It was quite early on a Friday morning when Major Ravi was woken up by his phone. On the other end was his long time pal Major Saurabh, also retired from the Army. 

'You awake?'
'I am now.'
'Listen, I have news. Shaw is no more.'
Major Ravi was fully awake now but silent, probably letting the gravity of this information sink in and by itself produce emotions suitable for the occasion. He could be perturbed inside, he showed no sign of it on his person, he only said, 'It is over finally.'
'He passed away this morning at about three. His son called me up. May his soul rest in peace.'

Major Ravi remained silent. In the floor upstairs, the wife of the insurance agent was already up and about as usual. 

'The funeral is scheduled in the afternoon. I have a flight to catch in about two hours, I will pick you up by three,' Major Saurabh continued.
'I will meet you at the airport.'
'No need I will get a cab.'
'Okay.'

A pensive Ravi poured black coffee from the machine in the kitchen thinking about his departed friend. Even though they shared this city, it has been a year since they met. He sat down on the chair in the verandah and sipped the coffee, oblivious of it's bitterness. He watched the sun slip into the sky, It's mellow orange hue now resplendent on his long face. He sat there for perhaps an hour, time traveling into the long gone days of combat beyond enemy lines. Deep in enemy territory you only had each other to count on, to accomplish the mission and get back in one piece. 

Someone was climbing down the stairs and soon the tiny head of young Aravind popped up from above the railings, smiling that innocent smile, an honest smile that says, he was glad he found you. As he ascended the steps and reached the verandah, he noticed that the child was holding a piece of paper and the Major instantly recognized what it was. It was an ongoing project of the approaching child. One could safely call it a project of considerable artistic milieu. Major Ravi was lost in Aravind's rendition of how his project is progressing. He forgot for that moment that he had lost a friend he had known a long time and literally trusted with his life.

Aravind's dad came calling soon, also descending the stairs. The tall lanky man was seldom grim. He gently reminded his offspring to leg it to his mother, who was waiting to feed him.

The Major had rented the apartment upstairs to this jovial LIC agent and his family. He got to know that his tenant was a rather accomplished salesman of myriad insurances. Over the years the Major's relationship with the family became cozier as years progressed. The wife often sent down via her spouse or kid various delicacies from her kitchen. The kid was always doting on the Major showing him the latest paintings. The Major was sure that this kid is going to make it big in the art world some day. 

'You look pale Major. Any problem?' The father asked him.
'A friend of mine passed away today.'
'So sorry to hear that. Was he from the army too?'
'Yes.'

Vanajarani's magic was already brewing in the Major's kitchen. It did not elicit the concomitant upheaval of spirit that was the most appropriate reaction to such fine smell as that of fresh dosa in the morning. She walked in silently just as Aravind was appraising the major about the latest developments on his canvas. The smell of fresh filter coffee being made usually makes the day for the Major, but on this particular day, it did not. He only sipped the machine made coffee that he made himself recounting heroic tales of yore. 

When Major Saurabh darkened the threshold of Major Ravi the time was three in the afternoon.
'Hello friend,' he greeted his host, when the latter opened the door.
'Come on in pal.'

The afternoon heat was left at the door, inside Sourabh found comfort in air-conditioning. 
'Well, I guess it is just the two of us now.'
'When is the funeral exactly?'
'At four.'
They both settled down to comfortable silence.

'You still have that wonderful cook of yours?'
'Of course, she left for the day but I asked her to make some samosas for you.'
'Ah yes, I still remember the taste of those heavenly beauties as if I had them yesterday. Actually, the last time I had it, Shaw was with us.'
'That was before the cancer.'
'Yes.'
'He probably had cancer in him then, because if I remember correctly, it was three weeks later that I got the call from him.'
'I heard he had a very difficult time towards the end. He called me a week back. He asked about you.'
'I just couldn't see him in that state.'
'I know, just listening to his hollowed out voice was hard enough.'
'Well I better get ready, help yourselves to some samosas, in the meantime. They are in the kitchen.'
 
It took 20 minutes to reach Shaw's place which was overflowing with people, mostly relatives. Shaw's wife had passed away a couple of years back, an event that marked the turn of fortunes for Shaw himself. Soon after, he was diagnosed with a rare drug resistant Chronic Myeloid Leukemia. Everyone who met him could only imagine his pain. 

In death the ever present torment on his face vanished. There was peace, a great relief of finally going home to a place devoid of radical chemotherapy, which drove you to the very edge of life and let you hang there forever. There was always fervent hope that cancer has been defeated once and for all. Sadly, his cancer relapsed over and over again, not quite killing him but getting very close each time. Both his compatriots watched the emaciated body and the peaceful face  trying to delineate the old Shaw they knew. Despite the catharsis evident on the dead man's face, the old Shaw was no where to be found. 

On the mantel was a picture, that caught the eye of Major Saurabh. It was the picture of the five of them back in the day, jubilant and full of pride. It was taken at an army camp in Punjab, after a successful mission. The enormous risk they took paid off. Nobody had thought they would get back, but they did and to a great welcome.

The mortal remains were soon transferred to the cremation grounds. The two old pals patiently saw through the end, till their friend was nothing more than ash and smoke and memory.

They rode back to Major Ravi's place in silence. Saurabh came in for a spot of coffee and snacks. Vanajarani's sorcery was hard to resist. 
'Listen, I wanted to tell you something,' Saurabh hesitated.
'What is it?'
'Shaw called me a week back and asked for a favour. He asked me to give him the chimera. And I gave it to him.'
 
Major Ravi only listened, but it was evident that he was shaken. The chimera was a classified batch of molecules developed by the military late in 1970s that could be used to kill a person without leaving any tell tale signs. 
'I am shocked to hear you did that...'
'Shaw asked me to do it. Seeing the state he was in, I was only too glad to oblige.'

When Major Ravi reached home after leaving Saurabh at the airport, it was dark. He got ready for bed. Lying on his night stand was a business card with no name but only what seemed to be a telephone number. It was the number that would fetch him the chimera should he ever need one. He looked at it in disbelief before tossing it back and went to sleep, thinking about his departed friend's final desperate deed.