"Father had not come home!"

The cacophonous syllables perhaps, did hint of an apprehension—a chaotic pirouette of mediocrity. It sucked out the desire to draw breaths, inhale or exhale amidst the atmosphere of tension thus created by Arnav's verily sinister syllables.

"Where had he been, Arnav!?" asked Robin, his tensed voice quivering with the burdened forebodings.

To this, Arnav looked up; his blank gaze penetrated Robin's eyes and his bosom. It reached his heart. His vision had been numb, oblivious, rendering its beholders into oblivion, a void of paralysis.

What did Arnav indicate by means of his words, look, and now, this obnoxious silence? What secret, what mediocrity had been thriving in his bosom– in the identity of these syllables!? These sentences hovered in the ambiance and the minds of the residents, except for the subject of the queries, Arnav.

The possible respondent to the questions and the queerness now kept quiet, silent, shut.

"Speak Arnav, what had happened to your father?" said Sameer, the transmitted tension evident within the trebles of his profound vehemence.

"I shall! I shall absolve myself of the charges—the accusations you people are alleging me of. I shall open it all, don't worry. Huh!—this life of mine— its tapestry more convoluted than anything I have ever known! I lose track of things, many a times. Pardon me for my mistakes. I shall atone. And I am. I am indeed, atoning for my sins." said Arnav, his voice hinting of unfathomable dread.

"Arnav, be clear. We are more than docs, we strive to be honest, faithful folks and friends. We don't understand so much of perplexity! Clarify it!" said Sameer, now more restless than ever.

Robin nodded, expressing his affirmation and consent.

***

Arnav mused over his experiences and thereby, strove to begin his tale of awe—

"It was a dreamy shade of twilight which had painted the clouds that day. The festive atmosphere of revels, laughter and glee had been resonant within the hues. Upon them, I had painted the profile of Ishita, my mother, and of my granny—of women whose significance to me lay as much as that of Durga Maa to humanity.

"After a few short hours of deluding, we had spotted the time. It was seven in the night. Much to our oblivion, had but the sky been painted with stars—a new shade of twinkling white. The hues had abandoned the cottony clouds and the sky of autumn.

"'Baba? Where is Baba? He has not yet returned?' questioned Shikha, in her shrill tone of surprise.

"'Baba has not returned Shikha, he had promised that he would return with our presents and the garlands soon in the evening!' said Arvind Dada, the expression of surprise prevalent in his voice too.

'Suddenly, there sounded a knock on the door.

"'Baba?' said I, simultaneously joined by the others.

"A peal of soulful laughter resonated within the walls of our residence. What kiddish nightmares were we dreaming of!

"Shikha stood up, supporting herself with her hands laid upon the firm ground. She took the odni and covered her breasts. Then, with haste, excited steps, she went forth towards the door to welcome her first love–dads are always the first love of young girls!—my little, childish sister was no exception!

"She undid the latch of the door in a careless, swift manner. But upon opening the door, she was left in awe!

"It was a middle-aged man, but not my father. He was comparatively way more obese and wore a tight pair of pants and a barely fitting shirt of orange to blanket his physique. The contemplation of the stranger forced us to come near the door, to interrogate his surprise visit.

"'Good evening mister. May I know who you are? Umm, if you are some colleague or acquaintance of my father, you would have to wait! He has not yet returned.' said I, my gaze now transfixed upon the man's amber eyes.

"'I am sorry gentlemen to disturb you at this hour without any former notice. If I am not incorrect, is this the house of Manik Lohar? Actually, we are here to aware you of a bad news.

"'Bad news!? What has happened to my father?' questioned Shikha, in a squeaky tone of utter fear.

"'I am Mrinal Bhowmik, the coroner of the Das and Company Eastbound Colliery. I am utterly anguished to report the demise of our honourable employee, Mr.Manik Lohar.' said he.

"His voice was calm, cool, emotionless. However, his words had driven me and my siblings to the verge of insanity. The words, they traversed within our heart, piercing, crucifying! My dad!—he was no more!?

"'Nooooo! I don't believe this! You damn liar! Get the hell out of my father's premises! He cannot abandon us like this! He was supposed to today return with—' Shikha shrieked.

"She couldn't complete. She burst into tears and lost control over her limbs. We tried our best to control our sister and her maddened manerisms. She fell upon the floor, weeping.

"'How!? How is it possible!?' muttered my elder brother, Arjun.

"He was the eldest sibling. But Arjun Dada too had gone through a grave trouble to remain sane upon being objected to the cacophonical words.

"'I am really sorry. Actually, he had been ordered to excavate land to abstract coal deposits. Coal mining is a hazardous business, you know? He and a bunch of other men had been out in the extreme depths of the colliery to retreat coal deposits. There had been venomous gases in abundance over there. And upon mining, an explosion had taken place. The miners were injured severely. All of us had tried! But, the call of fate is inevitable! I am really sorry. The death certificate would be prepared shortly. And there had been a couple of belongings of his with us!'

"The man, then, handed over to us a packet.

"He said, 'This, I think he had purchased in the morning, before reporting to the colliery.'

"Attention had not been lended to the rest of the words of the man. Upon the opening the packet, we reached—
a brand new saree in red, and a box of cosmetics and jewellery, three new kurtas and matching pyjamas.

"Shikha snatched away the saree and the box of cosmetics. She held it near her mouth, weeping, wetting the fine piece of fabric—her last present from her father—the first love of her life. The goo from her mouth and the tears converged and dampened Shikha's fancied present!—but except the present, were they at all fanciable in the holy days of Puja only to crucify and make them unholy!? Was it at all fancied—the manner of reception of the verily valued, and treasured presents!

'The last time I ever had seen my father's corpse was in the crematorium. He slept a tranquil, unperturbed sleep, wrapped in a perpetual silence under the white of the quilt. His corpse pondered to wilt, to be annihilated upon the touch of the holy flames upon the greased pyre of wood.

"And upon the touch of the famished fire, my reverential yet deceased guardian's laborious frame became contorted, torn, blistered, and blemished.

"I witnessed all but could do nought!

"So did the autumn skies, the cottony clouds, and the festiveness within! They however, could not pacify the sheerness of our dismay!"

****