Author: Prerna Khobragade
It was a day of the ultimate low spirit. Drifted by humiliation, Prachi was drowning in distress. He had called her that day, maybe a few days after she left him. She could sense his ego upspringing from his guilt. After all, he was habitual of never admitting his mistakes, his dishonesty, and his cheatings. All he could ever count is Prachi leaving him, despite the love she seared in her heart for him for years. Well, she was truly taken for granted. But above all, he abused her that day, and titled her, as a fallen woman.
For the one who was already full of cheerlessness, hearing this was like a tug, enough to draw a heavy iron ball up the hill, which with no efforts made, will roll down the other side easily. Indeed, it was a day of ultimate low spirit. The heartbreak also wrecked the only left feeling of loving someone ever again in life. She gave up. The feeling of sinking deep in guilt for making wrong decisions in life, made her mind do something which currently, tops, her list of wrong decisions. Yes, she decided to kill herself.
The old bridge was the nearest option for Prachi. The only place she could think of with least hindrance. Certainly, it struck her mind at first, as it was one of those places, where her solitudes were warmly adored. It was an old bridge, standing strong, yet small, next to the huge overpass with the two-way captious road, which merely had turned this bridge into a walkway. There was a garden on the riverside. Unlived in by humans from year’s maybe, the garden was full of knee-high grass, which covered the legs of the bench, creating an illusion of a floating seat. The sun, hiding in the hazy sky was about to set, and the riverfront view from the bench where she later sat on entirely made a relieving romantic scene. But it was a tragedy though! He was romantically missed… Which suddenly shove her into the flashback, where she was hurt, cheated, abused, which did nothing, but freshen her wounds.
It concreted Prachi’s decision. She was waiting for it to get dark and wholly vacant. By then, she thought of writing a letter to her family. After all, she didn’t fancy to create a suicide mystery. She believed that also if she was accountable for this erroneous deed of self-killing, her parents were the one, answerable to the world. She went on writing 15 pages letter. Each word submerged in pain and remorse uttered apology. Although she wanted to express her eternal love for them, all she could plead is not guilty and tried explaining her untouched dignity. She went on describing that she wasn’t the one he called her. Surely, it was the intense influence of his abusive words.
Prachi was going according to the suicide rulebook, stereotyped in immature minds like her’s, by the films and the heard stories. She set all the evidence on the bench – her bag, the written letter, the phone, to make her suicide noticeable. She proceeded towards the bridge. It was almost nine by then. She had texted my brother saying that it will get an hour late due to her extended sessions of German classes. It was an attempt to concentrate better on self-destruction, rather than worrying about getting late and those concerned phone calls from home. Surely, it might have changed her decision. She switched off her phone and with all the courage at the peak, she took her first step towards the railing of the bridge.
It wasn’t too high for a 5.3 feet girl. Prachi climbed the rusted railing, and saw two red pipes below, stuck and lined up well, parallel to the fence, like a perfect platform to jump into the water. She stood on those pipes, tightly grabbing the railing rods and tried looking perpendicularly at the flowing river from the frame of her feet. And on spur of moment, it began to rain!
She was standing on the edge of the bridge, in the dark, with numerous negative thoughts in my head, almost about to end up her life, and witnessing the heaviest rain of that season! But that downpour eroded her sloppily seized confidence of self-killing, and what left with her was cowardice. She started shivering.
The dark river had lost its calm and it started threatening her by flowing screwy, just like her annoyed mother who frightened her at times, just by yelling over. The red pipes deceived like a sign of danger and reminded her of her father who warned her at every step and stage. Was it a chance to rethink bestowed by destiny? she wondered. Yes, she didn’t want her suicide to turn into some accidental death caused by the rain – she answered herself.
Suddenly some light projected over her eyes. Trying to maintain the balance over the pipes, which the light had already disturbed, she heard a dizzy sound of a vehicle. It was a motorcycle coming closer from the other end of the bridge. She quickly hurdled over the safer side of the railing and sat down exhaling all the panic in a long breath… She had given up again. She knew she couldn’t do it right then.
She busted into tears. Down on her knees, she was trying to secretly sob on an empty road. Maybe, she was escaping further embarrassments. But, from whom? For Prachi, the realisation of being lone was awful.
The clock’s hands might have gone beyond 10, and she was still there, on the old bridge. Waiting right there, and gripping some shattered nerve to try to kill herself again which was, even more, easier than going back home, answering and making up reasons for coming late. She knew situations at home might have heated up by now. Facing them was quite more difficult than dying. She chose to wait. Her puerile self thought that next early morning will be the right time for suicidal attempts. The white river, however fast it may flow, won’t scare her as much as the dark side of it did.
It was more than an hour that she was drenched in rain. Also, she badly had to pee. She went on walking for 15 minutes from the bridge and ended up going to a restroom inside a mall. Looking at own face in the mirror she was terrified. Swollen red eyes, pale skin, cold blue lips – was I ever like this? she wondered. No! Trying to wash the signs of melancholy off her face, Prachi kept splashing the water on her skin. Tied her hair up in a bun, applied a little lip balm, and got out of the washroom and sat under the clear sky, in an open garden lobby of the mall. There was shoe showroom opposite to the pew. She simply started reading back the letter. And guess what, her eyes started swimming in tears again.
There was a fair, small-eyed guy, staring at me from the showroom glass. Those curious eyes were quietly escorting me Prachi discomfort. The instance she caught his eye, he looked away and quickly switched off the lights of the showroom with awkwardness. With certain disgrace, even she walked towards a close bus stop. She sat there, waiting for the city station bus, where I had decided to spend the rest of the night. It was probably the safest place she could think of. All buses parked at a place where she knew only a few watchmen loitered, which will be pretty easy to for her to sneak inside some bus in the corner and get some fine sleep; so that she could fearlessly die next morning. And yes, this was all her ingenious plan.
The bus arrived. She got on the bus and sat next to the window. The city station buses, usually at these hours are only with few commuters, and so was on that night. Only after a few minutes of Prachi sitting there, the same small eyed guy came and sat next to her. She hadn’t noticed him getting onto the bus. And his act of choosing to sit next to her, instead of all those unoccupied seats, was quite suspected.
“Hey, are you okay?” he gently asked. Prachi pretentiously ignored and continued looking outside the window.
She was so discomforted that she got up and sat on another seat in the front, far away from his. Her instincts constantly made attempts to keep her safe from strangers. Especially of the opposite sex. However, she turned back to look at him, rather judge his intentions towards her just by looking in his eyes. She found him looking back at her too. But he was also was on a phone call. That made her focus back on her suicide plan. The bus stop was about to reach and so the boy did not bother her now.
As soon as Prachi got down the bus she was awestruck after seeing her brother and mother waiting by the bus stop. They ran towards her and squeezed her in their arms and mourned her name again and again. Terrified Prachi once again turned back to see the boy as the bus moved, and what she saw gave her answers for all her questions.
The boy was holding the letter that she wrote for her family, which she probably dropped while she was sitting next to him. It was him who called mother on the bus stop as the phone number was written on the letter.
Life is difficult for everyone. The way we live is very subjective. It was a coincidence that saved Prachi’s life. Today she lives happily. However, such coincidences may not appear in everyone life. If she would have ended her life then, the present would have been different. Past is unalterable, coincidences are tricky and the present quite risky. So, however difficult life gets, continue living.
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