-• coward •-

Vikram Singh Chauhan

I'm the least proud of who I've become.

It takes enormous strength to hold onto everything you love, but nothing to let go. I couldn't be brave. Not for the woman I love, nor for the daughter I conceived with her, neither for the sons I've always let down. And I've lived every moment hating myself. Because this anguish, this pain, these regrets, they needed a victim, and I needed salvation. I've sinned, not once, not twice, but a million times. Tormenting myself is the only way I can live, I have lived. My regrets have chased me like a shadow, always an inherent part of me. I acknowledge myself with them. Every inch of my bare soul is littered with the scars of every war I gave up on.

I'm a coward.

That's me.

That's my identity.

So it didn't surprise me when I held that piece of paper in my hand that told me the time I've left to live.

I don't know what death feels like. But I've imagined it. I've imagined myself letting go of the life I've so desperately tried to bettered, and I imagine myself walking through the dandelions, towards the woman standing beyond the end of life. I imagine her waiting for me, smiling, forgiveness in her eyes, acceptance in her arms. And suddenly, death doesn't sound scary at all.

If death is freedom, I'm dying to be free.

But my greed for life lies in my kids.

And I become a coward again.

I've lived a life that cannot be honoured. And I've stopped mourning the dreams I've killed with my bare hands. I don't care about myself anymore. I'm not allowed to.

But I can't let go of the hope to see my kids happy and sated. I wish, even after I die, I get the chance to look after them, cherish the sight of them.

I may not be the man I wanted to be. I may not be the father my kids wanted me to be. But I pray, when I leave, they remember me in the rare moments I've made them smile, and not in the ones they resented me for being their father. Because being their father is the only thing I'm proud of. That's the only thing that keeps me going. Every day that I wake up, I look forward to seeing my kids and basking in the realisation that despite not being the ideal parent figure, my kids turned out to be the most beautiful human beings I've ever encountered.

They're kind, compassionate, understanding, and brave. My kids, unlike me, are the bravest individuals I've seen. Forgive me for being biassed, but I know there's no other parent who could ever be as proud as I'm of my children.

My children yield the power to bend the world.

But my existence is an obstacle. It has always been. And I'm afraid, the decisions I made out of my cowardliness will warp the unbreakable shield these siblings have built to protect themselves.

When I saw my son, my ever so calm, composed, mountain of a son kneeling in front of that old bastard, I felt rage consume me. Not towards anyone else, but towards myself. I'm the father. I should be the one protecting my children's honour. But as usual I stood in a corner, immobile like a mannequin. I wish I had no emotions like I never had a choice. Living would have hurt less.

But would I have been alive without experiencing the feeling of becoming a father for the first time? The overwhelming happiness I felt when I held my kids in my arms, webbed dreams for them, felt like I could take over the world if someone threatened them. Those moments that I felt worth it, belonged, as if I matter. My opinion, my existence, my life matters. I crave it as bad as one craves opium.

And if I've to die everyday to feel alive in those rare moments, kill me, please.

"Dad," I wipe the tears from my eyes and clear my throat, composing myself before allowing my second born inside. Vivaan pushes the door open and walks in with a glass of water. "It's time for your medication." He hands me the glass and opens the drawer of my nightstand, taking out the medicines scheduled for the night.

"Thank you," I swallow the pills and wash them down my throat with a few sips of water. He takes the glass from me and places it on the nightstand, putting the lid on top of it. "Sit," I pat the empty space next to me.

He relents after a moment of hesitation.

I'm glad I caught this disease. It reconnected me with my kids. They finally acknowledge me more. I'm no longer just an audience in the house. My words are heard. My presence is seen.

"How is Yuvraaj?" I ask softly. After what happened this evening before dinner, silence had embraced this palace. As if once bustling neighborhood is suddenly abandoned.

"Unfazed." Vivaan answers. "As always." He shrugs.

I nod. "Everything happened so unexpectedly. I'm sure he didn't have any time to think."

"I hate that I keep remembering that moment." Vivaan sighs, picking off the lint on the mattress. "I've always thought of Yuvraaj Bhai as this impenetrable mountain that no earthquake can flinch. And yet he so easily went down on his knees in front of that man."

"That impenetrable mountain you talk about? It's the Crown Prince of Jaigarh. And the man who went down on his knees so easily? He was nothing but the eldest brother who keeps his siblings above everything. He feels he's responsible for you guys. What I couldn't be despite being a father, he became it." I gently caress my son's knee. "Don't berate yourself over it. In fact, be proud of your brother. There was no shame in his eyes when he knelt. There was understanding, love, and a desperate need to protect his sister's dignity."

