Guilty

It wasn't the season of rains. However, no one was surprised about the uninformed guests for they were polite; unlike the adamant thunderous ones that stomped its arrival by making some people uncomfortable and thus, frightening them. This one was more like a friend who tiptoes in your house, knowing that you are disturbed and can't explain things. Or to simply check on your well being.

This time, they did this for their human friend who was breathing heavily; very heavily in his two storeyed apartment.

'4..3..2..1....4..3..2..1.' He mumbled. Drops of sweat travel from his forehead to his jawline as he makes an attempt to complete one circle of breath. During the process, his one hand subconsciously, hold the hem of his royal blue coloured bedsheet.

His left hand reaches for his chest. It's still fast. His heart is almost thumping. So much that he can clearly notice the rhythms of its beats.

'When your breathing is normal, then it's the stomach that rises and falls. But in case of anxiety, you can notice that your chest is moving very fast instead of your stomach.'

His doctor told him this five years ago.

Till that day, he never noticed this. He never had time to notice such things about his body. His body.. he never liked his body - not as in, his appearance but more in terms of his existence. In the past, he tried to finish his life twice. At one point of time, he was almost there when fear embraced him and he dropped the blade.

He still has a clear picture of how his hands were shaking when he heard his mom calling him from the other room to take aarti. She was a religious person fasting on a number of occasions, visiting various temples, helping the poor, following all sorts of rules and rituals. She prayed for his long life. 

He didn't wanted to live but because of her prayers, he stopped harming himself and the thought of finishing his life left him.

His mother - his favourite person in the whole wide world. His strength. The one who left everything and everyone just for him. She did everything in her power to bless him with a happy life. She was an expressive soul with a heart shaped face, almond eyes, and an unshakable glow on her face.

She would drape herself in cotton sarees. She was a respectable human and worked as a teacher. She loved kids and talked about how fun it was at school and share various anecdotes and stories. Apart from school, she also gave tution to kids at home. But inspite of all this, she always found time for him. She called him the reason of her existence. He wondered why she loved him and whether he was worth it all.

His mom was strong. Like all the mothers. And resilient. He thought of her as his superhero who will protect him no matter what the situation is. Until the day.. that day, which came to him every single day wearing different set of emotions - sometimes as fear, or anger. Or as a mixture of guilt and helplessness. That day meets him and makes him vulnerable. So much that he fails to function like other fellow human beings of his age.

The round shaped wall-clock made a sound which brought him back from his memory lane. He went near the window - his left hand almost clutching his chest with a hope to normalise his breathing. The road lights were dim and the raindrops were falling one after the other from the porch.

It's way past five. He cannot sleep now. It doesn't make any difference to him because he hasn't received his share of sleep for the last twenty one years. Or maybe since the day he saw his father hitting his mother. Or the moment he saw her turning pale with purple bruise marks and drops of blood on her wrist. Or when he saw grief flowing through her eyes in the form of tears. 

He was six years old but he understood what kids of his age couldn't even comprehend. That his father was different and he was controlled by his anger and an urge to break whatever or whoever came in between.

He saw his dad's anger in different forms. And because of that, he also witnessed how his mom started diminishing into nothing. She started forgetting things and people. He saw her crying behind the closed doors for days until one day she was gone just like that. He never thought that his mom would leave him. Never. To him, it felt as if he wasn't able to breathe.

And that's how, anxiety befriended him. Never leaving his side ever since.

*****

"May his soul rest in peace..

May he get abode in heaven.

May he be cleared from all his previous anomalous conducts.

May the almighty forgive him and gift him a place in his heart.

May his soul be blissful and gratified..

Amen."

The priest repeated his prayers as he lit fire to the dead body of his father. He saw the people around him. A couple of them were brushing tears off of their faces. A few of them were sobbing. Everyone was covering themselves up with some sort of emotion alongwith their white clothes except him, who was contemplating whether he should forgive his father or whether god will really bless him with a place in heaven?

The man who took away his mother; his childhood; the man because of whom he despised his existence and decided to end his life multiple times; the man who blessed him with questions consisting of so many what if's; the man who never really existed for him; the man...this man - his father.

Did he really knew his father? They barely communicated. Staying together for years yet so so far away from each other. There were so many walls around him and he was too fragile to break those walls so as to start the communication while his father was unbothered. Instead of toy cars or cartoon sets, he gifted him with bad memories and phobias. For years, he cried, screamed his lungs out, covered up his ears to get away from the image of his father. But nothing actually worked for him.

Years after his mother's death, he cried himself to sleep, keeping the lights open and hiding all the pain for it wasn't visible and no one was familiar with it except for them - their family.

He didn't deserve this. His mother didn't deserve this. They, as a family, didn't deserve this.

The sun was about to bid goodbye when all of a sudden, he sat near the ashes of his father. His eyes started blurring as the first set of tears made their way. He remembered his mother who died with a guilt - the guilt that she wasn't a good mother. It was gruesome. Nothing and nobody could convince her.

'I do not want you to die with any guilt.' These were her last words while holding his hands while counting her last number of breaths.

So he did. He forgave his father and himself - two of the people he hated his entire life. For all the invisible pain, unanswered questions, incomplete apologies. He left the guilt and accepted as well as asked for forgiveness.

But he was still contemplating what this forgiveness will return him. Does it matter now? As he moved to immerse his father's ashes into the holy river, he felt that he was able to breathe completely - something he couldn't do for years. He got his answer.