“I’ll do everything you want. But first, you must do your bit,” Dalpat Raisingh laughed, relishing his power over the woman kneeling before him in utter shame. His eyes twinkled with malice. How easy it was to subjugate the female species. They knelt for love, they knelt for hate. They knelt for friends, family, even strangers, but never for themselves.

They knelt for the utter stupidity and vulnerability that God bestowed upon them when he created females. They were weaklings, made for people like him to control and humiliate. God must be a man who created a woman to be his plaything.

His lip curled with contempt and amusement.

“What are you waiting for, my dear? You want me to help your son, don’t you? Then serve me, faithfully and lovingly, as you just promised. Then I’ll think of releasing Mohit.”

Jitters of anticipation ran through his body as he tilted his head backwards. Old though he was, his body had never failed him. Even now it was ready, arousing with the promise of pleasure this woman was about to bring.

A trickle of saliva escaped from his half-open mouth. This was what he lived for – the thrill, the pleasure, the utter sense of control. And if he ever died, it would be in the quest of this pleasure. Amen to that.

“I am waiting.” He nudged the snail-paced woman. Mansi bent her head as if praying to some God of lust.

A moment passed, then two, then ten. Nothing happened. He was about to open his eyes when his legs jerked.

Someone pulled his legs forward, making his spine jerk at its base. He fell backwards as his head hit something hard, and then his vision went dark.

*****

Dalpat Raisingh died around ten that morning, by cracking his skull open on the sharp corner of his bedroom fireplace. An hour later, a servant reported the death. By the next day, police had closed the case after a cursory investigation.

Standing against the study window, with a cool evening air soothing his back, Darsh almost smiled. He was feeling unbelievably light. Suddenly, all the clouds had cleared, and the air was light and fresh. The commotion in his heart and head had died down with the death of Dalpat Raisingh.

Call it Karma, call it fate or divine justice. The culprit was punished. The pest called Dalpat Raisingh was finally vanquished, and he was off the hook.

“So, it was a natural death?” Balwant Sharma asked inspector Kalra, who was here on an unofficial visit to report them of the proceedings. Not that he had to. This family did not pay his wages, but Kalra knew very well where his bread and butter lay.

While Kalra looked eager to please, Balwant looked tired, grief etched in the lines of his face, making them prominent than ever. The death of his once-best friend had brought him out of his sickbed, but he looked more like an animated puppet pulled by strings of memories.

“It was an accidental death,” Kalra said with a suitably solemn expression. “Mr. Raisingh tripped over the bedroom carpet and hit the nearby marble fireplace.”

“Postmortem?” Darsh asked, as he observed the inspector with interest. The man was new to Rajpur police station, but by no means a novice. Lean frame, wary eyes, and an oily smile on face. His kind were useful if kept at arm’s length.

“The coroner has confirmed our findings.”

“And there is no reason to suspect anyone?”

“None so far. Mr Raisingh was at his home, surrounded by his own people. No one saw or heard anything suspicious. His doctor has confirmed that he was prone to dizzy spells due to old age. We have decided not to pursue the matter further.”

Darsh hummed, keeping his face neutral. His own sources said something else. The servant who reported the death had seen Mansi Sharma leaving the room not half an hour before. It was not hard to put two and two together, but evidently, when it came to this family, the inspector forgot his elementary math.

Not that it was his fault. Many people would have done the same, and rightly so. Mansi Sharma’s conviction was not more important than the family’s reputation and the obvious humiliation it would bring to Balwant Sharma, who considered the village his own family.

Already Mohit’s case was pending in the court. It was only fair to spare Balwant the heartache of a full-blown media scandal, and for that, Darsh was grateful.

“Thank you, Inspector. We appreciate the prompt investigation. Do let us know if we can help in any way in the future. Now, if there is nothing else...”

“Umm... I am sorry for the trouble, but there’s one more thing.” Kalra looked sheepish. Darsh raised his brow.

“It’s about the funeral. You see, we contacted the kin of the deceased to collect his body, but they are both unavailable. Mr. Kabir Raisingh is indisposed, and Mr. Vivaan Raisingh is unwilling to travel to Palampur due to ...personal reasons.”

Really! Darsh nearly choked. So, Dalpat Raisingh was abandoned in his death by the only people he ever loved. This must be what they call poetic justice. How interesting! And how very, very fitting!

He straightened his face.

“It’s unfortunate, Mr. Kalra, but I do not see how it concerns us. Surely you have protocols and procedures to take care of unclaimed bodies?”

He did not know what these protocols were, nor did he care. Surely it would involve keeping the body in hospital morgue until a cremation slot became available. Just this last year, they had donated an electric crematory for the area. It had proved quite popular and was always overbooked. Alas, Dalpat Raisingh will have to wait in the queue like any other ordinary man, but weren’t all men equal in death?

“We can pay for a slot in crematory if that’s what you wish,” Darsh offered unwillingly. Kalra looked uneasy.

