THE UNKNOWN
A mighty day of August 2018, Kerala, India
The phone rang for the fifth time.
I glanced at the screen.
Unknown Number.
Four calls in quick succession had already tested my patience. I was driving through one of the worst floods I had ever seen, and the last thing I wanted was to entertain a stranger.
Still, the phone rang again.
“Hello… yes?” I answered, more out of irritation than courtesy.
There was silence for a moment.
Then came a broken voice.
“He…llo… Doc…tor…”
The words arrived in fragments, as though each one had to fight its way out.
“I have de…cided… now… it’s time to… sh…su…icide.”
For a second, I thought I had misheard him.
Outside my car, nature was unleashing its fury.
It was supposed to be high noon, yet the sky was as dark as evening. Endless black clouds had swallowed the horizon. Thunder rolled across the sky, followed by sheets of rain that hammered against my windshield.
The road had disappeared beneath knee-deep muddy water.
My car was already half-submerged.
The air-conditioning had stopped working. Water streamed across the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it. The inside of the car felt suffocating, but opening the windows meant inviting the flood inside.
Neither staying put nor getting out seemed like a wise choice.
Traffic had come to a standstill. Cars and buses were stranded everywhere, their bonnets disappearing beneath the rising water. Some engines were smoking. Others had simply died.
I decided to keep the engine running and move forward—inch by inch.
Then the phone rang again.
The same unknown number.
“Who is this?” I muttered.
Before I could answer, a speeding truck sliced through the flooded road beside me.
A wall of muddy water crashed over my car.
The wing mirror shook violently.
For one terrifying instant, I felt the unmistakable nearness of death.
The phone continued ringing.
Almost absurdly, it sounded louder than the thunder.
I picked it up.
The broken voice returned.
“I have never heard a word so rude from you earlier…”
There was a strange calmness beneath his anger.
“But it’s fine. Seems you too have now experienced the bitterness of life.”
He paused.
“For me, it’s time to take revenge. I am going to finish the suffering.”
I listened.
Something in his voice told me he wasn’t really looking for death.
He was looking for someone to stop him.
But why should that someone be me?
With a mixture of irritation and curiosity, I asked,
“Are you also stuck in this terrifying traffic, half-submerged under flood water?”
“No!”
He sounded irritated.
“Then?”
“I am sitting in my living room.”
I almost laughed.
“Damn… Are you feeling suffocated there?”
For some strange reason, that question struck exactly where it needed to.
“Yes…”
His voice changed.
“I am staggeringly suffocated from life. Every breath feels like a burden. My head is sweating. My heart is burning.”
I looked around at the floodwater rising outside my windshield.
“So what happened? Did your room become airtight? Did your air-conditioner break down?”
“No.”
His irritation returned.
“I am not a mendicant. I earn well. I own a luxury house in Delhi. My living room is chilled to my utmost comfort.”
That answer somehow angered me more than his suicide threat.
“You’re sitting comfortably in your own house and telling me you’re suffocating from life?”
I raised my voice.
“Why the hell are you troubling me?”
For a moment, he became completely silent.
Then his voice dropped.
“You don’t know what I am going through.”
A pause.
“My life is painful. I think I have no option left other than suicide.”
And then, suddenly, his anger exploded.
“I made a mistake by calling you. You are making fun of my situation. No one has ever dared to insult me like this.”
His voice trembled with rage.
“I will finish myself. But before that, I will spiflicate you, Dr. Vasu.”
“Dr. Vasu?”
I froze.
“Me?”
Something suddenly clicked.
That morning, my psychologist friend Vasu had asked me to take his calls while he attended a press conference. He had diverted his phone to mine.
He never revealed the identity of his patients—not even to his own staff.
But he trusted me.
Which meant the stranger on the other end of the line was probably one of Vasu’s patients.
A desperate one.
Possibly a suicidal one.
I took a breath.
This time, I changed my tone.
“I don’t know who you are,” I said quietly. “But it’s alright. I can guess you’re going through something terrible. Tell me… what is troubling you so much?”
