It was a normal day in Kathmandu. The sun cast a warm glow over the bustling city, where the air was filled with the sounds of honking cars and lively chatter. I had attended a program on child welfare organized by an international organization as the chief guest. The event had been enlightening, filled with discussions about the challenges children face around the world and the importance of protecting their rights.
After the program, I was approached by several attendees, eager to share their thoughts. “Sir, your insights were invaluable! We need more voices like yours to address these issues,” one woman said, her eyes sparkling with passion.
“Thank you,” I replied, trying to absorb the praise. “It’s our collective responsibility to ensure that every child has a safe environment to grow and thrive.”
Later that evening, I found myself invited to a discussion regarding child abuse with the Prime Minister. As I sat across from him in the grand meeting room, the weight of my role as an advocate felt heavier than ever.
“Child abuse is a pervasive issue,” he said, leaning forward. “What do you think we can do to implement more effective laws?”
“I believe education and awareness are key,” I responded, feeling the urgency of the moment. “We must equip children and parents with the knowledge to recognize and report abuse.”
After the discussion, I left the Prime Minister’s office, the weight of responsibility pressing down on my shoulders. I had dedicated my life to advocating for children’s welfare, yet a dark cloud loomed over me—a burden from my past that I couldn’t shake off.
As night fell, I headed to my doctor’s appointment. I had been feeling unwell for a while, and I needed answers. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air as I waited anxiously in the examination room.
“Mr. Sharma, we have your results,” the doctor said, entering with a grave expression. “Your condition has worsened. The aortic regurgitation has become much worse, and your kidney function has deteriorated severely. I’m afraid I have to inform you that you only have a few months to live.”
“What? Are you serious?” I stammered, my heart racing. “There must be some mistake!”
The doctor sighed, clearly pained to deliver such news. “I wish there were, but the tests confirm it. You need to take care of yourself. Consider your options moving forward.”
I felt a chill run down my spine. I was overwhelmed, grappling with the reality that my time was limited. “How could this happen?” I whispered, feeling the weight of my life’s choices pressing down on me.
As I processed the information, a surge of guilt washed over me for the life I had lived, especially for the burdens I had carried from my past. I had to confront my unresolved feelings.
After a few moments of contemplation, I made a decision that shocked even myself. I needed to confess. I drove to the police station, my heart pounding with each passing moment. As someone known for my efforts in various welfare programs for crime victims, I thought the police would assume I was there to launch another initiative. But as I stepped through the doors, the gravity of my intent settled over me like a heavy cloak.
“Sir, what brings you here today?” one of the officers asked, recognizing me immediately.
“I need to confess something,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I have committed child abuse.”
The room fell silent. The officer stared at me, disbelief written all over his face. “What? You must be joking. A renowned personality in the child welfare sector is saying he abused a child?”
“No, I’m serious,” I insisted, my heart racing. “It was ten years ago, with one of my students.”
“Sir, are you all right? Did the student complain somewhere else?” he pressed, confusion evident in his tone.
“No,” I replied, my voice trembling. “She admires me. But I feel I abused her.”
“Who is she? Where is she now?” he asked, looking for clarity.
I took a deep breath. “Her name is Ruchi. I think she is in Australia. I’ve lost contact with her.”
The officer glanced at his senior, who approached us with a furrowed brow. “Without the victim or evidence, we can’t file a case,” he said.
“But I’m confessing! I am a criminal!” I urged. “You must file the case.”
After a brief discussion, the senior officer nodded. “Fine, we’ll file the case, but it might take time.”
Days turned into weeks, and the case finally went to court. I sat in the defendant's chair, the weight of my confession hanging heavily over me. The police and attorney general had no evidence against me, yet I continued to confess.
The judge looked at me, his expression stern yet curious. “Okay, tell me your story.”
I took a deep breath and began, “I’ve already told you what I used to feel about her when she was in grade 8. When I started teaching her, I felt a lot of pain inside her. I wanted to rectify everything and make her happy. I was trying as well. I thought of the morning when Oskar urged me to leave her hand when she was fighting with me. He didn’t know that she had made a few scratches on my hand, so he might have thought otherwise. That day, I felt very bad and considered leaving tutoring her, but then I thought of her and felt I was the only one who could truly understand her.”
The judge listened attentively as I continued, “I tried to give her small bits of my time, even if it meant cutting back on my fitness routine. On the day of her science examination, I was supposed to go for my Doppler test for kidney function. The doctor requested that I visit without eating anything. When I felt she became angry after I pulled her hair, I wished I had never pinched her or held her hair. I’m really sorry for that; it was unintentional.”
I felt the weight of my words, the guilt and shame pouring out of me.
The court adjourned the hearing, and Ruchi arrived, visibly anxious. The judge asked her, “Did he ever abuse you?”
She shook her head, her voice steady. “No, your honor. He was the best teacher. Although he pinched or pulled my hair, it was not abuse. I’ve given him more scars than he has given me. You can see; he has scars all over his hands. It was all because of me, as I used to poke him with needles and my nails. He is innocent.”
The courtroom murmured in disbelief, but I felt a flicker of hope. Ruchi continued, “He didn’t even take my tuition fee. He returned it when I was about to leave for Australia. He cared for me and guided me. He was the best one.”
Despite her words, I spoke up, “I still ask for the penalty, as I felt I was guilty.” The judge looked at me with a mixture of concern and understanding.
After deliberation, the judge sentenced me to one week. Ruchi turned to me, tears in her eyes. “Sir, I can’t carry this burden. It was a naughty child inside me who provoked you, but your intention was not like that. And after ten years, you’ve spoiled all your reputation just to pardon a crime you never committed?”
“No,” I said softly, “I wanted to be free from the burden I’ve been carrying for so long. Now I’m relieved.”
“Sir, now that burden is shifted towards me,” she insisted, her voice trembling. “I will live my entire life regretting what I had done to you.”
Just then, I woke up, jolted from my dream. The world around me was bright and clear, the sunlight streaming through my window. My heart raced as I recalled the court scene, the heaviness of guilt and the weight of my confession.
It was all a dream. I felt a profound sense of relief mixed with sadness. Ruchi was just a 16-year-old girl at that time. How could I have imposed my emotional burden on her? She deserved to live freely, guided toward her glorious future.
I took a moment to collect my thoughts. Yes, I would let it go. I would focus on being the best teacher I could be for her. I checked my phone, and my heart leapt. There it was—a notification on Instagram. Ruchi had messaged me, something I had been waiting for a long time.
Whatever happened, let's forget and move on. I would be her teacher again, guiding her through the complexities of life, ensuring she had the support she needed to flourish.
And as I thought of that, a smile spread across my face. The burdens of the past had no hold on me anymore. I was ready to embrace the future, to shape it not only for myself but for my students, particularly for Ruchi.
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