November’ 2002,
Midtown, Manhattan Borough, NY.
He arrived at his hometown airport and hired a taxi to drive home. Fifteen minutes and I should reach the destination Aryan said to himself updating every minute on his target distance. As the clock ticked down, the shadow of fear grew in him like that of one on a mid-day summer. It was at time very early in the morning that even a single organism didn’t throb their cells and nerves. He could hear the rhythm of the footsteps of a person jogging on the footpath. The car slowly took a turn into the long narrowed street. Aryan found his house gates wide opened, the porch shred with people, appeared to come and go. As he was driven close, he caught glimpse of huge crowd. He broke down into tears instantly, he was propelled to contend with the culmination of the real pain in his heart. He couldn’t withstand himself looking down the street as he neared the porch. He asked the driver to slow down. While the car was decelerating he heard three women talk something sober.
One of them said, “Wasn’t he any good till yesterday? It took me by quite a surprise. I believed he was recovering under his medication.” Aryan climbed down the car and pinned his ears to the natter of the women.
“Yes! I was on same minds with you. It is evident that good people who does good deeds are taken away early by the god. My deepest condolences and more power to the family. May his soul rest in peace,” the other women added.
After Aryan heard the women talk, he lost his consciousness. The taxi driver caught hold and took him inside the car. He grabbed the bottle of water from the knapsack bottle pocket and spattered on his face.
“Sir, are you fine? I understand your pain but it is the truth you have to accept and digest. I don’t say you should not feel sad for the loss of a member in your family but I am only suggesting you to be strong enough to take care of your dearest ones who love you as much you love them,” the driver helped Aryan with his hankie, “Everyone in this world will have to go through this, one day or the other. I was in your shoes a few years ago when I lost everyone in my life. Yes, everyone at once but then I learned to live with the pain and tears except burying them in my heart. Not letting them fly away but assuming my family is always with me, watching me whatever I do, wherever they are. That is just life, it is inevitable. I suppose you need some medicine for your dehydration.” He handed him over oral rehydration solution powder. “Please have it before leaving. You might feel nauseous anytime from now if you don’t have it. That might really worry your family while you are just arriving to your home” He advised.
Aryan agreed with taxi driver as he felt his words were sensible. He mixed the powder in the bottle of water and said, “I don’t know who you are and… ”
The driver stepped in, “You can call me by my name, Akbar Farrukhsiyar” he said.
“Akbar, I would really wanted to have an extended conversation with you but I am not in a position to spare time. Have this fifteen-thousand bucks and here is my card,” Aryan slipped out a visiting card and handed it to the driver, “Reach out to me anytime for any help, if you wish to” he said and hotfooted into the porch.
The love of my life. He taught me everything that all life is about, left me alone. Aryan seemed to take control over his mind but he failed at every attempt and made a spell of shedding tears. He tried and the pain only grew much than before as he approached the coffin inside the house. As he continued to walk down, every moment that he spent with Dayanand had started to reel in his mind. He was more than a father, more than a mother, more than a friend, more than my very own life.
The loss of him had thrown Aryan in to an utter desolation. He spent his whole of childhood growing younger under him. He stayed and spent all the time, in excess amount of time he had spent with Rekha. Vivek was in no picture to him for various reasons he couldn’t be sensible about. He exited the vestibule and stepped inside the hallway, the ambiance convulsed him to the hilt mentally. Rekha and others wailed all through their heart for the lamented Dayanand. No sooner Aryan came into being at the spot than his mother noticed his arrival and hurtled towards him. “Aryan…” She sniveled, “He left us alone”
He drew the snot rag to wipe his tears and dabbed on Rekha’s eyes, “…but I am only suggesting you to be strong enough to take care of your dearest ones who love you as much you love them…” He harked back to the locution from Akbar.
He plodded with her to the cadaver of Dayanand. In a husky voice, he heard a man talking to his senses “So you finally have come to see me, my king” Aryan looked vacantly on Dayanand’s countenance, “I feared that I’d be consigned to the pyre in your absence” and the voice dampened out.
