......and I killed the teacher....

They badgered him but he wouldnt yield. They used every uncivilized way to get him talking but he was as tight-lipped as ever. Confounded, the proctor released him. Usman heaved a sigh of relief upon being released from the atrocious captivity of the proctor.

But the University was not going to let this case rest here. They were determined to catch the murderer. Unfortunately, it appeared that their only eye witness, Usman, was sold at the hands of the wily perpetrator.

But even the University housed talented people. They knew how to crack a hard nut. They hatched a plan. 

The proctor sneaked into Usman's house on the very night he was released. It was almost three hours since Usman had arrived home. The cross-questioning had enervated him,  so much that he fell asleep the moment his head contacted with the bed. The sight of Usman asleep was relieving in a way. There was no better chance than this to catch Usman off guard. The proctor worked his magic. And with just a little prodding the truth was out.

The proctor quoted him verbatim, “I had written the poem. She loved my poems. But this time the topic was different. She read the poem and simply stared at me. I was eagerly awaiting her response. With slightly slouched shoulders, furrowed eyebrows and curious eyes she whispered “do me a favour but don’t disclose it.......

She never discussed her life with anyone. But she definitely had a past. Her bruised past was visible on her face, her hands and more so, in her eyes. Her life was definitely not a cake walk.

She was quietly weeping. Though perplexed with her response, I tried to console her. She looked at me and asked me to sit. It was a long time since she had talked to someone so openly. She poured her heart out. Relieved by the end to have confided in someone. My poem on euthanasia had got to her. It almost inspired her.

With pleading eyes she requested me to relieve her of the intractable suffering. Her disabled body could hardly move. Her loved ones had long abandoned her. I was her only contact with the outside world, other than the doctors who made occasional visits. I was the only one to whom she could make such a daring request. I obliged her. She didnt deserve such misery, such agony..... I killed my teacher....." 

The proctor reported how Usman sobbed profusely as he ended even if asleep. The University and the police authority were dumbfounded by his narrative. It was a catch-22. He was simply honoring his teacher's request and yet he was guilty.