I slept fitfully, swinging between violent dreams of men fighting to their death; to my mother packing my bag while a teenaged me pleaded with her to let me stay. The muddled state of my mind made me relive the agony I had felt over a decade ago.

I was scared, vulnerable and beyond everything, hurt.

Please, I don't want to feel this way. Please!

"Mr. Kaushik, please wake up. Sir, are you alright?"
A panicked female voice penetrated my subconscious to draw me out of my misery. Soon, a touch joined it. Someone was shaking me. it was my abhorrence of touch that did it. I woke up with a start.

The worried face of an air hostess swam in front of my confused gaze. My mind snapped back into reality. I was on board the flight to India. After more than a decade later.

"Sir, are you alright? Do you need anything? Water? Medical assistance?" Her perfectly made up face was concerned. But her gaze was roaming all over my face, in scrutiny, in admiration.'

Oh, hell!

I sat up straight to gather myself.

"No, no. I am alright. I am okay. Just get me a glass of water, please."

"Yes, sure. I will get that right away."

The worried look had dissipated from her face and she smiled.d

As she turned to leave, I asked, "How long till we land?"
She smiled sweetly, "Just one more hour Mr. Kaushik".

I settled back onto my plush seat. Just one more hour till the nightmare starts.

I was lucky, it took only forty-five minutes in the immigration. By the time I came out of the airport to the country of my birth, it was almost midnight.

The heat and humidity in the air acted like a wakeup call. If I needed any more reminders that I wasn't in UK anymore, the men with garlands in their arms sitting on two Jeeps occupying the space in front of the Arrivals did that. I sighed. My family's hired goons, or for a better word, bodyguards. I should have expected this.

The men all sauntered forward. Before I could react, they had the garlands around my neck and a loud cheering was going on, which attracted the passer-byes. Their smirks were humiliation enough.

"Uh, guys." I tried to make myself heard over the din. "That is enough now. Please stop this. You all are a little excitable. I don't want to cause trouble with the security here."

A young lad who looked like the leader of this small gathering puffed up his chest.

"Who would dare to cause trouble for a Kaushik?" He proclaimed loudly, for everyone to hear. "This city runs on our money."

That's it. It was too much. the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself.

I grabbed my luggage and started walking towards the cabs on rent; but was stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I stilled and turned towards the offending person.

"Take your hands off me, now."

He removed his hand, his face a little nervous at the thunderous expression on my face. I have been told that I can be very intimidating when I wanted to be, but now was neither the time nor a necessity. So, I took a gentler approach.

Trying very hard to keep the annoyance out of my voice, I said, "Guys, thank you for the warm welcome. But I shall be taking my leave now."

The leader spluttered, a little taken aback by my cool behaviour.

"But... but, we are supposed to take you home, to Kaushalpukri. Arjan tau..."

I interrupted, "Give him my thanks, but let him know that I won't be returning there." I turned my back abruptly before I could be stopped again. I knew I was being rude, but frankly? I gave a rat's ass to anyone but my mother right now.

The initial days of my arrival were all a blur. I had gone straight to the hospital after shaking off my welcome committee at the Airport at midnight. Visitors weren't allowed at that hour, but things were different for me. Money and power is something that changes the equation in every country. The same helped with the police and local authorities as well, who smelled a  juicy scandal involving a criminal case with one of the most influential families of the area. My uncle's lackey wasn't boasting without cause when he said the city runs on Kaushik money.

The diagnosis wasn't good. Although the bullet missed her vitals, excessive blood loss made her too weak. On top of that her age made the recovery difficult. The doctor also assumed that my mother might have been under a lot of stress and the mental pressure coupled with the sudden physical assault had been too much for her body. As a result, she was lying in a coma right now.

The hospital was quiet except the occasional sound a gurney being wheeled away or the muted conversation of the night staff. I stood outside the ICU, looking at the prone body lying on the starched white bedsheet. Her face was almost invisible under all the tubes and masks. Only her frail wrists were visible.

The guilt was eating me from inside. She had begged me to come home. But in my arrogance and childish hurt, I had ignored her. Stress? I hadn't known that, nor had I wanted to know. I had even gone as far as ignoring her phone calls, day in and day out. And now, she was fighting with death.

"I will bring you back, Maa. You will survive this. I will ensure the bastard who did this to you will not even get the time to regret his actions before I punish him."

After two weeks it was clear that my mother wasn't going to wake up magically, like in movies. Except asking me to pray and keep faith, the doctors weren't much help. I insisted on second, third and fourth opinions, and all of them were the same. I wanted to fly her to UK, but they disagreed, telling that it was imprudent to move her in this condition. I had never felt more helpless before.

A couple of weeks passed. Nothing changed, my mother's condition remained the same.

Sitting at a cafe outside the hospital, I sipped on a much needed coffee. It was early morning. I had my laptop open in front of me. The markets would open in a few hours and I needed to make a lot of decisions. But making decisions had never seemed so difficult before. I have never had to worry about anyone's ill health before. I had never faced such a crisis before. I had ignored when informed about my father's deteriorating condition and hadn't even bothered to attend his funeral.

As I sat there, in a trance like situation, a beat up Alto stopped at the kerb and an old man stepped out.
He approached my table where I sat listlessly.

"May I join you?"

I snapped out of my reverie. It took me more than a few minutes to place the face smiling at me.

"Arjan kaka." I jumped out of my seat and touched his feet. My father's second cousin, Arjan kaka had been my only salvation in my nightmarish childhood. He is the man who had, on numerous occasions, saved me from the wrath of my parents. He was also the man who had taught me to shoot.

He was the one who had sent the welcome party on the day of my arrival.

I was pulled in a warm embrace.

"Why have you avoided us so long? I know how much Savitri tried to bring you home." He chided me gently, sitting down.

" I can understand why you didn't want to come while your father was alive, but why not after? Didn't you miss us at all?" His voice continued in accusations for the next ten minutes. I am not sure I even listened after the first few seconds.

I had known this was coming. I had rehearsed how to respond, but the stress and worry wiped it clean from my sleep deprived brain.
" Because I didn't want to turn into a goon, just like all of you."