"If you had spoken up then, Uncle Virat would have been alive right?" He meets my eyes, blame in those amber swirls. I accept the accusations quietly. I deserve that resentment. "If you had been brave and used your power to stand up against the Chairman, your daughter wouldn't be disrespected for being right, your son wouldn't have been forced to kneel." He sighs. "Why, Dad? Why didn't you?"

"I was never allowed to make decisions before that night." I murmur, remembering the evening I held my daughter for the first time in one hand, and backstabbed my childhood friend with the other, leaving his only son to live a life of an orphan. As I said, my sins are countless. "And suddenly I was faced with two choices. With seven kids to protect, I had to choose between courage and cowardliness. So I did what I was used to. I became a coward again." I shrug.

He looks away. "Get some sleep." And he walks out of my room, disappointment palpable in his voice. I lower my gaze to the floor, shame consuming me. To be ashamed in front of your own kids? I don't know how I survived this humiliation and still have the audacity to look them in the eyes.

The thought makes me recoil. I lie down on the bed, alone, stranded in my life, chained to my desires as a father.

Sleep doesn't accompany me.

Taranya's tears, Yuvraaj's helplessness, Vivaan's disappointment, it all keeps torturing me throughout the night. My eyes wide open as the sun filters through the blinds, birds chirp outside, and a new beginning wakes the world.

And I'm still in the past.

Still in the cell of my fears.

They've outgrown me, perhaps are even tired of me at this point, but nothing has made me step out. I know the doors are open, the light awaits me just beyond these thick walls. But I'm comfortable now. The endless possibilities of my one decision scares me. What if I go out and the light blinds me? What if my skin burns and chars to ashes? What if the world notices me and scrunches its face at my sight. What if I become an outcast after I'm finally out? Where would I go from there? I've my last days marked in the calender. I don't want to suffer. I want to leave quietly, in peace.

But I also want to leave after making my kids proud.

I want them to remember me as a brave father who fought for them whenever he could.

I sit up in the bed and hold my head in my hands. It's throbbing so hard, as if something inside wants to break through.

"Dad?" Vivaan knocks on the door.

"Come in, darling."

He pushes the door open and frowns, approaching me hurriedly. His hand reaches out to touch my forehead. He gasps. "You're burning up." He grabs the temperature from the drawer and pushes the tip in my mouth. "102?" He looks at me worriedly. "You need to rest. Did you not sleep the entire night? Why are your eyes red?" He helps me lie back. My head hurts and I wince. "What's wrong?"

"I've a terrible headache." I murmur.

"I'll call your doctor -"

"Vivaan, no!" I grab his hand, stopping him from removing his phone. "The kids might see and they'll get worried."

"Tara and twins went to the University."

"But Agastya is still here. Yuvaan and Yuvraaj already know. But I really don't want Agastya to find out. He has so much to deal with. I can't put him through this. Please," I beg the child.

Vivaan sighs and sits down next to my knees. "Okay, but promise me you'll rest the entire time today." He warns me.

"I promise."

"And you'll take your medicines on time."

"Of course," I assure him.

"And you'll call me or Yuvraaj or Yuvaan if you think your condition is getting worse." He instructs.

I nod in response.

He breathes out in defeat. "Alright, do as you wish. When have you ever listened to us?" He gets up from the bed. "Sleep," he looks down at me sternly.

I lie back down and pull the covers to my shoulders.

He walks up to the door and opens it. "I love you, son," I call out. He stops at the threshold, looking over his shoulder at me. Then he shyly nods and walks out. I smile softly. My little boy has grown up so beautifully, I cannot be anymore proud.

I close my eyes and surprisingly, sleep responds.

When I wake up, the time on the digital clock reads 01:15 PM. Sitting up, I rub a hand across my face before checking my temperature.

99.7 °F

Much less.

Feeling my legs restless, I decide to take a stroll outside. Getting off the bed, I fix the comforter and pillows before heading out of the room. I hear my stomach growl smelling the aroma coming out of the kitchen. My feet automatically lead me there.

The kitchen staff stands in attention upon seeing me at the doorstep.

"What can I do for you, Your Majesty?"

"Is there something left to eat from lunch?"

"Of course!" He replies, eager to attend me. "Please wait in the dining hall, I'll send someone to serve you immediately."

I nod and walk towards the dining hall. Without the kids it feels so empty. I sit on my usual chair, caressing my Tara's seat, suddenly missing her presence.

The double doors open and I compose myself. The chef serves me with North Indian delicacies. I thank him before digging in.

On my way back to my room, my paths cross with Virat's son. I frown.

"Shourya?"

He looks up from his phone and comes to a halt in front of me.

"Good afternoon, sir."

"What are you doing here?" I ask curiously.

He holds up the thick file in his hand. "The Chairman wanted me to personally retrieve all the proof."

"Oh," I murmur. "The one Tara collected against him?"

He nods.

"May I see?"

He quietly puts the file in my hand.

