I wish I’d been there earlier. It
might have made all the difference. So all I can tell you is why he was
murdered.
My father was a vindictive person.
I don’t think there was any particular reason or history behind it. Some people
are just that way. He hated the maids for not cleaning properly, he hated my
mother for not cooking properly and he hated me for the reasons I presume fathers often hate their son.
The 40 years of age that divided us, was a long distance between our views of
world, politics, and governance. He had a
heart trouble paired up with his short temper and yet he outlived my mother. I
remember once he had a heart attack and my mother rushed him to the doctor and
saved his life. I had mourned for a month about it. Yes, I hated him and for
reasons beyond my understanding, my mother loved him. Like an ideal Indian
wife, she never raised her voice against any of his atrocities. I remember how
she would feign an understanding face every time he went on his “Business
tours”, which clearly did not make any
sense for his small printing press business, where he worked alone along with
an office boy. There were rumors of ‘other women’ in his life, but my mother
never brought up the topic while she was alive.
Once she was gone, father would take
off for months at times. I didn’t care
much. It was much more peaceful without him. It was around this time, that he
had given me permission to enter into his office, replacing his office boy with
me. I would take his messages while he was away, serve him his coffee, and
carry some documents to the lawyer. Nothing important, but yet I felt I was a part
of something, like an acceptance of my existence in his life. It turned out to
be one-sided sentiment. For him, I was
just a stooge to be kicked around and be belittled for small mistakes. There
was never any compassion from him. But there was very little that I could do
about it. He was my father after all. So I started channeling my frustration
into other things around me. I would sit around for hours observing him make
important business decisions, making deals with important people. I started
learning the tricks of our trade. I found I had a natural aptitude for this. I would study the market around us and
come up with small business plans in my head to expand this small printing
press into one of the biggest publication industry. It had become more than a
mere distraction for me. It was something I found respect for myself which I
never got from anyone.
After several years of research I
finally had a viable business plan, to start publishing novels along with
invitation cards and flyers that we used to print. It was nothing big or risky,
just sell the normal stuff that works in the market. I presented the proposal
to my father proudly, imagining him to look at me with a sudden shock of
admiration. But he simply shredded it to pieces without giving a single look.
“If you think you can tell me how to
do my business then you are dangerously mistaken” He narrowed his eyes into
slits “Now get my coffee”.
I wasn’t really deterred by this. It wasn’t
the first time that he had demeaned me. It was always about money for my father. If I manage to get an investor
for us, he might get onboard with my plan. So I visited many local publishers,
contractors and even attended writers club to get hold of any new talent I
could publish.
That’s when I met Asha; a
desperate and a passionate writer, who was hogging every publisher to pitch her
novel. We had met two or three times earlier. She would give me a cautious
smile, assuming I was a fellow writer, probably with better contacts than hers.
But after some time I think she guessed
that I was just a struggler like her.
“So.. no luck with your book yet?”
She asked one day when we met yet again at a publisher’s office.
“Oh , I am not a writer.. just a small-time publisher. Trying to collaborate” I
tried to project my humble printing business as something of a publishing
house. It was all about marketing anyway.
Her eyes suddenly lit with hope.
She hastily opened up her torn out bag and handed me a fresh copy of her script.
“Just give it a try. I ask
nothing more” She looked at me with hopeful eyes. I couldn’t refuse her; after all, we did share the common fate of having
been rejected by the same number of publishers. So I gave her pitch a try. It
was nothing brilliant, but it was good enough to be sold off in the local
market.
So I proposed her this “If you
are ready to share the cost of publication, I can pursue my father to invest
into this idea”. Her brows furrowed in deep thought. I think it was the
desperation that made her say yes in the end. It was a perfect proposal, a low-risk investment that could be a big break for our business! Only a fool would
not see the value in this. And as the
odds turned out to be, I had to present it to a fool.