“It’s not that, Mr. Rathore. The state has a protocol for the poor and unclaimed, but it’s not like the deceased was either of them.” Kalra hesitated. “And the Raisinghs have old ties with this family. So we were thinking if you could…”

“Well, you were thinking wrong.” Darsh cut him short. “The family ties were severed long ago. The whole Palampur knows of it. I suggest you go ahead with the funeral yourself.”

“But Mr Raisingh’s lawyer does not agree,” Kalra finally blurted out. “He says as you were to be adopted by him, it should be you who...”

So that was the reason! Darsh left his shady corner and moved to the table, into the glare of the study light so the inspector could see his face clearly. He had had enough. It was important to get this right in case Kalra had any doubt.

As expected, Kalra paled.

“Now listen carefully, inspector. There is no question of me lighting the funeral pyre, if that’s what you are suggesting. The adoption was a wishful thinking on Mr Raisingh’s part. A ludicrous daydream, nothing more. His lawyers would have persuaded him against it had they been not so lousy at their job. In any case, I had no part to play in it. Mr. Raisingh and his lawyers can go and f*ck themselves for all I care. I suggest you go back to them and relay my message, word by word.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Ten minutes later, when Kalra left, Darsh was still cold. Hatred had a way of bringing him to his worst. Thankfully, Balwant did not react, and Kalra was too shaken to utter a word.

“So, this is it then,” Balwant sighed after a while from his perch in the chair. “Dalpat is to get a pauper’s funeral. His own family is not bothered and no one else would care either.”

Darsh ignored the obvious hint. He owed nothing to Dalpat Raisingh. He had caused nothing but pain when he was alive. Now in death, he was not going to let Dalpat torture him.

“You need to rest, Babuji. There is no need to stress yourself over unnecessarily.” Darsh offered Balwant a glass of fresh water. The man looked a bit more alive after a few sips.

“Maybe if you reconsider…”

“I respect you Babuji and there are very few things I would refuse you, but I cannot compromise on this. My decision is final. I refuse to acknowledge him in his death. That is my revenge and prerogative.”

He could not have been plainer. Balwant looked sadder than ever, but for Darsh, the chapter was closed.

*****

To Darsh’s utter dismay, Dalpat did not have to wait in a queue. The funeral was held at Palampur graveyard, in the grand old traditional way. Balwant Sharma himself lit the pyre. Hundreds gathered to pay condolences, not out of respect to Dalpat, but out of love towards Balwant Sharma. Their beloved patron was magnanimous enough to forgive an arch enemy. They did not want to be held back by their small mind.

As the eighty-year-old stood in stoic silence, watching the fire engulf his friend, Darsh felt a burn in his heart.

“He did not deserve this. He did not deserve to be absolved in death.”

Balwant looked at him. “Everyone deserves respect, Darsh, especially in death. We are not humans if we deny that.”

“He was not human.”

Balwant shook his head. “Whatever he was, he was once my friend. I have known him since childhood. He would not have left here without a proper farewell. Not truly, anyway. And I do not want his ghost hanging on our heads for the rest of the eternity.”

Darsh nodded as his face flamed. It was another reminder to get his grips. Hating Dalpat was a sure-shot way to keep him alive. It was a double-edged sword. He had to let go before it was too late.

“Do not let him ruin your life from beyond the grave, my boy. You must let him go for your own sake, as I have now.” Balwant patted his shoulder as he turned to leave. The fire had subsided, with wisps of ashes started floating in the wind. Everyone else who came for the sake of him made a beeline for the exit after him.

Darsh stayed there for some more time. It was difficult to let go of a man by whose shadow he had spent his entire life.

*****

A day later, when Mansi and Nehal Sharma left Palampur for good, Darsh was at the station to see them off. Balwant’s words hummed in his head. They made perfect sense, yet his it was proving hard to implement them.

He had deposited a hefty amount to both their accounts in lieu of their share of the property. Ravi Sharma had turned his back on them for good and proper and, in all fairness, Darsh wanted nothing that was not legally or morally right.

“I hope you make good use of this money and lead an honest life,” Darsh’s face was grave. “But trouble my family again and I’ll make sure you pay the price many times over.”

Mansi’s dead eyes flamed with hatred. She had attended yesterday’s funeral with Nehal. Both had stood in a far corner and watched with silent eyes. Noone spoke with them. People already knew enough to give her a wide berth. It was hard for her to watch the pyre burn–it was a funeral of her future. Any hopes of getting Mohit released or a better future for her children turned to ashes with Dalpat.

“You think you are too clever, Darsh Rathore?” Mansi spat with venom. “You think you are better than us just because to married to Aditi? Just wait and watch. You have the blood of Dalpat Raisingh. You will suffer the same fate that every other Raisingh has.”

It sounded like a curse. Darsh felt sick in the stomach.

“You think you will escape it just because you pander to Balwant Sharma? Mark my words. You too will suffer. It’s your legacy, your fate. He lives through you. One day they will hate you just as they hate Dalpat Raisingh now. Soon you will get your comeuppance and next it would be your son’s turn.”

