A Heart of Stone with a Coat of Gold

Revenge of the Innocent

Note - Dedicated to another comrade who has helped me a lot in my writing.

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14 years ago

It was a bleak room with white walls, a constant reminder that it housed something unpleasant. In addition, the smell of medicine and phenyl hung heavy in the hospital air. It made Neel uncomfortable, which was ironic, considering that all day, the air he usually breathed in was the pungent smoke of the cigarettes.

A lone bed lay in the room, wherein a gaunt man with a sallow face was resting, his eyes closed. The bones of his arms were visible as if the flesh outside was a just minor film coated over the calcium. His breathing was heavy and tired. A variety of equipment surrounded his bed: the glucose drip, the heart monitor, and various other Neel didn't know of. The doctors had told him that these machines were the one keeping his father alive; in a way, they were a part of his body at the moment. Neel had a sudden urge to break each and every one of them. But he didn't, instead, he walked calmly and took a seat on a stool placed beside the bed.

The man looked so feeble, so small and so weak. It seemed that he was holding out to life by a mere thread. Neel wanted to laugh; the notion that this was the man who had haunted his nightmares all his life was preposterous.

Neel took a deep breath. "You don't look well." He spoke quietly.

His father opened his eyes. Seeing him, the old man attempted to get up by propping his elbows on the mattress. He failed and sank back to his bed. Neel made no attempt to help him whatsoever. Instead, he smiled. Thankfully, the old man was too tired to notice it.

His father peered at him with half-closed eyes, uncertain of the reason for his visit. For a few moments none of them spoke, both of them unsure of what to say. The tension in the air was almost tangible. It had been years they had spoken to each other.

Finally, Neel broke the impasse. "The doctor tested me. I am a perfect match for you."

As the meaning of the words dawned on him, the old man's face lit up. There was hope in his eyes as if new life had been breathed in his ancient bones. He spoke, although his voice was weak, the renewed vigour was palpable. "Thank God. When the doctor said Dhruv was not a match, I lost all hope. But he said he would ask you, although I told him you wouldn't. I was wrong. So wrong"

He paused. "You are really my son. My boy. God bless you. "

Neel's heart skipped a beat. The words. How his heart had yearned to hear those same words when he was a kid. Those same words meant nothing to him now.

Neel's face remained impassive, betraying none of the emotions he felt, which was easy; it was something he had trained himself in over the years.

"I am not going to give anything to you. Not a single hair of mine." Neel spoke as softly as he could, almost a whisper, but it might have been as if thunder had struck in the room. The old man sat stunned, petrified, his mind unable to comprehend the meaning. Or it did, but just didn't want to believe.

"What are you saying? I am your father, Neel." The urgency in his father's voice was evident. "If you didn't want to donate why would have yourself tested for a match?"

"Because I wanted to know." Neel spread his palm open on the bedside, "I wanted to know that I had your life in my grasp, just as once, you had mine." His voice was forceful as he closed his fist; so hard that the veins bulged red below his knuckles.

The old man turned white as a sheet. His voice cracked as he attempted to keep it gentle, trying to appease his son. "Neel. I know why you are doing this. I did... I did a mistake, Neel. I should never have treated you the way I did. I should never have hit you."