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Eight years ago

"Sanskaar, will you please focus on the road ahead, instead of staring at my face?"

"I cannot help it, sweetheart, it is impossible to take my eyes off you. And I am not staring at you. When you say 'stare' it implies a negative action, which I assure you are not my intentions; rather, I am gazing at you, which is romantic. You are the love of my life and my destination, my heart beats for you and even when you are by my side, I keep looking for you."

She gave a lilting laugh, one that had always captivated him, ever since they were children, "You always did have a way with words, but then it is better if you look at the road while you are driving. And please, use both your hands."

She was surprised when Sanskaar smiled in acknowledgement and instead of continuing to drive, he slowed the car and gently rolled to a halt at the side of the road. She raised an inquiring eyebrow; she knew he would know it even he could not see her face, not with the road being deserted and intermittent street lights. The view of the starlit sky, visible from the sun roof, which he had opened, was beautiful though and she smiled at him.

He leaned over, as much as his clamped seat belt would allow, cupped her upturned face and whispered, "Happy? Now that I am not driving and we are in no way blocking any non-existent traffic on this deserted stretch of a highway, you should have no complaints."

She laughed again, one that sent a trill and set his heart racing; reaching over, he unbuckled her seat belt and pulled her in for a kiss. She gave in, her heart beating to match his heartbeat; winding her arms around his neck as she snuggled deeper into his arms. When Sanskaar broke the kiss, she buried herself into the crook of his neck; she could protest that he was always looking at her, but she loved him when he did.

She blinked as the darkness seemed to be rent with a bright stab of light. From the corner of her eye, she saw the flashing lights and her heart trembled, with a cold dread seeping into her veins. As their car was enveloped with a blinding glare, she screamed; a cry of terror that echoed in the dead of the night, only to be lost in the resounding crash of metal and the desperate screech of rubber against asphalt.

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Ram Prasad Maheshwari paced the corridor in anxiety, as he waited for the doctors to update them with news, uncaring of the middle aged couple who sat in the cold chairs and ignoring the two young men who stood at a distance away, shock and worry radiating from their faces. He thought he should talk them, maybe offer a few words of comfort, but then decided against it, he was too full of cold despair to be able to say anything. He did wish that the woman would cease her crying, her silent sniffling sobs, which echoed in the empty hall and grated on his ears, were irritating and annoying. It was strange he thought, the couple were his friends, but in the agony of waiting for the news about their children, he was irritated by their presence. He spared a glance at the husband sitting beside the woman, as though berating him for being unable to stop his wife from crying; but the man simply sat beside her and made no attempt to comfort his wife; instead, he was staring ahead, a glazed look in his eyes, as though unsure of what was happening. He did not move even when the young nurse stepped out of the operating theatre, her shaky gait and greenish tinge foreboding the worst.

Ram Prasad stopped his pacing to run after the nurse and pulling her by the elbow demanded, "How is he, is he going to be alright? And what about her? Please tell me they are going to be alright."

The nurse was a young girl, who was never interested in being a nurse. For eleven years, from the time she was a mere five year old child, Prashanti had been convinced that she had the face and figure for a glamorous role, stardom as a film actress awaited her. As she grew older, she realised that it was not possible and she aimed to settle as a receptionist in a posh software industry office, where the extremely wealthy and handsome owner would fall for her and give her the life of luxury she deserved. At twenty, when her education imparted her only with a paper degree, she wallowed in self pity for six months, before surrendering to her mother's constant admonishment. Being a nurse was never in her charts, but then her mother who was an empathetic and excellent nurse, was tired of her daughter's impractical day dreams and had force her into the nurse training, hoping that she would give up her impossible ideas. Unfortunately her daughter's reluctance to be a nurse was stronger than any of her hopes, and Prashanti spent her shifts in the hospital avoiding any real work.