“My king. You are the king Nemo, you are the true king” Erelong he heard the voice a second time. “I bequeathed everything I could to the family and you will bequest the same. Time has come for me to depart, I believe you will do the justice to the legacy of JAPMI”
Aryan broke down yet again, “You are not dead Nemo, come on wake up. These people are senseless idiots. They put you here in the casket and started weeping. They don’t care to ask you if you are here,” he bawled and buried his head in his palms, “Nemo I am talking to you. We both know, you are talking to me and I heard you. Please Nemo for the love of god, wake up. Nemo come back, please come back,” he descended on to his knees under the force of his own weight.
Aryan was blind and deaf in the dark, he showed a reckless lack of cognizance to the surroundings. He was devastated to an extent that he reckoned he was in a séance.
Dayanand was tantamount to a king in the city. He lived a life which won all the hearts in the locality and at the JAPMI in particular. A most disturbed and broken heart could make a better living after sharing the empathy with him. He was a compassionate human and was available as a helping hand for the need. He believed in equality for all and a blue collar worker at JAPMI would have his highest respect, hard work and smart work were rewarded affluently. They loved him for being that public figure. Aryan knew this only from his mother. He had never seen in person but it was evident to him with the huge crowd pouring in, and made it obvious on how special he was to each of them who were attending the funeral to offer their due respect to the legend and their condolences to the family.
The rich and the poor strive to render the cremation or inhumation a lavishness. One steadfast rationale was the unswerving credence in afterlife and the need for honoring the perished. The weather was windy with dark clouds. Night fell early on a summer evening due to an expected rainfall in the later night. The obsequies had started around 18:00 hours and it definitely was the greatest ever done to any person in the city. There were no authoritative figures on the attendance but it was extensively believed that the humongous congregation of mourners in recent years was seen in the streets of Midtown Manhattan. The eulogy and funeral hymns from such a huge crowd would have caught Dayanand’s attention, if he were alive, to make him perceive the fruitful innings he had lived. It nearly took more than couple of hours for the mob and family to reach the private crematorium though it was a few miles away from the house.
It was around 22:00 Hrs. by the time the family and the companions offered their last rites. The head of the family thanked the significant others who made it to the funeral. All of them attendees except the kinsfolk left the place for the day.
The family along with retainers were sitting in the lobby busy talking about Dayanand while Aryan went to his grandpa’s room where he was lying all those months in his absence. He felt guilty for he hadn’t come to see him during his last days. He called to his mind the talk he did with him a week ago on the phone.
I had seen from my mind’s eye the tears rolling down from his eyes when he expressed his love while he was talking to me. He couldn’t still believe that Dayanand was no more in his life. In a jiffy he noticed a portrait of Dayanand piggybacking him in his childhood hanging on the wall. He moved in the direction to reach out for it. Abruptly the sky was lit by lightening’s, the thunderstorm rumbled in the tranquil atmosphere. The wild blue yonder turned into vivid black, the angry wind smacked on the windows and the haul up splintered the clear float glass. The portrait was knocked out of the place and thrown in to disarray by the gust. Aryan walked towards the window and caught the glimpse of oozing weather. His hair was tousled by the heavy winds and then he heard the gravelly tone once again, “My king you know I won’t be able to come back again to see each other, talk and play like we did before. My life has come to an end, I came back to make a final revelation. I am not dead because of my dreaded lurgy but I died with an affliction. I was murdered, I was enforced to meet the death”
Aryan was trembled in trepidation when he heard the divulgence of the unexpected fact of Dayanand’s murder. He had reservations with his psyche and didn’t licensed himself plummeting in a phantasm. Is it a dream or Is Nemo really talking to me? Aryan questioned himself. He was entangled in delusions, he pressed his hands to the sides of skull, and he was wobbling. He tend to lose his balance off the feet. He tumbled on to the ground dribbling, “Mama…” he yelped and lay unconscious.
“My king,” the voice set forth, “Justice to the JAPMI,” the voice reverberated on the word, “Justice” followed by “JAPMI”. Aryan by then was insentient.
Power and Pelf 