Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters and places mentioned. All the places are fictional and any resemblance is a mere coincidence.
Click!
The files caught fire from the lighter and burned in the small fireplace. Page by page curled in on them and burned through, reduced to ashes in a matter of minutes. Daya sat on the couch, blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, staring at the flames with almost surreal curiosity.
Abhijeet got up from where he was kneeling and turned back to Daya he said: lo ab theek hai… (Gesturing to the pile of burnt paper behind him) ab wo files nhi hasain gi tum pr.
Daya shifted his gaze to Abhijeet, and then back at the fireplace, back at the burning books: lekin wo ab udaas lag rhi hain…
Abhijeet, shaking his head: Urgh tum kisi hal mai khush nhi reh skty… (Once the papers were reduced to a heap of ashes, he snuffed out the fire, snatched the thermometer from the table, and headed back to the couch.) chalo munh kholo ab apna…
Daya's fever must have been higher than Abhijeet thought, because the lad opened his mouth obediently and held the thermometer under his tongue until he took out. Abhijeet took it back and read the reading.
104
Abhijeet sighed: Mubarak ho ab tum officially aik oven bn chuky ho… (He said under his breath, grabbing the rag from the basin, wringing it out, and pressing it to Daya's forehead). Daya muttered something incoherent and leaned back, shutting his eyes. He then turned onto his side, curling into himself, pulling the blanket closer while squeezing his eyes shut. Abhijeet sighed.
Abhijeet said: Daya tumhe relax krna chahiye… iss tarhan tum apny zakhmon pr stress dal rhy ho…
A moment later, Daya did relax, but only because he'd fallen asleep. Abhijeet sighed heavily, smoothed back Daya's hair, and checked his forehead out of habit. It was no wonder Daya kept falling asleep so suddenly; his fever, no doubt, kept him exhausted.
Abhijeet replaced the rag on his head, stood, and made for the kitchen. That was where he'd left the map of the city from earlier. He snatched it from the counter, opened it up again, and let his eyes scan it once more.
If there was any way he could get help, he had to try. He wasn't about to give up on his young subordinate. If he didn't get Daya help soon…
Abhijeet POV: panic krny ki zaroorat nhi hai… Daya bht strong hai…
Despite the somewhat reassurance, Abhijeet couldn't help but glance with soft, worried eyes at his resting subordinate. He could see Daya's chest rising and falling from here, breathing heavily and there was a small wheeze to each breath. Breathing hurt, no doubt, with the cauterized wounds, but it couldn't be helped; Abhijeet had searched earlier for medicine in the abandoned house and came out empty-handed.
He scanned the map one final time, but was already feeling defeated. He'd looked multiple times before; what would one more time accomplish?
But this time, as his eyes ran breezily over the paper, they stopped on something they'd failed to notice every previous time.
A phone box, at the end of the same street the abandoned house was on. Abhijeet blinked at it, gaped for a moment or two, hardly able to believe this sudden strike of dumb luck. A phone box. And it wasn't even that far away from where he and Daya were currently.
He blinked, hardly able to grasp it.
With a phone box, he could make an emergency call to Bureau.
And more importantly…he could get help for Daya.
Abhijeet quickly folded the map, stuffed it into his pocket, and made for the door (or, the doorframe, more like – he'd broken down the door earlier that night). The sooner he could get to that phone box, the sooner he could send in for help.
But at the very last second, he hesitated, and glanced back over his shoulder at the couch.
Daya was curled up on his side, clutching his blankets, shivering. Abhijeet hated to leave him alone, but, at the same time, Abhijeet really didn't have a choice. He needed help that Abhijeet couldn't supply. He needed medicine; a proper doctor…loads of things.
He rushed to the couch and laid his hand on Daya's shoulder: Hey, Daya… utho do minute k liye…
Daya rasped quietly without opening his eyes: G sir... (Abhijeet was momentarily startled by how weak Daya's voice was; he really didn't sound good…)
Abhijeet, lowering his voice significantly: mai abhi aata hun... iss gali k end pr aik phone booth hai… mai ja kr Bureau call krny ki koshish krta hun…
Daya: Yess sir… (His breathing became deeper, indicating he'd fallen back asleep, and Abhijeet squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.)
Abhijeet repeated: mai abhi aata hun… (And he sped outside and tore down the soaked sidewalks at record speed.)
It was still raining. Thunder crashed overhead, and lightning shot through the sky. All the street lamps had gone out, and Abhijeet could only pray and hope that the phone's working.
His feet pounded against hard, wet cement. He dashed through puddles of murky street water and didn't pay any heed. The longer he took making it to the phone box, the longer Daya would be alone, and the longer Daya would go without help.
It took a little while of running before he grew tired, but he didn't let it stop him. He pushed himself even faster he was holding the torch.
When he finally made it to the phone box at the end of the street, he was panting, gasping heavily for breath, and he felt like shrieking and laughing in relief, but he restrained himself. He still didn't know if the phone box was operational. With the conditions the houses were in, it wouldn't have surprised him if the lines were all down.
But he had to try. It was the least he could do.
He threw open the phone box's door so fast he heard it snap, and he instantly picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear.
He could hear the rain hit the asphalt. He could hear the thunder from the clouds, the lightning from the storm.
And from the phone, he heard a series of flat, monotone beeps.
