Can You Handle the Truth? Confronting Responsibility in Ayurvedic Practice
Can You Handle the Truth? Confronting Responsibility in Ayurvedic Practice
Can You Handle the Truth? Confronting Responsibility in Ayurvedic Practice
Inspired by the intense confrontations about duty, honor, and moral responsibility in “A Few Good Men” (1992), Dr. Aakash Kembhavi adapts this compelling examination of leadership and accountability to address the hard truths facing modern Ayurvedic practice and education.
A dialogue between Dr. Aakash Kembhavi, a defensive student, and a resistant teaching faculty about facing uncomfortable truths and accepting professional responsibility
The conference room felt tense as Dr. Aakash Kembhavi sat across from XYZ, a final-year student, and a Senior Teaching Faculty member. Both had been called in after a serious incident – a patient case that had gone wrong due to what appeared to be negligence in both clinical supervision and student preparation.
Dr. Kembhavi: “We’re here because Mrs. S developed severe complications after receiving Panchakosha treatment. The family is asking questions about the quality of care. I need to understand what happened.”
XYZ: “Sir, I followed the protocol exactly as taught. If there was a problem, it wasn’t my fault.”
Teaching Faculty: “The student was working under proper supervision. These complications can happen with any treatment. We can’t be held responsible for every unpredictable outcome.”
Dr. Kembhavi’s expression hardened.
Dr. Kembhavi: “So neither of you accepts any responsibility for what happened?”
XYZ: “I’m just a student. I did what I was trained to do.”
Teaching Faculty: “We followed institutional guidelines. Sometimes patients don’t respond as expected.”
Dr. Kembhavi: “Let me share what I discovered during my investigation. XYZ, you administered Vamana without properly assessing the patient’s Prakriti and current Vikriti state. And you,” he turned to the faculty member, “you were supposed to be supervising but were absent during the crucial initial assessment.”
Teaching Faculty: “I had other responsibilities. Students at this level should be capable of basic assessments.”
XYZ: “I was never taught how to handle complex constitutional assessments. The curriculum focuses on theoretical knowledge.”
Dr. Kembhavi slammed his hand on the table.
Dr. Kembhavi: “Enough! Do you want to know the truth? You both failed in your fundamental duties, and now you’re hiding behind excuses instead of accepting responsibility.”
Teaching Faculty: “Sir, that’s an unfair characterization—”
Dr. Kembhavi: “Unfair? Mrs. S trusted us with her health. Her family believed that coming to an Ayurvedic institution meant receiving competent care. And we failed her because both of you chose convenience over competence.”
XYZ: “But sir, I was just following—”
Dr. Kembhavi: “Following what? Shortcuts? Half-understood procedures? When you put your hands on a patient, you accept responsibility for their wellbeing. There’s no hiding behind ‘I’m just a student.’”
He stood up and began pacing.
Dr. Kembhavi: “And you,” he pointed at the faculty member, “your job isn’t just to show up and check boxes. Your job is to ensure that every student under your supervision is competent to handle the responsibility we’re giving them.”
Teaching Faculty: “The system doesn’t allow for individual attention to every student—”
Dr. Kembhavi: “The system? You ARE the system! You’re the one who decides whether standards are maintained or compromised.”
XYZ: “What were we supposed to do differently?”
Dr. Kembhavi sat down, his voice becoming colder.
Dr. Kembhavi: “You want to know what you should have done? You should have admitted when you weren’t confident about the assessment. You should have insisted on proper supervision. You should have prioritized patient safety over appearing competent.”
Teaching Faculty: “And I suppose you think I should have been monitoring every moment of student activity?”
Dr. Kembhavi: “I think you should have been honest about whether this student was ready for unsupervised patient care. But that would have required you to admit that your teaching might not have been adequate.”
The room fell silent. Dr. Kembhavi continued, his voice rising.
Dr. Kembhavi: “Here’s the truth neither of you wants to face: Ayurvedic practice isn’t just about knowing formulations and procedures. It’s about accepting that people’s lives depend on your competence and integrity.”
XYZ: “We never meant for anything to go wrong—”
Dr. Kembhavi: “Intention isn’t enough! When you take on the role of healer, good intentions without competence and responsibility become dangerous negligence.”
Teaching Faculty: “You’re being overly harsh. Complications happen in all medical systems—”
Dr. Kembhavi: “And that makes it acceptable? That makes it someone else’s fault?”
