Shape of the Sun

A Tale of Two Cities

"Choti."

"Rajkumar." Choti rushed to his side, anxious, "How are you feeling? Do you feel better now? Should I call the doctor?"

"No, no Choti. I feel okay, thank you. How are you?"

It was the first time that he was looking her in the face since she came in. His question was simple, but not that simple.

"I'm fine, Raj." she affirmed, gingerly nodding at her brother, "Thank you."

"Mmmn." He closed his eyes and then opened them, "Are you not going to ask me anything?"

Choti shook her head. "No." 

Rajkumar glanced at her before fixing his gaze on a potted plant on the windowsill. It had yellow streaks along the green. The staff was not paying enough attention.

"I lied when I encouraged you to marry Mahesh because he would help us win Prithvi. I wanted the company. I am sorry." His voice was calm, eyes now affixed to the earthen pot's base.

And soon, the sound of crying filled that void. Choti couldn't hold back, her trembling hands pressed to her lips in order to stop the sobs from escaping past them. She cried like her heart was afire because it was. 

It was full of a multitude of feelings - resentment, sorrow, apology, understanding, shame - a mix of flavors that burned in their combination. Choti didn't know what to do except to cry. She didn't know what other conduit existed for her emotions to be free.

"I am sorry too." she said, crying, "I am so sorry, Raj."

"Elder sister." He didn't know when tears wet his face until he tasted salt on his lips. Soon, Choti's figure became blurry and Rajkumar became convinced that he too was crying.

"Elder sister." He repeated and she cried harder, that word from so long ago and full of such meaning. Choti had never thought that she would hear it again.

"Rajkumar." She stumbled towards him and bypassed his outstretched hands, hugging him right there as he lay on the bed. He hugged her back and then she could finally cry as hard as she wanted, regardless of if it disturbed those in the adjacent rooms.

"I am sorry. I am so sorry."

Rajkumar didn't scold and lecture her on the sanctity of the hospital like he usually would. He just let her be. He let himself be too. 

**********************************************************************

At the same time. Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport.

But there had to be a tearing down where there was a lifting up.

Prithvi was in a daze until he got to the airport. His right hand rested on the car's knob, the driver's call that they had reached their destination going over his head.

But it wasn't his fault.

It was his father's. He had abandoned him for his darling child. Prithvi had never felt so upset in his entire life. He had never cried so much like the present, the second time he had expressed emotions through that rather pitiful avenue.

The first time he couldn't remember. Wait, he could. It is all coming back so clear, Prithvi thought as he wiped the tears off his face. 

They had first come when he was fourteen, fresh from the loss of his adoptive parents in a fatal car accident. It was also the age that he had openly met his father for the first time. He didn't have to hide away anymore.

Bhairav had been a rush of fresh air and the turbidity in his chest all at once. That day had been hectic and he was too busy crying to notice the packed hall filled with friends that had never visited when his parents were still alive.

Ah, he had missed them. He had missed them despite every harsh word, the fights that he always waged and won. He had missed them who gave his boyhood a roof. 

Fourteen-year-old Prithvi had a wretched heart that matched the grief displayed on his features. He had been trying to keep it all in - until Bhairav maintained in front of everyone that he was his son and didn't need to hide his tears or himself from anyone. And so, Prithvi listened and shamelessly cried in his father's arms, sad yet relieved that he wouldn't be alone, untethered to the threshold of a home.

But today, Father had gone back on his word and set him free. He didn't ask for it yet he couldn't bring himself to blame him. Was he hurt? Yes. But Prithvi saw no other harbinger of his misfortune except Rajkumar.

He and he alone was responsible for all this. No, he wasn't alone, Prithvi backtracked. He had that witch in his ranks. He should have killed Harita, that crazy, when he had the chance. 

But it was not a total loss.

Prithvi knew that she was for worse now that Bhairav was on her case. Father would never let her go and that was perfectly fine. She deserved all that was coming to her.

The letdown was that she would be the only one to be punished. And the irony? It was not even done on his behalf. Everything that Bhairav did was for that damned brother of his.

He bit hard on the back of his molars as if that would rein him in from teetering over the edge, the sound of enamel grinding over each other so tactile in the car. The driver kept his eyes on the dashboard, fighting the temptation to peek into the rearview mirror and check what kind of face his boss was making right now. It was feeling rather chilly and quick.

And of course, it was.

Prithvi's mood was a low-hanging fruit at the moment. Why did Rajkumar have to steal even the little that he had, their father, from him? Why did he want to force him to die?!

"B-boss?!"

The driver's frightened query brought him back. It was then Prithvi realized that he had slammed hard against the door in his passionate reverie. He checked his hand. It was fine and didn't hurt...

Ooh damn, it stung a bit. He stood corrected.

While flexing the hand, Prithvi thought he had to pay his half-brother back with a bang. He would make him fall from that height. He would utterly ruin him and get back what was rightfully his.

"Sir."

It was his assistant knocking on the window. He had gone ahead to book the tickets.

Prithvi rolled down, a still expression on his face. 

"Are the tickets ready?"

"Yes sir. Here they are."

Well-manicured, slender fingers reached out and took the rectangular slips of paper that he offered. No one could have imagined how much blood had spilled on them, their owner calmly purveying the tickets. It was an unsettling wait for the driver and the assistant. They were glad when he spoke up.

"A day layover in Bangkok?"

"Y-yes, sir?" He didn't make a mistake, right?

He didn't to his relief, the boss's usually level voice soothing his poor heart. 

"Good work. I have a lot of old friends to visit." There was so much work to be done before his return. 

Forgive me in advance, Father. You forced my hand and I saw no other way.