She Lived Twice

8 || Because We Trusted Him

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There was a strange part of Anika that had always drawn her towards the same road. Her feet were firm against the asphalt, her stature stiff and upright. Before her, the ruined remains of an old townhome. 

The rickshaw driver had looked at her inquisitively when she had requested for the sudden destination change. After all, why would a woman heading to the bazaar in the heart of the city suddenly be interested in stopping at some burned down, poor man's locality? 

The place wasn't all deserted. Beside the ruined buildings, there were newer ones. The residents of those homes would steal glances at her as they progressed with their daily lives. It wasn't every day that a woman decked in kurta and jeans would appear with no motive. Especially in a place like this. 

"Dear, may I help you?"

Anika's chain of thoughts was broken upon hearing the voice. She jumped slightly to see an old man standing beside her with a worn smile and tired eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." 

"No, it's fine," Anika assured. "I was just leaving," she added. 

"No, please stay!" the man croaked. "It's not often that we get visitors. The wreckage doesn't exactly make this place a tourist attraction. It is rare that we get to see other people from the outside world," he chuckled. 

Anika looked back at the building. "Uncle, what happened to this place?" she asked, pointing at the building left in disrepair. The elder man squinted in the sun as he inspected the familiar damage himself. 

"Ah, a forest fire. Two years ago. It ripped through the trees that were once our haven. One of the trees fell on some power line and then suddenly everything we knew was on fire. My daughter-in-law and grandson were home with me at the time. They rushed me inside this dark room and we sat there in silence for several hours. A firefighter opened the door and led us out when the fire had mostly died. Everything was this hellish nether scape. There was ash where homes had once stood and everyone was screaming as they watched everything they knew being taken from them." 

Anika felt her heart pinch at his words. "Why have they started a separate neighborhood over there? Why wouldn't they demolish this and build new homes over it, like they usually do?" 

"Sentimental value for us folk who called this place our old home." He paused for a moment and looked over at one of the burnt homes. He muttered something under his breath and limped over to the debris on his cane. Anika followed him.

The man searched for a few moments before bending down and brushing away some remaining ash, revealing a rusty copper plate. He pulled it out and smiled, holding it out to her. "This. This was where I lived." 

30795. Yusuf R. Mirza. 

Smiling, Yusuf pointed to the house before which Anika had been standing before. "That house. There. When my family emerged from the rubble, the first thing that I saw was a frail girl sitting on her knees, crying over the body of her dead brother." 

Anika felt chills run down her spine as she looked at where he was pointing. In her mind, the vague picture of a girl in an ashy denim shirt and jeans was holding a small body to her chest and sobbing vehemently. "You knew her, didn't you?" 

Yusuf Mirza smiled to himself in sadness. "I cannot remember her face. I only remember her kind eyes. They were empty of love, but it was all she ever gave to everyone she knew. The happiest soul. She used to bring me mangoes and we would sit under a tree in the summer, and all she would do is listen to my stories."