Dr. Agrawal, a renowned neurologist, had earned a reputation for achieving the impossible. He treated patients with conditions that spanned from mild to crippling neurological disorders. His name was synonymous with hope. It was this very hope that Rachna clung to as she urged her brother.
“Hemant, you must take Himanshu to Dr. Agrawal. He’s the best chance we’ve got,” she pleaded.Hemant’s eyes darkened, his face tightening with frustration. “Rachna, I can’t,” he snapped. “My green card finally came through. I’ve waited years for this. My entire future is on the line. You have to understand what’s at stake here.”
Hemant had always been the golden child—the IIM graduate with the lucrative job and dreams of settling in America. For years, he had chased the elusive green card. Now, with the prize in hand, nothing could interfere with his plans.
But Himanshu—a brother they once knew, now trapped in a body unrecognizable—complicated everything. His neurological disorder left him unable to do even the most basic tasks, and though they had once been close, Hemant had slowly distanced himself from the burden Himanshu had become.
Rachna’s voice quivered, fueled by desperation, “But Himanshu needs us, Hemant. You have to understand that.”
Hemant’s frustration boiled over. “Maybe we should consider a mental asylum. At least there, he’d be looked after. We can send money whenever they need it.”
Rachna recoiled, her face flushing with anger. “A mental asylum? Himanshu is your brother too!”
“And you expect me to take full responsibility?” Hemant shot back. “You’re right here in the same city, but you refuse to even take him to the doctor. Don’t you dare accuse me of walking away when you’re doing the same thing.”
The argument grew hotter, their voices rising with every passing second. Neither noticed the figure in the corner—their brother, Himanshu—watching them with silent, pleading eyes. He could hear every word, though they acted as if he didn’t exist. His every attempt to stop his siblings’ bitter quarrel was ignored. His gestures, his movements—everything meaningless in their rage.
Suddenly, Himanshu’s frail body collapsed from his chair, crashing to the floor. The chaos stopped, their argument shattered by the sound of his fall. For a brief moment, guilt and panic flashed across their faces as they rushed to help him, but the silence that followed was thick with the weight of words unspoken.
Later that afternoon, as Rachna packed her things to leave, she stumbled upon a small diary. It was unassuming and tucked away in their mother’s drawer. “Maa kept a diary?” she thought, surprised. She sat down, flipping through the pages, and began reading.
Hours passed. The world around her faded as she lost herself in the words her mother had written. When her husband, Nishant, arrived to pick her up that evening, Hemant greeted him at the door. They exchanged pleasantries. They discussed job prospects and market trends. Their conversation was interrupted when Rachna entered the room. Her eyes were swollen and red with tears.
“What’s wrong, Rachna?” Hemant asked, alarmed.
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she turned to Nishant and said, her voice resolute, “I’m taking Himanshu home with me.”
The room froze. Nishant remained silent, but Hemant’s face twisted in shock. He couldn’t understand this sudden change. What had happened? What had she read?
An hour later, Rachna stood at the door with Himanshu by her side, ready to leave. She wished Hemant well, but he only watched, speechless, as they disappeared out the door.
The next morning, as the first light of dawn crept into his room, Hemant packed for his flight. But his mind was elsewhere—on Rachna, on Himanshu, and on the diary she had found. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden ring of his phone. Rachna’s name flashed on the screen.
Without preamble, her voice came through the line. “Bhai, before you leave, I need you to do something. Go to Maa’s room. There’s a blue diary there. Read it.” And with that, she hung up.
Hemant rushed downstairs, heart pounding, and found the diary. He flipped through the pages. He scanned the words until he came across an entry. The entry made his breath catch in his throat.
The ink on the page had bled, water-stained and fragile, but the words were still legible:
“*The day after Himanshu’s ninth birthday, it rained heavily. He begged us to go for a drive. We could never say no to him. But on the way back, out of nowhere, Himanshu screamed. Harsh pulled over, and we saw it—a car, engulfed in flames. There were sounds coming from inside.
Harsh and I rushed over. Two adult bodies—charred beyond recognition—but two children, miraculously unharmed.
The police came. We left. But we couldn’t forget those children. Days turned into weeks, and when nobody came forward to claim them, the inspector asked if we would take them. We refused.
That night, Himanshu overheard our conversation. He came to us, quiet and serious in a way children rarely are. ‘Papa,’ he said, ‘can we bring them home? I’ll take care of them. They’ll be my siblings.’
We had been so heartless. But Himanshu—our little boy—was wiser than we ever were. That night, our family grew. We became five. And Himanshu—he became a brother to Hemant and Rachna.*”
The diary slipped from Hemant’s trembling hands. He staggered backward, his mind reeling. The truth crashed over him like a wave—Himanshu had saved them. He had been the reason they had a family at all.
The doorbell rang, snapping Hemant out of his daze. He opened the door to find Rachna standing there. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other, tears brimming in their eyes. Then, as if the weight of years of guilt and neglect had suddenly become too much to bear, they broke down, sobbing.
“Bhai,” Rachna whispered through her tears, “Everything we have is because of Himanshu. He gave us a life—he gave us each other. And yet we abandoned him when he needed us the most.”
Hemant’s voice cracked as he spoke. “I’ve made my decision, Rachna. I’m staying. I’ll take care of him. Without Himanshu, I wouldn’t even exist.”
“No,” Rachna said, wiping her eyes. “We’ll take care of him. Together.”
VividScope 
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