Life is most cruel to the ones who are the most wonderful.
Nayarra watched the fire burn.
With it burned her sister's body. Sahara.
What had Sahara done? She had obeyed everyone. She had done what others wanted. She had done everything her father had asked her to do. She had obeyed his every rule.
Her father was crying now. How dare he cry? He was the one who had destroyed Sahara's life. He was the one who had sold her for money.
Bijay sat in the corner. He looked, sad. What the hell was he looking sad for? Nayarra knew that Bijay had been the cause of her sister's death.
And Niraj. Poor Niraj. He had been found dead just a day after Sahara. He had had a single gunshot wound on his stomach. However, the wound was days old and the doctors had concluded that he had been killed quite a few days ago.
Nayarra had a feeling deep down inside that all of this had been caused by Bijay.
She stared into the blazing fire. Her sister was being turned into ashes. But if she really thought about it then Sahara had started to burn a long time ago. She was burning when their father didn't let her go out with her friends. She was burning when the school held a farewell party for the outgoing batch during Sahara's time and she wasn't allowed to go. She was burning when all of her friends in college started wearing makeup and designer clothes but she was not allowed. She was burning when all her friends went on a vacation but she had to go looking for a job. She was burning when she finally decided to love Niraj. She was burning when they went on dates and she lied to her parents all the time. She was burning when she got married to Bijay. She was burning in her marriage. She was burning in those last few days of her torture. And she was burning at the moment.
Nayarra had been there for it all. Everything her sister had done, Nayarra hadn't done. She hadn't topped her grades or stayed in home. She had been the disobedient daughter. Her parents expected nothing much from her and she knew her end wouldn't be so brutal.
That day she had been sitting and daydreaming about her boyfriend in the classroom when she was summoned to the principal's office. She wasn't scared. She was a regular visitor in the office. But she never got called in until she had done something really bad. And she didn't remember doing anything so sinful. And she would soon be getting her engineer's degree. So she could work.
She had slowly gotten up and lazily walked up to the principal's office.
"Sit Nayarra." Her principal, a balding old man had said.
"I haven't done anything." Attitude. She thought. Attitude was the key.
"Of course you haven't."
"Then what?"
"Its about your sister." Nayarra had sat up straight at this.
"What's wrong?"
"You have to get home as soon as possible. I have arranged transportation for you."
"No. Tell me what's wrong?"
"You should go home."
"You are going to tell me what's wrong!" She had demanded, banging her fist on his table.
"They. You... They found her dead."
She thought she heard wrong. But she knew she hadn't. She almost lost control. But Nayarra didn't need to be told twice. She straight up ran to the car waiting for her and without much thought pushed the driver away to drive by herself.
She had come straight home and found a crowd of people swarming in and out. Most of them were paramedics. Some were relatives. Others she didn't recognize.
She had gone in and found her mother lying unconscious on the floor, surrounded by a group of relatives. Her father had gone somewhere. Bijay was said to be in his home searching for something.
The first thing she had seen entering her sister's old room was her body. The scarred and tortured body. Someone had so mercilessly scarred her.
She had gone close to her sister, sat next to her. A growing lump in her throat and a blurry vision made it impossible for her to think properly. She had then cried like a baby holding her sister's cold and lifeless hand. Her wedding ring was still there. Sahara had remained true to her demonic husband till the very end.
Nayarra had only left her sister's side when her father had come along with Bijay. Bijay seemed the least bothered of them all.
Nayarra had remained in her sister's room all day, feeling light-headed and angry. Angry at herself for not being able to do anything for her sister. Angry at her parents for getting Sahara married to the demon. And angry at Bijay for being the demon.
Of course Nayarra couldn't do much about it. She could opt to grab the knives from the kitchen and go about killing everybody she thought responsible. But even she, who had always done what her heart told her to do wouldn't stoop so low for revenge. Time itself would work on them.
She had then made some coffee and sat by herself on the porch swing. She remembered how they had fought for their place in the swing when it was first brought. They had shared so many moments on the swing. A warm coffee on a cold winter's day, the porch swing was their place. A wonderful book on a sunny day, the porch swing was where they sat. This was the place where Sahara sat most of the time, indulged deep into her books. This was also the place where Nayarra would relate her relationship stories to her sister. The place where Sahara told her about her first kiss and how wonderful she felt with Niraj.
