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There is either s gaping wound in their chest where a loved one was violently torn from their heart. OR a belief that they are something undeserving of love because destruction is all that they leave in their wake.

Witwatersrand Gold & the Creation of South Africa

The colonial authorities responded to the news of the gold find at Witwatersrand by sending surveyors to choose a suitable nearby site where the inevitable influx of gold prospectors from all over the world could live. The site chosen would eventually become the great city of Johannesburg. Within a decade, the young town boasted 100,000 inhabitants, and by 1900, this figure had risen to 166,000. Johannesburg became the largest African city south of the Sahara. It was a wild place in the early days where the spending was as loose as the morals. One contemporary described Johannesburg as “Monte Carlo imposed on Sodom and Gomorrah” (Jackson, 14).

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Published in 2006 - Edited in 2026

“I was just going through your previous interviews. There is a little improvement. Good… very good. Then let’s start. Are you ready?” Dr. Nath asked, smiling reassuringly.

The patient nodded tensely.

“Relax. There is nothing to worry. It is the usual thing. Come on. What is your name?”

“Mohandas Gupta,” he promptly replied.

“What is your age?”

“Forty-eight.”

“What is your occupation?”

“I own a sweet-shop and a grocery store.” He answered softly and without hesitation.

The doctor lowered his voice. “Are you married?”

“Yes, but I..."

The regular hum of ‘Sri Ramraj Mental Asylum’ exhibited how busy it could get despite it being situated on the outskirts of Bardhaman, a large town in West Bengal. The wide but damp corridors gleamed under the stark white lights. Nurses bustled about, an old sweeper cleaned a bathroom, some patients were being wheeled towards the back garden as it was time for their mid-morning dose of fresh air, yoga (for those who can do it) and tea!

Moreover, he felt his innate helpful nature came handy while dealing with depressed patients or even challenging ones. His gentle jokes cheered up even the most recalcitrant old man. He often took on extra shifts, preferring the cold white corridors to the tiny, gloomy room, he called his own. The extra money was a bonus, kept aside for when he was ready to dream again.  

“Why, who is in there?” asked Kartik, leaning casually against the wall.

“A new patient who has been here for the last ten days.”

“Is he violent?”

“No, generally he is absolutely normal, but if someone asks him about his daughter, he turns violent.”

“Why?” Karthik straightened, eyebrows raised, nervous eyes darting across the empty corridor. He was fairly new to the hospital, taking it up only to help his father, an out-of-work carpenter, feed his five siblings. He had bigger dreams of working in the big city, but they were on hold, until he could save up enough to secure his family during rainy days.

“The nurses were chatting and I heard some of the stories,” replied Rishi, lowering his voice. He didn’t like to gossip, but he had grown fond of Mohandas and didn’t want him to be misunderstood.

“His only daughter, Shalini, is married and lived close-by. She visited once a month or so, staying for a day or two. He has no other family. When he hadn’t seen her for a couple of months, he went to visit her at her in-laws’ home, looking forward to spending some time with her. Instead, he felt that they were mistreating her, beating her because she had not brought them enough dowry. When he asked Shalini, she simply told him not to worry. On a few more occasions, he suspected the same, but no one said anything to him directly. Finally, unable to bear the suspicions, he got very angry and turned violent.

“What do you mean? Did he hit someone? His son-in-law?”

“I don’t know. We weren’t told the details. Even this much is only hearsay. You know how it is with mental patients. Mental illness is so hush hush!”

“So, what happened next?”

“I believe every time he visited his daughter, because she had already stopped visiting him, he would get upset. The paranoia grew. He would shout, scream, fight with her family members. Shalini tried to calm him down, but he would not listen. He would rage at his son-in-law. Who would tolerate it? Though his visits were few, he was quite an embarrassment to the family.”

“Sad! Is there any truth in his accusations?”

“God alone knows! Nowadays, domestic violence is very common. It occurs so often, not only in middle-class, but even in educated, affluent families. It is extremely difficult to say who refrains from beating a defenceless woman or child for dowry, land, property or other selfish reasons.” Rishi turned away to mask his intense disgust. As a victim, he avoided delving on topics that fuelled his fiercely suppressed sense of helplessness.

“What will he say? He has no proof. Domestic violence cases are hard to prove, especially when the perpetrator is a close family member.” He paused, swallowing a lump brought up by horrifying memories. “And the authorities are often unwilling to intervene without solid proof. That is what makes this situation so painful. I have chatted with him a few times. He seems genuinely kind, down-to-earth, and soft-spoken. He is never irritated, even if his meals are delayed at times. I apologised to him once, and he simply said, ‘it’s ok, son, I know you were busy attending other patients.’ That’s all. No complaints at all. He smiled and even patted my arm before I left his room.”

“Who brought him to this mental hospital?”

“The father-in-law of the daughter knows Dr. Nath. He had Mohandas sent here.”

 “How does he take his stay here in his lucid moments?”

“Oh! At first he was protesting with all his might. But his daughter, who had accompanied him, convinced him to go through with the psychiatric treatment.” He paused.

