Sriram

A childhood friend of mine was kidnapped for ransom and murdered. His body lay rotting in a well for 40 days before it was found. His body was wrapped in bandage and brought in a sealed glass box. The forensic report said there were numerous cut marks on his body and he was throttled to death. When I went to his house and saw the way they had brought him, my heart stopped to beat. Time stopped still. I stood glued to the door way unable to move. I don’t know how long I stood there but when I came back to the present, I turned around and ran home. All this had happened before the ransom was given. The parents promptly gave the ransom twice. If they only wanted money why murder him. The kidnappers were well known. It was his car driver. When they nabbed the kidnappers they only got a few years to serve behind prison bars. But would that bring him back?

We studied from kinder garden to standard six together. He was one of the smartest kids in class with his father’s business empire waiting to be handed to him. He was a really nice person. One could never see him angry. He had always been even tempered. That day after school I had gone to the library and came back. Everyone had left class. Sriram was there sitting on the bench waiting for Zameel I guess. We were chitchatting for a while. It got late for me to get to the school van lest I take public transport which I wasn’t very fond of. So I picked my bag to leave, he asked to stay and keep him company until his friends came. Told him it was already a bit and I rushed off. Thinking back it wouldn’t have hurt to have stayed a while even if had to make me miss my van. Every time I entered the class I could feel his absence. I would sit starring at the seat he used to sit, which was right next to me. That was the only thing the school spoke about the rest of that academic year. It’s been 12 yrs since, but till date that classroom still haunts me of his memories. The last conversation in class is still vivid in my memory. The school grounds we played together. The silly fights we used have each day. Memories dated for eight years. The school put up a life size picture of him in an ornate frame in the entrance lobby. He had slight smile and a calm and serene face. Every time I passed it the pain increased. His family sponsored the prises and certificates for all school events after that. His picture was on every certificate I got from then on. It never let me forget. I don’t have to see his picture to remember his face. It’s engraved in my head. The school named awards in his memory. I can name memories, a few of them still vivid. When I remember the time spent with him, the memories rush back all pleasant and happy except one and that one hurts as it was the memory of the time i saw him in a glass case.