The bargaining begins now, for a deceased body and a stillborn baby girl. How does one count the seconds, minutes, and hours of a life that never truly began? The baby lies on a tray, alongside her mother, another life that had seen 23 years of light.
The transaction takes a dark turn, as they're asked for more money, ten thousand rupees, to hand over the bodies. Two impoverished women, their eyes reflecting confusion and hearts heavy with sorrow, sit on a wooden bench in a suburban nursing home. Their purpose: to claim the body of their sister, and perhaps the baby.
Outside the window, a little bird perches on the ledge while an elderly woman dozes behind the reception desk. The doctor has left for another nursing home, leaving them to wait. The clock ticks away, and the threat looms: without payment, they'll be turned over to the police along with the lifeless forms beside them, destined for a dump yard where crows and vultures will scavenge.
Amidst the chaos of staff, doctors, and patients moving around, the two women remain frozen in time. Lunchtime arrives, marked by the sounds of opening tiffin boxes and the act of eating. Yet, these sounds hold no significance for the women. Hunger and thirst are distant sensations, their eyes void of questions or complaints, as if they too have become lifeless in the face of their grim circumstances.
Suddenly, chaos erupted as the doctor returned, her face etched with worry. Her 16-year-old daughter had been in an accident.
"Are they bringing your daughter here, madam?" a staff member asked.
The doctor's frustration flared. "Is this a place for human beings to receive treatment? It's become a haven for cattle. I'm only here to fetch my charger. My mobile battery is drained. And you two," she sneered, "pay two thousand and leave with your garbage. Disgusting."
The two women sat, still and silent, their eyes fixed on the doctor.
Approaching them, the doctor's anger seemed to intensify. With three fingers of her right hand, she tapped one woman's head sharply. "Are you two out of your senses? Pay two thousand for those two bodies. I won't budge an inch."
One of the women rose, hands folded in supplication. "You promised us delivery and ligation for twenty thousand. But now you're going back on your word. Okay, let it be. This isn't the time for haggling. Your daughter will pull through. The Lord is merciful. Just keep your composure. Everything will be alright."
For a fleeting moment, the doctor's facade crumbled. Then, with an abrupt turn, she disappeared into the dim, lightless expanse of evening.