All in all. The porch swing was their place. And now it was just limited to memories. She had sat there for more than an hour just staring at the blank space beside her. A blank space that would never be filled again. It was like a void screaming out at her.
Nayarra would never get over her sister's death. Her sister meant everything to her and Bijay had taken all of it away from her.
Sahara had just played by the rules. She had done exactly what everybody else wanted and nothing that she wanted. And now she had been murdered.
Nayarra had to find out something that pointed to Bijay. Anything. She would have to give her sister justice.
"Hope she did not suicide. My impression's going to get degraded if she did." Bijay had told Nayarra.
Impression? Her sister was dead. His wife was dead. And he was worried about impressions? She had slapped Bijay and spitted on his face. "You filthy asshole! You cannot just kill my sister." She had had so much to say but her father had pulled her back and barked things at her. She had just glared at him.
She looked closer at her sister's wounds. No. This was no suicide. Those bruises could not be suicide. This was a complete murder and ahe knew who was the culprit but she just had no proof to convince others of it.
Bijay had all too easily relayed this story. Sahara had gone somewhere the day before and she hadn't returned. Bijay had gone looking for her everywhere but hadn't found her. So he thought that she would return the day after and he returned home. He had also said that he couldn't sleep all night. He was so very worried.
The next day he had a leave from work. So he was home the whole afternoon. Then suddenly at mid-afternoon the door bell had rung. He had jumped on his feet and ran to get the door. But when he opened the door there was only the lifeless body of Sahara. He had immediately called her parents who it seemed were planning to come to Kathmandu. They had caught the first plane and gotten there within an hour.
To Nayarra all of it seemed staged. Why would Sahara disobey the rules and run from the house? It seemed so unlike Sahara to do so. And who would have that much courtesy to drop the body back home?
Then the next day Niraj had been found. He too had been found in his home but with just a gunshot wound.
This somewhat clarified Nayarra's doubts. Why would both of them die just days after they had met?
She had then called the police and asked for a private investigator.
"Do you think we work in Hollywood? Or is this for some movie again? Look here young lady, don't watch so much films."
"No. I am serious. There must be someone!"
"Sorry. No one." Then the phone had beeped indicating the person had hung up.
She had called again and again. She didn't care if they came to arrest her but she had to bring her sister to justice. She had to pull some strings. She asked for friends with fathers working at the police. She sneaked out some phone numbers from her father's directory. Finally she seemed to hit the right arrow because one of the policemen who knew Sahara and Nayarra since she was a child, said he would do all he could to help her even though it might not be much. That was good enough for Nayarra.
The next few days leading up to the funeral was a blur of activities. Nayarra skipped her school and did most of the cooking. She was constantly in contact with the police who was investigating. But they disappointed her. They seemed to be doing their job only half-heartedly. They hadn't found anything important or anything Nayarra didn't know.
Niraj's parents had come from the U.S. Nayarra had talked to them and they had shown their support to Nayarra to solve this case. Niraj was their jewel and now he was dead. Whoever was responsible had to be punished.
It was decided that Niraj and Sahara's funeral rites would be performed together. Nayarra found it to be very ironical that her parents agreed to that. Two souls true for each other, met in death, she thought. Atleast they met in death. And even if she really didn't believe in afterlife, for her sister she thought that they would live happily somewhere in heaven away from the cruel eyes of others.
The funeral had come. Nayarra didn't cry. She couldn't cry. It seemed that all her tears were used. She just stood there staring at the twin fires burning, taking their souls up into heaven. There were all kinds of people present for the funeral. Most didn't even know Sahara or Niraj. They didn't know about their relationship. They didn't know about their sufferings. They didn't know how they had been murdered. It seemed that those people only came for a dose of talk. Of course they gave their condolences and showed their sympathies. But what use were fake sympathies? What use were people who came to their house just for tea? What use was not knowing Sahara and talking about her? These people didn't understand. No matter how learned they were they wouldn't understand.
People came and went. Even in someone's life people came and went. Every person that is born has to die. But is it fair if they die so young? And what if they are killed brutally? Why doesn't the so-called 'God' not do anything? Where was Baba's Lord Shiva now? Where was his chantings and prayers?
Standing there in her white kurtha, staring at her sister's burning pyre, Nayarra felt she had to do something. She was alone at this but she had to bring her sister to justice.
Then she made a vow. Right then and there. She would bring her sister to justice. Even if it meant killing, she would.
With that she turned and determinedly she got back to ger house.
She had a mission. And she was not one to back out.