The Last Good Bye

A Daughter's Promise: The Last Goodbye

Shivani saw Abhay Ji without his oxygen mask, and her heart skipped a beat. Panicking, she rushed to him and quickly placed the mask back on his face. Just as she adjusted it, Abhay Ji weakly grabbed her hand and spoke in a trembling voice, "Shivani, my child... I don't have much time left." Shivani, with tears streaming down her face, cried out, "Papa! Why are you saying this? Nothing will happen to you." Saying this, she started shouting for the doctor, but Abhay Ji stopped her with a gentle hold. His voice was softer now, "Child, I have very little time left. Listen to me carefully. A few years ago, I took out an LIC policy worth one crore. After I'm gone, use that money wisely—pay the salaries of the employees at the showroom and clear the bank loans. If the money falls short, sell the new bungalow."

Hearing his words, tears began flowing uncontrollably from Shivani's eyes. Abhay Ji extended his hand towards her, his gaze softening. "Promise me, my child... promise me you won't do anything that would tarnish your father's name or bring shame to our family. Promise me!" Shivani held his hand tightly and nodded, her voice choked with emotion. "I promise, Papa."

Abhay Ji's eyes glistened with tears as he continued, "Promise me that after I'm gone, you will love Aditya as your own son. You will give him both a mother's and a father's love." Shivani sobbed uncontrollably, "I promise, Papa! I will love Aditya as my own son." Abhay Ji, with folded hands, whispered painfully, "Forgive me, my child! I am leaving you alone in this cruel world... Please, if you can, forgive your father." Then, pointing towards the wall, he murmured, "Look, Shivani... Asha has come to take me. Look, she is here."

As he spoke, his breathing grew heavy, and his hand slipped from Shivani's grip, hanging lifelessly by his side. A heart-wrenching scream escaped Shivani's lips, "Papa...!" Just then, the doctors rushed in and asked her to step outside. Moments later, they emerged from the ward, their faces grim. One of them spoke softly, "Sorry... he is no more." Those few words shattered Shivani, and she collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Meanwhile, somewhere far away, an unknown man was speaking on the phone when his second mobile began to ring. He cut the first call short and answered the second. A voice from the other end said, "Hello, sir!" The man replied coldly, "Yes, what is it?" The voice hesitated before delivering the news, "Sir, Abhay Ji is no more." The man's voice rose with fury, "What! What nonsense are you talking about? You said the doctors would only say something after he regained consciousness. How did this happen?"

The voice on the other side replied nervously, "Sir, the doctors said there was an infection in his heart during the operation. They couldn't save him... he passed away." Without another word, the man cut the call, grabbed his car keys, and sped towards the hospital. Inside, guilt gnawed at him, and he whispered to himself, "I'm sorry, sir... I had no personal enmity with you. My fight was with your daughter. You lost your life for no reason... I am really sorry, sir." Regaining his composure, he pressed the accelerator harder, the car zooming down the road at a breakneck speed.

At the hospital, when Shivani regained consciousness, she screamed and rushed out of the ward, throwing herself onto her father's chest, sobbing uncontrollably. Her cries echoed through the hospital corridors, disturbing the silence. A nurse approached her and said, "Ma'am, this is a hospital. Your crying is disturbing other patients. Please... take your father's body outside." Shivani's grief turned to rage, and she shouted back, "How dare you call my father's body a corpse?"

An elderly man from the hospital staff gently placed his hand on her shoulder and spoke softly, "Child, this is a hospital. Your crying is making it hard for other patients. Please control your emotions and prepare for his last rites." Shivani wiped her tears, steeling herself before calling Sharma Ji and telling him everything.

A little while later, outside the hospital, Sharma Ji arrived with a few people and began arranging the funeral pyre. Abhay Ji's body was gently placed on it. When the time came to lift the pyre, Sharma Ji turned to Shivani and said, "Shivani, traditionally, a son is the first to shoulder his father's pyre. Ask Aditya to touch it once."

Aditya's legs were fractured, his tiny legs wrapped in plaster. He couldn't walk, so Shivani lifted him in her arms and brought him close to the pyre. She urged him to touch it, and with his small, trembling hands, he did. After that, four men—including that unknown man—lifted the pyre. Shivani, holding Aditya in her arms, walked silently, almost lifelessly, behind it, her eyes fixed on her father's final journey. Little Aditya, only five years old, didn't quite understand what death meant. Seeing Shivani cry, he too sobbed, believing that death meant going away for a while and then coming back, just like everyone had told him about Asha Ji's passing.

At the cremation ground, when it was time for the final rites, Aditya clung to Shivani and sobbed, "Didi! I don't want to burn Papa! It will hurt him... if we burn him, how will he come back? I won't do it!"

Through her tears, Shivani held him tightly and whispered, "No, son..." It was the first time she called him 'son.' In that moment, she fulfilled the promise she had made to her father.