the last wish....

“Darling, what’s wrong?!” Mrs. Walke shrieked. Mr. Walke was coughing violently; his coughs, penetrating through the cold morning air. His mouth foamed vigorously, and within moments, he was lying senseless on the wooden floor of his dining room. Dawn had just approached. The clock struck four, indicating that it was ‘3’ in the morning. The Sun was slowly emerging, while Mr. Walke’s Sun had set.

“Oh, mother!” Mrs. Walke cried out, “Please come and see!” Her mother-in-law had been sleeping; it was not met that a woman of her age would be awakened so early in the morning. She slowly came out of her room, signalling a big yawn. Her age had taken a toll on her body, and it was natural that her body would shiver after confronting the cold winter air.

On seeing her son lying lifeless on the floor, she was stunned. She let a cry of disbelief, and collapsed beside her son.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on a white bed. Beside her, a machine beeped loudly, flashing some kind of a graph. A white coated man with a stethoscope was standing next to her bed. “Thank God she’s back!” He exclaimed.

On hearing the good news, her daughter-in-law arrived. The doctor looked at her, then approached her, and whispered something into her ears, then left. Mrs. Walke sat on the stool beside her mother-in-law’s bed. “Mom! Thank God you’re back! You’ve been lying unconscious for five days now! The doctor said you’ve passed over to coma, but I’m thankful you’re back!”

The old lady asked, “Kishore! Where is he?”

Mrs. Walke began to weep. She threw herself on the bed, and began to sob loudly, as if, to gain attention. The old lady consoled her, and then looking in her eyes, she asked, “What happened to him?”

“Kishore’s gone!” Mrs. Walke continued to sob.

The old mother had a weak mentality. After hearing her son’s death, she could not even react. All she could do was look lost. She stared at her daughter-in-law for some time, before fainting again. She awoke in the evening. Mrs. Walke was still sitting beside her.

Acting strong, she asked, “What is the date today?”

“Eighteenth June,” she replied with a sorrow tune.

“And for how many days exactly am I here?”

“Five.”

“So, Kishore died on the thirteenth?” She could no longer hold back her tears. She wailed, so terribly, that the entire hospital was shaken by her cries. It was quite natural. She had lost her only son.

After some condolences, Mrs. Walke stepped out of her room. The old lady looked lost. She gazed up at the ceiling, ignoring everything that was going around. All she could think of was Kishore. She could envision Kishore’s image appearing and disappearing in a moment’s notice. She flashed back on his past, as she remembered the tiny Kishore when she gave birth to her. Slowly, she imagined Kishore growing up. She remembered all the special moments in her child’s life, both painful and serene. She saw him grow up, and finally marry her dear daughter-in-law, who was like an angel to her. Finally, she imagined his dead face, and the sight mad tears roll down her wizened cheeks. She loved her son dearly; her son meant the world to her. His loss was the greatest trauma of her life. She did not feel as terrible when she lost her dear husband.

“Mrs. Walke?” Someone knocked on the door, which disturbed her thoughts, and drew her attention. She stared at the door. A nurse was standing there with an envelope in her hand.

“Yes?” The old lady answered.

“I have a letter for you. Someone dropped it off at the patients’ letterbox. It’s addressed to you. Sorry, I don’t know the addressee as we aren’t supposed to breach upon our patients’ privacy.”

The old lady looked stunned. “A letter, in here?” she thought. She turned to the nurse, “Thank you. You may leave.”

She saw the post seal on the paper. It was stamped on 17th June, which was yesterday. She quickly tore open the envelope, and took out the piece of paper. The letter was written on a sheet which was of poor quality. The handwriting seemed familiar. It read—


“17th June, 2009.
Dear Mrs. Bina Walke,

I sincerely apologize for not providing my address, because I, myself, am not aware of it. I’m sorry to disturb you during this time, when you are grieving over your son’s death, but this letter is regarding him. No, this is not a testament, but this is mainly a letter to make you aware about the mysteries surrounding your son’s death. Those secrets will be revealed in this letter.

Your son was murdered! His death was unnatural, although the autopsy revealed he died of suffocation. I guess you may be wondering how exactly such a healthy person could suffocate, and that too, in a winter morning while having breakfast. Well, his windpipe may have been blocked due to entrance of food particles, but that is not the case. Yes, he did die by suffocation, but he was suffocated intentionally by someone very dear to him.

Your dear daughter-in-law, your angel Mini, is the reason behind your son’s death. She murdered him, by feeding him peanut butter and toast. And you know how allergic he is to peanuts. As soon as the toast entered his mouth, his neck had swollen, preventing air flow, and thus choking him. It was not an accident, and it was done intentionally. She buttered his toast with peanuts deliberately, in order to get rid of him. That bitch murdered him, only because he knew dark secrets about her. She had an extramarital affair with her husband’s best friend—Varun. She betrayed him. Kishore thought of divorcing his wife due to mental treachery, but he could not do so, as it would upset you.

Now, after I’ve revealed the reason for his death, I will disclose some personal details about him, which might be beneficial to you. After all, people should not dwell on the past. He has written a will, as he feared his end was near, in order to distribute all his properties. The will is held by his lawyer—Mrs. Govindita. You will receive further information from her.

You may be wondering how I know such details about him, but the fact is, he, himself, provided me with such knowledge. This was his last wish—‘Not to punish his wife by giving this letter to the police. Let her live her life.’

Your loving son,
KISHORE.”


The old lady was startled by the name of the addressee. She could not help but stare at this piece of paper. It was her son that sent her the letter. “But how? How can he send it after he died?” She thought. She knew that even if she thought for years, her answers would remain unanswered. The handwriting was similar to Kishore’s, and this style of writing was Kishore’s trademark. So, it must have been him.

After some more days, she was discharged from the hospital. Within a month of Kishore’s death, Mini married Varun, and they lived a happy life together. Kishore’s mother was helpless in interfering; she could not show the letter to the police, as they would not believe her, and because then, her action would be against Kishore’s last wish.