Fiction Park
Cost of Life
Six million dollars, a figure she just couldn’t shake off her head. As her parents bellowed, she stared at the wooden coffin neatly packaged in the TIA hanger, and was transported to that one literature class back in her school.Sarthak Byanjankar
Six million dollars, a figure she just couldn’t shake off her head. As her parents bellowed, she stared at the wooden coffin neatly packaged in the TIA hanger, and was transported to that one literature class back in her school. Oh! How exaggerated that figure was for the cost of life. How wrong was Harold J. Morowitz in his estimation of The Six Million Dollar Man, even if he based his findings on the contemporary value of the usable parts of human anatomy.
“It’s not fair that all my friends have it and I don’t. I need one too.” It was only two weeks ago that Bhumika pressured her brother Shankar for that one gift she wanted so bad.
“Bhunti, don’t be so adamant, I’ll get you something else instead!” Even as her brother tried to explain, Bhumika just didn’t want to hear any excuses. She wanted that phone, and rightfully demanded it as a gift for Bhaitika.
“But you promised. If you can’t get it for me then find another Bhunti to worship you on Bhaitika.”
Before Shankar could say anything else, his parents backed Bhumika and told him to just give in. It was just a phone after all, a small price to pay for his only sister Bhumika’s happiness.
Neither Bhumika nor her parents were aware that Shankar was breaking his back trying to make a living abroad. They were not aware of the fact that he had been stretched thin working two off-the-book part time jobs that barely covered all his tuition and travel expenses. They had no idea how Shankar was living off the food from the restaurant that he worked for and that he was already a month late on his rent. And Shankar never talked to his family about the hardships that he struggled through, every single day away from home. He didn’t want his parents to worry about the fact that he was living hand to mouth.
Shankar could neither tell his parents about his situation, nor could he afford a phone for his sister. But, his sister would be expecting the gift and he wouldn’t want to dishearten her on her favourite festival. He had two weeks time on his hand, and he’d do everything possible to take a gift back home.
As if juggling university and two part time jobs was not hard enough; he signed up for overtime. “Of course I can manage”, he told his co-worker who showed concern regarding his situation. He kept telling himself that there was light at the end of this dark tunnel and the labour would result in fruition. And it did. By the end of two weeks of multiple sleepless nights, he had managed to clutch a beautifully packaged phone that would bring his sister so much joy. He felt content. All the hours he had put in felt worth it.
Two o’clock–his phone chimed. Having pulled two all-nighters in a row, both his body and mind had given up. He could think of only two things at this hour; seeing Bhumika’s beautiful wide smile upon unwrapping her gift in less than two days and snuggling in his bed after two sleepless nights. He swayed to and fro like a pendulum as he waited for his train at the platform. Drowsy, he didn’t realise that he was on the wrong side of the yellow line, venturing too close to the edge.
A musician, who saw the danger coming, tried to warn from afar. With loud music plugged into his ears, and eyes closed, Shankar didn’t hear a thing. Shankar was probably half asleep dreaming of his family back home when the suction pulled him into the tracks. Nobody would ever know.
As Bhumika quietly stared at the wooden coffin neatly packaged in the TIA hanger; she couldn’t put a price on her brother who came home but dead, just like she couldn’t put a price on the phone he had bought for her.
Was the phone worth the price her brother paid? Would any phone in the world ever fill the hole that was now punched into her heart? Would she ever be able to forgive herself for asking something that cost her brother his life? Could she go back two weeks in time and tell her brother “all I want for Bhaitika is for you to get home safe and sound”? Could she ever go back in time and tell her brother that nothing was more precious than the bond they shared? That nothing is more precious than his health and well-being?
She couldn’t pinpoint what she felt more—anger, guilt or regret. Sisters are supposed to save their brothers from danger; and there she was a sister who pushed her brother into one. As she stared at the coffin she knew it couldn’t be heavier than her heart.