Father tore the proposal more
furiously than before and looked at me threateningly “You try something like
this again, and I will throw you out of the house for good.” He then gave me
his sly smile “Just do what you are good at. Get me my coffee”
I clutched my fist and went away.
It was like he detested my ambition for this
business more than me, like my desire to be part of his business almost
offended him. I
hated him, I truly hated this man and there was nothing I could do about it. I
will always have to live under the thumb of a fool who was too egoistic to let
my ambition breath. But still, even at that point, I haven’t thought about his
death. I think it was because he was something of an immortal evil for me. If a
heart attack could not kill him, nothing can.
I went on to meet Asha to deliver
this bad news. “I am sorry… My father doesn’t think it's good business collaboration” I said pushing her script towards
her.
“What do you think about it?” She
asked somberly.
“Doesn’t matter, all that matters is what my father thinks about it” She
looked at it me for a minute and then spoke thoughtfully “Did you read the
script?”
“You don’t understand, my father…
” I said but she cut me in between like
she did not hear me at all.
“In the story, the daughter plots
to kill her father, so that she can live life on her own terms. She knew she
could never get what she wanted until his father was alive…neither his property
nor her freedom…” She regarded me silently. Her analogy wasn’t subtle. I knew
what she was insinuating. I hated this man, but never before had my hatred
found a clear purpose. She was a stranger who believed that my devil was not
immortal, but as vulnerable as a character in her novel .So I took my minute to
absorb this new possibility and asked her inconspicuously.
“And how does she do that….”
“She gives him potassium
chloride. For a patient with a heart condition, it acts as a poison. It induces a heart
attack, and chemical goes undetected in any test.” She replied without a hitch.
There was something off about that
plan, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Something about the nature of the
weapon made me uncomfortable. I replied reluctantly “They say that poison is
the weapon of a woman…”
She looked at me with a sly grin
that for a moment reminded me of my father “It’s clean, it’s precise and it
targets its victim in measured proportion. It’s perfect, much like a woman.”
She got up “Give me a call when you are ready to sign the contract. I will be
ready with my share of the money” and she walked away.
My heart was still racing at the ridiculous
possibility I was considering. The more I was thinking about it, the more
plausible it seemed to be. But there were several things to consider first. I
had to verify if I was in my fathers will. So next day I went to our lawyer. He
took a nominal ‘fee’ for his discreet service and responded “He does not have
any will. By Hindu law, after his death,
it will go to his legal offspring”
There it was. I was already heir
to his property. Well, that also puts me on the top of the list of persons who
would want him dead. The next step would be to build the cover of a perfect
son, of a very sick father. So the grilling process of enduring my father with
a smile started.
I would cook his breakfast and tell maid how
worried I was about his health. I would
clean his car and discuss with driver how he slept uneasy last night. I would
carry his files to contractors and express regret in the delay due to the decline
in my father’s health. Soon people around had begun to ask about my father’s
health and pass empathic smile every time they saw me carrying his things for
him. My Father, on the other hand, had begun to eye me cautiously now. Never
had we got along so well, with me bowing down to his every wish and taking care
of his every need. Knowing that he could smell a trouble from a mile away, I toned down my good boy act in
front of him but kept building the story
in the background. I was still
deliberating on the date of the ‘deed’ when something happened. Late at one
night, when he had asked me to leave early, I saw him making a call to our
lawyer.
“I think I would like to make a
will…”
I did not stick around to hear more. I wasn’t surprised that he had finally caught
on my intentions. I knew time had finally come. In the inky shades of that night, I walked down the alley to the people who would provide discrete services to
desperate people for a “fee”. I took the poison and walked back to home. My
heart was pounding so loud that I could have been incriminated just by that. The
sudden rush of ‘second thoughts’ began to run wild in my slumber. But by
morning I was determined that today would be last day of tyrant rule of my
father. The first thing I did was to call up Asha. Somehow I needed her
assurance.
