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Word Count : 6900

Target : 300

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06 | The Healthy Adult, The Starved Child & An Old Neighbour

Alert on her two feet and vigilant through her two eyes all the time—every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every passing month and year—that's how she had lived all along.

It's not that she wanted to do all this voluntarily, but when your head smelled of an impending war, hands reeked of used and unused weapons, and feet stank of blood, pus, and mud, that's all you would be forced to do at the end of the day.

After all, the best way to kill something was to let it starve. So, she let her carelessness starve. She starved it to the point of no return. So starved that the malnourished, careless child shackled inside perished at the hands of the supposedly healthy, alert, and cunning adult roaming outside.

The alert adult feasted on everything it could muster, while the careless little child begged for even the last bit of teardrop.

And that caused Hinduja Rao—the Dogra matriarch—to wonder if the man she was married to, the high and mighty patriarch of the Dogra clan, ever got the chance to play the game of starvation too.

If yes, how did he play it? Did he even fare well in it?

Did he starve only the child like she did? Or did he starve both the child and the adult, unlike she did?

Whether it was the former he chose to do or the latter, his choice would have surprised her either way.

Because how was it even possible that despite starving parts of his own self, he was able to feed her adequately?

How was it that she felt the need to be a lot less alert in his energy?

Because four months had elapsed in the blink of an eye, and surprisingly the child she had once killed with starvation was somehow getting revived by him—the Dogra patriarch—without her asking him to do so.

The child was not exactly the most thriving creature she had seen all her life. But it was not exactly a struggling creature, either. It was doing fine. It was being fed and watered very nicely by her husband.

All in all, it wasn't malnourished anymore.

It was growing. Just okay. Unlike its alert and cautious adult counterpart roaming outside.

And the man who was responsible for these recent developments, meanwhile, was away on an official expedition to China for the past three weeks, absolutely unaware of the child he was successful at resuscitating.

How did he resuscitate the child, or why did he even take the effort and liberty to do so? She had the answers to none.

Meanwhile, she and their toddler were over at her brother's place for a two-week sojourn.

Her in-laws were coming to visit them, and hence, she was packing both her and Anirudh's clothes back in their travel bags to go to the Dogra manor instead of returning home the following day. Her brother, on the other hand, was playing with the toddler back in the garden under the crimson rays of the sunset.

The pressure cooker whistled for the fourth time in a row in the lofty industrial-style kitchen of her brother's farmhouse just as she finished packing the last piece of Anirudh's Winnie-the-Pooh-doodled underwear.

"Bhai!" She called out at the top of her voice.

"Bark!" A masculine voice echoed back from somewhere outside the house.

"Switch off the gas." She shot back.

"You do it!"

Sighing in exasperation, she zipped back both the luggage bags and walked out of the room.

"Lazy bum." Stepping down from the last step of the stairs, she marched straight into the kitchen. "Only the Almighty knows how he even became a surgeon."

It was Sunday. Hence, the Rao siblings had collectively settled on preparing some non-vegetarian delicacies for dinner.

Hinduja switched the gas off and advanced out of the kitchen into the hall. She turned off the music system, which was loudly blasting 'Lakdi ki kaathi." The volume was loud enough to wake up the dead from their graves. She then proceeded out of the confines of the house and sauntered into the garden.

Her boy was running around in the flowering shrubs behind a kaleidoscope of butterflies, with a bunch of purple dahlias and snowy baby's-breath blooms clasped in his left hand and a miniature plastic duckling in his squishy right hand, while her brother sat on the outdoor wooden swing, gazing fondly at the kid. "Oye circuit, run slowly! Or else you'll face a short circuit!"

The toddler turned around, flashed his pearly white hamster teeth for a fraction of a second, and then took off at the speed of light again.

Her lips curled up to form a feeble smile as she made her way towards her brother.

Making herself comfortable adjacent to her brother on the swing, she circled her arms around his biceps and reposed her head on his shoulder, placidly clamping her eyes shut.

