Sajan back again

Mrs. Shergil saw Shukla sir and Mayank in the corridor as she was rushing out. She approached them in a hurry.

“Mr. Shukla,” she said crisply, completely ignoring Mayank. “You’ll have to take charge here. I’m rushing to City Hospital. Samrat has been in an accident.”

Mayank went pale. Shukla Sir was talking, exclaiming, asking questions, Samrat’s mother brushed them aside.

“I don’t know the details, Mr. Shukla, but he seems to be very critical. I just got a call from the hospital. I’m going there right away. When I hear more, I’ll let you know.”

She turned to leave, then turned back.

“If you feel that anyone else needs to be informed,” she said, looking at Mayank directly, “Please let them know. Oh, and tell the students also. Some of them are very fond of Samrat, as you know.”

She left, her heels clicking rapidly on the floor.

“I’ll make an announcement,” said Shukla sir worriedly. “Many students love Samrat. They will be most upset. We need to tell them.”

“Tell them what?!” asked a new voice, and Mayank and Shukla sir turned in surprise. Rohan, Nirbhay and Riya had come up. It was Rohan who had asked the question.

“Samrat Shergil has been in an accident,” said Shukla sir. “Rohan, you know the PA system. Please announce it in the college.”

Rohan had gone as pale as Mayank. He actually fell a step back.

“Sir, is he … is he ok?”

Shukla sir put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know yet, Rohan. Will you make the announcement? I want to go to the hospital with Mrs. Shergil. She will be alone there. There’s no one else for Samrat other than her. If anything … happens … she will be alone.”

Mayank went paler. Rohan nodded.

“I’ll make the announcement right away, sir.”

“Don’t bother,” said Mayank harshly. “I’ll make the announcement. Knowing you, you’ll make a joke out of this also. You can’t even take death seriously, can you?”
“Sir,” said Rohan steadily, “I know you think the worst of me. But Samrat Sir doesn’t. He gives me a chance, the opportunity to improve myself. He always has. To all the students who go wrong. And that’s why we all love him. He doesn’t just lecture us. He understands us. Because he’s made mistakes himself. And that’s why we listen to him, because we know when he tells us something, he’s speaking from experience.”

He turned away and everyone could see he was choked up. Mayank went quiet.
“I’ll make the announcement,” Rohan said and left. Riya followed him, so did Nirbhay and the few students nearby.

“I’m going to the hospital,” said Shukla Sir. “Are you coming too, Mayank?”

“You go ahead, sir,” said Mayank with difficulty. “I’ll join you there very soon.”

He waited for Shukla sir to be out of earshot and then pulled out his phone, and punched in a number. When he heard the voice at the other end, he spoke quickly.

“Gunjan,, listen to me, and don’t interrupt. Samrat has been in an accident. He’s in City Hospital. It seems to be serious. I’m going there right now. I thought you should know.”

He paused but there was no answer from the other end.

“Gunjan,” he continued more softly, “what you do is up to you. Life sometimes gives us second chances. But maybe not third or fourth ones. I’ll call you when I know more.”

On the other side of the line, she stood like stone, the phone clasped to her ear even after the line was disconnected. She was frozen, she couldn’t move. There was a huge lump in her chest, like lead, squeezing her, constricting her breathing, so that each breath seemed like torture, like punishment.

Samrat has been in an accident. He’s serious.

Ash came running out of the bedroom.

“Di, he’s not answering his phone. I’ve called so many times! I told you he was very depressed! What if something has happened to him?! Di, I’m getting very worried! What should I do?!”

“Who … who …” Gunjan managed through lips that barely moved.
Ash looked at her impatiently.

“Samrat, di! The guy I was talking about! Who was here last night! Di, he needs help, I’m telling you! Why isn’t he answering his phone?! He was so drunk last night! What if he drove in that state?!”

Gunjan stared at her.

“Samrat?! The guy you met … he’s Samrat?! The one who …”

The one who flirted with death every day, Ashwini had told her. The one who had just lost someone close to him. The one whose pain was even greater than Ashwini’s.
The one she had inflicted that pain on.

“I have to go,” she said abruptly, ignoring Ashwini’s wails. “I’ll talk to you later.”

She almost ran out of the house, leaving a frantic Ashwini staring at first her then at the phone in her hand.

City Hospital. Stainless steel and glass, cool interiors, white clad nurses and orderlies rushing around, while serious-faced doctors strode briskly through the corridor. Gunjan rushed to the reception.

“Samrat Shergil …” she manged to say. “Is he …?”

The receptionist looked at her record book briefly and then back at Gunjan kindly, sympathy in her face and voice.

“I’m very sorry, madam. You’re too late.”

She clutched the countertop with fingers gone ice-cold, her mind going numb.
“No,” she said, in a whisper. “No, it can’t be. You … where is he?! He has to be here. He can’t be … I would know if … I would know …”

She tailed off in a whisper as the receptionist looked at her in alarm, as though she was going to faint … which she was. The girl came around the counter quickly and supported Gunjan. Gunjan looked at her desperately.

“I would know …” she repeated helplessly, and felt the ice around her heart crack. And crack again. And the pain start. A pain sharper than anything she had ever felt before in her life.

