It was a Sunday. I got a call at around 6 in the morning, informing me about a car crash on the Express Highway. The lone occupant, a khaki clad man had succumbed to his injuries. I went numb with grief! Rajat had died, I had to go see him. I quickly got ready. By the time I was down my apartment a police jeep had come to escort me to the site. All the way, all I could think was this cannot be happening to me. Rajat and I were supposed to get married. I was finally about to get my happily ever after, that’s what Rajat had said, and now he was gone. Why was this happening? Why was he travelling in the morning? We were to meet at lunch and then spend the day together. The call said he was in uniform, probably he had some work in the city. Questions which had no answers muddled up my head and left me numb.
We reached the station and the police inspector there, Inspector Ismail Rana took me for identification. As I saw Rajat’s badly bruised face I couldn’t control myself and I broke down. He had a handsome face, wheatish but clear, a beautiful lingering smile and innocent eyes. The badly bashed up face was a far cry from what I knew. I could no longer hold it together and crashed near the body.
When I came back to my senses, I was in a hospital room, with an IV attached. As my eyes got accustomed to the surroundings, all the events suddenly came flooding back and eyes welled up with tears. Inspector Rana was waiting outside the room and he walked in just as I was brushing my tears off.
How well did you know Rajat? Did he ever take you to his work location? How did you meet? I was irritated with the questions. I burst out, “The man has died. He was an inspector at Neral station, shouldn’t you guys be preparing for a honorable cremation or something? He was one of your own, died while completing his official duties. Why are you acting as if he is some thief?” .. More on http://nehatambe.com/loves-labour-lost/Published in