On the banks of Ganges

"Dad, take a look at this."

It was quarter past 12 noon and I was sitting on the banks of Ganges in Haridwar. The swirling water was muddy, but full of current.

I looked at the 3-cm long bone piece my daughter extended towards me. I reached out to touch.

It was warm still. Perhaps from the heat that devoured the hair and skin over several hours of burning at the Sai Ashram near Chattarpur Mandir the previous day.

I could not decipher from which part this bone piece came from.

There were no tears. I was dumb. I held the unburnt bone piece for a while before returning. With three of her friends in tow, Krutika quietly dumped the bag containing Zack's last remains (bones and ashes) into the Ganges, the sacred river of India. A dip in this river is beleived to relieve one of all his/her/its sins and provide liberation from guilt or whatever.

Surprisingly, my daughter was keeping her cool. But I was emotionally broke. The 225 km long drive from Delhi to Haridwar was engulfed in me breaking down uncontrollably while at the steering, causing alarm to fellow passengers including my wife, daughter and three of our friends crammed into the yellow Wagon R.

Messages kept pouring in from friends both who have known Zack and those who have heard about him through my constant reference to him in my blogs. No conversation would be complete for me without some reference to Zack. He was my lifeline. He was my stress buster.

With him happily ensconsced over the dashboard, we had travelled to Jaipur umpteen number of times to visit Lokendra Singh, a family friend and ex colleague. On Tuesday also he travelled in the same car but in 'ash' form. His last journey with us.

Wife is concerned over the safety of all of us in the swirling Ganges. Zack's ashes and bones have already been swept away by the current.

I entered the water and took three dips. The same thing which I did for my mother at the same place but a few hundred metres away. That was way back in 1996 - 14 years ago.

I felt the same amount of sadness as I had felt when immersing my mother's ashes. Grief choked my throat. Was unable to breathe or inhale and eyes welled up blurring vision further. I successfully hid my tears from wife and daughter by quieting deciding to push my face into the water and stay for a while.

We embank, change clothes and commence the return journey. We deliberately avoid talking about Zack. At half way mark, we halt for lunch. That's when Arup Chanda, another ex-colleague and a lover of dogs (his own pet died a year ago in Delhi), calls up to know the status.

He has been one guiding me on once Zack has breathed his last. "Hold back. Don't break down," he advises. Like a tiny tot from whose hands its beloved toy has been snatched away a few moments ago by another person, I weep uncontrollably.

Wife joins to assuage me. The passengers try to cheer me up in vain.

I remain silent till reaching Delhi border.

Back home, it is emptiness. As I open the door, I break down again. Zack, that used to rush out to greet me, is no longer to repeat that act. It will NEVER happen.

Daughter has gone to see off her friends and wife consoles me again.

I look at the leash lying in the corner. I look at the bowl. I look at the white plastic ball near the shoe rack. I look at the small mat. I look at the paper bags with Pet food written in bold letters.

I must tell my daughter to paint a huge canvas of Zack and mount it. On second thoughts, I decided not to. I must forget him as early as possible. Otherwise, I will be in perpetual hell.

It is the same trick I did to overcome my mother's death 14 years ago. I removed every conceivable object that would remind me of her in my surrounding. Cruel? Not at all.

She lives in my memory. Likewise, Zack will.

Goodbye, Zack!