𝐇𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬.
Love is hope for the hopeless and sin for the saint. Love is both a salvation for the lost and a temptation for the righteous. It drives people to cross lines they swore ne...
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I stared at my cuffed hands attached to the steel metal table as Mr. Verman's frustration was clearly visible in his tone. "You are the first case I lost in my 35 years of experience in this field."
"Congratulations." I said dryly without looking at him.
He scoffed, "Yeah, sure. What's now? Why did you call me here hm?" A little paused. "Why don't you just go sleep inside your cell and count hours now because soon days will reduce to hours, hours will reduce to minutes, then seconds till the noose will be tied around your neck, then the chair will be removed beneath from your legs."
I finally looked up and met his eyes.
"I called you here because I want to ask for something from you..." I pressed my lips closed and hesitated to ask further. He raised his brow and leaned on the table. "What? Asking me how to escape the jail before your hanging ceremony?" he asked.
"Will I not be asked what's my last wish before my death?" I asked.
He deeply stare at me.
"No." His reply was blunt. "No, Rutvik because what if you say my last wish before death is 'I don't wanna die', hm?" he said calmly, then sighed and shook his head.
"Listen very carefully Rutvik." He continued, "There is no official mandatory rule in India where death row prisoners are granted a last wish, but out of sympathy we do ask what smell they love or what they like to eat as their last meal or any last person they want to meet for the last time. That's it. That's all. The End."
"What if the last wish is something else?" I questioned. He tilted his head, "Something else like what exactly?" He asked.
"Can a prisoner donate?" I replied.
"Donate what?" He raised his voice.
"Heart."
For some reason, the word heart hit him and Mr. Verman froze immediately, looking at me like I had asked for a nuclear code, not a simple question. "Heart... you mean human heart?" He repeated my question, and I nodded.
"Yes. Can a prisoner donate his own heart to someone in need?" I asked him again.
"Rutvik..." he said slowly, "are you– you talking about your heart donation?"
"Yes, Mr. Verman I am. So please tell me, can I? Can I donate my heart to someone in need?" I asked him again with hope.
"Are you stupid!!!???" He almost shout at me and frowned in irritation. "See, I respect your bravery and courage, but that's the most stupid thing you can do. And to answer your question, yes, prisoners can do donations and all, but in the case of a death row prisoner in India, the Supreme Court clearly said no part of the death row prisoner's dead body will be used under the Medical or Organ Donation Act."
