Ashmita was married within a year from that night.
A couple of months after that Aarti aunty left us.
The broke Aabir uncle completely. It was true that we all had subconsciously expecting such a thing to happen, but to face the reality of it was more devastating than any of us could even have anticipated.
With Ashmita gone, the death of his wife had left uncle completely alone in the hauntingly vacant house with just me for company.
Although Ashmita decided to visit us from time to time, but she was torn between the responsibilities of two families, which was taking a toll on her as well.
I time and again assured her that she need not worry about her father but and that I would be looking after him. But I knew my assurances did not have much effect on her. How could I ask a daughter not to worry about her heart-stricken father? Was such a thing even possible? I guess not.
Either way, she kept her visits regular, if not too often. Once a week. Sometimes over the weekend she would come to stay with us along with her husband.
Those visits were somewhat the cherishable moments that we began to crave for throughout the week. The hungry emptiness that had filled our lives since Aunty's demise would fill up but slightly with Ashmita among us, but when she left, it would be only me and Uncle, alone in that house, to deal with ourselves and each other.
Having to witness Uncle in such a state was unbearable. Once a cheerful and lively man, was then nothing more than a solemn husk of his previous self. At the age of Fifty Five he looked more like Seventy. Often times, when he thought no one was around, I would find him sitting in his room with Aunty's picture on his lap. Not crying. Just sitting silently. Almost as if he was holding her and not just her framed picture.
I had never truly comprehended the depths of love before, but watching him, gave me a vague sense of its unfathomable nature.
His state, sometimes, reminded me of my feelings for Kavya. I too had lost her. I too had bore a part of the same pain. But then I would push those thoughts away. My pain was nothing compared to what Aabir uncle was going through.
Much to our dismay, he gradually began to detach himself from the outside world. He stopped going to the office and would rely completely upon me to look after the office. He would remain in the house even denying to go out for walks in the evening. I used to bring files back from the office and try to discuss work with him at night, but he soon lost all enthusiasm in that too. Worried his behavior would not be mistaken as negligence or dereliction, I had began to look after his work. Thereby I undertook another responsibility of trying to bridge his absence from his work as well. But I didn't mind it. A broken soul, I knew, needed much time to repair. Aabir Uncle needed that time. I hoped that once he did, we would find him back in his old form. But how wrong I was. How very wrong.
One afternoon, Aabir uncle called me to his study, saying that he had something very crucial to discuss with me.
As I followed him into the dark room, I could not stop myself from feeling a slight sense of excitement wondering Uncle had begun to think about work again. Maybe he wanted to start coming to office again, I wondered. As he turned on the lights, I examined my surroundings. The room was Uncle's private place and I had learnt ages ago how much he respected his privacy. Everyone in our family knew that. In all my years of staying with him, I had entered his study jut once or twice before. But, having entered then after such a long time, I found the place had changed a lot from the last time that I had seen it. There were piles of books and papers lying both on the table and spread around on the floor. A thin layer of dust was easily distinguishable over all that was within the room. Even the servants weren't allowed in here. And by the looks of it not even have uncle for quite some time.
He asked me to take a seat, which I did after dusting a nearby chair and himself walked over to a nearby book case, opened its rusted doors and then pulled on a drawer from below the lowest shelf. Putting his hand inside he drew out a long thick brown envelope. Walking back to where I was sitting and observing him, he handed me the envelope.
"I think you should have this now," he said walking back and taking a seat for himself.
My questioning stares were met only by his silence. Then he said, "Go ahead. Open it."
I found my fingers shaking as I pulled the pile of documents from within the envelope. As my eyes went over the first few lines on the cover page I looked at him in bewilderment.
"Yes. It is my will," he said. "I had it made years ago. Right after Aarti fell sick. It was she who made me do it. There is always time, I used to tell her. She would just meekly smile and urge me on. She even wanted to hand it over to you back then. But I denied her request. There wasn't enough fight left in her to argue with me I guess. Also there was the thing about Ashu's marraige-" he trailed off.
I looked back down at the paperwork in my hands, completely dumbstruck.
What is this, I kept hearing myself say. I don't want this. I never wanted this.
"I know what you must be thinking, but it was never your call to make," he said, as if reading my thoughts.
I was visibly shaking then. To my utter surprise however, I found him smiling. There was a feeling of reassurance in his face that somehow imparted a calming effect.
"Don't be surprised Dhruv beta. There is no better choice than you who could replace me. SHIKSHA is like my baby. I could think of no better hands than yours to entrust her and her future. Yes, I know, Ashu is my daughter, and she will get my inheritance, but SIKHSHA is different. She is yours."
"But uncle I couldn't -" I began to say, but my words failed me and my voice broke. Unknowingly, before I could even realize how far I was leaning forwards in my chair, I slipped out out of it and fell to the floor on my knees. Uncle rushed forward to pick me up. I extended my hand they met his feet. The cold skin was tender at my touch and he gently raised me, holding me by my shoulders.
"You can Dhruv. I know you can." Then he put his frail arms around me and embraced me in a hug. "You do not worry about Ashmita. She already knows about it and she respects my decision," he paused, as if correcting himself, "or rather her mother's decision. You did so much for us. Do this one last think beta. Accept this responsibility and give this old soul some peace."
I could not bring out any more words. Had I been able, I wish I could have said that his belief in me was his real blessing, his ultimate reward that he could have given me.
But I never got to say those words to him.
Aabir uncle left us a couple of weeks after that.
The Doctors said he had a cardiac arrest in his sleep due to mental stress and high blood pressure, but I knew the reason was much more than that.
Could half a soul ever survive this world without the other?
His heart stopped beating because he wanted it to. I then realized his contentment in fulfilling his dues. Through all the pain he had to suffer, it was the memory of aunty that had kept him going. But then, he was at rest. Probably at peace, being able to rejoin his love in the afterlife, if there was any.
Ashmita was completely devastated by the loss of her only remaining parent.
But as it is said, the loss of love is fulfilled only by love itself, so did it happen with her too.
Just weeks after that we found out about her pregnancy.
The constant support from her family gradually helped her overcome her grief.
Months later, as I visited her at the hospital, where she had just given birth to a beautiful baby boy, I found her in her crying and smiling, her eyes fixed on her son.
"Ashu," I called her lightly, to indicate my entrance into the room.
She looked at me with tear filled eyes. I went and sat beside her. "Why are you crying Ashu? Aren't you happy?"
"How could I not be Dhruv dada," she said to me, her voice elated, "I got Baba back."
