Something moves on the pyre. The few chunks of wood that have been laid over the body fall to the ground. As the very air begins to chill, the dead body awakens. Revived and living, it sits up on the pyre, breathing calmly.
They soon build up a pyre and lay the body upon it. The only thing delaying the cremation is the dead boy’s father. He is yet to reach Aryaghat. He had left the Capital for Pokhara the day before.
When the father arrives, he is visibly moved by the loss of his son. The body, which is about to be cremated according to Hindu ritual, had belonged to a boy who’d died the night before.
Something moves on the pyre. The few chunks of wood that have been laid over the body fall to the ground. As the very air begins to chill, the dead body awakens. Revived and living, it sits up on the pyre, breathing calmly. The body wakes up as if the day were its first on earth.
But a vague sadness falls on the boy’s face as he looks at his wrist. “My hand! My hand! Help me, please!” he starts pleading.
His mother falls to the ground unconscious while Amar, who has strangely ‘resumed’ life, continues shouting. “Somebody please take me to the hospital,” he screams.
Nobody has the slightest idea what is going on. All, understandably, have been taken aback. No one has the courage to properly look at, much less say something, to Amar. His brother, Ashok, somehow manages to address him, “Are you really alive?”
