44. Goodbyes

44

Goodbyes

Vera

H er world had stopped along with Nanu’s heart. But she was still breathing.

It felt wrong.

A massive cardiac arrest. The doctors had given their opinion, assuring her that Nanu’s passing would have been quick and mostly painless. As if that was meant to comfort her.

Vera stared out the open doors into her backyard, the cool breeze of the evening markedly different from the heat of the pillow under her cheek. Her face felt warm, her eyes swollen, and try as she might, she couldn’t get herself to blink. Each second felt like an eon, and a part of her wondered if this is how it would always be from now.

Would she forever feel like she was walking through molasses and living in a fog without Nanu there to keep her going?

She’d known for such a long time that he was ill, but even then, she couldn’t have been less prepared for this loss. Her emotions had formed an iron ball of grief that was firmly lodged in her chest, refusing to bubble up and relieve her of this ache.

She heard the shuffle of feet behind her and somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she wondered if it was Vihaan again. She had no concept of how long she’d remained cocooned next to her grandfather’s cooling body, her hands clutching his, her face buried in his chest. She must have lost her will to resist eventually because Vihaan, with immense gentleness and care, had cradled her in his arms and carried her to their room. He’d wiped her face, forced some water on her but even he’d been silent. Like he knew no words would make this ok. The longer she remained laying in this bed, immobile with pain, the less it made sense that she was an orphan. The thing she’d feared most in life had come to pass on a day when she’d least expected it. How was she supposed to go on living in a world where Ambernath Talwar didn’t exist?

A thick stream of heat escaped the corner of her eyes, meandering across the bridge of her nose and the side of her face, settling onto the silk cover of her pillow. Eyes shut, she tried to hold back the gnawing pain climbing up her throat yet again.

“Vera?”

Her lids lifted, and through blurry eyes, she saw Aditi crouching down towards her, a concerned Kaya standing right behind. Aditi was still in her scrubs and the usually put-together Kaya looked like she’d thrown on the first things that she’d seen before coming here.

Vera swayed with the effort it took to sit upright, catching a glimpse of Arjun hugging Vihaan. Rian stood by, watching them, his usually smiling face painted with an austereness she’d never seen before. She swung her feet over the side of the bed, almost lurching forward with weakness when Aditi’s arms encircled her.

Vera felt the bed dip beside her, the lean of yet another warm body against her to hold her up. To hold her together. Kaya had not waited for her turn for a hug, she realised. Aditi shuffled to place herself on the other side, both ladies sandwiching her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw large, socked feet tread closer to her, drawing her eyes up. Jay. He was here too. He was watching her just like everyone else was.

There was so much pity in his gaze, it made her want to retch. She hated being pitied. Jay’s brotherly hand brushed the top of her head, nary a sound from any of the people who’d crowded into her bedroom.

I’m okay. Don’t worry. Isn’t that what people expected to hear when they came to offer their condolences to you?

Vera opened her mouth, but instead of empty words, all that burst forth was a strangled sob. The embrace around her tightened, and she gave in, letting their silent grief on her behalf anchor her as she tried to find footing in a world she no longer understood.

“Are you sure I cannot sneak you a paratha?”

Vera shook her head at her mother-in-law tiredly, trying to shoot her a small smile and failing. She bent over the basin, splashing cool water over her face to try to reduce her tiredness. It had been barely eighteen hours since her world had flipped upside down, yet she felt like years had passed since then.

When she stood back up, Simran was right there with a towel, lovingly helping her clean up. Vera watched this woman she’d known for the first half of her life as Nanu’s employer, fuss over her like an anxious mother hen, holding her hand while they walked back out into her bedroom. For thirteen days, she was meant to isolate herself from social engagements as per Hindu rituals detailing the grieving process for families of the deceased. She’d have lost herself in the silence before, choosing to remain solitary in her pain. As it had become clear over the course of just one night, being alone was not an option .

Vihaan’s parents had shown up within hours of receiving the news, and had taken up residence with them, as had their friends. Every single person was adamant about being present nearby in the event their help was required.

“How about a warm drink at least?”

Gaze down, Vera shook her head. She had no appetite, no strength to form words. Motherly hands cupped her face, lifting it up.

“Bachcha, you have to continue eating. Just a little? For my sake?”

“Maybe after the. . .” She couldn’t say it. A group of people who’d come to pay their respects to her grandfather were waiting down the hall to escort her to the crematorium. She glanced up as Vihaan entered the room, his single nod telling her it was time.

Throughout the drive to the cremation grounds, Vera’s hand was held by Simran while she maintained a stiff upper lip. She would cry again, she was certain. In the quietness of her room, once darkness shrouded her from everyone’s attention, she would indulge her tears. Gaze unseeing, she glanced at the rearview mirror in the front, noting a pair of brown eyes locked on her.

Of course, Vihaan was watching her. He was always watching her. She blinked once, too exhausted to muster anything else to acknowledge that she’d noticed him too, choosing to lose herself in the view of trees and buildings that zipped past them. As they disembarked and followed the procession to the pyre waiting to be lit, she was simply one amongst the sea of people wearing white and mourning in those hallowed grounds.

Quietly, she stood with the women off to one side as the priest completed his incantations. “Who is the descendant of the deceased to complete the Antyesti?”

Vera stepped forward shakily, holding her hand out for the water-filled earthen pot that she was expected to carry during the circumambulations prior to lighting the pyre.

“But you are a woman. Is there no male descendant?” the priest asked .

“I am his immediate family. I want to perform the Antyesti.”

Hesitant, and clearly one who liked to do things by the book, the old man pursed his lips in disapproval. “Your husband could do it for you in adherence to tradition.”

“You asked for the descendant. She is here.” Vihaan’s clipped tone as he came to stand beside her had her breathing easy. She was tired and had no fight in her but having her husband nearby was all it took for her to feel like a load had been lifted. He’d go to battle for her, she was certain. And win.

“But the rules—”

“Enough!” Vihaan snapped, vibrating in anger as his glare caused the insistent priest to step back nervously. “My wife wants to say goodbye to her grandfather, and she will, whether or not you and your rules agree with it.”

With that reprimand, Vihaan cleared the way for Vera to follow the steps to the final rites. Despite wanting so much to perform every step as a son would, Vera felt herself falter as she approached the pyre on wobbly knees. Her vision blurred as she allowed herself one last gaze upon Nanu’s sleeping face, causing her to draw a gasping breath as the grief of a final farewell crashed upon her with crushing force. A firm hand clasped hers over the torch she held before it slipped from her grasp, a thick arm banding across her back to help her remain steady.

Wordlessly, Vihaan lent her his strength, holding her close as they lit the edge of the funeral bed aflame. With a soft whimper, Vera turned her head into Vihaan’s chest, seeking solace in the shelter he offered. His palm cupped the back of her head, petting her gently, his own voice gruff and cracked when he tried to reassure her. “Shh, I’m here. I’m here, Princess.”

Her tears soaked through the cotton kurta he wore, her nose running as her heart twisted with every crackle and pop of the pyre catching fire. Orange red flames climbed into the air, licking and lashing against the backdrop of an otherwise silent atmosphere. From the cocoon of her husband’s embrace, Vera watched the last vestiges of Nanu’s mortal remains turn to ashes.

Unexpectedly, clarity clashed with grief.

Ambernath Talwar had taught her so much, but she realised only now that her wise Nanu had overlooked teaching her one key skill.

How to say goodbye.

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