Unshackled

 Unshackled 

The hospital room felt like it was holding its breath. Jivika lay still, just as she had for the past four years. The room was filled with the constant, mechanical beeping of the monitors, each beep a reminder of the fragile line between life and death.

Jivika had turned 18 here, in this very bed, surrounded by family, friends, and doctors who tried to make the occasion special. Her friends still visited, bringing books, music, and stories of school and trips she would never take part in. They tried to smile through their sadness, tried to laugh at the movies they watched together, but despite their efforts, Jivika remained unresponsive, staring at the ceiling with those once bright eyes now dimmed by the horrors of the past. 

The country had moved on, as it does, from the firestorm of protests and cries for justice. But her family—her mother—never could. 

Today was different. The day when the man who had stolen her life would face his fate. The doctors had tried to talk to Mrs. Sharma before, urging her to consider letting go. Dr. Mehta, the head of the ICU, “Mrs. Sharma, I can’t imagine your pain, but holding onto her like this—it's prolonging hers. She deserves peace, as much as you do.” But Mrs. Sharma's replies were always the same, “ she is not ready, once she is? I will let her ..go” 

Dr. Mehta had visited twice already. He had tried to be kind, to tell Mrs. Sharma how brave and strong Jivika was. But there was no hiding the truth. Everyone knew that today would bring a final decision. 

Mrs. Sharma sat beside her daughter, holding her lifeless hand, her voice soft and trembling. "Jivu, my love... do you feel my hands?" She wiped Jivika's pale, fragile skin with a damp cloth, her fingers gentle as they avoided the scars and stitches that crisscrossed her body like a map of pain. 

Her mind wandered to the days when Jivika’s laughter used to fill their home. She could still see her little girl, arms outstretched, taking her first wobbly steps, the sheer excitement of that unbalanced triumph still vivid in her memory. Her heart ached as she remembered Jivika’s first day at kindergarten—how nervous she’d been, clutching her hand so tightly, then bravely letting go to step into the world. “You were so brave even then, Jivu,” she whispered. 

She pulled out a pink floral dress from her bag, her hands shaking as she held it up. “Look, I bought you a new dress. Isn’t it beautiful? You’ll look like a princess.” Her voice cracked as she laid the dress across Jivika’s still body, trying to smile, trying to hold onto the last bit of hope. 

The hospital staff moved quietly around the room, giving Mrs. Sharma her space, but they, too, knew what today meant. The nurses, the doctors, even the old woman in room 103 had been told not to disturb them. Today was a day of waiting. 

Dr. Mehta came in again, his face lined with sadness. He stood by the door, watching for a moment before approaching Mrs. Sharma. “Mrs. Sharma,” he said gently, “have you had any word from your husband?” 

She nodded. “He’ll call soon. The verdict should be out any moment now.” 

Mrs. Sharma had cooked halwa with desi ghee, Jivika’s favorite, and distributed it to the hospital staff, saving a little for her daughter. She brought the small bowl to Jivika’s bedside, whispering, “Your favorite, beta. Just a little, for old times.” 

At 4:50 PM, the phone rang. Mrs. Sharma answered, her hands shaking as she placed the call on speaker. Mr. Sharma’s voice came through, thick with emotion. “Jivika beta, Papa is here,” he said, his voice cracking. “Do you hear me? You can rest now, beta. He will never come for you again.” His voice cracked, the weight of years of helplessness spilling into the phone. “Mamma and Papa will be okay. We’ll take our medicines, and I’ll take Mamma on those trips we used to go on... So, beta, you can rest now. The monster will be punished.You’ve fought so hard. It’s time to let go.” 

The call ended, and the room was silent again, except for the soft beeping of the machines and the quiet, labored breaths of Jivika. Mrs. Sharma looked down at her daughter, forcing a smile through the tears that welled up in her eyes. 

A single tear slid down Jivika’s cheek. 

Mrs. Sharma’s chest tightened with both relief and heartache as she gently wiped it away. She leaned down, kissed her daughter’s forehead, and whispered, “You’ve fought enough, my love. You can go now. Mamma will be alright.” 

She stood up slowly, her body heavy with the weight of the decision that had been haunting her for so long. She turned to the doctor, her voice steady but soft. 

“I’m ready to set her free, doctor.” 

The doctor nodded solemnly, and within minutes, the machines that had kept Jivika alive for so long were turned off, one by one. Jivika’s chest rose and fell one last time, then stilled.

 As the machines fell silent, the air seemed to grow heavier, charged with the gravity of the moment. Mrs. Sharma held her daughter’s hand, her eyes fixed on the still, peaceful face of the girl she loved more than anything. 

Mrs. Sharma held her close, her tears falling freely now, mingling with the memories of her daughter's laughter and joy, but her heart lighter than it had been in years. 

Her Jivu is free