The phone line was down.
Abhijeet shouted: nooooo… (hanging up the phone and taking it again. No, this couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening! And just when things were starting to look like they might turn out okay, too.)
He felt so betrayed by the phone box that, he was feeling he should have set it ablaze.
At the same time, he knew burning the phone box would do nothing but waste valuable time.
Now that Abhijeet knew the phone box was a no-go, he called back to mind Daya, alone in the abandoned house, and he instantly tore back down the street, back to his sick, wounded subordinate.
The rain let up all at once, but Abhijeet's fear did not.
All the while, as he ran, he thought again and again on how he would get help. Where could he go? He couldn't carry Daya all the way back to Bureau, and even if he could, the cold would only serve to make Daya sicker, and that was something Abhijeet couldn't risk. Already, Daya was ill enough without the influence of the weather. It wouldn't take much more for his illness or his injury to turn fatal.
When he returned to the abandoned house, he charged through the hallway and shifted his gaze to the couch.
Daya wasn't there.
Instead, Daya was, oddly enough, on the floor, a tangle of awkwardly-positioned limbs and blanket. Abhijeet studied Daya for a moment, ready to waltz over there and put him back on the couch where he belonged…
But then he realized something quite disturbing.
Before he left for the phone box, he'd been able to see Daya's shoulders and chest rising and falling with every deep breath he took.
But now…he couldn't see it. Daya was still, almost startling still, like he'd been frozen in place.
Abhijeet couldn't tell whether or not he was breathing.
Abhijeet shouted before he could stop himself, and he charged over, probably even faster than he'd torn down the sidewalk, and he skidded to his knees, grabbed Daya by his shoulders, and pulled him into his arms: Dayaaaaaaa
Daya was entirely limp, which did nothing to stop Abhijeet's panic. Abhijeet desperately searched for any sign of life, but he could see none.
Abhijeet pleaded, quite frantic: nhi… nhi… nhi… tum mery sath esa nhi kr skty Daya… Come on, come on, don't do this, please don't do this… (He pressed two fingers into Daya's neck and waited, holding his breath.)
Daya's faint but steady pulse thudded against his fingers. Abhijeet let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling weak, and he tightened his grip on Daya, embracing the young colleague without fully registering what he was doing.
Abhijeet breathed, shutting his eyes, holding Daya just a little bit tighter: hey bhagwan… shuker hai… shuker hai k Daya ki ssansain chal rhi hain…
Abhijeet would have been content sitting there like that forever, but just then, Daya murmured incoherently and stirred. Abhijeet pulled back only somewhat, still supporting him entirely, because Abhijeet doubted he'd be able to sit up on his own, and Daya cracked open his feverish eyes to stare up at Abhijeet blearily.
Daya muttered, slurring his words: Abhi…jeet sir… hum yahan (He blinked a few times. Zameen pr… kiya kr rhy hain?
Abhijeet, reaching up and snatching the thermometer from the side table; when he'd hugged Daya, he could tell that his fever had risen (again) and he wanted to see how bad it really was: yeh to mai tum sy janna chahun ga Daya… kiya hua?
He put the thermometer in his mouth.
Daya blinked twice more and frowned, thinking: mai… gir gaya… tha…
Abhijeet in anger: or tum uthe q thy couch pr sy…
Daya swallowed thickly: mjhe laga… (he began, and he gulped again) maine apni… maa ko dekha…
Abhijeet froze.
Abhijeet dumbly: ohhh…
When it came to sensitive matters like this, he was useless: tumhari maa…
Daya nodded feverishly, and Abhijeet was thoroughly shocked when a tear rolled down his flushed cheek: wo wahan samny khari thi… (He stammered) or phir achanak won hi thi wahan…
He sucked in a deep, shaky breath, which he coughed and choked out. Abhijeet tightened his grip, like it would somehow help, and he felt Daya shudder.
Abhijeet quietly: I'm sorry (Suddenly overwhelmed by a fierce urge to protect Daya with everything he had) I'm sorry…
Daya was shaking his head before Abhijeet even finished speaking: aap q sorry kr rhy hain…
Daya whispered, and his voice was laced with tears just begging to be shed: sb meri ghalti hai… maa mjhe chor k gai… meri ghalti ki wajah sy… (He squeezed his eyes shut and ducked his head) sirf or sirf meri ghalti… (One tear turned into two, and two turned into three).
This was definitely the fever talking, Abhijeet knew that much. Daya never would have let this much slip on regular circumstances, but under the influence of fever, pain and stress, he did.
And Abhijeet didn't know how to respond.
Abhijeet said firmly: iss mai tumhari koi ghalti nhi hai Daya…
Daya took in another deep breath, but instead of arguing, like Abhijeet had expected him to, Daya choked out a sound between a cough and a sob, and his tears increased.
Daya: I'm sorry (he whispered, and Abhijeet knew that he was not the one Daya was speaking to) I-I-I'm sorry, Maa…
Abhijeet embraced him, not knowing what else to do, and this time, Daya actually hugged back, something he would never do if he was in his right frame of mind due to rank, his tears never ebbing.
In that moment, Abhijeet felt useless than ever.
A/N:
Here is your update just as I promised...
Thank you for your precious reviews... Hope to get same response for this chapter...
Hope to see you soon, as it totally depends upon how you guys review.