Prashanti's presence in the situation was a lamentable one, she had answered the call when she had just downed half of her second beer and was contemplating on how many beers would be needed to drown her misery. As she heard the message, she made her usual impulsive decision, maybe a stint in the emergency room which would house those couple of unfortunate souls, could make her feel better. She walked to the washroom, rinsed her mouth as best she could, popped in a few strong mints and rushed to the hospital. 

It was a bad call. 

The sight of the blood unnerved her and she was convinced that it was a waste of time trying to save them. There was a part of her that wondered if there was any use of them even surviving, not when it would leave them with ugly scars and mutilations. With the growing stench of blood, nausea churned in her and unable to stand it any longer, she ran out of the theatre. When Ram grasped her hand, she gaped at him with wild eyes, her mind was an incoherent mess and then shook her head, "there is no hope, it is all over... they are dead, all crushed, just a mass of flesh and bones... And there was so much blood, so much..." 

She then wrenched her arm free and clamping it over her mouth rushed to the nearest washroom where she discharged her beer  and dinner. As she cleaned up herself, she made up her mind, no more nurse duties, even if it meant opposing her mother. Or maybe, she could be an assisting nurse to a doctor who did not deal with bloody or messy patients, that would be better, she thought. Both she and her mother could be happy. Lost in her thoughts, she bumped into a young doctor on her way out, who brushed aside her apologies and gave her an appraising look in return. She smiled to herself, well the night promised to end on a good note, with no clue of the havoc she had wrecked.

When she had run away, Ram staggered as her words registered; and when he finally understood what she had been babbling, he collapsed under the shock and slid to the floor, his body a dead weight under the despair that filled him. He had lost his beloved wife when his son had been born and had transferred all his love to the new born son. There had never been anyone else in his life, except a brief possibility. Now, on hearing that he had lost that son, he had no reason or will to live. He closed his eyes, the tears still rolling down as his heart ceased to beat.

As though the stopping of his heart beat was an unheard cue, the woman's silent sobs turned into a hysterical wail, one that echoed in the empty corridors, an echo of a mother's anguish at losing her child. Her husband turned to look at her, unsure as to how he could console her, his uncertainty changing to dismay when her wail transmuted into a convulsive laughter, a harsh and brutal lament for their loss.

The two young men continued to stand in the place they had been since summoned by the news of the accident; mute spectators to the death and devastation they were the witnesses to, ignoring the persistent ringing of their mobile phones.

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Across the world, in another hospital, a young woman knelt at the altar of the small church that adjoined the hospital, her face streaked with tears and her lips moving in a ceaseless litany of hopeful prayer. She had been doing that for the past fourteen hours, unable to bear the agony of waiting outside the operation theatre, she had decided to seek solace in pleading to the Gods above, hoping for divine intervention, in case the doctors failed.

Ragini Gadodia barely registered the concerned voice of the nurse who had to shake her by her shoulder and even then she just stared as the nurse said, "Your prayers have been answered, dear. The operation was a success and she is safe."

When the words sank in, she broke into a fresh bout of tears, though they were of relief and joy. With trembling fingers, she dialed a number and her expectant glow changed to anxiety as her call went unanswered for the fifth time, it was unlikely for her calls to go unanswered. She dialed another number and then another and finally a third one, two came 'not answering' and the third returned a 'switched off' message.

Her joy faded a little as disquiet took over and her heart filled with apprehension. Chastising herself for imagining the worst, and torn between joy and anxiety, she decided to resume her calls later in the day after seeing for herself the safety of the young girl.

Five days later, she reached India alone; only to find that the world as she knew it had turned upside down and that even her worst fears could have never prepared her for had transpired.

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He was relieved that his child was safe and mostly unhurt, physically at least, which was a miracle. It was a miracle that would come at a great cost, but he did not care, nothing was more important than his child. For the time being he preferred to focus on the present and shifted his attention to his sleeping son, a son who had been born after years of prayers and medical intervention and one he was determined to protect at the cost of his own or anyone's lives.