Vijaypath Rao diverted his eyes from his nephew to his sister's head lazing on his right shoulder. Gently placing a kiss on her temple, he brought his left hand up and stroked the crown of her head gingerly. "Molu?"

"Hm." She hummed, snuggling against his upper arms.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his visuals fixated on her wedding ring, and Sankha-pola. 

"More than I have ever been."

Vijay nodded his head, the pulsating organ in his chest finally at peace. "Does he treat you well?" He probed further.

"In a way superior to how anyone has ever treated me."

"Really? Say that again!" He mock-slapped her on the crown. "Better than me? better than your brother?"

"Yes." She teased him, a mischievous smirk tugging at her roseate lips. "Any apprehensions, Commander Sahib?"

"You filthy little quisling!" Shaking her svelte build vigorously, he repeatedly fisted her in the middle of her back. "You goblin! You forgot your brother the moment you got a husband?"

Hinduja's chassis shook with hysterics as she tried to evade her elder sibling's iron fists on her back. "Bhai, please, no, stop it!"

"You stinky rat! I washed your poop-stained knickers when you were a baby, and this is what I get in return?!" He cried out.

"And they still used to stink the next day because your miserly ass never used more than a pinch of the detergent powder while washing them!" She shot back, rubbing her back.

"So? . . .not my fault! It was your poop, not mine!" He countered.

"As if you don't excrete at all, you ever constipated thug!" She hurled out.

"Much better than your lactose-intolerant husband, though. At least I get to eat, digest, and then defecate out all the milky stuff! That cradle snatcher can't even load all that stuff in his system, let alone digest it and then unload it!"

"Cradle snatcher?" Her lips formed a perfect 'o'. "Bhai, he is just seven years older than me."

"Exactly seven years, which is precisely two thousand five hundred fifty-five days in total." He calculated something at the tip of his fingers. "Scratch that! 1992 and 1996 were leap years, so . . that makes it two thousand five hundred fifty-seven days in total!"

"So what?" She shrugged her shoulders, still trying to avoid his blows. "I am okay with it."

"Okay with it?! You genuinely look like a growth hormone-deficient minion in front of that overgrown banyan tree! What is that cartoon that Circuit watches on TV?" He paused, trying to recollect some cartoonic entity, scratching his scalp in the process. "Yes, Raju! You look like Raju from Chota Bheem in front of that cradle thief, while he looks like Kirmaada from Chota Bheem. Basically, Kirmaada marries Raju, or rather, in your case, Kirmaada is already married to Raju."

"Gross, no." She scrunched her face in disgust. "Stop addressing him as a cradle-snatcher and stop hitting me, you Gargantuan Chimpanzee."

Out of the blue, an object sharply collided against Vijaypath's crotch, and in an instant, Hinduja found her brother kneeling on the grass-filled ground, his eyes painfully clamped shut and a grimace embracing his almost crimson face.

"Oww, तिरुपति बालाजी!" The commander screamed his lungs out, trying to stand up while carefully cradling his precious nuts in his hands, a series of colorful profanities leaving his mouth without any breaks.

"Bhai, language." Admonishing her brother, Hinduja peered down to find a yellow-tinted plastic duck just next to the front leg of the wooden swing. As if on record, her eyes averted to find where her son was.

As expected, she found him on his feet, roughly four meters away from the swing, his chubby arms positioned on his waist, his tiny legs wide apart, his eyes pointedly fixated on her brother, and his red nose squeezed up in anger.

"Fuck the damn language! My balls, ahhhh!" Vijaypath grimaced again.

Unknown to her, her brother had already witnessed his nephew throwing the toy duck his way.

"And you, smelly brat!" He gently caressed his groin with his left hand while pointing the index finger of his right hand at the unimpressed kid, still glaring at him. "What's your problem with my progeny? You don't want any maternal cousins in the time ahead?"

"Yuck!" Hinduja tsked in distaste. "Stop planning your family in front of my kid!"