I look through the file. It holds medical records, some social media screenshots, photos, alibis, CCTV stills. "A very meticulous research, I must say. Tara did this?"

He nods, a glint of pride shining in his eyes.

"What a bright girl." I smile.

"And very brave." He adds.

"Unlike her father."

"Unfortunately," he doesn't refute.

"Do you resent me that much?" I ask him, returning the file to him.

He nods.

"Would you ever forgive me?"

"I don't know." He answers honestly.

"Should we talk in my room?" I point towards the closed door.

"We don't have anything -"

"We do," I cut him off. "Especially after learning you're dating my daughter." He looks like a deer caught in the headlights. I chuckle. "Don't worry, I'm not threatening you. I just want to talk."

He obliges instantly.

"Take a seat," I motion towards the guest chair. "Would you like to have something?"

"No, I'm fine."

"My colleague saw you with my daughter outside her workplace. That's how I found out." He nods. "This may offend you, but I hope you're not avenging me by using -"

"Mr. Chauhan, please, do not insult my intelligence by suggesting I'm capable of using such flimsy tricks. Yes, I admit, I did think of her as an asset once. But even then, I was insanely attracted to your daughter." He states confidently. "And recently, I've come to terms with my feelings. I'm in love with her. And I intend to be the last man in her life after her brothers."

I smile. "I'm so glad to hear that."

"If that's all-" he gets up to live.

"I'm sorry, Shourya." I stop him. "I'm sorry for the wrong I did to you and your father. I'm sorry for everything."

"You're not." He looks me in the eyes.

"I am," I whisper. "I regret it with every ounce of me."

He shakes his head. "You'd have got me out of that hell hole then. But you didn't. You stayed quiet. And if not for your son, you'd have always stayed quiet."

"I was just trying to protect my kids-"

"While I was getting abused and raped in a dark cell?"

I close my eyes, tears pour out heedless. "I'm your criminal."

"You are."

"If I could, I would want to make this right."

"Then tell me what happened that night!" He hisses. "I deserve to know!"

I swallow.

"Tell me, please." He begs.

"Your father called me." I finally break my silence. "I was on the rooftop after a heated argument with my wife. He called and said he was on the third floor. I told him to leave that place immediately. He didn't listen. Then my wife committed suicide and for the rest of the night, I was busy going back and forth from the hospital to police station. When I finally came back home, I got another call from your father. But it wasn't him. The voice modulation didn't help me recognise the person. But I think your father called me so I can listen to that conversation and use it as a proof. He was caught, the person confronting him was angry. Then I heard a scream and the call went dead. Before I can figure out anything, I got a message. It was a threat targetting my kids. And I got scared."

"That's it?"

I nod. "That's it. That's what happened."

"And, uh, may I know where this place is?" He fishes out his phone and shows me a photo.

I frown. "Where did you get this?"

"I blackmailed Tara in the initial days."

I gasp.

"But I don't anymore. I swear. I told you I used to think of her as an asset before. I'm sorry, I was selfish." I sigh in defeat witnessing his sheepish expressions. "Can you tell me what this place is? You guys often hung out here."

"It's the golf club. It's on the outskirts of Jaigarh." I tell him.

He nods. "Oh, and the phone?" He looks up at me. "Do you have it?"

"I do," I nod. "When I threw it in the fire, I quickly got it out. But it was damaged beyond repair. The body had melted, the screen was broken and it won't turn on."

"Can I see it?" He requests.

I nod and walk up to where my Red's painting hung. I tilt it to the side. The frame slides open revealing my safe. I tap the left side of it and it opens another safe inside. I grab the ziplock bag holding my burner phone. "Here," I hand it to him.

"Thank you." He smiles, grabbing the bag from me. "Thank you so much." He looks up, relieved and grateful.

I nod in response.

He walks back to the door but stops at the threshold and turns to face me. "Why, now? After so many years, why now?"

"Yesterday, when the Chairman told Taranya to kneel and beg, I saw the helplessness in your eyes. The rage, the anguish of not being able to hold her hand and stand by her side. I've felt that before. I've let go of the hand that never stopped reaching out for me. I saw myself in you. I saw my Scarlett in my little star. And I don't want the same fate for my daughter. I don't want the same fate for you." I smile melancholically. "Eighteen years ago, I made that decision as a father. And today, I'm making this decision as a father too."

He nods, clutching the ziplock bag tighter in his hand. "Thank you."

"Don't. I'm only repenting." I say softly.

He sighs.

"And Shourya," those light brown eyes meet mine, "It takes enormous strength to hold onto everything you love, but nothing to let go. Please hold onto my little star. Tightly."

"The Prince will always protect his Esther. I promise."

I can't help but smile. "Thank you."

He exits the room and closes the door after him.

That night, I face myself in the mirror feeling a little less ashamed of myself.

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