Let this story be a prayer for redemption.

The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the village crematorium, where a crowd had silently gathered.

The air was thick—not with the smoke from the pyre yet, but with a heavy sorrow that clung to every face present. Men stood still, women wiped their eyes, and children clung to their mothers.

Amidst them all, a police van rolled in slowly, breaking the silence only with the faint clinking of chains.

From the van stepped out a young man, no older than twenty-five. His hands were bound in iron handcuffs, chained to a police officer, yet his eyes were free—free to search, free to tremble, and free to weep. His name was Raghav.

He had not seen his family in nearly two years. A moment of weakness, a wrong decision, and the lure of easy money had pushed him into the world of crime.

What started with small thefts soon spiraled into a case that saw him behind bars, away from his mother’s prayers and his father’s stern yet loving eyes.

And today, he was back—not home, but to say a final goodbye.

His father had passed away the previous night. The news had shattered him like no court verdict ever could. And now, here he stood, heart pounding louder than the cries around him, as his younger brother, Aman, came running to him.

They embraced—tight, desperate, soul-crushing. The clinking of chains between them became the cruel reminder of what separated their love: one wrong choice.

Aman, just a teenager, buried his face in Raghav’s shoulder, whispering broken words between sobs. “He waited for you every day, Bhaiya… he never gave up on you.”

Raghav didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His throat closed around a thousand unsaid things. He had dreamt of coming home as a changed man someday, but not like this. Not in chains. Not for this.

Under the watchful yet softened eyes of the police officer, Raghav was allowed to perform his father’s last rites. With his hands still cuffed, he lit the pyre. The fire crackled and rose, as if echoing the turmoil in his heart.

The crowd, though silent, was moved. Even the officer beside him blinked back tears. They weren’t just witnessing a funeral. They were witnessing a heart breaking in real time—a story of love, regret, and the irreversible damage of one wrong decision.

As the flames rose higher, Raghav looked up to the sky, silently mouthing a prayer. Not just for his father, but for every youth standing at the crossroads of life. For every boy tempted by shortcuts, every soul being lured into darkness with promises of power, he wanted to shout:

“Don’t lose your life to crime—not because of jail, but because of this pain… this unbearable separation from those who truly love you.”

He didn’t get a chance to say goodbye while his father was alive. That silence would now echo in his mind forever.

This moment was more than a farewell. It was a warning, an open wound, and a hope that someone, somewhere, might choose the right path after seeing what crime really takes from you.

Let this image be a mirror to our choices.
Let this story be a prayer for redemption.
And let every youth remember—
No wealth or power is worth the tears of your mother,
The heartbreak of your brother,
Or the silence of a father’s pyre.

…..— Vijay Verma
 www.retiredkalam.com

Categories: Uncategorized

Tags: #जीवन, #भावना, #Crime, #Family, #Love, #RegretOfTears, #Story, faith, featured, fiction, writing