He sat upon the ledge of the cliffs with legs dangling over the ethereal fall leading into the shimmering waters below; the ocean sparkled like a million diamonds in the setting sun. Up high, the sky was a brilliant hue of blue with the growing twilight encompassing it in a rosy-orange haze. Every cloud and bird rushed towards the sun, it seemed, finally seeing it as weak as it dethroned itself from its heavenly throne to behind the waters. A whale's distant cry-sounding like an explosion followed by multiple frustrated groans- perfectly encapsulated Khan's feelings. A tear rolled down his cheek and fell into the water below. Its tiny splash reminded Khan of the eternal fall. Perhaps that was the only thread which connected Khan to reality and prevented him to follow suit. Perhaps that teardrop was the only reason Khan was still real in the first place. In a way, he would have loved to drop a tear more. Surely, he thought to himself, that if he was given the privacy, he would have birthed a new river from this very cliff. After what felt like an eon of deep and troubled thought, he stood up as the sand scrunched between his feet. A deep sigh followed, emptying Khan of all emotion in that one moment of exasperation. He slightly tilted his head and gazed at the water below. He did not know what pulled him back; for a moment, he was just about to slip. Just a step. A moment. But no. It seemed as if his ancestors themselves had grabbed his shoulders from behind. ‘Not here', they seemed to whisper. ‘It's too in the open'. But he didn't trust them. In fact, he hated them. They were why he stood here on this cliffside in the first place. But he trusted them, just this once. He then did what every such troubled person did- an act which one might not expect from a person in Khan's circumstances but witnesses it themselves. The scars he so exposed to the ocean were stifled; all trace of negativity retreating deep into his eyes like the clouds fled from the sun. Ironic, he though. The clouds are not even fleeing. But he quickly shook away the thought. He smiled. A mask- a mask of satisfaction and glee- rushed to fill the vacuum on his face. Why a mask? Well, to scream would be honest. To weep would be just. But neither would fix anything. A veil, a cloak… a mask. It might. He then turned his back to the ocean; Oh how he wanted to join its waves and foam! Dr. Sharma- the old doctor who never seemed to care nigh about his many patients, and stubbornly stuck to his daily routines no matter the disaster, which Khan supposed reassured him of his so-called sophisticated nature- called out from the other side of the pathway. ‘Namaste, young lad. How's the job been?' Khan just held back a scream. After all, the old doctor was not one to whom his grievances would make the slightest difference. Nor was anyone else who inhabited the village under the blessing of the noble Pandit Srijit. Society expected more patience from Khan- from a son of a father like his. ‘Acha Sahib'… Alas, ‘acha' was the furthest description Khan could think of explaining his circumstance. Alas, that was the whole reason he chose such an evidently insincere tone, allowing himself the slightest doubt that the old doctor would ask the matter. Alas, hope was all lost already. Khan continued his trek back, passing by the mandir in which his father preached; surrounded was he by gods. Khan sometimes questioned their authenticity-as sinful as it felt. Did the gods never bother prompting his father to ask just once about Khan? Well then, such gods meant nothing to him. The gods had gotten him nothing; why must he help them when there were a hundred other devotees? His father was no better than those statues of stone. He stepped into his room, the servants shrouding him with the many issues the people came with in the mere hour he left. Usually, he would listen to them one by one, formulating solutions until the night won him over; he would never hand out his share to anyone else. That night, however, he shunned them all and gave them directions to approach his father. He sat in his window and gazed out. He thought for a moment to take off the deceptive mask on his face; he decided against it. He smiled that night, his teeth showing complete and whole. Perhaps that was because of the mask, but he, that night, had a feeling the smile was genuine. His eyes then fixated on the stars, the blue four headed statue below did nothing but stare. The next morning, the news spread like light does from its source: the son of a father like his had died. When the people heard of all his troubles, even the gods didn't make their expressions any better. The answer was one and same: ' If only we knew, there was no sign at all!