Untitled Story - Chapter 1

This story is inspired by a true story.

Death. The only truth that has always remained constant. Many of us live in search of a destiny. Some say we make our own, some say our destiny is already written. But, the fact is that all human beings in this world face only one destiny. This destiny makes no distinction between the rich or the poor, caste or color, or the era that we live in. Death is the destiny which we all, in this planet share.

Death is the only absolute truth.

On a cold chilly morning in Mumbai, Sujata found her grandfather lying motionless in his bed. The curtains waved in the slight breeze that entered into the room through the closed louvered windows. The light entered into the room through the frosted glass windows casting the distorted shadow of the flowery designed grill on to the mosaic floor. The rocking chair stood still waiting for someone to rock it. The only sound that broke the chilly silence was the constant grunt of the pigeons that had made home outside the window on the grill outside the closed windows. The air had an eerie smell of death. The superstitious would claim that the spirits of the ancestors had arrived in the room to welcome their son into the afterlife. The cawing crow on the barren gulmohur tree would have been the testimony, but the crows refused to descend.

He lay on the old bed made of rich teak wood and covered with a mosquito net that hung from the beams around the bed. His eyes were closed and he wore a content smile on his face. He was wearing a recently ironed shirt and his favorite khakhi trousers. An old HMT watch ticked away on his right hand oblivious to the cold hands of death that had taken away the breath of his master. He was well shaven, and wore the favorite perfume his grandson had gifted him four years back. He had dressed in a way he would have, if he were to meet an important person or an army dignitary who would visit him once in a while. It seemed as if he knew his time had come for the final journey.

On a normal day, Major Gandhi would wake up at 5 in the morning and go for his walk along the Marine Drive, where he would meet his retired Army friends. He would return home by seven and would be found reading the newspaper on his rocking chair. When Sujata found that the newspaper was not picked up from the door, the thought that came into her mind was that he might have been involved in some intense political discussion with his friends. But when he had not returned by 7.30, she decided to check his room.

As she saw the lifeless body on the bed, she felt weak on her knees and fumbled. She held his cold hands hoping he would tighten his grip trying to comfort her saying that everything will be alright. His cold hands were stiff. Tears filled her eyes, words failed her as she tried to call out. The entire room seemed to be enveloped in vacuum of silence. Sujata gathered courage and went to his table. His diary lay open on the table. The ink pen was neatly kept beside it.
A note lay next to his diary.

My lovely Sujata,
Everyone has to leave one day. I too have to leave. It is time. I have lived my life to the fullest and have been extremely blessed to have such a wonderful family who I am very proud of. There is so much to tell you and so less time. Alas, we all realise this when there is hardly any time left. I am leaving behind my diary. It contains a truth I had hidden from everyone for a very long time. I hope you all understand and forgive me from keeping the truth away from you.
Lovingly,
Your Dadaji