"Your kid? You do realize that this pocket-size punk of yours nearly burst open my nuts and endangered your to-be nieces and nephews, right?" He petted his crotch as if petting the heads of his future offspring. "Oh, my darlings! Papa apologizes to you on behalf of your delinquent cousin, okay?" And then he blew a kiss to his groin.

Hinduja sighed and shook her head in disbelief at her sibling's theatrics.

"Laddoo, come here!" She called the toddler.

The kid unabashedly strutted towards them.

Clemently gripping his shoulders, she squatted in front of him. "Why did you hit Maamu with your toy?" She asked, stroking his scarlet-hued, roly-poly cheeks.

The kid, who was still throwing daggers with his dark, earthy eyes at the six-foot-something man in front of him, projected his tiny forefinger at the same man. "Maamu," he said, then pointed his finger at her. "beat Mamma."

In a matter of a few seconds, Hinduja couldn't help but burst into fits of laughter while continuously kissing her son's plump, roseate cheeks. The child giggled in glee, and Vijaypath Rao affectionately eyed the visual in front of him, keeping his concerns about his progeny aside for the time being.

His sister won in life. At least one of them did.

Hinduja picked the toddler up and ambled into the house. "I love you!"

Vijay trailed behind the mother-son duo, an easy smile lingering on his lips.

***

"Pass me the Kastoori methi."

"Here." Vijaypath stretched his left arm up, fetched the Kastoori methi canister from the kitchen cabinet, and passed it on to her.

Stirring the chicken gravy once more, she crushed and sprinkled the dried fenugreek leaves on top of it and then covered the nonstick cooking pot with the glass lid.

She then switched the gas off.

"Molu?"

"Yes?" She turned around to look at him with curious eyes.

"I am being earnest now. Are you really happy?" He moved forward and stroked the top of her head with his palm. "Is there anything I need to know about? Anything regarding this marriage that's upsetting you?"

Hinduja smiled fondly at her brother's care and attentiveness towards her. "No, bhai, there is absolutely nothing for you to be distressed about. I am happy, in fact, more than happy with how life has been turning out lately."

"I hope you're not lying." He asked.

"I am not." She replied as she found herself engulfed in her brother's brawny arms, her head resting on his chest.

The backdrop submerged itself in a blanket of placid quietude, as the siblings stayed like that for some moments.

"Okay, enough of the sentimental drama. Let's go and have dinner; it's nine already." Vijaypath took the initiative to break the stillness in the milieu.

"Alright." She detached herself from her brother and turned around to fetch the crockery. "You carry the cookpots to the dining table, and I'll take the plates out, okay?"

Vijay nodded and carried on with the said task.

A minute later, the trio was settled down at the dining table for supper. Anirudh blabbered whatever came into his mouth, while his mother and maternal uncle gazed at him softly with a mixture of hilarity and endearment.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

Averting her eyes from her son to her brother, she raised her eyebrows in confusion. He shrugged his shoulders, clearly unaware of the unforeseen visitor. Getting up, he strolled out of the combined living-dining room to open the door.

When her brother didn't return even after five minutes, Hinduja cradled Anirudh in her arms and walked out of the room to go towards the main door.

The sight that awaited her in front of the main door was not something she had contemplated at all.

There they were, grown-up and grey-haired sources of nothing but irritation and misery.

"What are you both doing here?" Her brother vociferated every word in fury.

"Can't we even come and meet our children?" Pramila Rao, their mother, tried to touch her son on his arms.

The man, in return, convulsed back. "Stop your fucking screenplay right there!" He enunciated.

"Vijay, you can't talk with your mother like that!" Eshwar Nandan Rao came forward and tried to converse with his enraged son.

"Oh, the same mother you cheated on?" Vijaypath Rao's lips curled up to form a mirthless smirk.

The argument escalated at a much faster tempo than she anticipated.

She squatted and gently placed the clueless toddler on his tiny feet on the wooden flooring, his clear and innocent eyes staring right through her soul. "Laddoo?"

"Mamma," the toddler mouthed, bobbing his head up and down.

