Om pulled the box out from beneath the table, his fingers brushing away the thick layer of dust that had buried it in silence for years. As the dust cleared, he leaned closer, squinting at the faint writing on its surface. It was hard to read at first… but after wiping it carefully, the words finally revealed themselves.
"Baba's Legacy…"
He murmured it under his breath.
For a moment, he just stared at the words, lost in thought.
"Baba's legacy… this must be Grandpa's box. Dad probably wrote this. Let's open it… maybe I'll finally understand what connection I have with him."
Then, glancing upward, his voice softened with respect and hesitation.
"Sorry, Dad… Grandpa… I'm opening this."
A strange mix of excitement and nervousness filled him as he slowly opened the box. One by one, he began taking out the items inside, each piece carrying a quiet weight of the past.
First, he found black robes—simple, yet clean… almost like something a monk or a sage would wear. Then came a few old scriptures, filled with history and knowledge. Along with them was a prayer bead necklace… and finally, some scattered papers and a small envelope.
Om carefully examined everything.
His eyes softened, and a sense of pride rose within him as he spoke quietly,
"Wow… people these days don't even have time to visit temples or mosques… and Grandpa made devotion and meditation his entire life. I'm proud of you, Grandpa…"
Then, slowly, he picked up the envelope.
With careful hands, he opened it.
Inside… was a letter.
On the top, it was written—
"For you, Baba."
The moment Om read those words, something inside him cracked.
His chest tightened, and with heavy breath, he unfolded the letter and began reading.
"How are you, Baba?
Looks like… you finally came home. And if you're reading this, it means either we're not here… or I'm no longer alive.
Baba, as I write this letter, I have a child… a wife… and my son is around nine years old now. It's been years since you left us.
And tomorrow, I'm leaving with my wife for a secret project. If you were here, I wouldn't have worried about my child at all… but you're not."
As the words sank in, Om's heart began to melt.
His vision blurred.
Tears welled up in his eyes.
"Baba… I needed you when you left me.
But today, as I leave my own son behind to fulfill my duty… I finally understand. Maybe when you left without telling us, you had a responsibility even bigger than mine.
But weren't we your responsibility too? Weren't my two younger brothers your responsibility?
They were just kids when you left…
Tell me one thing… didn't you ever think about us?"
Om's breathing grew heavier. His grip on the paper tightened.
"Right now… I'm so angry at you that maybe I'll never forgive you.
But I still love you… I still respect you.
Manoj and Vijay are both married now. They both have children—Manoj has a daughter and a son, and Vijay has two beautiful daughters.
And me… I have my wife… and my only son, Om.
Manoj and Vijay are settled in their lives. Vijay is a skilled doctor… a really good one, though he's a bit short-tempered. Ever since you left, he's been like that… maybe if you come back, he'll calm down.
Manoj, on the other hand, is a businessman… simple, calm, innocent—he trusts people too easily.
As for me… I'm happy too. Life is decent.
My Om… he keeps asking about his grandfather. I don't feel like telling him… but I don't want him to grow up without knowing you either.
I've told him whatever little I knew about you.
Now that you're finally back… you explain the rest to him. I want him to grow up under your shadow… under your protection."
At this point, Om couldn't hold himself anymore.
Tears streamed down his face like a river, unstoppable.
"Baba… why did you leave…? I missed you so much.
I needed you then… I still need you now.
I don't know why… but I hate you… and I love you… and neither feeling is fading away.
Please, Baba… don't leave me again.
And if I'm not around… then don't leave my son… don't leave my brothers.
My son needs you… our family needs you.
And in the end… I just want to say—
I love you, Baba."
At the bottom of the letter, it was signed—
Vipul Dhumketu Ahuja
The words shattered something deep inside Om.
Even his strong heart couldn't hold it together anymore.
His eyes turned red from crying, his face flushed, tears glistening as they rolled down endlessly.
He slowly looked up at the sky, wiping his tears, his voice breaking as he whispered,
"Dad… were you really that alone? How much did you go through…?"
After a long moment, he carefully folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope.
But then…
He felt something.
The envelope… wasn't empty yet.
Frowning slightly, Om emptied it completely—and found a few photographs inside.
His curiosity spiked.
He was just about to look at them—
When suddenly, his phone rang.
The sharp sound snapped him back to reality.
He glanced at the screen.
It was Sharda Aunty.
"Yeah, Aunty… tell me."
After a brief conversation, Om's expression changed. Without wasting a second, he told her he was coming home immediately and cut the call.
Quickly, he slipped the photographs into his pocket, placed the rest of the items back into the box, and picked it up.
But far away…
Something else was moving.
A man draped in a black cloak was slowly walking toward Om's old house.
His steps were calm… deliberate.
His face hidden beneath the cloth.
And with every step he took… the silence around the house grew heavier.