TANGLED SOULS

From the ashes - 1

Abhir Birla stood in front of the main wall of the deserted Birla house, staring at three large photo frames. His gaze roamed on the three frames before falling in the most recent one, in the middle of the three. One he wished wasn't there. One that was tugging his heart in the most twisted and painful way. His small legs slowly approached that particular frame and stopped when he was close enough. His little hand touched the face on the frame, trailing from the person's forehead to eyes, nose, mouth and jaw before stopping its course on his cheek.

Abhir's eyes shut close and he leaned in closer to place his forehead against the person's on the photo. A lone tear slid down his eye. "IMY, Dad, I miss you." He spoke, in a heartbreaking breathy whisper, the usual chirpiness in his tone, gone.

He wished he could feel his Docman's, his Dad's arms around him again, protecting him from each and every danger, his warmth shielding him from the hurt and pain, giving him comfort. But Abhir knew. Abhir knew that it was all his fantasies. Nothing, if that sort could happen. Not now. Not in an eternity.

Because his Docman, his best friend, his protector, his superhero—his real father, in all sense of the term, was gone. He just vanished. Right in front of his eyes. And his world crumbled, just like that, leaving him lonelier than he's ever been before in his six years of existence.

He heard footsteps towards him and he turned around, after wiping his tears.

Manjiri, was sitting in her room aimlessly, lost in the memories of her son when her heart raced and she felt an invisible thread pulling her to the living room, just like it always did when...

"Abhir?" She called aloud and the little boy turned around, but the sight was too heart wrenching to bear. Her six years old grandson, Abhir Birla, was standing in front of the large photo frame of his own father, her lost son, Abhimanyu Birla. She slapped a hand on her mouth to muffle the sob that threatened to escape her before quickly averting her eyes to compose herself.

Once she had buried her sorrow deep in her heart, she made her way toward
Abhir still standing on the same spot and placed a hand on his head before looking at her smiling Abhi on the frame, wondering why fate was so cruel. Abhir averted his gaze from the frame and touched her feet to take blessings before giving her a side hug.

As she felt a tug on her hand, she shook her dark thoughts away and knelt in front her grandson, cupping his cheek. "Can I go to Dad's room, Granny?" Abhir asked softly. Barely holding her tears back, she nodded instantly. "You don't need to ask, Baba."

With that Abhir made his way to his Papa's room, ascending the stairs of the Birla house. Leaving the two adults behind, one in the living space and the other—his mother, stood at the doorstep.

Manjiri trailed her feet to the doorstep and stopped in front of whom she considered as her own daughter. Akshara. The once, lively, energetic girl stood lifeless in front of her, devoid of any emotion. An empty shell of her old self. She was pointedly avoiding to look at a direction and Manjiri glanced back to see the main wall, where Abhi's photo was hanging. Wiping her tears, she held Akshara's hand without a word and brought her inside. For the first time, in the past five months.

Akshara started protesting when she understood her ex-mother in law's intentions. She held the arm rest of the sofa with all her force that she managed to claw the leather on it. But Manjiri didn't give up as she pulled her, ignoring her blurred vision of tears. She let her hand go suddenly and the unexpected movement made Akshara stumble forward. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as her blood ran cold in uneasiness.

And she was eye to eye with Abhimanyu. Not the eyes she once loved to stare at all day, no. Those eyes were hollow, unblinking, frozen. Just like she was frozen for the past five months. Her head pounded hard, as if someone was repeatedly hitting it with a hammer while unforgettable memories assaulted her mind brutally.