Directions: Read the passage given below and answer the questions that follow by choosing the correct/most appropriate options:

Banudhar, the patient, complained of progressive pain in his stomach which was abnormally swollen, a symptom building up over the past four hours. Despite some relief from the painkillers and intravenous fluids provided by the ER team, his continuous discomfort was clear. I suspected an inguinal hernia—a condition that could not have been a sudden occurrence. It had been troubling him for months, but he had ignored the symptoms, carrying on with his work as a rickshaw puller to feed his family. He attributed the increased pain to “heavier customers”, as he was required to pull more weight. But that night, he just could not carry on.

An acquaintance had driven him to the hospital, but could not stay. Banudhar was alone and terrified. He asked me if his condition was serious, his eyes wide with worry. I fumbled my words, stricken by inexperience and emotion. Should I be honest? There was no family member with whom I could discuss these matters. Would honesty distress him further? Would showing sympathy affect my ability to perform my duties? More importantly, how could he be expected to make rational, critical decisions in his state? There must be someone to be here for him, I thought and did my best to contact his loved ones.

Banudhar, his wife, and his son were landless laborers and lived in village five hours away from Cuttack. To call someone in those days, one had to find an STD or long-distance call booth. I rushed to one across the road from the ER. The village had fewer than a handful of phones. The first three calls did not go through. A few more went unanswered. By then, it was almost dawn and my hope was fading. Finally, a man answered and assured me he would call back after getting hold of Banudhar’s wife. Twenty-five minutes later she called and I was able to let her know that he needed emergency surgery. She burst into tears and said she would try to get there as soon as she could. Meanwhile, Banudhar’s CT scan confirmed that he had a strangulated inguinal hernia and that sepsis had set in. We raced against time, rallying our team of anesthetists and senior registrars for an urgent laparotomy.

Emergency surgery comes with peculiar challenges, with each difficulty magnified in government hospitals plagued by a dearth of resources and staff. We also had to take Banudhar’s thumb impressions on consent forms and decisions that needed to be made at the operating table. I still remember his words just before he went under a whispered prayer to his village deity. When Banudhar awoke from surgery two hours later, I was by his side. He clutched my hand and fell back to sleep.

It took a few days for his wife Gitanjali to make it to the hospital. I led her to her husband—frail, hooked to an IV, with drains attached to his belly, but alive—and she wept with relief and worry. Meanwhile, Banudhar was being closely monitored. With a nurse by my side, I would supervise the dressing of his wounds, and drain outputs et al. During these visits, Banudharbegan to open up to me. He told me his family worked on a small plot of land where they grew paddy, that the village priest regularly appeased the rain gods, and that Odisha had hundreds of varieties of rice. Banudhar clearly missed his days on the farm. Working as a rickshaw puller was a grueling job but he had moved to the city so their teenage son could soon join him for a better education. 18 days later, he was discharged. He had a few follow-ups but these did not coincide with my shifts. I did not get a chance to meet him again.