Posted:
A/N at the end. 😆
The Scars that Remain.
His father had been killed. The monster was no more. This reality took a long time to be accepted by the villagers. But he, he had taken it in stride. In his mind, his father had already been dead for a long time now. He had long killed all the emotions he once held for the man, gradually erasing him as the one who was his father as well. It had hurt to do so, and he had cried out in agony numerous times when he was alone. His life was like a toy in a kid's hands, loved for a while, then thrown to the side, and finally, discarded.
Five years had passed, and he had renovated the entire haveli such that there wasn't a whiff of his father's evil being in any nook or cranny. The only thing that ever suggested that a man such as KN lived in the place was the garlanded photo on one of the far walls, which he allowed to be put up, despite his wishes, for his mother's sake.
And in all the five years since his father's death, never once did Suraj pass through the corridor that held the photo.
He had vowed to his wife, that he would change, and bring about change in the village as well. True to his word, he had transformed the once inconspicuous village into a lively, bustling town. Though he wasn't as literate as his brother, he certainly did possess knowledge beyond those of books. Wisdom of the ways of the world had helped him to bring in investors and set up factories and cloth mills for the people to work in. Not saying he didn't take help from anyone, he did. He had gradually become less prideful, but not any less independent.
He also made up for the things he never had. Azaadgunj had two schools now, the fees kept considerably low as well. Out of pure amusement, he had allowed children's play parks to be built as well.
Imli would sometimes call him, telling him that he had worked enough for the day and that he should head back home. Most of the times, he would end up refusing her, even though he knew well enough it was past 11, and he should probably close up. His stomach would throw a tantrum, and he would satisfy his hunger with some mineral water. Most of the nights, he spent outside, not wanting to return home. He'd just push back his car seat and sleep there, uncaring of the pain in his neck and back.
He would go back in the morning, since his mother would've thrown a fit after realising that he hadn't come home. Vivaan somehow managed to get him to eat breakfast as well. Sometimes, he would take back toys for the kids, to make up for their missed play time with him.
Though he had so many people looking out for him, worried about him, concerned about him, never once did he feel like staying in his own house for a long time. Some sort of force always pulled him away.
The only times he did stay, was when his son asked him to. He would do whatever his son wanted, no questions asked. He was glad that his son had his mother's understanding nature, at such a young age too. But sometimes, the boy wanted his father's presence around him, though there were many around to pamper him and spoil him.
He would sometimes visit his in-laws place as well, taking his son along. The drive was smooth now, since the potholes had been covered and the mud roads were now tar ones. The mud houses and huts were long gone, strong cement structures replacing them. The people now smiled at him genuinely, greeting him cheerfully along his route, and he nodded back. The younger ones would ask him whether he would take them for a ride, and he would sometimes oblige.
His mother-in-law was as energetic as ever, even at her age. She loved it when her grandkids would visit. Bhuvan would ask Suraj to stay for a while, but he would simply shake his head, offering a slight smile. Kasturi would look at him worriedly, much like his own mother, before letting his son go to his grandfather. She would then come toward him, placing a hand on his head, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. Her lips would part to speak, but he would always shake his head, refusing to let her say anything. He knew what she wanted to say, and they both knew that neither did he have the strength to listen to her words, nor did she have the strength to say them.
As always, he would depart soon, letting his son stay for a bit more time before they went back. He wouldn't drive back home, instead, he would take a detour to the river bank.
He would sit on the rocks, throwing pebbles in the water, looking up at the sky to see it changing from azure to vermilion.
Silently, a few tears would escape his eyes as he thought of HER.
"It's been five years, Chakor," he would whisper to himself. "Five years since you've been gone. Our son's growing up, and he's so much like you. Sometimes, it's hard to stay in the same roof as him, for he reminds me so much of you." He rubbed his eyes furiously. His left hand idly played with his chain, or more precisely, with the bullet that was attached to it.
"Five years, Chakor. Five long years, Love. God knows how I'm still alive, God knows how I'll manage to go on,"
Five years. Five years since his father had been killed. Since HE had killed him.
Right after the bullet pierced through his wife's chest.
That night, two people died. The man who he had long removed from the place of father, and the other, the Love of his Life.
She died right there, in his arms, coughing out blood, as Suraj, for the first time in his life, prayed, prayed so hard that she would make it through. He had cried, roared in agony that night over his wife's body, as she kept gasping for more air. She held his face for one last time, taking a good long look at him, before she breathed her last. Suraj was mad enough to go after her that night, had he not heard his son's cries.
He never forgave himself for not killing that monster when he had had the chance. He had ignored his father's pyre just as he ignored the photo on the wall. He had lit his wife's though, with a stone heart as he carried his son in his arms. He had vehemently refused to even carry his father's body, much less light the pyre. He had severed all emotional ties with his father long ago, now all material ties were also broken.
But never once did he turn to alcohol to heal his wounds. He had cried himself to sleep countless nights, sleeping on her side of the bed, holding her dresses close to catch at least a whiff of her scent. He never allowed any of her dresses to be removed from the cupboard, no matter what anybody said.
He would sometimes go out in his jeep, imagining her sitting in the passenger side, playing her favourite songs on the stereo as she sang along. For the first few years, he had wanted to ignore his son. But then he cursed himself for being like his father. He had started to pay a lot of attention to him after a bout of self interrogation and self resentment. Though he had to admit, when his child asked where his mother was, Suraj felt like he had been stabbed.
"Aye Jagat Maata," he would whisper to the moon, "sabko azaadi dilladi. Aur mujhe? Iss bekar si zindagi mein akela chod ke chali gayi. Zindagi se kaid kar diya hai mujhe,"
Sometimes the night sky would reply to him, sending a shooting star his way, as if a message from his Beloved. The lump in his throat got worse each passing day. Every day his longing for her got worse, and everyday he lived on, for their son.
He felt scared to love his son sometimes, since everyone he had ever loved had been taken away from him. His life was a living nightmare. The only thing that kept him attached to the material world was his son, for otherwise he would have long departed with her, in mind and soul, if not body.
Their son was the embodiment of their Love, he was what kept him sane. He was the promise to his Beloved.
Their promise, of eternal love.
Always, and Forever.
A/N: Yeah, this isn't like my other stories. It's a bit dark I know.
Angst is one of my favourite genres, but somehow I've never been able to write such stories (dealing with angst) very well. Guess it's just not my forte. 😆
But yeah, whichever era you're reading this in, if you like it then please do hit the like button and also comment! Thanks! 😳
Arjun
Cricket
