Choices

Narrator One: I thought that after cracking the UPSC exam—and getting the IPS post—I’d fight for peace, service and justice for the rest of my life. But things are not going that way. By now, I have been transferred for nineteen times; my life has become nothing short of a puppet show! Working in this system might be delightful for those who have vended their integrity.

Currently, I’m investigating the case of a journalist who was shot dead last month. When I went to the journalist’s home for interrogation, her mother said, “Since a few days before her death she seemed stressed. In fact, once she had confided in me that she was close to acquiring a vital piece of evidence. Apparently, it could have become a cause for the collapse of the government—which was formed by the ruling political party.” And now the things are coming to light as I’m being coerced by a political goon and my senior officers to stay away from the case.

Since last week, I’m getting life-threatening phone calls. My wife says I’ve always put the family into troubles. But then, just because of fears, shouldn’t I do what I want to do or what I think is right? The tempests within me are as stormy as those outsides. And if perchance I find myself in a safe harbor, protected from the fury of the winds, would I be contented or happy there?

Scene: (Location: The officer’s bungalow.)
A butler of the officer was paid a huge amount of money by the politician for the crime he was asked to do. Except for the officer and the butler, no one else could be seen in the house; later at night, when the officer was asleep, the butler hit a rod onto the head of the officer, and wiped off the blood stains. The next day, a doctor declared the officer to be dead and his body was sent for post-mortem.

Narrator Two: The hardest thing for a man is to write about himself as it grates his own heart to say anything of disparagement.

I’m 87 years old now, and I used to work as a Mama (a person who assists in the works of doctors) in the forensic department of a well-known hospital. My job was to just open human bodies so that doctors could prepare a post-mortem report. I think, for the entirety of my life, I’ve been liked by everyone for whatever the things I did; maybe, they think I’m a good man.

One day, a body of a well-known IPS officer came for medical examination and when I was measuring the circumference of his head I saw an external head injury. Moreover, I also noticed a lesion in the brain when I broke the skull. When I brought the findings into notice of the doctor, he said if I ever talk to anyone about this he would fire me. Later, I got to know that the doctor was in a family relationship with a local politician. In the post-mortem report, the doctor declared the death to be due to heart failure, he didn’t mention anything about the head injury.

That night I couldn’t sleep; I considered going to the police station and informing them of the truth of the matter before the body got burned down to ashes. I woke up from the bed, but then I thought if ‘they’ could kill an IPS officer then what chance did I stand? What would happen to my family after me? What if I was wrong? I’d lose the job. And I didn’t dare.

In my life, I’ve assisted so many post-mortems but I can’t forget the face of the officer. That face continues to haunt me now. The officer died only once for this country, and here I’m dying every day. Now, these nights persecute me, I don’t have any respondence to the questions the walls of my room ask me, whenever I’m alone. How many innocent people might have been killed by those criminals after the murder of the officer? I could have prevented that, by sending ‘them’ behind bars. I could have given justice to the officer’s family. Lamentably, there are so many people, who liked someone, or wanted to do something else in their life but they never tried. At the dusk of life, it’s not the failures that torment us the most but, the regrets of not trying the things that we wanted to do. And then we’re forlornly left to contemplate whether our life would have been better if we had opted for different path.
In the end, what are we but our choices!