He leaned forward intensely.
Dr. Kembhavi: “Let me tell you what I think happened here. Both of you have been operating under the assumption that Ayurveda is somehow ‘safer’ than other medical systems, so you don’t need the same level of precision and accountability.”
XYZ: “That’s not true—”
Dr. Kembhavi: “Isn’t it? When did you last spend a sleepless night worrying about whether you truly understood a patient’s condition? When did you last refuse to proceed with a treatment because you weren’t completely confident?”
Teaching Faculty: “These standards you’re imposing are unrealistic—”
Dr. Kembhavi: “Unrealistic? Or just uncomfortable? Because accepting full responsibility for patient outcomes means acknowledging that our knowledge and skills might not be as complete as we pretend.”
He stood up again, his voice becoming more passionate.
Dr. Kembhavi: “You know what the real problem is? Both of you want the authority and respect that comes with being Ayurvedic practitioners, but you don’t want the weight of responsibility that comes with it.”
XYZ: “That’s not fair—”
Dr. Kembhavi: “Fair? Mrs. S’s family doesn’t care about fair. They care about competent treatment. And we failed to provide it because both of you chose comfort over accountability.”
Teaching Faculty: “What do you want us to say?”
Dr. Kembhavi: “I want you to say ‘I failed in my responsibility, and I will ensure it doesn’t happen again.’ But you can’t say that because it means admitting you’re not as competent as you claim to be.”
XYZ: “And then what? How do we move forward?”
Dr. Kembhavi’s voice softened slightly but remained firm.
Dr. Kembhavi: “You move forward by accepting that being an Ayurvedic practitioner or educator means accepting complete responsibility for your decisions and their consequences.”
“You stop hiding behind institutional policies, curriculum limitations, or student status. You start asking yourself: ‘Am I truly prepared for the responsibility I’m accepting?’”
Teaching Faculty: “And if we’re not prepared?”
Dr. Kembhavi: “Then you have the integrity to say so. Then you do whatever it takes to become prepared. Because the alternative is more patients like Mrs. S.”
He looked at both of them seriously.
Dr. Kembhavi: “Here’s the truth you need to handle: Ayurveda isn’t a gentle alternative to ‘real’ medicine. It’s a complete system of healthcare that requires the same level of competence, responsibility, and accountability as any other medical practice.”
“When you accept the trust that comes with treating patients, you accept the obligation to be worthy of that trust. Not sometimes. Not when it’s convenient. Always.”
XYZ: “What happens now?”
Dr. Kembhavi: “Now you both decide whether you can handle the truth about what this profession demands. Whether you can accept full responsibility for your role in patient care.”
“Because if you can’t handle that truth, then you have no business calling yourselves healers.”
The Moral of the Conversation
The confrontation between Dr. Kembhavi, the student, and the faculty member exposes a fundamental challenge in healthcare education: the gap between accepting authority and accepting responsibility.
Inspired by the moral reckoning in “A Few Good Men,” Dr. Kembhavi forces both individuals to confront uncomfortable truths about professional accountability. The core message is that healthcare practice – including Ayurveda – demands unwavering responsibility, and those who cannot accept this responsibility have no place in patient care.
The conversation reveals how easy it becomes to deflect responsibility through institutional structures, curriculum limitations, or hierarchical excuses. When practitioners and educators prioritize their own comfort over patient safety, they betray the fundamental trust that healthcare relationships require.
Dr. Kembhavi’s harsh confrontation isn’t about punishment – it’s about establishing that professional responsibility in Ayurveda is non-negotiable. The incident with Mrs. S demonstrates how individual failures can compound into system-wide problems when no one accepts full accountability.
The Key Questions:
- Can you handle the truth about what complete professional responsibility means in Ayurvedic practice?
- Are you willing to accept full accountability for patient outcomes, or do you prefer the comfort of shared blame?
- What does it mean to be worthy of the trust that patients place in Ayurvedic practitioners?
The choice, as Dr. Kembhavi suggests, isn’t between perfection and failure – it’s between accepting full responsibility for your professional decisions or hiding behind convenient excuses. In the end, the conversation challenges both students and faculty to choose uncomfortable accountability over comfortable deflection, because only those who can handle the truth about professional responsibility deserve the authority that comes with healing others.
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