His breathing was heavy.
Then came the words he’d probably been carrying for years.
“My life itself is the problem.”
He began slowly.
“I am financially devastated. I have liabilities. Loans. My job feels insecure all the time.”
His voice gathered momentum.
“I work beyond my limits. And for whom?”
“For my spouse. My family. My relatives. My friends. My colleagues. My boss. My company.”
He laughed bitterly.
“And what do they give me in return?”
“Not even a word of gratitude.”
He continued.
“When I have difficulties, nobody stands beside me. I am expected to meet everyone’s expectations, but nobody cares about mine.”
His voice cracked.
“Nobody understands me. Nobody cares about my emotions.”
“I swallowed all my pain just to keep everyone happy.”
“And what did I get?”
“Complaints.”
“Criticism.”
“More expectations.”
“I am emotionally burned out. Physically exhausted. Bored with my own life.”
He paused.
“I failed to succeed the way I wanted.”
His voice became quieter.
“I feel cheated.”
“Cheated in school.”
“Cheated in college.”
“Cheated at work.”
“Even in my personal life.”
“The environments change. The people change. The crowds change…”
“But my life remains the same.”
“Everyone is pathetic.”
“Everything is hopeless.”
“I can’t bear it anymore.”
“I have lost all hope.”
“No courage left inside me.”
“It is a dead end.”
He took a breath.
“And I tried every solution…”
“And?”
I interrupted him.
“You want to get rid of all of it?”
“Yes.”
“By ending your life?”
“Yes.”
His answer was almost inaudible.
“And you expect me to tell you the best method for suicide?”
Silence.
Nothing came back through the phone.
But silence can sometimes speak louder than words.
Something strange was happening.
A complete stranger had made the biggest decision of his life—and yet he had called another complete stranger to validate it.
Why?
Why couldn’t he trust someone he knew?
Why had he chosen me?
Why had Vasu trusted me?
The answers were hidden somewhere inside this bizarre conversation.
But I needed his name first.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Rohan Mathur.”
A pause.
“I am the CFO of an MNC near Delhi.”
I was stunned.
A CFO.
Successful.
Affluent.
Powerful.
And suicidal.
“Wow,” I said softly. “That’s impressive.”
Then I asked,
“So when do you want to leave all those people who are making your life miserable?”
There was no answer.
Instead, Rohan broke down.
He began crying.
I waited.
Then I said,
“Your crying is out of context for me. I was expecting an answer.”
His crying suddenly stopped.
“Another damn expectation!”
His voice rose again.
“You also expect answers from me?”
“I am tired of answering the whole world!”
“I am answerable to investors. Clients. Authorities. Bosses. Colleagues.”
“And then I go home…”
“To my wife.”
“My children.”
“My parents.”
“My siblings.”
“My in-laws.”
“My relatives.”
“Everyone expects something from me.”
Nobody cares about my circumstances.
When I fulfill their expectations, they remain silent.
When I fail, they criticize me.
“Enough!”
“I hate answerability.”
“I hate accountability.”
“I hate responsibility.”
“All these sophisticated words are nothing but ways of humiliating honest people.”
He was climbing back toward the same emotional cliff from which I had managed to pull him only moments earlier.
“So,” I said, “you won’t tell me what I expect?”
He remained silent.
“And yet,” I continued, “you expect me not to care about what you expect from me?”
My sarcasm made things worse.
“I am already puzzled, Dr. Vasu!”
His voice became louder.
“And you’re confusing me even more.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“My life is hell!”
I shouted back.
“Then what is your purpose?”
“To come out of that hell?”
“Or to die in it?”
Silence.
Then, surprisingly, his voice softened.
“You know the answer, Dr. Vasu.”
Something changed inside me.
For the first time, I heard trust in his voice.
At that very moment, my car began to skid.
The tyres struggled for grip against the muddy road.
The floodwater pushed against the vehicle with frightening force.
I was losing control.
The air inside the car felt unbearably heavy.
I lowered the window slightly.
Immediately, the world outside exploded into sound.
