Satsangi - (A Search For Truth)

CHAPTER 2

I woke up to the chirping sounds of birds. Sunlight streamed through the window, softly lighting the room. My gaze fell on the wall clock; it read 6:30 a.m. I hurriedly got up from the bed and made my way to the bathroom. After dressing in casual clothes, I was combing my hair when I heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," I called out.

Sitamma opened the door and stepped inside. "Good morning. Breakfast is ready; come down."

"Good morning," I replied. "I'll be down in five minutes."

She nodded and left, closing the door behind her. I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs. When I entered the dining area, I saw Rehaan and Sitamma engaged in a serious conversation. I quietly walked over, greeted Rehaan, and took my seat. Sitamma served breakfast for the two of us, and after we finished, Rehaan and I left for the police station.

Upon arriving at the station, Rehaan and I walked inside. Manohar was busy filling out details in the logbook. He greeted us  and continued his work. Rehaan asked me to sit at his desk while he completed the logbook and assigned duties to his subordinates. After about 15 minutes, he returned.

"Sorry for the delay. Shall we continue?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure."

Rehaan cleared his throat and asked, "When was the last time you spoke with your father?"

"Two days before he passed away," I replied.

"Did you notice anything unusual? Was he behaving differently or worried about something?"

"No, not really," I said, thinking back. "But I did get a call from him that day. I was about to go into a meeting, so I told him I’d call him back afterward. The meeting ended late, and when I tried calling him the next morning, he didn’t pick up."

Rehaan leaned forward slightly, his eyes focused. "How did your father usually contact you?"

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "What exactly are you asking?"

Rehaan paused for a moment, then clarified, "Let me rephrase that. Earlier, I mentioned how we found your phone number. When I went through Mr. Srinivastav's phone, I didn’t find your contact details, nor did I see any messages exchanged between the two of you. Can you explain why that is?"

I sighed, gathering my thoughts. "It’s simple, Officer. My father didn’t want anyone to know about me. He was very secretive when it comes to me.

Rehaan raised an eyebrow. "Why would he feel the need to hide you? That seems a bit extreme."

"I wish I knew," I replied with a hint of frustration. "I asked him several times, but his response was always the same: ‘You’ll understand when the time comes.’ He never explained beyond that."

"How was your relationship with your father?" Rehaan asked, his tone more gentle this time.

I took a deep breath before responding. "We weren’t particularly close," I admitted softly, a slight sadness creeping into my voice. "But whenever it really mattered, he was always there. He may not have been very expressive, but in his own quiet way, he supported me through every challenge. He was the kind of father who showed his love through actions rather than words."

I paused, my eyes distant for a moment. "He wasn’t perfect, but he was the best father I could have asked for."

Rehaan was about to ask another question when Manohar interrupted, handing him a file. It was the postmortem report. Rehaan skimmed through it quickly.

"It says there were no suspicious elements found in the body, confirming it was a premeditated suicide," he said quietly. He handed me a copy of the report. I took it hesitantly, and after reading through it, I asked, "Can I see the crime scene photos, please?"

He handed me another file. As I opened it, the first image I saw was my father's lifeless body. I struggled to keep my composure as I flipped to the next page. The following photos showed the scene from different angles—overall views, mid-range shots to establish evidence, and close-ups for detailed examination. Though I had seen more disturbing crime scenes in the past, these photos hit me harder than I expected. I quickly closed the file and placed it back on the table.

Feeling overwhelmed, I excused myself and stepped out of the station to regain my composure. A few minutes later, Rehaan came outside, talking to someone on the phone. He motioned for me to join him, and I got into the passenger seat of the jeep. After ending the call, he looked at me with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently, handing me a water bottle.

I accepted the bottle and took a sip. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"We’re going to the hospital. I received a call from them—they’ve released your father's body.

We drove to the hospital, parked the jeep, and went inside to the reception area. Rehaan asked the receptionist for directions to the morgue. When we got there, a doctor was already waiting for us. He handed me a form to sign. After I signed it, he said, "You can take your father's body now."

From the hospital, we headed to the cemetery. When we arrived, Sitamma and a few others were already there. One man was arranging the pyre. Several men lifted my father’s body and placed it on the pyre.

"Who will perform the cremation?" the pandit asked, looking at the gathered crowd.

"I will," I said firmly, stepping forward.

A murmur ran through the group. One man spoke up, "Women can’t perform cremation rites." The others, including the pandit, nodded in agreement.

I turned to face them, my voice steady but resolute. "He only has me. Why shouldn’t I be the one to do it?"

Rehaan, sensing the tension, stepped forward. "If you permit, I can perform the rites," he offered, his tone respectful.

The group seemed to agree with his suggestion, but Rehaan looked at me, silently asking for my approval.

I shook my head. "Thank you for your kindness, but no," I said, my voice unwavering. "When my mother passed away, I was just a child. From that moment on, my father became everything to me—he was both my mother and my father. So why can’t I now be both his daughter and his son? Isn’t that what family is about?"

I paused, letting my words sink in before continuing. "Sons and daughters adapt to circumstances. When you’re hungry, a daughter becomes your mother, nurturing you. She becomes your friend when you’re in need of companionship, and in the hardest moments, she takes on the role of a son, providing strength and support.  It’s not about gender—it’s about love, responsibility, and honoring the person who raised you."

I looked at the crowd, then back at Rehaan. "I kindly ask that you all allow me to perform the final rites for my father."

Everyone fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation hanging in the air. Rehaan quietly handed me the torch, and I took it from him with trembling hands. As I approached the pyre, the reality of what was happening fully hit me. With a deep breath, I lit the pyre, and in that instant, the tears I had been holding back for so long began to flow freely.

I raised my hand to wipe them away, but Rehaan gently took my hand and whispered softly, "Don’t hold them back. Let it out. It's okay."

His words, kind and comforting, gave me the permission I hadn’t realized I needed. I stood there, allowing myself to grieve openly as the flames consumed the wood and smoke rose into the sky.

After the cremation, the pandit approached me, holding a small urn. "These are your father's ashes," he said gently. "You may scatter them in the river."

I took the urn carefully, my hands still trembling. Walking slowly to the riverbank, I could feel the weight of the moment in every step. As I stood by the water's edge, I gazed out at the flowing river, its surface shimmering under the sunlight. With a deep, steadying breath, I gently poured the ashes into the water, watching as they dissolved and disappeared into the current.

"Goodbye, Papa," I whispered, my voice barely audible. It was a quiet, final farewell to the man who had raised me, who had been my strength and support through every phase of life.