The smoke rose up in the air, creating clouds on land. Silvery, just like her hair. Persistent, just like her. Fading, just like her.
"Hemant!"
Gripping his shoulder, his cousin shook him out of his thoughts.
"Hemant! You have to do this!"
Ajit clasped his arm around his cousin, no, his brother, Hemant. Supporting him, he led him to pyre of wood, slowly and steadily.
Hemant, felt the stick slipping out of his hand, his palm sweaty and his fingers jittery. He was about to set his mother on fire.
Ma.
The fire, burning bright, unlike his dead eyes which held no emotions.
Hot, thick tears rolled past his cheeks, stopping them was impossible.
Death was inevitable. And he had realized it.
Too late.
He was late.
Touching the wood with the fire, he let out a scream of agony.
"It was a cardiac arrest, Mr. Arora."
The smoke raised itself, few people coughing, the masses crying.
Supriya Arora was a tough woman, no doubt. The toughness hid her good deeds but did not erase them.
For Ajit, it was his Priya Ma. He had tried convincing both the parties, the mother and the son. Alas, like mother, like son.
Keerti watched her husband. She tried answering her kids questions on why their grandmother was inside a bunch of woods. She was torn. Her mother-in-law was not someone she got along with but both the women had acknowledged the goodness in each other.
And for once, she regretted not coming back to India.
Hemant. He stood still.
Watching the fumes mingle in the sky, he kept staring.
Long time ago, a wise man by the name, Kedar Arora had told him, "Time stands still, life does not."
And he learned it the hard way.
Bending to their level, he held the attention of his children and told them, "Time stands still, life does not."
The five year old and seven year old, listened intently.
Confused, they eyed their father.
Choosing not to disappoint him, they nodded.
"So what did you understand?"
Not knowing the answer, they did the only thing they could.
They still kept nodding.
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