Chapter 6: Hospital Reckoning

Hospital, 3 p.m. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the air sharp with antiseptic and the tang of fear. Corridors were crowded with anxious families—some whispering prayers, others slumped on metal benches. The nurse’s anklets jingled as she hurried past, but all I could hear was my mother’s soft sobbing.

I found my mum curled on a plastic stool, saree pallu damp with tears, pretending to rummage in her purse. Her shoulders shook under the weight of the world.

“Maa.” I took her icy hands. “Papa ko kya hua?”

She looked up and burst into tears—a sound so raw, it split me in two. I pulled her close, wishing I could carry her pain.

“Papa subah paise lene Dev Uncle ke paas gaye the. Fog tha, kuch dikhayi nahi diya, bridge ke pillar se takra gaye. Gaadi ka samna chakkna ho gaya.”

Her words tumbled out between sobs. I pictured my father—always careful, his face tight with worry as he drove through the mist.

“Abhi kaise hain? Doctor ne kya kaha?”

My hands shook as I asked, dread crawling up my spine.

“I don’t know—the doctor hasn’t come out yet. Papa operation theatre mein hain.” My mother’s eyes were red, swollen. “Beta, kuch ho gaya toh main kya karungi?”

Her voice was a whisper, nearly drowned by the chaos around us. The terror in her eyes was worse than anything.

I said, “Aisa kuch nahi hoga, Maa. Papa theek ho jayenge. Main hoon na, hamesha tumhare saath.”

I squeezed her hand, silently vowing to never let her suffer alone.

I glared at Ananya’s father, rage building inside me.

He stood at a distance, arms crossed, lips tight, looking like he was waiting for the drama to end so he could get back to his demands. Her family had rushed over on hearing the news. For a moment, I thought maybe they cared—but his next words shattered that hope.

“Abhi paisa lene jaane ki kya zarurat thi?” he said, voice loaded with blame.

I snapped. “Aap logon ne demand badhaya hota toh papa udhaar lene jaate? Agar nahi jaate, yeh hota? Papa ko kuch ho gaya toh main aapko nahi chhodunga!”

My words shook with anger and helplessness. Heads turned, but I didn’t care.

He scoffed, “Mujhpe daal rahe ho? Kya main zabardasti karwa raha tha? Ek hi beta hai, phir bhi kanjoosi!”

It hit like a slap. My hands curled into fists, ready to burst.

My mother clung to my arm, whispering, “Bas, Rohan, bas. Not here.”

The doctor emerged—coat rumpled, glasses slipping. Everyone surged forward.

“The patient’s condition isn’t optimistic. Surgery ki zarurat hai. Ribs, dono haath, pair—sab toot gaye hain.”

My mother’s knees buckled, and I caught her.

“First option: titanium frame, high success, 1.8 lakh. Second: steel nails, sasta, but dard aur complications zyada.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Pehla wala kar dijiye, doctor. Papa ko bacha lijiye—paise kahin se bhi le aayenge.”

The doctor nodded, disappearing behind the doors. I realised—this was a battle I might not win.