Karthik looked questioningly at Rishi’s grave face.

“She is beautiful and very gentle. It is evident that she adores her father and wants to always stay near him. However, she seems afraid to voice her wishes.” Casting a quick look around to ascertain that they were alone, Rishi lowered his voice. “Looking at her, I sometimes feel that there might be some truth in Mohandas’s accusations.”

Dr. Nath furiously tapped his pencil on the table. He was troubled. Mohandas was not reacting to his medication as he should. He was still troubled by hallucinations. His triggers were as constant as the day he had arrived. Usually, Dr. Nath did not get personally involved as he employed five well-trained consultants to oversee the administration and treatment of patients. Sri Ramraj Mental Asylum was his pet project, his ode to his ancestors who had, a few centuries ago, settled in Bardhaman (then only a tiny village), and significantly contributed to its development and growth. Many of his distant relatives still lived around these parts, running large factories and flourishing Agri-export businesses. His parents visited often, but preferred to live with him, his wife and two rambunctious teenage boys in Kolkata, where Dr. Nath ran a full-fledged clinic. Thus, only the complex cases, were referred to him. However, in this instance, his friend had requested for his expertise and he could not refuse. Therefore, he decided to spend a couple of weeks at the hospital (unlike his usual schedule of visiting once a month for a few days) to properly study Mohandas’s symptoms and find him a cure.  

Dr. Nath understood Mohandas but doubted his fears were rooted in any truth. His friend, Shalini’s father-in-law, was a criminal lawyer, well-educated, wealthy, jovial. A man who loved his family and friends and was generous towards them. His son was a smart lawyer too, well on his way to make his mark. Why would they demand more money? It was beyond imagination or comprehension. They would not abuse their privilege so. The family was well-respected in society, witness their willingness to pay for Mohandas’s treatment. The family had insisted on utmost secrecy wanting to safeguard their privacy and especially Mohandas’s reputation.

Dr. Nath swivelled towards the window. His frown revealed a nagging worry. He could not let his friend down. He had to help Mohandas regain his equilibrium and return home, to his family, to his friends, to his life.  

Not every night, but once in every few nights, Mohandas had a recurring nightmare. He saw that they were beating his Shalini. The screaming silhouettes were demanding more dowry, jewellery, his shops. A bleeding Shalini was quavering in the corner with fear, protesting, crying for mercy, whimpering that her father was not a rich man, and that he could not afford to give away his shops. But the fiends were deaf to her cries, they beat her till she was senseless.

“Shalini, Shalini… my… daughter…” He muttered, gazing at the nurse as if looking at a stranger. “They beat her… don’t you see; there, there she is my darling… She is suffering... So much... how could they be… so hard… they beat my daughter… do you understand… my daughter… Shalini… wait I am coming!”

He tried to get down, but the nurse held him tight, still murmuring soothingly.

Getting more agitated, he rubbed his hands, then the white sheets on his bed, as if he were rubbing the senseless body of his daughter. “Wake up… Shalini… wake up… see Baba… Baba is here… see… now they… won’t trouble you… wake up… please… please…” His cries grew softer as the tranquilizer spread all over his body.

Three months passed. Mohandas’ routine hadn’t changed much.

Until…

Suddenly the nightmares stopped. In its place, he had a curious dream. A large river flowed through the open countryside. The soft pink light of the dying sun played on its tiny ripples, the gurgling sound a soothing hymn. A shadowy silhouette of a lone woman, dressed in a pale blue sari, stood still, gazing out. Minutes ticked by; it grew darker. The girl remained, as if waiting for ever. The image was so vivid, so alive, so clear, that Mohandas felt as if he was present in it. He could touch her, talk to her, embrace her. She was near, yet far. She was familiar, yet unknown. She was dear, yet intangible. There was peace. There was love. There was forgiveness. As the light disappeared, Mohandas felt as if he was drifting. A cool hand touched his forehead, comforting him, patting his grey hair, murmuring lovingly. He slipped into deep slumber.

In the next few weeks, Mohandas steadily grew stronger. With renewed fervour, he took all his medication, followed all the practical advice given to him by the nurses, sometimes, even helping them keep company with other patients. Twice a day, he practiced breathing exercises and grew to enjoy the special meals prepared to promote better physical health that supported his mental stability. He laughed more, spent a few evenings tending to the hospital garden, his favourite hobby, and reading religious books. Increasingly, he could calmly answer the doctor’s questions, without getting upset. When the doctor mentioned Shalini or would explain to him in different ways how she was safe, he would listen quietly, not with suppressed anger or agitation. He shared his thoughts without any remorse, and controlled his negative visions, which were recurring ever more rarely, by going through a series of breathing techniques that always led him away from the trauma to a more serene space. Progressively, he believed that he had imagined the entire torture and that Shalini was not subject to any form of physical, emotional nor mental violence.

