"Find my son, you goddamned cop!" An old man screamed at the top of his weak lungs, the patience ran out of him. He was done inquiring about his missing son at this police station.
The disheartening news has already fallen on his ears (your son is dead). A father's heart, however, doesn't want to believe it. An inner voice would always assure him. Your son is missing, and these corrupt cops are too lazy to find him.
A flush of agony constricted the old man's heart, spiraling up to his throat. Slowly a jolt erupted in his heart and splitting ache cracked through his chest. His left hand reached to clutch his chest (perhaps to squeeze the pain?), but it was unstoppable. The old man parted his lips to suck in oxygen, red lines criss crossed over his sclera.
Before a word made past his throat, he fell in a heap like a palace of cards.
Some cops ran to catch the already collapsed old man. One police officer held the pulse of the old man. "Let's move him to the hospital asap."
"Another death?" The lead officer said as a hospital stature—carrying the old man—stormed past him.
"Yes, sir!" An assistant cop said, he stood straight like a pole. "The old man's son was missing. The report says that Modern Ecclesiastes influenced his son."
"Ecclesiastes! Ecclesiastes! Ecclesiastes!" The lead cop burst out; an outburst of anger made him slap his thighs. "I want every information about this freak, you understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
"And..." The lead cop shot a glance at his assistant. "Bring me the case study of this missing guy — Rahul."
****
"I will always love you and protect you, Bittu." These were the words Rahul spoke to his little sister. It was the last time they were together before cruel destiny separated them. Forever.
Tears stung Rahul's eyes. His finger reached to wipe off the emotional water. "I still miss you," he spoke to himself with a hoarse voice.
She used to wipe my tears precisely the same way! Stream of tears rolled down his eyes like a miniature waterfall. The memories of separation flooded his mind and heart. The man felt emotional trauma would eat him up, but he gathered himself together. Yeah, he has been doing it for twenty long years.
Destiny parted these two siblings twenty years ago. The old man was not his birth father. Rahul was an adopted son, but most of his childhood was mired with a tragic array of events. Unfortunate enough to plaster long-lasting trauma into his psyche.
Rahul and Bittu's parents met with a car accident. Instant death. This disastrous upturn in destiny left a foreboding impact on their children.
The couple had an inter-caste marriage and was left with no option but to desert the town. Over the years, the couple was blessed with two beautiful children. When they died, children lost their shelter in no time, and what added to their misery, no relative came forward to take custody of these kids.
The rotten tradition has this rule, no mercy on the children who are born out of inter-caste. They are the outcome of sin!
Brother and sister were sent to a reputed orphanage. The local authorities did shower mercy on them, but they ran out of it within a month.
Rahul still remembered he didn't let go of her sister's hand for weeks when they began their lives in the orphanage.
"I'm scared; they will separate us, Big Brother." The poor four-year girl would often end up weeping.
"Is there anyone that powerful to take down your superhero brother?" Rahul would always say whenever his darling sister collapsed in a sobbing heap. The fear did hammer his heart despite the affirming words. What if they did separate us?
YOU ARE READING
The Krishna Love (Wattpad India Awards Winner)
Spiritual"Let's explore the world, man. First, we should go to the Himalayas," Ravi said as he was searching best spiritual places of India on his cell phone. "We're not going anywhere," Sid said sharply, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Isn't that what you...
