The girl had come to me, an old beggar, seeking my help. I wish I had refused her then. You can never imagine how terrible it is to die with no loved one near. I should have asked her where she lived. Fates can be so cruel. But I am getting ahead of myself. This is no way to tell a story.

The temple priest gave us our first true lead.

"Ask Khalida; she might remember."

"Khalida," I hesitated, "but hasn't she lost her mind?"

"Naah. Old age does that to some people. They forget recent events but their minds are clear about the past."

I turned towards the girl in confusion, but her eyes reflected a quiet understanding.

"Alzheimer's disease", she said softly," Without the clutter of recent memories, things of the past appear to them like they happened only yesterday. Lets go to her."

Khalida recognized the man in the faded photograph instantly.

"Where is he now? I have not seen him in a while."

Her way of referring to the dead man as though he were alive made me squirm. I reasoned, she had lost her mind sometime before the earthquake, and so to her mind the earthquake had never happened.

"Do not worry though; he comes here often. I will bet he will be here before the week is out”, she continued through her coughs.

"After all he cannot stay long without meeting his friend Rajan, can he?", she finally added with a sly wink. If her last remark had some hidden meaning, it was lost to me. But the name was definitely a lead.

Rajan, we discovered, was the occupant of the brick house that had collapsed, wreaking our dead man's car. The same day, Rajan had moved to another part of the town. With some difficulty we managed to obtain his address. By now, the shadows had started to lengthen. We were tired, having spent the entire day without food or water. But there was no stopping her now. She really was a devoted daughter. She got me a bus ticket and took off on her scooter.

Not many girls had a scooter then; but I guess, a fatherless girl gets to learn to do things on her own. A scooter gives her that freedom.

The doorman at Rajan's place was more a goon than a guard. He did not allow me in, but I stood below the window and listened in.

"So, that old whore, Khalida sent you to me. What? You are shocked? Surely, you are old enough to know that he did not come to her for intellectual conversations. Khalida's girls were known to be among the best in town."

He chuckled and continued,” He was no friend of mine, either. Just a customer - a rich fat customer, that's all. I supplied cocaine, morphine and other drugs to him. That day though, everything that could go wrong went wrong. He OD'ed on morphine and while I was trying to bring him back, the roof collapsed on us. I crawled out and saw his hand sticking out of the rubble. I pulled his dead body out. His trouser and wallet were already lost deep inside the rubble. What a waste ! His fine clothes had been reduced to rags: no use to me anymore.

I, er, did remove his other possessions. What good are ornaments and rings to a dead man anyway?"

Her eyes were red with unshed tears, as she came out of the house.

The photograph was better off faded.

"Take this five-rupee note and go back. Its over."

"But at least we could locate his dead body", I pleaded.

"What use is it now? I could not care less". She rode off on her scooter. From now on, she would remember her father as the naked corpse shorn of all his possessions (material and moral) - a man who deserved what he got.

Rajan came up from behind me. He had been listening to our argument with some interest.

"Go to Sister Agatha. She would be able to tell you where she has buried the poor fool; and under what 'Christian' name. The stupid b***h never realized how many dead bodies she misplaced in her bid to save their souls." He laughed contemptuously and turned away.

Sister Agatha was the one who had first taught me the coin rule. "Always begin the day with a pair of coins, never with an empty bowl," she had said. "Coins have a strange magnetism about them. They attract new coins; but if too many coins accumulate in the bowl, they start repelling more coins. So always take care to remove extra coins from the bowl. Two-three coins - no more, no less - that is the coin rule." Over the years, I have found my own explanation for the coin rule. Two or three coins are easy to clink - the sweet tinkling sound attracts your attention. Too many coins would cause a harsh jangle and put you off. Coins also provide a visual cue - they show you what to do, even when your mind is preoccupied with other important matters. These nuances are lost if the bowl is totally empty. Oh yes, the story...

And so, alone this time, I went to Sister Agatha.

"I need your help, Sister. On the day of the earthquake, did you find a dead body over there?", I pointed, through her window, to the exact spot across the road.

"I am surprised you ask this to me after so many years, but I am happy that it is all coming back to you. I did find a dead body over there. Pasted in blood, no clothes, no pulse, and no breath - dead. A homeless nobody, and yet, too young to die.

But  you did not die then; you lived - didn't you?  By the grace of the Lord, your breathing returned; but your mind was scarred."

Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torment of man. I cannot describe to you what I have endured in these thirty years, waiting for her to show up again. But now my end is near and I have no hope left. If only I had asked her where she lived. You can never imagine how terrible it is to die with no loved one near...

Opium Coma: At higher doses, morphine depresses respiration, meaning that the patient loses the ability to breathe automatically. A very high dose of morphine can stop a person’s breathing entirely — a common occurrence in overdoses.