The receptionist held onto her and looked around her frantically for help as Gunjan sagged. Two orderlies rushed to her help and supported Gunjan to a chair, a nurse brought her water. She sipped it, then turned to the receptionist again.

“You’ve made a mistake,” she whispered, “Please … please check again. Samrat Shergil … accident …”

“Not accident, madam,” replied the girl. “He seems to have crashed his car deliberately. The police are here. It was probably suicide.”

The Samrat I loved and the Gunjan who loved him, both are dead. And everything is finished. Nothing can come back.


She didn’t know what happened next. It was as though she went into a daze, seeing the hospital around her, the people, the furniture, hearing the noise … without seeing or hearing a thing. As though she was in a glass case, there and yet isolated … imprisoned in an invisible transparent cage whose walls were made of pain, sheer pain … a pain so sharp and bright, that it hurt to catch each breath, every heartbeat seemed to be a hammer pounding inside her, every movement seems as though she moved through shards of broken glass, piercing her, stabbing her, shredding her to pieces … she didn’t know when she slipped from the chair to the floor, when the pain burst from her in a keening wail, which made everyone around turn to look at her in surprise … and then shock …

And then someone was supporting her, a cool hand swept across her forehead, a gentle hand brought the glass of water to her lips again and a voice whispered, “Gunjan … beta, sambhalo apne aap ko. Tumhe apne aap ko sambhalna hoga.”

Samrat’s mother. Gunjan turned to her and Samrat’s mother looked back at her steadily, warmth mixed with sorrow in her eyes.

“I did this,” Gunjan whispered. “I drove him to this. How could I … I loved him so much and I …”

“Shhh, beta,” whispered Samrat’s mother and held her hands. “You didn’t do anything. this is not in our hands, beta. Life, death … it’s destiny, our fate. We are only the puppets, the strings are held by Him. Don’t blame yourself, beta. We are no one to decide. When it’s our time to go … we go. And nothing can stop this, nothing can change this.”

Gunjan stared at Samrat’s mother. And it was as though her words broke the final barrier, dissolved the last chunks of ice encasing her heart, that organ that had been frozen for the last three years, and she was free … free to feel again, to hurt again, to sob, to allow the tears that she had locked inside her, to let her grief flow … Samrat’s mother held out her arms, and Gunjan went into them like a child, weeping uncontrollably.

There was an uncomfortable cough above their heads. Samrat’s mother looked up. A white-coated doctor was standing there.

“Excuse me,” he said gently. “I have some news for you. We were ready to turn off the life support system … as I told you, Ma’am,” he nodded courteously to Mrs. Shergil, “But there was some movement, so we kept it on. And there seems to be some hope still. There is some slight respiratory effort …” he went on in technical terms as Mrs. Shergil and Gunjan stared at him with hope dawning in their eyes.

“You mean, he’s not … he’s still alive?” interrupted Samrat’s mother and the doctor nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. And there is some improvement in his condition. Very marginal,” he added quickly, “I don’t want to give you any false hope yet. He’s still very critical. But we’re keeping the life support on now and trying to resuscitate him. You can come and take a look if you like.”

Both the women got to their feet and followed the doctor as quickly as they could. He led them to the door of the ICU, instructed them to change into sterile gowns and led them in. And Gunjan faced Samrat for the first time in three years.
His face, his arms, his chest … everything was covered with wires and tubes. And with bandages. His eyes were closed, one purple, swollen. Gunjan held his mother’s hand tightly as she stared at him and memories of another night, three years ago, another hospital came flooding back. She had lost one dearly loved person that night, the sister who was everything to her, sister, best friend, mother … and today, she was close to losing another … her love, her best friend, her soulmate, the first boy she had ever loved, and the last …

How could she have been so stupid? So unforgiving, so filled with hate? Her sister wouldn’t have, she knew … she had tarnished Nupur’s memory by her own guilt and anger, by turning her grief into hate and blame, by punishing Samrat for her sister’s death when they all had been responsible. Even her, for taking long in her farewells, so that they had to rush to the airport in the first place because they had gotten late. She wasn’t blameless either … but as Mrs. Shergil had said … it was fate. It was destiny that Nupur had to go that day …

But it wasn’t destiny that Samrat had to go today, she vowed fiercely, and bent to him gently.

“I broke my promise,” she whispered, and held his hand between both of hers. “I promised I would never leave you … and I did. I’m sorry, Samrat. But you always forgave me every time … won’t you forgive me this time too? Please, Samrat. Please forgive me one last time … and I promise I will never leave you again. Please, Samrat … just one last time …”

His hand twitched in hers, his chest heaved. The doctor stepped in urgently.
“Please, leave now,” he told them. “Sister … stethoscope?”

They both went out, Gunjan clutching Mrs. Shergil’s hand as though it was a lifeline. They stood watching through the little window of the ICU cubicle as doctors and nurses moved in a flurry of activity inside. And almost an hour later, the doctor came out, a look of cautious optimism on his face.

“Better,” he pronounced. “He’s breathing on his own. There is hope.”

Gunjan and Mrs. Shergil embraced, their tears flowing unreservedly.