Looking at his father, Vikram did not feel any grief.
All he felt was numb. The day his father died coincided with the day he died in Vikram's past life. ' If everything goes the same way it does, then what am I struggling so hard for ? Is it even worth it ? ' The thoughts swirled in his mind.
Vinod was silently crying beside him.
Their mother was still in a coma. Virat still hadn't gotten up.
The funeral services are so busy these days, that they have to confirm the wood type thrice. Vikram confirmed the wood type, chose the flowers, then the priest, and a charnel house.
Vikram wore a Dhoti, left his upper body without any garments save for a towel, and carried a smoking pot on one of his hands.
With the other hand, he carried a torch, and the funeral procession set off.
As soon as they got out of the house, the flashes blinded them.
