."



"Have you approached me to suggest soporifics?"



"No. You might be wondering why I have come to you for treatment. Well...let me just say that I wanted this to be really low profile...secretive if you like. And no, I've tried everything...Sometimes, even when I do manage sleep, I have dreams."



Dubey failed to recognize instantly that his newest case actually expected him to deduce everything from that last speech (relatively speaking). He wasn't completely satisfied by the explanation though.



"It obviously isn't abnormal to have nightmares, especially so under extreme stress or duress."



"These nightmares aren't normal. I see...I see..."



"What are the nightmares about Mr. Seshadri?"



"I get arrested and then taken to court!"



Dubey failed to see how such a dream could spoil his sleep. But then he was the only psychologist in the room.



"Well...is that it?"



"No...no...I'm thrown into that little cubicle that they throw criminals in, and then...I hear...I hear..."



Seshadri's eyes and mouth suddenly opened wide: in pure terror.



"What is it that you hear, Mr. Seshadri?"



There was no response.



"Mr. Seshadri? Mr. Seshadri? Mr. Ravi Kant Seshadri?"



Still no response. Dubey got a little irritated and had just began reaching out to shake him out of his stupor, when he suddenly shouted in a voice suited more to a seasoned banshee than a leading industrial tycoon,



"MURDERER! MURDERER! MURDERER!"



Dubey recovered almost instantaneously from shock and shook his patient hard. Seshadri stopped shouting and began an incessant and silent sobbing.