"Go to our room and play with Winnie there, okay? Don't come out until Mama comes to get you, okay, my boy?" She instructed him, referring to his favorite plush toy. "Promise?" She added.

"Pomish." He bobbed his head again and then ran back into the long passage.

Hinduja got up and turned around to face her parents; instead, she found their eyes already focused on her.

"Why are you both here?" Tone crisp, shoulders square, and her backbone ramrod straight, the woman looked nothing like the devoted mother she was a few seconds back.

She was a promising candidate in this after all—replacing masks like a pro.

Eshwar and Pramila immediately tried to walk towards her to take her in a hug.

"Stay right there." Hands staunchly held behind her back, she commanded. "Not a step forward."

"Hina, please! It has been years now. Can we not leave everything behind and move forward with a positive outlook?"

A lugubrious simper escaped her lips. "Leave."

"If you dislike us so much, why did you call us for your marriage proceedings in the court that day?" Her mother inquired, blatant irritation evident on her visage.

"I don't recollect placing a call to you for that. It was Manasvini Amma, my mother-in-law, if I remember correctly, who called you. She somehow got your contact information and rang you up for the same. Now, if you are done playing C.I.D., can we come to the point? What are you both here for?" She ordered, awaiting their responses.

"We heard that you were here, Hina, so we came to meet you. You don't even call us, so this was the only way." Her father replied, taking out a packet of chocolates from his satchel. "Here, your favorite milk chocolates. You love them, don't you?" He tried to forward them to her, smiling at her.

She, in turn, just stood there with a poker face. "Leave."

"Trying to be endearing and responsible parents, are we?" Vijaypath shot back.

"I am your father," Eshwar Rao yelled out irately.

"Oh, you remember that? How gracious!" Vijaypath hurled back. "You don't need to consume cod liver oil at all. Good for you because they taste like shit anyway."

"Hina, we can at least talk and resolve everything, can't we?" The mother tried to reach out to her.

"I said, stay where you are!" Vijaypath yelled, his anger way above its limit.

"Can't you both just forgive us?" Pramila Rao vocalized her inner thoughts again.

"The term 'forgive' and you both, well, let's just say, all three of your 'oh so beautiful' faces don't match well with each other." He shot back.

The Dogra matriarch tried to control the emerging grin on her face due to her brother's savage comebacks.

And then all of a sudden it started, the ultimate weapon of every brown mother—wailing and hitting her head.

The commander sighed, clicking his tongue, "Who do you think you are, woman? Gopi Bahu from Star Plus? I mean, come on. Even that lady does so much less drama for Ahem ji than you do for your sorry excuse for a husband." Opening his jaw wide, Vijaypath yawned and then continued, "Cut the crap, will you? I have three back-to-back surgeries scheduled at the hospital tomorrow along with a board meeting; I need some sleep, for God's sake. Moreover, even the chicken curry must have gone cold by now. And I hate the reheated ones. So, please, get the crap out of my house."

"And please don't bring your exquisitely picturesque asses back here ever again." He scrunched his nose in distaste again as he watched his manufacturers slowly walking back to the main door of his farmhouse. "I am not exactly a fan of Star Plus." He added.

***

Keeping their luggage in a corner, Hinduja walked out of the vernacular-themed master bedroom belonging to the head of the Dogra clan inside the Dogra Manor.

Her brother and his security people had just dropped her in the mansion and left for the hospital.

She looked on as the toddler blabbered continuously in her arms as she walked down the majestically ginormous and carpeted stairs.

As she strolled around the colossal hacienda trying to find Poorna, the head of the housekeeping staff, she came across a room on the ground floor nestled in the corner among the other rooms of the Dogra manor.

The contents of the room looked different from the others. She walked inside, peering at the musical instruments inside. In the far left corner of the room was an antique tape recorder imposingly touched down on a small wooden table. She found herself walking towards it.

Standing next to it, she brushed her fingers against its edges, not even a speck of dust visible on it, as if it was cleaned regularly. Surprisingly, just next to the machine, there was a pair of ghungroos.