“Let’s meet at the coffee house today. We will sign the contract” I
could hear her smile. She did not ask any questions and kept the phone. Things
were going around quietly that day. Father wasn’t cursing me much, which wasn’t
helping with my resolve to kill him. We reached office and it was time for his
coffee. I took out the poison and mixed it in his coffee, and even as I was
doing it, there was this prickling feeling at the back of my head, that
something was off about this whole plan. I kept wondering what was that I was
missing there. I had drained his mobile battery and made sure we had no
meetings for today. It was all set, but still,
there was something I was not paying attention to.
“Where is my coffee?” father called out
rattling the cup in my hand. I took a deep breath and walked out with his
coffee. He took the sip out of the deadly cup and I timed my clock. It was a
matter of a few hours now. I had to leave from there soon.
“I forgot to deliver these files,
I will drop them off now to the lawyer” He was grunting at me but I was already
out. I walked with hurried steps towards the restaurant I was supposed to meet
Asha, but she was not there. After several minutes I decided to go deliver the
files to the lawyer.
He greeted me with a bright smile
which made me nervous. For a nominal ‘fee’ he was ready to tell me the reason
of his sudden delight.
“Your father called up last night”
I could feel my heart take a dip. He could not have possibly changed the will
already? The lawyer said grinning at me “He gave a hint that he wanted to
include you in his will”
I looked at him confused “But I
am his heir anyway, why make a will?”
He looked at me hesitantly, so I handed
him another billed note for the extra information.
“Your father was already married
when he started an affair with your
mother. So as per Hindu law, you are not his legal hire.”
For a minute I could not
comprehend what he was saying and then the world started spinning around me. Every
old memory came flooding back into my conscious. All those rumors about
‘another woman’ were about my mother. All that absent weekends of my father was
to visit his ‘real family’. That’s why my mother never argued with him on this.
Everything made sense now!
“Why so gloomy?” The lawyer asked
looking at my panic-stricken face
“Whatever you did, it worked! You will probably be in his will”
Reality dawned upon me. My father
had fallen for my good son act! He finally wanted to reconcile with his illegitimate
son! I could not have called an ambulance yet; I would be asked how I knew he
had a heart attack. But I could still
make it all right. I could still save him. I kept telling myself that, even as
I raced towards the office against the
ticking minutes.
I tore
through the office door and saw my father lying on the floor, clutching onto
his heart. I rushed him to the hospital where he was declared dead on arrival. Doctors
said a few minutes could have made all the difference.
I sat there wishing that I had
reached their earlier, thinking how it would have made all the difference.
And in that shock of the reality,
the words of Asha came back to me. ‘..She gives him potassium chloride. For a
patient with a heart condition, it acts as a poison. It induces a heart attack, and chemical goes undetected in
any test.’
Suddenly that prickling feeling
at the back of my head took a shape of a
curious question. How did Asha know, that my father had a heart condition? I
had never mentioned it to her.
I felt cold hands touch my arms. I looked back
to find Asha standing there, smiling at me.
“Still haven’t figured it out .. have
you, my brother?” She said, “Well technically.. half-brother”. I looked at her with my eyes wide
in horror. She was my half-sister; the legal heir of my father.
“It took me a while to track you down,” she said sitting next to me “Father had
hidden his illegal family so well. He wouldn’t even allow me to enter his
offices. But I tracked you down” She grinned.
I knew then that I had been
played. The way we met, the way she placed a business opportunity and planted
the seed of a plan to kill our father; it was all a pre-meditated plan.
“So you were after his property
as well” I spoke spitefully.
“Haven’t you been paying attention to my
novel’s pitch?” she looked at me disappointed “In the story, the daughter plots
to kill her father so that she can live
life on her own terms..” She smiled fondly at me “You knew the father. He would have never let us live our own
life”
“So why
not poison him yourself…. after all, it was your perfect weapon” I taunted
spitefully. She leaned in closer and said, “poison was never my weapon, my weapon
was YOU..
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