Rain.
Thunder.
Traffic.
Water.
But strangely, the chaos felt calming.
Fresh air rushed into the car.
Cold raindrops struck my face.
For a few seconds, I forgot my fear.
I felt alive.
My face was wet with both sweat and rain.
And somehow, Rohan’s words of trust had brought a smile to my face.
I took a deeper breath.
Then I spoke with renewed energy.
“If you want to get out of that hell, you have to first change yourself, Mr. Rohan.”
The reaction was immediate.
“You mean I am wrong?”
His voice was full of disbelief.
“You mean I am the one who needs to be corrected?”
“The whole world is behaving disgustingly toward me, and you’re telling me the fault is mine?”
His anger returned like a storm.
“You are blaming me for my own pain!”
“You don’t deserve to be a psychiatrist.”
“You’re a fool—just like everyone else around me.”
“I didn’t mean that…”
I tried to explain.
But he wouldn’t let me finish.
“My decision was right!”
“There is no point discussing this anymore.”
“Mr. Rohan, listen…”
My voice carried something I had not felt earlier.
Fear.
Fear of losing the fragile trust we had built.
But he continued.
“What do I need to listen to?”
“Why?”
“You are blaming me for my own pain.”
“That is brutally unfair.”
“You are neither my boss nor my wife.”
His voice shook with fury.
“Do you understand what I am saying, Dr. Vasu?”
Then came the words that would stay with me forever.
“Your words are torturous…”
“…like an electric shock of thousands of volts.”
Electric shock.
The words echoed inside my head.
An electric shock.
For a moment, I stopped listening to Rohan.
Because nature had suddenly begun speaking louder.
A burst of sparks erupted just a few metres ahead of my car.
I stared.
An electric pole was falling.
My instincts took over.
I pushed against the driver’s door.
It wouldn’t open.
The pressure of the floodwater was enormous.
I pushed harder.
Nothing.
I planted both feet against the door and forced it outward.
Finally—
it gave way.
Water rushed into the car.
I jumped.
The current pulled at my legs.
I swam.
I stumbled.
I ran.
I fell.
I got up.
And somehow, through the chaos, I reached the top of a concrete wall on the opposite side of the road.
I turned.
My car was floating in the floodwater.
The electric pole crashed down onto its bonnet.
The wires sparked violently.
And within seconds—
the car caught fire.
I stood there, frozen.
Thirty-five EMIs flashed through my mind.
Then another thought followed.
I was alive.
That was enough.
Should I mourn the car?
Or celebrate the fact that I had survived?
I chose life.
And then I realized something else.
If Rohan hadn’t called me, I might have driven faster.
I might have reached that exact spot at exactly the wrong moment.
Perhaps his call had delayed me just long enough to save my life.
I wanted to thank him.
But my cellphone was gone.
Swept away by the flood.
I remained stranded on the wall for nearly an hour before the rescue team finally appeared in the distance.
As I watched them approach, one thought refused to leave me.
Who was Rohan Mathur?
Was he merely a depressed man desperately searching for a reason to live?
Or—
had he unknowingly become the saviour of my life?
I still don’t know.
But that strange conversation left me with something far more unsettling than an unanswered phone call.
It left me with four questions.
One, what is that “unknown thing” which compels someone from deep within to manifest extreme emotions like distrust, hate, envy, jealousy, pride or even a desire to suicide?
Two, what is that “unknown thing” which blinds someone from deep within to see less of light but abundance of darkness around?
Three, can that “unknown thing” be discovered and transformed in a way that it can start compelling someone from deep within to manifest emotions like trust, love, joy, respect or even desire to sacrifice? and can start to blind someone from deep within to see, less of darkness but abundance of light around?
Four, what is that “unknown thing” within us that makes the success so desirable and failure so disturbing?
That “unknown thing” is within you and me and within everyone else.
It’s hidden.
It’s invisible.
Yet magically powerful.
But, what is that exactly?
Why that unknown thing exists?
What is the reason?
Let’s explore the reason …
~ Author , Sudhir KV