"Hey, Keshav." Raghu tapped my shoulder from behind. It was the day of Zara's funeral.
After leaving the police station, I had recounted everything to my parents. I even had to explain everything to Chandan Arora, who had been calling me continuously.
"I am with you," he had said, chewing tobacco in mouth, when he spoke to me on the phone. "You can tell the media you work for a reputable coaching class company. Chandan Classes. We are going national, you know." I had to tell him I couldn't talk to the media, let alone use this as a public relations opportunity to promote his classes.
Saurabh and I had come to the Muslim graveyard in Chattarpur, near Zara's house.
"Hi, Raghu. When did you arrive?" I said, turning towards him.
He had his left arm in a cast. His forehead and the back of his neck had bruises. He wore a white kurta pyjama. He removed his black-framed spectacles and rubbed his eyes.
"Yesterday evening. So, you saw her?" he said in a soft voice. I nodded.
"Tell me everything. Please," Raghu said, "I don't want to be in the dark."
Somehow, after Zara's death, I didn't feel as much animosity towards him. I wondered if he knew about the messages Zara had sent to me before her death. Maybe I should tell him, I thought. I had already shared them with the police, who would probably tell him eventually. I wanted to rub it in his face that Zara wanted to get back with me. Scolding myself for thinking such shallow thoughts, I recounted the night of Zara's death to him in as much detail as possible. However, I toned down the exact messages she had sent me.
"We reconnected, I went to wish her. That's all," I said as I finished the story.
He nodded, his gaze down.
"It's terrible," I said into the awkward silence.
He bit his lip and looked into my eyes for a long time. No words, just this level look.
Did he think I had done it?
"I went to her room because…" I began to say again.
"I know. I went to the police station last night. I found out about your chat with her."
"She messaged me first," I said defensively.
"How does it matter now?" he said. "We lost her. Forever. Because of this godforsaken city. I had told her to move much earlier."
I looked away. Zara's father came up to us then, wanting to speak to Raghu in private. He and Raghu walked away from me.
Saurabh and I went to the grave. Zara's body lay wrapped in a white shroud. I had an absurd feeling that she was waiting for me to come closer and talk to her, and that when I did so she would wake up and smile that beautiful smile, a smile that would make everything alright again.
A few elderly Muslim men nearby were praying aloud in Arabic. Safdar came to stand close by, his face grim, hands clasped. Even though Muslim funerals usually don't have women present, Zara's stepmother, Zainab, stood behind him a bit further away, along with some relatives.
Zara's father took a handful of mud and placed it under Zara's head. I saw Zara's stepbrother, Sikander, who I knew was in his early twenties but looked way younger due to his baby face. I had only seen Sikander in some old family pictures. Zara's father, originally from Srinagar, became a widower when Zara was three years old. When Zara turned five, he married a widow called Farzana, in Srinagar. Farzana had lost her first husband to militancy in Kashmir. Sikander was her son from that marriage. Hence, Zara and Sikander grew up together as stepsiblings in Kashmir. Eight years later, Safdar and Farzana got divorced, after Safdar discovered that her family had militant roots; Safdar hated fundamentalists. They separated, each taking their biological child with them as they went their own ways. Safdar moved his business to Delhi, and Zara shifted with him. In Delhi, Zara's father married his accountant, Zainab. Sikander, meanwhile, stayed back and grew up with his mother, Farzana, in Srinagar.
Sikander stood near Zara's body, fingers interlinked. He picked up a ball of mud and placed it under Zara's chin. He sobbed as he performed the ritual.
Zara and Sikander had remained close after their parents' separation, even though Safdar discouraged the contact. Sikander, from what Zara had told me, was a poor student. She used to help him with his lessons and ensure he passed his exams. When Zara left Kashmir, his grades slipped and he never made it past class five.
"I just hope Sikander is fine. He is a baby," Zara often said to me.
I noticed Prof. Saxena, Zara's PhD guide from IIT Delhi. He had come to the funeral along with his wife. Prof. Saxena was also the dean of student affairs at IIT. He went up to Safdar and they spoke to each other for a few minutes.
As Prof. Saxena stepped away, Zara's father called Raghu and handed a fistful of mud to him. Obviously, only close male relatives performed this ritual and, I guess, Safdar saw Raghu as part of the family. A cleric recited Arabic verses as Raghu placed the earth in his hand under Zara's shoulders. My resentment against Raghu came rushing back. Why did he get to be with her at the end? Why was I watching this from a distance, like an imposter? Why was no one calling me to pay my respects?
The cleric's prayers filled the air as Zara's male relatives lowered her body into the grave. People ahead of me covered my view, so that I had to elbow my way to the front. I whispered to her for the last time.
"Forgive me, Zara, for not fighting for us."
"What, brother?" Saurabh said, as he heard me mumble.
"Nothing," I said, my head averted to shield my wet eyes from him.
"Shall we go?" Saurabh said. "I don't think they want us here."
"Let me offer my condolences to her father and then we can leave."
As they covered Zara's body with more earth, Safdar spoke to a tall man in his thirties. The man stood with his back very straight, and had the typical Kashmiri apple-cheeked complexion. I went to them and waited politely for them to finish their conversation.
"Thank you again, Faiz. You left duty and came all the way," Safdar said.
"What are you saying, uncle? This is family. What happened is just tragic," Faiz said.
Safdar noticed me.
Safdar nodded and embraced Faiz before the latter finally left. Then he said, "Did you have to come here?"
"I just wanted to offer my condolences," I said.
"You were there. In her room. And now you have the guts to offer sympathy?" he thundered.
"Uncle, I loved your daughter. How can you even think…"
He put up his hand to stop me.
"I told you to leave her alone. Why didn't you?"
"I loved her."
"That is why you let your family humiliate her?"
"I can't control them. Even you didn't support us, uncle."
"I gave you an option," he said. "And I am giving you one now."
"What?"
"Just leave. God be with you."