Whisky, Women and World

Chapter 8

The thoughts of how badly I treated Simran choked me with guilt that night. I often picked her up from a corner of the street and brought her to my room while drunk. This was just to prove how manly I was, and I would take advantage of her without considering how she felt. As soon as I satisfied my thirst, I threw her out. She was nothing more than an object for me to satisfy my carnal desires. A body that I could buy and use as I wish. But for the first time, I realized the woman in her, the innocent within her, and humanity within her. She was like a goddess I failed to pray all this time, even though I do not believe in gods. Seeing her in this light made me realize what kind of creature I had become.

I could see anxiety in her eyes as I quickly rose from the floor. I kneeled in front of her, and she stared at me with heightened anticipation.

"Do you remember you once told me about one of your clients who helped the poor or lower caste people in his town with their burials? You said it was tragic when he buried a lonely man who had committed suicide. There was no one to mourn him or bury him properly."

"Yaqoob, he visited me last week. Why him?"

Simran scowled at me, her eyes filled with curiosity. Yaqoob worked in a graveyard. However, his work extended beyond the daily rituals and cemetery maintenance. Yaqoob dedicated himself to helping the underprivileged people in his town who struggled to provide a proper burial for their loved ones.

In many communities, the cost of a funeral and burial can be overwhelming, leaving some families unable to give their departed members a dignified farewell. Yaqoob recognized this issue and assisted those with financial constraints or other difficulties. His compassion and empathy led him to establish a system that helped families in need. He worked tirelessly to ensure no one was left without a proper burial. He would guide grieving families through the legal procedures and paperwork required for a funeral, offering his expertise and support during their time of need.

"I have nothing more in this life. I have lived a life out of my control and shattered. Now I want to die in peace. Can you talk to him and arrange my death? I don't want to cause trouble for anyone around me. And if I die here, it'll create a huge mess."

I felt her kick reverberate in my chest as she rushed to the door. Slithering behind her, I grabbed her feet, wrapped my arms around her and pushed her against the door. She grimaced in pain from my grip and pungent stench. She tried to resist, pushing back against me, but I was too strong for her.

"I am no murderer."

She clenched her teeth together, her strength pushing me away as she whispered. Her voice was low but her message was clear. I could feel her anger in that single moment, the intensity of her emotions radiating outward like a shockwave. The desperation in her eyes was clear, her desperation to make me understand.

"Please... please, I want you to help me. I am a fucking coward... I am of no use to anyone. And even if you don't help me, someday I will be found dead in this room as my regrets and shame will choke me to death."

I pleaded with her, tears streaming down my face. Slowly, I got down to my knees and wrapped both my arms tightly around her legs. My face was deep buried in her saree and I sobbed like a child, refusing to let her go without her acceptance.

"I came into this world without trouble and want to leave silently. Please... help me with this."

She pushed me back, her face etched with uncertainty and worry. I bowed my head and felt sorrow grip me. My pain deepened, like a bottomless well I had no hope of escaping. I wanted to speak, but my throat was too tight for words. All I could do was sit there, utterly helpless and alone as she watched me sink into my misery.