I am certain about only one thing — that the police are singularly responsible for Khushi’s death. We did everything they asked us to do including pay up the `10 lakh ransom demanded by the kidnappers. We informed them about the kidnapping and the first ransom call on December 21. They did absolutely nothing for hours.
Even after they finally agreed to register a case late that night, the cops did not bother to visit our home or even try to examine the circumstances under which the child was taken away. You don’t expect the police force, in which you have so much faith, to not be by your side during a crisis. It’s not like we withheld information. We cooperated in every possible way we could, but the lack of proactive behaviour on the part of the police was nothing short of appalling.
We suspected no one at first, but the conduct of the Chandigarh police has been most suspicious. I am more and more convinced my child was kidnapped and killed by merciless, rogue cops out to make money from our misery.
Three police officers who botched the investigation have been suspended. But that cannot be considered punishment for letting my little Khushi die.
My baby’s killers have still not been caught. When they are eventually nabbed, they must be given exemplary punishment and I say this while seething with anger. I will never get my child back. He has gone back to God. But those villains must never have the chance to do such a thing again. No parent deserves to go through what we’re going through. What did that little boy do to anyone? How can anyone kill a five-year-old kid?
Khushi’s tormenters must be hanged in public… on the square outside where everybody can see them meet justice. I have no doubt that they will be apprehended eventually because now Khushi’s innocent soul follows them wherever they try to hide.
Ironically, Khushi wanted to become a policeman. He was fond of watching CID on television and often declared he would grow up to be a cop and catch bad men.
He was special. He never cried as newly born children do. He surprised all of us by breaking into a smile the moment he first opened his little sparkling eyes. So we decided to call him Khushpreet (happy love).
Khushi came into our lives like a breath of sweet fresh air. Everyone, my brothers, our parents were thrilled. It was like a mela in this house. We distributed a thousand laddoos.
My little boy was always full of life. Right from the beginning he started displaying a strongly independent streak. Less than a year old, he took his first step and he never looked back. He was fearless and simply refused any assistance from an elder even to cross the road. Khushi wanted to do it all on his own and showed us that he could do so again and again till that terrible day when they took him away from us.
He loved wearing his little uniform to go to school. Just five years old he woke up at the crack of dawn and dressed himself waiting impatiently for me or one of his uncles to take him to school. My boy was a leader, always ahead of all the other kids but also everybody’s friend.
Khushi never threw a tantrum even for toys or candy. He had like a million questions to ask and never failed to reward you with a big smile when he got his answer. There was never a happier child completely content in his own little world.
He was a full three years younger than his brother but acted like the older sibling. They would have their little disagreements and even fight sometimes and Khushi would come out on top each time.
But now that he is not around, Inderjeet is completely lost. He is only a little boy and I often find him sitting by himself in a corner crying. It is almost as if Khushi’s death has robbed the older boy of his childhood. I don’t know how to console him. He can’t understand why anyone would want to kill his little brother.
I am numb. My mind is blank. I don’t know what to do and really there is no one here to advise me. We are spending our days crying and then consoling each other. There is not a person in this household who does not break down at least once a day. Each one tries not to weep in front of the others. This tragedy has changed our lives forever. My concern is to ensure that Inderjeet is fine and we’re doing everything to ensure that he is.
Khushi’s mother hasn’t slept for days. I know this because late at night I often hear her crying softly while pretending to sleep under her quilt.
We cannot bring ourselves to accept Khushi’s death as fate. Our faith in God and the Gurus gives us a lot of strength. Tragedy often shakes our sense of belief but we felt no such thing. We still believe in God’s way and His blessings. But what I find extremely difficult to swallow is that how could something so terrible have been ordained by the Parmatma (God)?