The morning was doleful. The heartthrob of many was lying, still, heartlessly. The one for whom many hearts beat, was devoid of his own beats of heart. The actor, who was always full of ecstasy and life, lay lifeless on the white steel girders of the hospital bed; surrounding him were not those appreciations of his hard work, but some metallic sounding machines and other such utensils. The lips, whose single smile made every woman fall in affection with him, were motionless forever. The mouth, which uttered some of the most iconic dialogues of the era, was mute, never to utter again. The body just lay there, ignorant of its worth. Its real prestige has left it, and thus it lied unaware of its surroundings, its magnificent past and glorious assets; oblivious of the seventy two years of his life and fifty one years of his eminent cinematic career, because of which he had gained the renowned persona.
The room which contained the body was in a similar state. Outside the room was life everywhere. Doctors and nurses were passing by the room timely, peeping in the room through the door’s glass with tearful eyes. News reporters were trying to collect each and every minute detail for their news channel to be the first to give a fresh update. Relatives and friends from film fraternity were continuously trying to contact for reassurance, rushing to the hospital, to visualize the forlorn truth of life.
Nishi sat outside the room on waiting seats, still and hushed, inconsiderate to the commotion of the outer world. She was alone. Everyone was sensitive enough to give her some spare time to let her lament on her husband’s death without being looked and judged by any outsider. She wanted to weep. She wanted to cry and yell. All the moments she had spent with Siddhartha were flashing upon her tender mind. But she could not weep. Neither could she yell around the floor in grief. The image of being an actress refrained her from expressing her emotions. The fear of going insane while crying restrained her lips from shouting, allowing few sobs which were audible to no ears. “No one is watching me, I can outcry.” These were some continuous word-arrows shot from conscience, hitting and hurting her heart, yet she did not clamor. Her wet eyes saw the cameras and had cautioned her to control her irresistible emotions. The drab cameras were prohibiting life from detonating in its natural state.
Amidst these hopeless thoughts and uncontrollable rush of memories, a flower of hope cleaved in the barren devastated land of heart. “Movies, Money, Mammon!!” These feeble words began to echo in her sorrowful inner self, too softly to be properly recognized by her. A thought about self, though very small, cannot be ignored by mind. “The two movies which we have shot together are yet to be released. He had a very great fan following. VERY GREAT AND HUGE!! They will surely be a success now. He has gained love and that shall reap us money.” These thoughts were very absurd and abrupt. A sense of iniquity crept in her intellect which shook her body convulsively as if she had woken up from a nightmare, fully sweating and shivering. To re-feel same misery and poignancy, she peeped through the door to see her defunct dear. Just a sight was enough to make her feel she was the most unlucky lady of the world at that moment; however the sad thoughts and desperation could not dominate over the sense of getting two hits after a series of flops and disasters. She could see her cinematic career being reshaped on the deathbed of her husband, which she never wanted to; but wasn’t sad at. She was contented that her husband gave her the best present he could give by losing himself.
Soon the hospital was crowded. Fans began gathering around in thousands of number. The policemen were at great trouble. They were suddenly saddled with Herculean task of controlling the endless and increasing crowd, checking if authorized people enter the hospital safely and that no person from mob enters the hospital. The day was really sad. Abhinav had also reached the doomed destination with eyes’ real emotions hid under goggles. As soon as he entered the hospital after crossing the raging tumult, he found all his relatives and film stars assembled at the reception. He rushed up to his mother with bated breath, accompanied with the morose relatives and friends. Nishi sat like a statue. Everybody thought her eyes were dried of crying or she was too shocked to cry. Thus, feeble attempts and requests were made to make her cry; but she knew she wasn’t that sad to weep aloud. Some sudden thoughts had quenched her heart’s woe and tensions, be it films, be it property or be it life insurance claim. Her future was secure, and even was going to be better than her earlier expectations. How could she cry? She did not want to cry false, for she knew false tears don’t last long. However, the sadness on her face smacked of hypocrisy and made her more doubtful among the eyes of spectators she was acting before.
No sooner did Abhinav see his mom than he rushed toward her with open arms, hugged her and began crying aloud. To support her son, Nishi broke into tears; which made others standing there snivel and despondent about life. Abhinav was taken in the ‘deceased’ room so that he could see his patriarch’s face for the last time, alone so that he could get some time to weep in tranquility, to meet his father alone, and to say whatever he wanted to, for the last and final time. By now, they all were joined by Raghav, Abhinav’s elder brother, who had landed from Germany. He rushed to his mother to condole her. Raghav was also taken in the miserable room so that he could see his father for the last time. After few seconds of absurd quietness, both the brothers exited the room. Till that time, the plan of Siddhartha’s funeral was made. The speculations of public began gaining strength and rapidity. The movement in the hospital gave signals of body being carried home from where it was to be taken on its Last Journey. After some formalities and further delay, the body was packed in the ambulance and seeing the multitude of people like drops in sea; the authorities decided to depart from back gate.
Nishi was yet confused how to react on what was happening. She was sad, but her heart, by now, wasn’t as heavy as it was when she had received the dismal news. A weird wave of mixed emotions was ravishing in the silent sea of heart. With those incomprehensive feelings of relief and melancholy, she was performing all the deeds to place the body perfectly in the ambulance, ignorantly in the same way as she was accustomed to do, whenever Siddhartha came after shoot. Life was striving to place dead without any hurt. Wondering about what all she was going to inherit from her husband, Nishi was leaving the hospital with her two sons when an unexpectedly jubilant voice fell on her ears, “Look Raghav, Twelve million reactions to dad’s dead body photograph on social media!! WOW!! If all my photos’ reactions are summed up, then too it’s far-far away from this milestone. What an achievement!!!”
That faint smile on his face said far-far more than those gloomy and consoling messages and reactions.
