Chapter 1: Prologue

"Deceit is the game of petty spirits, and that is by default a woman's quality."

- Pierre Corneille.

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The Fortis Hospital, Delhi.

March 12, 1:15 A.M.

Darsh Rathore checked his watch again and tallied it against the hospital clock. It matched perfectly. It was five hours since they had taken Vicki to the operation theatre. Five hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty seconds to be precise, since the red light of the OT went on. He rubbed his weary face and prayed for the thousandth time for his brother to be okay, but his hopes sank with each passing minute.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty. About turn. His brain counted as he paced the stark white corridor of the A&E department, a tangy smell of disinfectant overwhelming his senses. There were others around him, equally anxious, if not more. Some sat huddled together, whispering among each other. Others stood leaning against the walls, shuffling on their feet as they waited for news.

Faces rose in hope, then fell in disappointment every time a doctor or nurse scurried by. But no news was good news. Doctors were gods here and nurses were angels but even then, Death lurked in the darkened corners waiting to pounce undetected.

He exhaled sharply to rid himself of the bleak thought. Gloom and doom did not suit him. He was a man of action.

He'd come to a halt opposite Vicki's door when a doctor in green scrubs walked out carrying a paper.

"How's he, doctor?" Darsh asked, his anxiety ricocheting the walls. The lady looked unruffled.

"We are still trying, Mr. Rathore. But I am afraid it may be too late. He's lost too much blood and the head injury doesn't look good either."

He pursed his lips. Yes, they were late. It had taken Ajay nearly six hours to reach Delhi from that dastardly village of Palampur that had a fancy racecourse to boast of but not a decent hospital in the vicinity. The only miserly excuse of a clinic was run by a homeopathic doctor who had flatly refused to treat Vicki.

For the hundredth time that day, he cursed himself. It was all his mistake. He should have never let Vicki go.

"Please doctor, you have to save him. Do whatever you want, call the best surgeons in the country, but make sure Vicki gets through," he pleaded, his desperation getting the better of him. The woman gave a sympathetic look.

"We'll try our best, Mr. Rathore. We are going to operate. If successful, he'll live through this, but failure might cause a coma, or worse. I need your consent." She handed him a form. He felt his brain going numb.

Coma, or worse? How had it come to this? Vicki was twenty-one. Twenty-one, for god's sake! He had so much to see, so much to live for. It was too soon. It was unfair. Whoever had done this was going to pay for this, they had no idea what was coming for them.

Lips pressed in a thin line, he signed the form as he made a promise to himself. The doctor disappeared behind the OT doors and he turned to resume his pacing only to find Ajay Parmar waiting behind him.

 

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"He loved her from the moment he saw her," Ajay pressed a hand to his bandaged forehead as Darsh led him to a nearby bench. Patches of dirt and blood adorned his torn shirt. His other hand was in a plaster cast. "All the time we were there, he was with her. He looked so happy he even wanted to propose. We thought...we thought she loved him, too."

Darsh listened with a stony expression, his dark eyes giving nothing away. Ajay was Vicki's best friend since childhood. The duo had planned this excursion together to celebrate their graduation. Palampur, the little countryside town at the peak of its famous racing season, afforded enough of the wild excitement the city boys craved for. But the trip hadn't ended well. The girl was a vixen. She had played with Vicki and then discarded him when a new, more shiny toy came into sight. What's more, she'd gone the extra mile and gotten them set upon by goons when Vicki dared to confront her.

His fingers curled into fists. Aditi Sharma. How he craved to wring her neck! How he would enjoy seeing her vile face strangled to death!

"There were six of them." Ajay's eyes were distant. "They chased us in their jeep. We somehow reached our car and escaped, but Vicki lost control in the dark and we crashed into the gorge."

Darsh ran his fingers through his dark hair. He had listened to this story for the umpteenth time today but still couldn't believe it.

Girls. They were never Vicki's weakness. He was a shy boy, too shy even to talk to girls when he was in school. Even when in college, he'd kept to his studies and his sports. He had a few friends like Ajay, but the young men were mostly well-behaved and hardly got into trouble. This was so much in contrast to Darsh's own past. He had seen and done it all, right from the ripe old age of fifteen.

He patted Ajay on the shoulder and asked him to rest. All four boys were badly injured, with Vicki being the worst hit. Sam was in the recovery room having just come out after his knee surgery. Paddy was covered in bruises and had been stitched up by the doctors an hour ago.

Ajay left, walking gingerly on his feet, and Darsh resumed his restless pacing.

The clock ticked on. It was nearly morning when the red light finally turned off.

"The operation was successful." The doctor's expression was relieved yet Darsh noted his wary eyes. "He is alive, but I'm afraid he's lost the function of his body. The brain injury is too deep, it'll take time to heal. Meanwhile, we can only wait and hope for the best."

In other words, Vicki was in a vegetative state. His beloved brother was in a coma, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Face hardening with insane rage, Darsh whipped out his mobile and speed-dialed a number. He needed information and resources. And more than ever, he needed a plan.

 

***** *****

 

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