He stared speechless as Zorawar grabbed the woman’s arm to drag her away from him. They boarded the train and soon disappeared out of sight, but her words stayed with him.

The funeral was over, Mansi was gone. With Mohit is jail and Ravi Sharma finally coming round to see reason, life should have been on the path to be sorted. But Darsh remained restless. Mansi’s words echoed in his head, stealing his peace of mind. He was not really off the hook. It was juvenile to think that it would be so easy.

Earlier, he was a part of the problem. Now he was the problem. In the future, his kids would be. It was a vicious circle. They would only end up where they all started.

*****

Aditi walked into her room at the end of a busy day. She had put Neev to bed and Balwant was already asleep. Her husband though, was still working. She had not seen much of him during the day and at night too, he was likely to come home late.

Sighing slightly, she pulled her dresser-drawer open when her eyes fell on an old notebook. Well, it was more than a notebook. It was her diary she used to keep when she had nobody to talk to. The diary she told not only her secrets but her miseries, too.

She picked it up and flicked it open, right at the bookmark. It was a page of her kill-list. Ajay was still there as Paddy-Pradyumna Chaudhury. A line crossed through Ajay’s name to signify he was no longer a concern, but the other name remained unmarked.

Her fingers shook as the book dropped to the dresser. The names still affected her. Though she had forgotten that black night long ago and moved on in her life, the tendrils of memories still had the power to disturb her.

Grabbing the dresser with both hands, she took a deep breath. It had been years. A lifetime had passed, and she had lived through it. Surely, it was time for her to let go. This diary was a remnant of a past she did not cherish. What was the point of keeping it alive?

She picked the book again and went downstairs to the kitchen. The house was quiet, and the servants had already left for the day. She took a matchbox from the kitchen drawer and walked to the sink. It was time to burn the bit of her past that had no space in her life.

The flames took hold, much as the pyre of Grandpa Raisingh. Not for the last time did she wonder how her husband was. It was easier for her to burn this notebook, but she knew he could not let go of his monsters so easily. He was a deep man, passionate in love and hate alike. Like an ancient mountain deep-set in its roots, he was hard to move. Change was against his nature.

“What are you doing?” The voice did not startle her. Slowly, she turned to find Darsh at the kitchen door. Maybe he had finished his day’s work, or maybe there was no work, and it was just an excuse to stay away from her. The burning smoke of the paper had brought him to her.

Aditi tried to smile.

“Nothing. I mean... nothing to worry. I am just clearing up some old stuff. Would you like something? Let me make you a glass of turmeric milk…you did not eat much today.”

He came closer, and she noticed his face tired from the day’s work. For some reason, he looked like a withering tree. It seemed he needed food, water, care. Love.

She stepped forward to hug him, going on her tiptoes to peck his cheek. His arms automatically responded to the hug, but he stayed stiff, his eyes on the burning pages behind her.

“Is that your diary? The one you kept when you were in Dallas?”

“Yes.” She stepped back to meet his gaze. “It was just lying around and it’s not like I need it anymore. It served its purpose, but I think it’s time to let it go.”

“Hmm. You are braver than me.” He said with his face still grave. Her heart twisted. It felt like he was still mourning. Not Dalpat Raisingh, but a father he could cherish, feel proud of. That hope was quashed forever. Dadaji was a pillar, an ideal to look up to, but his roots were tied more to Dalpat Raisingh.

A man could not change his genes. What was within him was his fate. He could not alter that.

Her heart twisted. Here was a man that was suffering in his own self-made chakravyuha. The labyrinth would gulp him alive if nobody helped him.

She raised a hand to touch his cheek. “I know what Mansi Chachi said that day before she left. Zorawar old me everything.”

He looked away.

“And I also know what’s keeping you worried these days.”

His eyes snapped to her.

“And you are not worried? Are you not worried the same insanity will affect us? Me, or Neev?”

She smiled. “I am worried that we will ruin the chance we have been given. It’s a new life, Darsh, free of all our old enemies. We have been lucky to get rid of them. Now it’s time to really free ourselves of their shackles.”

“Even the last one?” His eyes went to the sink, where the pages had burned to ashes. “He is still out there roaming freely, probably preying on some other innocent woman. Do you really think you can forget what he did to you?”

“I have come a long way, have lived my share of life with my share of troubles. I know there is still much to come, and I need to be ready for it. But most of all, I know that I have a wonderful family–a caring husband, beautiful kids. A loving grandfather and mother in Karuna Ma. Vicki too will recover one day. It is enough for me. I am content.”

She turned back to the sink to clean up the mess. Her words ran through his mind on a loop — husband, Dadaji, Vicki, Ma. Kids…

His face cleared. He would have noticed earlier if he had paid attention. She looked sublime as usual, but there was something different about her. He had missed it at Neev’s time, but this time the change was more prominent.

Her body had filled out. Skin was radiant than ever. Her face had that soft look he had only seen on his mother.

The clamour in his heart suddenly died down.

She was right. Life was giving them a new chance. All they had to do was to embrace it with open arms.

***** *****

THE END.