The toddler in her arms squealed as he tried to bend down to touch the tape recorder. She squatted in front of the tape recorder, as a result of which Anirudh's chunky fingers came in contact with the tape recorder.

Suddenly, the boy hammered his tiny closed fists on the switches of the old machine. A soft melody of teen-taal began to reverberate in the room as the ghungroos fell from the top of the table.

"Silly boy, what did you do?" She admonished the kid, but whom was she kidding even?

Her feet automatically tapped against the floor, already immersed in the soft tempo of the music, as if they possessed a mind of their own.

In a matter of a few seconds, she had already lost herself in the realm of the soft thumps and notes. Tying her white dupatta across her torso, the knot of it dangling gracefully at the tip of her sleek waist.

She placed the kid on the thick, royal off-white satin cover-shielded mattress, the edges of which were fenced with white bolster cushions.

Anirudh clapped gleefully, feeling the softness of the mattress under his baby's bum.

"Do you want to watch Mamma dance?" She asked him excitedly.

The toddler bobbed his head up and down.

Seeing this, she caressed his black curls. "Then will you sit here quietly and not move around while Mamma is dancing?"

"Yesh!" He squealed again, bobbing his head up and down again.

She tenderly kissed his glabella and then stood up. The ghungroos fastened around her ankles a minute back clinked with every step of hers.

***

The Dogra patriarch was feeling immensely homesick.

Previously planning to return to India by the day after, he instead decided on returning in the morning itself on a whim, and here he was, in the confines of the palatial Dogra manor.

He moved through the corridors, his eyes craving the sight of his family—his son and his wife—who were supposed to be here.

And that's when he heard the faint beats of tabla with a soft melody in the backdrop.

He instantly knew where it was coming from: his sister's old music room. Curiosity led him through the mammoth-sized passageways of the Dogra manor into the old music room of Nirjhara Dogra.

The first thing he saw when he glanced inside the room was his little boy clapping his chubby hands merrily, gazing captivatedly at the sylphlike feminine figure in pale pink and white, twirling dexterously around the room.

His heartbeats were at peace, his eyes coated in a sheen of placid calmness, and his soul, finally satiated at her sight.

The ghungroos around her lissome ankles jingled with each tap of her feet. Her pale pink, flowy cotton kurti whirled around her lean legs as if creating an umbrella of tranquilizing mellowness.

It was as if they were unfurling luminescence in the darkest quarters of those around her.

And then, all of a sudden, something very otherworldly transpired.

The rhythmic beats of the teen taal stopped. The tintinnabulation of the aureate ghungroos encompassing the curves of her willowy ankles ceased, and so did the sprucely complex footwork of her nimble feet.

His 'earth' skirmished against her 'night' in a trice.

And, in that moment, somewhere from deep within him, the patriarch pondered—what would he do if he were granted the choice to face his end the very next day?

Would he beg for another breath or simply let his life slip away?

Would he choose to stay alive to experience her gentle light, or would he prefer to leave and let her remember him through her every night?

Would he strive to create a lasting future with her, or would he resign himself to becoming just another chapter in their unfinished tale?

"Papa!"

The loud and babyish babbling of a child pulled them out of their daze.

The Dogra matriarch proceeded to unlatch the ghungroos around her feet as the patriarch cleared his throat and crouched down to pick up the toddler, who was tweaking his formal black trousers to gain his attention. The boy instantly cocooned himself in his father's protective embrace.

"I missed you, brat." He gingerly planted a kiss on Anirudh's temple while fondly caressing his back.

The diaper around the kid's buttocks rumbled with a fart as he giggled for the umpteenth time, all while his father inched closer in the direction of his mother.

"You dance, too." His words came out more like a statement than a question as he reached near her.

Diverting her gaze away from him, she looked down. "I do."

"When did you come back?" She murmured eventually.

