Two Identities

5

London

Just as Deborah turned around to board the tube, she was stopped by a voice. It was calm and deep, but sounded firm

“Richard Hayes, Metropolitan Police.”

She turned around and found herself staring at the identity card of a Met officer.

“Yes”, she said hesitantly.

“Madam, are you Ms. Deborah Dawson?” he asked.

“Yes”, Deborah answered.

“The police has the orders to detain you for questioning on John Dawson murder case. You can read the papers.” The officer handed over some papers to her.

As she read, the expressions of her face changed from confusion, to anger and then to shock.

…..Ms .Deborah Dawson to be detained by the police as a prime suspect in Dawson murder case…..

“This is nonsense. I was…” Deborah protested, but the officer interrupted her in between – “Any statement you make can be used in favor or against you, madam. It would be best if you consult your lawyer in this matter. As for me, I’m just doing my duty.”

Deborah’s face turned pale.

As she left the tube station and entered the police vehicle, there were flashes of lights and sounds of camera clicks. A group of reporters with video cameras had also gathered outside the station. Deborah covered her face with handkerchief. As she sat in the car, Deborah vaguely heard the reporter speaking in the camera-

“…as the Coventry crime bureau have given confirmation that the body fluids found at the crime scene belonged to Ms. Deborah Dawson….”

 The sound died in the vehicle sirens as the car moved on to the road.

6

Bangalore

Each day, Pankaj longed to return to his humble home, but his body had rendered him unable to do so. His driving license, identity card, and passport – all proved that he was Rajat. No one would believe that he wasn’t. He seemed to be living an artificial life. He’d better not lived at all.

It was early morning. As Pankaj returned from jogging and sat for breakfast, he was reminded the days when when he went jogging with Rajat. They would return back to have some tea and cookies. Both of them were still together. His soul and Rajat’s body, but it was so different.

He remembered how awkward it felt when Diya tried to kiss him on the first day. He was still uncomfortable with her. She often told him that he had become a stranger to her..

He visited his home once; Pankaj’s home. His parents and family had adjusted to life without him. He just remained in their background memories, maybe in their subconscious mind, but there was no trace of him in their routine life, except the photograph on the wall. He remembered how his mother had started crying on his first visit. There was an uncomfortable silence as he sat down for the tea. He visited them a couple of times again after that. Last time, his brother escorted him while leaving and quietly told her – “Bhayia, we have moved on. I know you have come to sympathize, but each time you come, it seems that it was just yesterday when Pankaj died. Each time mother keeps crying late till night. The family feels the loss. I don’t want you to feel bad about it, but I want you to let us move on, Bhayiya. It’s a request.”

He looked straight into his brother’s eyes. There was a pain in them. He meant what he said. He broke the contact. Looked down into the ground and nodded his head in affirmation. They shook hands like strangers – formally as if it didn’t mean anything and then he turned around. He kept thinking about everything. That night, when he went home; he hid his face in the pillow and just cried. He never went back to his home again.

He called Itisha one week after the death.

“Hi Itisha, Pankaj.”

There was no response for a minute, but after that there was this rather rude voice – “Rajat, I don’t know if this is to hurt me or you’re making fun of him.” And she snapped off the call. He tried calling again, but she didn’t pick up. After two months of calling and messaging, she finally decided to meet at the Cubbon Parks.

They sat on the bench in the park sipping coke.

“I don’t know what you rich guys feel, but love is not a commodity, Rajat.” She said.

“I know, Rajat…..um..Pankaj, I’m sorry was my closest friend. I feel so much about him…” Rajat said.

There was a silence. She asked “How is Diya?”

“She is fine.”

Silence.

“Well I think I must go.” Itisha said breaking the silence. “I’ve got to take my mother from hospital. She goes there for physiotherapy these days.”

She said goodbye and turned around.

There was a call from her a few months after the meeting. She was getting engaged over the weekend.

 

A few weeks later, Bangalore

“Rajat, I have appointed you as the Chief Manager of our East India project at Kolkata. It would take you away from Bangalore so that you can de-stress. It’s a new project, so you can understand and do better.”

Rajat’s past memory had weakened a lot after the accident in which Pankaj died. Miraculously, he had escaped unhurt. His father was concerned about his health. Rajat couldn’t even recognize people whom the family knew so closely. Whenever he talked to him, there was contempt in his voice and a line across his face.  Sending him to Kolkata might bring a nice change in his life. He would meet new people and make new friends. He would be able to get off the old things.

“What is the project dad?” Rajat asked.

“Our CEO would brief you about it.” He answered. “When do you want to be there?” He asked.

“Tomorrow, maybe!” Rajat answered.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Rajat answered.

The Crying Child

Friday Morning 10:00 AM

BANNERGHATTA CREMATORIUM, Bangalore

People were grieving as the button was pressed and the dead body heated to intense red and turned into flames. There was a tremendous uproar. Ladies of the house were crying insane. It was the sound of death. It tears the heart and the soul in its merciless music.

 The melody of death was the favorite music for Vibhu’s ears. He stood there – in the form of a child – a young boy at it – watching the proceedings calmly. He haunted the crematoria as a crying child – filling the heart of the survivors with the sadness of death.

Just as the attendance to the funeral attrited , Rajat left the mourning family. He was among the last ones to leave as he was so close to the deceased. As he took the turn towards the lawns that lead to the parking outside the crematorium gates – he heard a squeal. The saddest and the most painful one he had ever heard. It resonated with a great loss. It resonated with emptiness and longing which can never be fulfilled - a wail that would invoke sympathy even in the hearts of the most merciless people. The wind was in the trees. It was a beautiful day. He turned around and saw the most beautiful and yet the saddest face of a boy he had ever seen. Fair, but pale, with red lips and black hair. He wore white kurta- pyjama. His mourning seemed complete.

An instant sense of sadness at the loss of the boy filled Rajat’s heart with extreme sympathy. He approached him and sat down on the ground on his knees facing the boy. He gently wiped the boy’s tears and amidst his sobs, he asked him, “Don’t cry my child. Where are your parents? Why are you alone?”

The boy had a white rose in his hand. He asked Rajat, “Was he your brother?” He was still sobbing.

Rajat answered, “He was my friend - a really close friend.”

“It’s so sad.” The boy said and burst into a sad squeal.

Rajat was a bit confused. Was he from the family? But then why was he alone? He asked, “You know him?”

The boy moved his head in denial.

“Then why are you crying for him?” Rajat asked. He was really confused by now.

“He will never find peace……” the boy burst into the saddest cry. “ He will never be able to cross to the other side.”

Rajat’s face turned white. The words reverberated in his mind. He looked like a dead man already. His hands turned cold. His speech stopped.

“This is your friend’s flower. I’ll take him with me.”

He remembered that a dead man’s flower is his ashes.

He ran off stumbling and falling a little distance away. He heard the boy’s words. “Its so sad. I’ll take you too. I cry for you as well.” And then burst into a loud crackling cry. The cry filled Rajat’s heart with absolute sadness. He stopped running and stood still. He didn’t want to live anymore.

The boy came over to him and gently took his hand. He led him to cremation table where his friend lay minutes back. The family was gone. There were no ashes there.