[The following is an excerpt from Yasser Usman's new book, As Dark As Blood]
Roshan had remained seated in his chair at the police station, brooding over the incident. A fellow officer implored him to take a much-needed break, go home, and get a good night's sleep. The entire team was fatigued and grappling with immense pressure, and they believed Roshan had to be in the right state of mind to continue the investigation. It was slightly past 9 pm when Roshan finally arrived home. There was only Radhika working in the bedroom. Arsh was staying at the college hostel for the night to prepare for an exam with a friend. Radhika asked if Roshan wanted dinner, but Roshan curtly declined, urging her to leave him be. Radhika, used to his mood swings, went back to the bedroom while Roshan reached for a bottle and the refuge of alcohol.
Four quick drinks down in the dimly lit living room, Roshan was jarred by the shrill ring of the telephone, the clock ominously displaying 10.50 pm. He picked up the phone.
"This is Sub-inspector Chauhan from Civil Lines Thana." "Yes, tell me," Roshan replied, his voice laced with irritation.
"Is this the house of Inspector Roshan Rana from Delhi Police?"
"Yes, this is Roshan Rana. What is the matter?" Discovering there's a senior officer at the other end,
Sub-inspector Chauhan's voice softened, "Sir, I just wanted to confirm. This is about that Pushan Kumar case. We have detained three students who knew the victim, Pushan. But when we detained them many others from the North Campus of the university began protesting and shouting loud slogans against the Delhi Police."
Roshan's anxiety grew as he probed, "Ok?"
"So there is this one student who says he is your son and "
Roshan tried to keep the bile mixed with whiskey that rose in his throat down. "What's his name?"
"Hey... what's that boy's name? Yeah, that one?" Roshan heard S.I. Chauhan asking his colleague. "Arsh, sir, he is saying his name is Arsh."
A heavy silence descended upon Roshan Rana. A whirlwind of emotions coursed through him. Shock and concern for his son mingled with impending shame, for now the police officer might discover what Roshan Rana's own flesh and blood was.
Roshan Rana, a man known for his unwavering honesty and commitment to justice in the police force, also found himself in a moral dilemma. Only hours ago, he had mercilessly thrashed a young man like Arsh. That young man was also someone's son. And now how could he, in good conscience, ask another police officer to release the detained student merely because he was Roshan's son? It seemed hypocritical and unjust.
"Sir?" Sub-inspector Chauhan interrupted the heavy silence.
"Hmm, Chauhan, I think you should proceed according to the rule."
"Yes, I understand, sir. We have detained them for the night, but there are no serious charges against them. And sir, apna bachcha hai. Maybe we should let him go with a warning."
Roshan realized the charges are not serious. They were just protesting and would be released in a few hours. But in his inebriated state, he also saw this as an opportunity to teach his son about the consequences of his choices, especially the potential dangers they might entail. He was a responsible officer who would not bend rules for his son. He braced himself to deliver the blow that would break not just his heart, but perhaps his son's too.
"Chauhan, can you put your phone on speaker so that these detainees can hear?" In his drunken stupor, Roshan Rana was escalating the incident to a spectacle that was unwarranted.
"Of course, sir," Chauhan replied as he activated the speakerphone on the landline telephone. "Can you all keep quiet?" Shouted Chauhan.
In the quiet of the police station at night, Roshan Rana's voice resonated through the phone's speaker, each word sharp and unyielding, "S.I. Chauhan, it doesn't matter what any criminal says, regardless of their connection or association with me. It's of no consequence whether someone happens to be my son. As members of the police force, personal relationships should not factor into our decisions. Proceed according to the law and take whatever action you deem necessary. If the situation demands, detain them, punish them and place them in a lock-up."
The phone call was terminated but Roshan Rana's words hung in the air, suffocating the room. Yes, Baba knew that he was detained and this phone call was meant to humiliate him. His father, the man who had once promised to protect and love him had, in the most public and devastating manner, renounced Arsh.
At home, Roshan Rana quivered under the burden of unshed tears and his words weighing heavily on his tongue, threatened to smother him. What had he done? Why had he done it? Was it truly the weight of love and duty intertwining in that moment, compelling him to make a responsible choice? Or was it fuelled by his own prejudice and anger towards his son? But he knew, with a single, crushing blow, he'd severed the fragile thread that bound them.
Emerging from the bedroom, Radhika had caught fragments of Roshan's conversation with the police. He could see her lips moving and the tears in her eyes, but Roshan could hear nothing. The only sound that pounded in his ears was a sickening thud in his chest.
Radhika rushed to the Civil Lines Police Station alone. It was 5.30 am when the police finally released the detained students, including Arsh, after the dark, agonizing, humiliating night. The car ride back home was shrouded in silence. Arsh didn't utter a single word, nor did a drop of tear fall from his eyes. The humiliation he felt had seeped into his very being, coursing through his blood and embedding itself into his very bones.
That night altered Arsh's relationship with Roshan forever.
When Roshan opened the door, his eyes held a profound sorrow, but Arsh didn't meet his gaze. He retreated to his room, yet sleep remained elusive, as the weight of the night's events and his father's voice lingered on his heart: "It doesn't matter what any criminal says, regardless of their connection or association with me. It's of no consequence whether someone happens to be my son."
Roshan and Arsh, their love, once a fortress built brick by brick of shared moments, now lay in rubble, leaving them strangers under the same room.
(Excerpted with permission from Simon & Schuster India)
