The Lost Dream

I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror. My eyes were puffy and bloodshot. It’s been a month since I slept for more than four hours a day. A new set of wrinkles and dark circles have appeared around my eyes. The last couple of days were terrible. Even after taking my medication, I could not sleep for more than three hours. To make things worse, my migraine was back. I sat in the cab impatiently, humming and tapping the window with my moist fingertips. The doctor’s appointment was in an hour. My driver assured that we would reach the clinic in half an hour. I managed a weak smile and looked outside. It was a typical morning in the city. There was the usual traffic, students going to schools and colleges, roadside vendors bargaining with the customers, stray dogs drooling outside tea stalls and the traffic police trying their best to maintain order amongst the chaos. I rolled up my window and a poster caught my attention. Squinting my eyes, I read it again. A sudden wave of panic hit me and my breathing rate accelerated. It was a poster of a missing boy and it was none other than my brother.

At that moment, the signal turned green and my cab started moving. I shouted and immediately, the driver stopped the cab. Without bothering about the change, I gave him cash and ran outside. I looked at the poster again but now, it was just an advertisement for a departmental store. My mind was running wild and I held on to a lamp post for support. Closing my eyes, I took deep breaths to calm my nerves. Someone tugged my hand. It was a little girl about eight to ten years of age. She had curly black hair, mischievous eyes and a sharp nose. I knelt down and smiled at her.

‘Aunty, I’m lost. My brother and I came to the bazaar to buy marbles and slings. He asked me to wait near the lamp post an hour ago. I don’t know where the shop is. Can you help me find him? I’m scared.’ With that sentence, she broke into tears and buried her face on my shoulder. A sudden pang of pity pinched me.

‘It’s okay. We’ll find him soon. I’ll help you.'

Her face lit up and broke into a broad, gap-toothed grin. I stood up and held her hand. Even though I had no idea what to do, I didn’t want to let down the poor girl. To change her mood, I started a jovial conversation.

‘Where do you study?’

‘St Roses Primary School.’ She held my hand firmly and hopped on the pavement.

‘Wow, really? I studied there too. Where do you live?’

‘Ganesan Street.’

‘Oh! Then, we are neighbours. I live there too. What is your house number?’

‘12.’

I stopped walking and stared at her. Was this some kind of a game she was playing on me? I knelt down and took a stronger tone at her.

‘That’s my house. I don’t like pranks. Do you really have a brother who’s lost or are you wasting my time here? I’ll take you to the police station and call your parents to take you home.'

She was taken aback and tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Aunty, I need to find my brother. He’s still in the bazaar. Please help me. I live with my grandparents. We are bored to death there. That’s why we came to get these toys. I’m sure…’ 

I stopped her sentence midway and something struck me. The bazaar, missing brother, living with grandparents and every single thing the girl had said. The same incident happened when I was ten years old. Was I stuck in a time warp? Or was this a déjà vu? I racked my brain to decode why everything felt familiar. A sudden, shrill cry pulled me back to reality.

‘That’s him. He’s back. He’s back. My brother is back,’ she jumped in joy and ran towards him. I expected a kid around eleven or twelve years of age. But it was a middle-aged man who lifted her. He was none other than my very own brother.

I froze on the ground and couldn’t manage a word out of my mouth. My head felt light and everything around me spun around. I gasped for breath and my vision was blurring. My eyes closed and I fell on the ground.

Six hours later:

I opened my eyes and looked around. My head was aching badly and I was ravenous. Someone stroked my hair gently. ‘It’s okay. You just fainted on the road. A passerby called the ambulance and admitted you here,’ my mother consoled me.

My throat was dry and it took me a few minutes to pull myself together. I sat up and threw the blanket on the floor.

‘But I saw my brother today. Not just him. I talked to my younger self and I relived the day when I lost him in the crowd at the bazaar. Trust me, Ma. Let’s go to the bazaar and bring him back home.'

My mother shushed me. ‘You don’t even have a brother. Take some rest. You haven’t slept in days. Everything will be fine.’ She tried to tuck me in.

I felt insulted. ‘How can you say that? Ma, do you understand? I had a real conversation today. It was not a dream. I saw him in flesh and blood.’ My mother’s face was placid as ever. I threw a pillow on the floor and yelled. She still did not bat an eye. I turned red with anger and made my way towards the door.

I felt a sudden prick on my arm. It was my doctor, smiling at me with a syringe.

‘This injection will put you to sleep. Your insomnia has caused you hallucinations. Just a few hours of sleep and you’ll feel fine.'

My eyesight blurred and I collapsed on the bed.

‘Now, she has no idea that we killed her brother. Just a few more injections and she’ll lose her memory altogether.’ My mother and the doctor laughed hysterically.

Was this again a hallucination or did they murder my brother? My eyelids dropped and at last, I slept soundly after a month.