Shape of the Sun

This time of the year

Where there were spirited new beginnings, moments of silent contemplation could be found sitting elsewhere. One only had to look hard. Many never looked hard.

Many never looked that hard.

Bhairav, fresh from a call with the PI, placed the phone on the nightstand beside him, atop the folded newspaper, while he sat on the bed, arms crossed. He was thoughtful. He was silently contemplating.

Was it that time of the year now?

A quick glance at his watch told him that it was the thirteenth, and tomorrow was the fourteenth. It was that time of the year when he always felt a certain kind of melancholy.

Prithvi. Bhairav had gotten information that his eldest had set off on a sedan to Pune for his adoptive parents' commemoration. He rubbed his thumb and his index finger. Prithvi was the child he had so many mixed emotions for.

Prithvi was his child, his eldest.

And it was just like yesterday when he was left on the steps only to be hurriedly handed off to another, his father helpless but yet not, weighing the pros and cons before deciding to let him go, a man who loved his wife too much to leave her for a child conceived through deceit.

The thing was that outside talk was always much sweeter.

Only Bhairav knew the battle that he fought. There were many times that he wondered if he would have stayed with Nirali had she not been pregnant at that point, if he could have given up his first chance at fatherhood after many years of waiting for a child even if it was only one.

The answer was no. And he knew that somewhere deep within her, Nirali knew too. She saw firsthand the despondent resignation when they had been ascribed to the box of forever childless. She thought that her children, Choti and Rajkumar, were her greatest blessings in more ways than one. She loved them so much, as Bhairav did too.

For how could he not? They were his children.

But for every passing year that he used to love them, he also felt distressed at the one he had to keep away from the rest of the world, a termed shame that he felt nothing of that sort towards. Bhairav loved Prithvi regardless, even on those hot summer afternoons when he watched him from afar, on every long-distance call he made to his adoptive parents to inquire about him. He loved him even after they died in that car accident, giving him the prerogative to directly care for him. Bhairav's joy had known no bounds despite the somber occasion.

But Prithvi was fourteen at that time, and fourteen was quite a small adult. Bhairav didn't think that the fourteen years after were enough to erase what had been learned in childhood. It was what scared him, that he didn't know his eldest enough. Perhaps, his eldest was hiding behind a mask, so many terrible secrets kept away.

It filled the father with trepidation. That same feeling made him so thankful upon finding out that Prithvi was away, far from the murder of Mahesh and those criminals, the same feeling that had his earlier suspicions concerning Choti appear fickle. Bhairav had let out the turbid air raised by Rajkumar's questioning.

On that thought, he picked up the phone, navigated to messages, and typed in a quick text.

Call me as soon as the ceremony is over. Don't be in a rush.

Bhairav wondered how anxious he was. They had not been on speaking terms in a while, one-sided admittedly.

He wanted to tell him to take care of his body but ended up deciding against it, such a message over text feeling so impersonal. He'd rather do it over the call.