Kolkata's monsoon howled through the night, rain thrashing against tram windows like impatient knuckles on a locked door.
On the last tram to Park Street, a young doctor sat hunched with a duffel bag by his side, coat pressed under his arm. The yellow light above flickered every time the tram screeched along the tracks, throwing his face in and out of shadow.
Dr. Anshuman Chatterjee, 28.
Shy. Brilliant. Son of late Aboni Chatterjee, a schoolteacher whose dreams ended in a factory fire, and Malobika, a mother who had traded her health for her son's education.
Tonight was the first step toward everything they had lived—and died—for.
The tram clattered to a stop at Park Street.
Anshuman stepped off into the monsoon's chaos, rain soaking through his kurta instantly. But ahead, glowing blue through the storm, rose Genesis Super Speciality Hospital.
A glass-and-steel colossus.
India's pride.
Where medicine met money, miracles met ambition.
And somewhere inside, as his mentor Professor N.K. Ganguly had once promised, "the real battles of healing and conscience are fought."
Anshuman's chest tightened. He could still feel Malobika's cracked hands on his shoulders this morning, hear her tired whisper:
"Be honest, Anshu. Always honest."
The lecture
The hospital's marble halls buzzed with young doctors rushing toward the main auditorium. Holographic patient charts floated above the reception like glowing blue ghosts.
Anshuman slipped into the back row just as the lights dimmed. On stage stood Professor N.K. Ganguly himself—white hair, erect posture, eyes sharp as scalpels. The man whose voice carried weight across India's medical world.
"Your body," Ganguly began, his baritone rolling through the hall, "is 65% oxygen, 0.2% sodium, endless miracles stitched together by nature. One mistake, one imbalance—and life ends."
The room fell silent.
"Master this science," he said, scanning their faces, "but for humanity, not for profit. Shun pride. Resist greed. Genesis exists to save lives, not wallets. Dedicate yourself to this path… or leave now."
A beat of silence. Then thunderous applause.
Anshuman's throat tightened. He bowed his head, his father's dream and mother's sacrifice pressing on his heart. He would walk this path. Whatever it cost.
Chaos in the Wards
The lecture ended. Doctors spilled into corridors buzzing with energy.
Anshuman had just collected his ID card and fresh white coat when a shout ripped through the air.
"Emergency! ICU, now!"
Chairs crashed. Alarms wailed.
Down the hall, orderlies pushed a stretcher through swinging doors. On it—Mrs. Das, wife of powerful MLA Raghunath Das, her pulse zigzagging wildly on the AI monitor overhead.
"Where's N.K.?!" Das roared, face red, fists clenched. "Get the real doctor!"
His men shoved past nurses. "Who's this kid? Call someone senior!"
Junior doctors froze. Nurses hesitated.
Anshuman's shyness burned away. He stepped forward, voice cutting through the panic.
"Quiet!" he snapped. "I'm handling this. Sir, sit down. Now."
The room stilled. Even the rain outside seemed to pause.
Das glared at him like a loaded gun but didn't move.
Fire of Duty
"Priya," Anshuman said, locking eyes with the senior nurse. "OT-4. Prep now."
The stretcher rattled through corridors as rain hammered the windows. Inside the operation theatre, the AI monitor screamed red warnings.
"Pressure's spiking—beta-blocker, five milligrams, stat," Anshuman ordered.
"Cardiac arrest," he muttered, scanning vitals. "Stabilize or we lose her."
"Pulse fading again!" Priya called, voice sharp with panic.
"Seven milligrams," Anshuman snapped. "Do it now. Fight, Mrs. Das. Fight."
The monitor's beeps spiked—then slowed. Steadied. The storm inside the room eased by a fraction.
When Anshuman finally stepped out, sweat clinging to his forehead, Das shot up from his chair.
"She's alive," Anshuman said, voice steady though his chest still pounded. "But she needs the ICU immediately."
Das's jaw worked. "You'd better be right, boy."
Anshuman didn't flinch. "Prepare the transfer," he told Priya. "Now."
The MLA's men exchanged uneasy looks but said nothing.
The ward exhaled as the stretcher rolled toward ICU.
"You've got steel in you," a junior doctor murmured as Anshuman walked past.
But in the quiet corners of Genesis, the walls seemed to whisper of other storms—politics, ambition, power in white coats.
Anshuman didn't hear them yet.
For tonight, it was enough that a life had been saved.
But the rain outside knew better. It kept beating against the glass, as if warning: this was only the beginning.
Author's Note
Thank you for reading the first episode of Life and Death! 🌸
💬 What did you feel in this first chapter—tension, hope, fear?
⚡ Drop a power stone if you want to see what waits for Anshuman inside Genesis's walls!