captivity

In the darkness of Verracorta forest, where large, over grown trees doused cold water on all hopes for sunlight to penetrate to the large, green leaves on the apex of the trees that absorbed all the precious sunlight through the survival process of photosynthesis, lay Dr. Rustom Cama, a Parsi doctor who had migrated to South Africa an year ago for some medical research.
Unlucky though he was to witness the horrific sight of the brutal murder of his mate and colleague, Mr. Ramakant Yadav, by four caucus men who stabbed him dead for the very fundamental reason of a handful of dollars with a picture of one of the American Presidents imprinted on its green texture, who wouldn't have wanted that to happen at all.
Dr. Rustom Cama was foolish, a really foolish man. Instead of fleeing away and suing the men with the mighty aid of the cops and the court of law, he took out his defunct revolver and tried to scare them away. But the men were almost a foot taller than him, clutched jagged pieces of glass in their hands, were four in number, three more than him and were rough and tough.
The next moment, he opened his eyes to have a look at the environment around him. Was he in heaven? He didn't know. But after gaining consciousness he couldn't bear watching his own body.
His condition was undefinable. Chained he was, hands were paining and crushed by the metal handcuffs that were so shaped as to cut his wrists. His whole body was dark, muddy asn he had been dragged for miles. HIs chest was torn and the presence of sand particles stuck in the space burnt his flesh.
He noticed a mote of dust in the yellow light entering through the window and after musing for a while he concluded that it could be the sun.
Later he realized that it was the light of the torch that was being flashed at him by one of the murderers. Dr. Rustom waited for his appointment with deathand as expected two men slammed the door, removed the chain hand-cuffed to his hands. ONe of the men pulled out a gun from his left pocket and fired three rounds at him. One hit his stomach, one pierced his shoulder and the third dpeened the wounds in his chest. The men guffawed away and Dr. Rustom Cama was no more. Or was he not?
Rustom was almost dead. But not completely dead. The bullet that was about to burst his heart made a hole in a small bottle that was kept in the left pocket of his shirt. He managed to drag himself upp to the outside of the house. He slowly pushed himself with all the might that he could gather. He didn't even realize the passing of time. Would all his meticulous efforts go in vain?
He lay on a rough surface unconscious. He slowly gained his senses. He was lying on something solid. He was lying on the road free at last. "Safe", he exclaimed but at that very moment a rash driver, who was his wife frantically searching for him everywhere drove her heavy car over him releasing Dr. Cama's soul from his body - as he breathed his last..