Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months. The house had grown quiet—too quiet.
Shanti moved through its empty halls like a ghost, keeping everything just as it was.
She tried contacting her grandsons, everyday since the re-establishment of the network.
It didn't connect.
When she asked the police officers to find them, they said, there are very high chances that they might not have survived.
But she didn't believe them, praying to her gods every day, asking to keep them safe.
She spoke to the framed photos on the wall, eating only to survive, and sometimes sat near the garden where her husband was buried, whispering stories to him under her breath.
She noticed that the growth of her garden had been abnormal, but she did everything she could to maintain it.
The world outside had changed too.
The government has given a name to that black day as Vicyuta day.
The streets were empty most days; only government vehicles passed either to distribute the daily supplies or to keep watch.
The TV showed the same news every day—statistics, warnings, silence.
Then, one morning after nearly four months, something different came on. Something that people needed in these dark times.
The government announced that one of the people who had fallen unconscious had finally woken up. The first one. Following the first one, others have also started to wake up.
They didn't say who, or where, but it was enough to break through the stillness in Shanti's chest.
For the first time in months, she felt something other than fear. Hope—small, fragile, but alive.
She turned off the TV and stared out the window, whispering to herself, "Maybe... maybe they'll all wake up soon."
. . .
Seeing the changes in the human body after they wake up from their deep sleep, scientists named that condition A Pariama stage.
A stage of human evolution.
But Shanti doesn't care about what they are calling it; she just wants to see her family back.
She kept waiting. Every day she would open the door at sunrise, hoping to see someone—her son, her daughter-in-law, or her grandsons.
Maybe a government car is bringing them home. But no one ever came. The silence outside felt heavier than snow.
Days stretched into weeks, and weeks sank into months. Hope began to rot into disbelief.
Then, one evening, a new government broadcast flashed across her screen.
The man who delivered the speech was the Prime Minister of Hindvarthya, Amitabh Gandhi.
He informs, although the lockdown is not yet completely lifted, they are granting limited freedom to all unaffected citizens.
The people are allowed to open their shops and businesses, only for a specified time, as designated by the government.
You may step outside to buy your daily necessities, but intercity movement remains restricted.
As for those who are in coma like state -
"There are still many who are in their Pariama stage. They have been shifted to a special ward (SW), made specially for them. Each city contains 10-20 of these special wards (SW) for better maintenance.
Only a single family member was allowed to visit them during visiting hours."
These words reignite the dying spark of hope in Shanti's heart.
An hour later, an officer came to inform her that her son and daughter-in-law had transferred to the SW15 (special ward no.15), and she can visit them from tomorrow.
Next day, She didn't waste a second, wrapped her shawl tightly, locked the silent house, and drove out.
When she reached the location, she realized that she wasn't the only one. Hundreds of people had come to see their loved ones.
At the entrance, an officer checked who she had come to see, then told to wait for her turn to go inside.
After an hour, her turn came.
Inside, she followed a nurse through a corridor lined with glass partitions.
Behind those panes lay the sleeping ones—men and women with equipments attached to them to measure their vitals.
Some were still, some twitched faintly as if caught in dreams too deep to escape.
Then she saw them.
Kapil, her son, lay on one side of the room, motionless, his face calm like he was just resting after a long day's work.
Jyoti was beside him, her hand strapped to a monitor, her eyes closed, lips faintly parted.
They looked peaceful. Too peaceful.
Tears blurred Shanti's vision. She pressed her trembling hands to the glass, wanting to touch them, to wake them up, to say I'm here. But the nurse's soft voice broke the moment.
"Please, ma'am, don't touch the glass. For safety."
Shanti nodded weakly, stepping back. She was allowed to be inside for half an hour.
Whole time, she just stood there, staring through the glass.
. . .
In the morning, she tries to contact her grandsons, then goes to visit Virat and Jyoti, later talks with Kapil in the garden, then again tries to contact Hira.
Doing all this became a part of her daily life.
. . .
One afternoon, when she was returning home after her daily visit, she saw a young woman crying all alone at the bench near her car. A girl, she felt somewhat familiar.
Before going on the trip, Yash had shown her photo, saying that her name is Shweta Vyas and she is a 'friend' of Hira.
Though her appearence is little different, but she cold guess why.
For a moment, she just stood there. After collecting her thoughts, she walked over and gently placed a hand on Shweta's shoulder.
"Child," she said softly, "What happened?"
Shweta looked up, eyes swollen and red. When she saw an unknown old lady near her, she became wary of her.
"Who are you?" Shweta asked.
"Don't need to be afraid of me child. I am Hira's grandmother. You and he are friends, I think, so you can also call me Dadi." Seeing her wariness, Shanti explains softly.
"You are Hira's Dadi," Shweta mutters. Hearing a friend's name after a long time.
"Yes, but what are you doing here, all alone?"
"My father… he is admitted here." She spoke in a small voice.
Shweta tells her that she woke up a week ago, only to know that her father was in a coma-like state. When will he wake up- unknown.
All this time, Shanti just sat beside her, enveloping her in a light hug as she broke down in tears. She didn't offer hollow comfort, just her presence.
Shanti brought the girl to her house to stay till her father wakes up from his sleep.
At first, Shweta refused, but in front of Dadi's relentless requests, she backed down.
From that day, they began to live together in the Vedman residence, helping and giving support to each other in the absence of their family.
. . .
One month later.
1st March, 0096.
Seven months have passed since that strange calamity began, but the silence of the world remains.
Even as the number of people waking up from their Pariama stage is increasing, Virat and Jyoti were not among them.
. . .
In the evening, Shanti and Shweta are returning back after shopping. Having small talks among them.
When they reach near the house, Shweta slows down as she sees someone trying to unlock the lock with the key.
"Dadi wait, someone's there!" She clutches Shanti's arm. Her first thought was simple, sharp: a thief. She starts looking for something to defend themselves.
Sensing the disturbance from behind, the 'thief' turns toward them. Seeing them – seeing the old woman, he got shocked and relieved.
"Dadi." Hearing this word from his mouth, Shanti freezes. She recognizes this young man.
Without saying anything, she frees her hand from Shweta and rushes toward…Hira.
"Hira, it's you."
A.N. - SHANTER is a pronunciation for Shanti's, and EKANTATA means loneliness or solitude. So the chapter title in english will be 'Shanti's solitude'.
With this chapter, the flashback part of what happened to Hira's family when the calamity hit, is completed.