Dr. Nath entered the room silently. Leaning against the door, he watched his patient, whom he had grown to love, study the world outside. Mohandas had a simple heart, no guiles, held no grudges. He loved his daughter so much, that he could not bear to see her cry. He had presumed it was due to some troubles in her home. Now, he knew better. His belief in her happiness was restored. Dr. Nath was not entirely certain whether it was all a result of their counselling or psychotherapy. Something had initiated this change abruptly, later boosted by his well-established remedial routines and therapy. He had felt it a few weeks ago, but he could not point out what exactly had worked. Mohandas had not shared, despite being questioned subtly and not so subtly. He had simply smiled and nodded, increasing Dr. Nath’s suspicions.

However, all’s well that ends well. He had fulfilled his promise to his friend. Mohandas had recovered. He could return to his former life without any qualms.

“Mohandas!”

Mohandas turned and smiled softly. “Come in, doctor. Good afternoon!”

“Good afternoon! I have some excellent news. Lately, you have made tremendous progress. Your health is almost restored. We will observe you for a few more days and then you will be free to go home.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Mohandas’s face, though smiling, reflected a tinge of sadness.

“Is something troubling you?”

“No, doctor. I was just wondering at my daughter’s absence.”

“Maybe she could not come. Durga puja is just round the corner. She must be busy with the preparations. It is after all the most important religious festival in Bengal!”

“Yes. You are right. Thank you.” Mohandas laughed. “Thank you very much, doctor.”

Dr. Nath beamed, patting his back. He would be sorry to see this patient leave.

“Doctor, I will miss you,” shared Mohandas, just as the latter reached the door.

Glancing back over a stiff shoulder, the experienced psychiatrist couldn’t hold back a forlorn gulp. “Me too.”

Mohandas personally visited all the staff in the asylum, thanked them for their kindness and bade farewell. While a nurse packed his meagre belongings, Mohandas took Rishi aside and slipped him some money.

“No, no, Uncle, I don’t need this!” The young assistant protested.

 “You took great care of me, son. Keep it. Buy yourself a treat. I don’t have more on me or I would have given you more. You deserve it for all your hard work. Keep it up! I am sure you will progress well in life. Bless you!”

Impulsively, Rishi bent down to touch his feet. “Thank you Uncle! I will miss you.”

“Me too. If you ever have some extra time, come and see me. I would gladly cook you a meal,” invited Mohandas, turning away to hide his emotions.

“Sure Uncle, I will.” Rishi brushed aside a tear at the corner of his eye, reluctant to let anyone see how affected he was by the parting. For the first time in his life, someone had offered his love without expecting anything in return. He knew how precious it was and would cherish it forever.

Karthik joined him, his bleak face betraying his melancholy. The entire team waved him good-bye at the gates and returned to their station with a heavy heart.

“I am so happy to see you smiling and in good spirit. Come, let’s go.”

“Home?” He asked referring to his house.

“Yes.”

“How are the preparations for Durga puja going on?”

“Very well. But there is still a lot of work remaining.”

Mohandas observed Shalini’s new clothes. She looked beautiful, her bangles jingled, and the soft tinkling of her payals delighted him.

“Shalini, why are you so dressed up today?”

“For you, Baba.” Mohandas’s heart leaped with love and joy. She smiled. There was something in her eyes which he could not fathom. But her evident pleasure at seeing him overcame all his scruples.

“Will you stay with me for a few days? I have missed you,” he asked tentatively. Unable to bear hearing her refusal, he quickly walked ahead.

“I will always be with you, Baba.” Her voice dimmed.  

Mohandas did not have time to puzzle over her response, distracted by the sight of his house. As they approached it, he had an irresistible urge to look behind.

He saw only one pair of large footprints in the damp mud road!

Updated version 6 Feb 26

My second Wheel of Time fan art – it’s Rand the bloody dragon al’Thor! He looks way too fucking fancy.

And I’m finished with it! As always by finished I mean that I’m fed up with it and can’t tell what’s good or not anymore. I’ve been staring at it too long!

This was a NIGHTMARE to paint (Galad gave me way less trouble). Not only do I hate painting fabric folds, the fiddly details on this were FIDDLY. I’ll admit, I didn’t hand paint any of the embroidery on the coat (used texture overlays instead), or the dragon belt buckle. And I just HAD to include Callandor after it seemed like there were so many Callandor fans after I posted my test image.

Rand has never been one of my favourites, but since he’s the main guy, I wanted to do him justice. I do apologise to all the Rand stans out there, but on my first reading of the books, Mat was my favourite and Rand’s chapters were just filler before I could get another Mat chapter. Sorry!

WoT fanart character portraits collection by me so far:

WHEEL OF TIME PORTRAIT COLLECTION: Galad - Clean - Dirty Rand - Clean (you are here) - Dirty

I'm going to make this a series, I think! Because it's fun to create things for the fandom!

So let’s talk about my artistic choices for Rand!

**POTENTIAL MINOR BOOK SPOILERS BELOW**

(don’t read the text below if you want to avoid spoilers, but do scroll down without reading if you want to see a Rand version without Callandor)