The father stared at his only child; which was not exactly correct as the child in question was around twenty five years old, but none would dare oppose the father, not even his wife of thirty five years, who had long given up on trying to make her husband see reason when it came to their only child. She loved her son too but did not agree in pampering him to the extent of turning him into an obnoxious and irresponsible young man. Their differences had grown to such an extent that for the past twelve years, they had not spoken a single word to each other, despite staying under the same roof.

As a shadow loomed across him, he looked up in surprise; he had not heard anyone come in, he had been so lost in his thoughts. The young doctor who had treated his son loomed into his view and he sighed, he disliked dealing with greedy, ambitious people, even if they were most suited to his machinations. Especially those whose scruples and ideals came alive at the most impromptu times.

"We would have to inform..."

"NO," he ordered, "no one is going to be told anything, your duty is only in treating the injured, of which you have done a commendable job, maintain your silence and you will be well rewarded. The rest of the matters, I shall deal with them. However, do remember, your well-being depends on your firm silence."

"I will stay quiet, though my silence has a price too, the risk I am undertaking is not a small one and suppression of the facts could cost me my job now and in future too. So it is better if we understand..."

The young doctor stopped mid-sentence, he knew he was treading on dangerous grounds, but he was also aware that his message would go across, the old man was a sharp one and quite rich, he could afford the price demanded.

The old man looked at the young doctor, disdain shrouding his face; despite the ease that their silence could be purchased to his advantage, he had a low opinion of those who sold their morals.

"You need not worry, either about the amount or the time period, as long as you keep quiet, you will receive your payment. And now, if you are done here, you can leave."

He did not wait for an answer, used as he was to his words being obeyed without question, and resumed his vigil beside his child. It was a vigil he had undertaken the moment his child had been born and one that would be completed only on his death. Though only time would let him know if it had been a worthy one and whether the silence purchased was worth the secret buried.

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"You are alive for a reason and as a doctor and family friend; I am not going to allow you to give up. What were you thinking, trying to kill yourself? That was neither being brave nor being sensible, it was being stupid."

The patient grimaced as Dr Malhotra spat those words and made a face, twisted in pain and agony, though anger flicked at the edges of the eyes.

Dr Malhotra grasped at that flickering anger, she knew that anger was better than depression, anger made you lash out and fight whereas depression would destroy, "I do not care whether you like it or not, you are not going to give up. There is nothing in this world that you can say or do that will convince me otherwise. And do not even try that idiotic stance that you have nothing to live for, I agree you have lost a lot, far more than what a normal person can take but that does not give you a right to die. I am firm in my beliefs; you are alive and you are going to live, even if each day feels like hell, you. will. live. Do I make myself clear?"

She did not wait for a response from the patient; she knew that stubbornness, anger and desperation usually replied with sullen silence, so she turned to the two friends who stood near the foot of the bed, "You will take care, right? You will not give up the battle even if you have to fight the whole world. I am entrusting my patient to you only on that condition. Do I have your word?"

She received silent nods of acquiescence, and though she knew that this silence was of determined promise and that they would keep their word, she could not help add a final stern  warning, "If there is even a slight hint of this suicide attempt repeating, I shall personally skin the two of you alive, with my bluntest scalpel, after which I shall crawl to the edges of hell to get..."

A laugh broke her sentence, " I am already in hell, Doctor, and the actual one, even if it burns in fierce fires or is icy cold, would be a respite from this life. However, I promise, I shall not attempt to kill myself again. Are you happy?"

Dr Malhotra bit back a sudden sob, it had been a draining fortnight for her too, and unsure of what she would say further, just nodded before leaving the three friends alone. She would be with them, but knew that at this instance they would need to be together.

And here ends Chapter 1. Do let me know how it was, I have intentionally left out some names in an attempt to maintain suspense, but I would love to know your guesses. 

love,
Nyna