The hands were trembling while dipping the biscuit into the tea at the eatery on the highway. It was late cold night of November. Simr realized the chill of the night is as cold as the cold heart shown that day by his almighty. It looked like the fate is acting like his blood thirsty enemy. It was not only the hands which were trembling but the whole world around him trembled and came crashing to the grounds. The ship was wrecked and was drowning inside his heart. While everything looked quiet outside, the volcano had erupted inside his loins. His guts gave up and he became mere statue of Atlas carrying, his world of thoughts on his shoulders. Overburdened and exhausted by his thoughts, but still he was holding up the shock he got. All of them then got back to the matador which was carrying the dead body of his father back to the home from the popular hospital in Delhi. It took 8 hours to reach home where saddened family members and relatives were waiting for them and the deceased. He retired himself to the bed, mentally tired while screams, hue and cries were disturbing his background. He remembered the motor bike toy, he saw outside the hospital in a street shop, which his aunt promised to buy him after his father’s health recovery but sadly that day never came. That night appeared like his sun has set forever and he will not be able to see it again rising. It looked like the train in which he was traveling the journey of his life, went into a never ending dark tunnel. That night was as dark as the coal mine.