"Just now." Affectionately rubbing the toddler's back once again, he continued. "I was to arrive back on Wednesday, but all the meetings and my work at the project site in general concluded before the designated time, so here I am, in front of you both." He proceeded to quirk his left eyebrow. "Why? You are not happy that I am back." He teased her.

"What? no!" She countered back cursorily. "Obviously I am happy."

"So, you are happy that I am back home?" He essayed amusedly, his left eyebrow quirked up.

Much to his displeasure, she dodged eye contact with him almost immediately.

He sighed in defeat.

Ten minutes later, Mahadevan laid a drowsy Anirudh on the bed, drawing the curtains of its canopy, inside their bedroom.

Sheathing the boy's tiny frame with a thin summer quilt, he got up from the bed and volte-faced to find his wife looking at both him and their child softly. However, the moment she sensed his gaze on her, she immediately evaded his eyes.

He couldn't help but smile in amusement.

"Do you want to unpack your travel bags now or later on?" She asked.

"I need a shower first."

"Okay, then, you go and freshen up." She said and turned around to make her way out of the room.

He nodded.

Then, on the spur of the moment, something dawned on him, something he desperately wanted an answer to. "By the way," he trailed.

"Did you . . ." He gulped.

The dulcet tapping of her feet against the carpet came to a halt as she turned around to look at him.

The patriarch's palms perspired, and his archly carved eyelashes fluttered in a frail attempt to maintain direct eye contact with the matriarch's obsidian swirls. "Did you miss me?" He whispered.

Her eyes twinkled as she tried to contain the emerging tint on her cheeks, whereas his toes curled in fervid anticipation.

Clutching the edges of her off-white dupatta tightly in her hands, she downcast her eyes and turned around to cross the threshold of their bedroom.

His shoulders dropped, and his eyes dimmed, longingly gazing in her direction just as her footfall ceased again.

Hope flickered in a pair of earthy pupils anew.

"I did." The silhouette in pale pink vaulted over the doorsill and disappeared into the comforting silence of the Dogra Manor just as the man's eyes glistened with a newfound feeling of euphoria.

"Yes!" The patriarch fist-bumped in the air, his ears and cheeks a shade of pink, and his lips upturned in a sheepish grin.

In the afternoon, after instructing the sous chef to stir the contents of the non-stick vessel every four minutes, she walked out of the kitchen as she heard some voices echoing in the great hall of the Dogra manor.

Just as she ventured into the great hall, she found herself getting secured in a balmy and motherly hug.

"How are you?" Manasvini Dogra vocalized ebulliently.

"I am fine; how are you, Amma?" Hinduja crouched down to touch her mother-in-law's feet.

"On top of the world, as always!" She shot back, her voice full of energy, while softly caressing the crown of the young woma's head.

"And Papa?"

"That antique piece I am married to? He . . ." Manasvini quizzed and then roamed her eyes around the entire great hall when her gaze finally stopped on a tall male figure standing in front of an abstract painting hanging on one of the gigantic Dogra manor walls. "There he is! On his feet with his rotten ass intact as always," she said while projecting her forefinger at the erect figure of her husband.

As if on record, the old man hollered back, "I am not old; you are!" Shubhankar Dogra then ambled towards the two women standing next to the entrance of the manor's kitchen.

"Old, my ass! You better shut your mouth."

The Dogra matriarch tried to stop the chuckles emerging out of her mouth as she bowed down to touch her father-in-law's feet.

"God bless." A benign smile spread out on the elderly man's handsome face, amalgamated with a few ridges hither and thither.

The young woman smiled back.

"Where is he?" Her mother-in-law questioned, her hands authoritatively perched up on her waist.

"Who?" She counter-questioned her mother-in-law in confusion.

"Your husband and my good-for-nothing offspring." She shot back.

"I am here." A masculine and baritone voice resonated in the colossal hall of the majestic colonial establishment.

Hinduja looked on as her husband wended his way towards them while adjusting his glasses with the tip of his index finger, clothed in a pair of comfy black trousers and a white polo t-shirt.

Approaching his mother, the man took her in a side hug and stepped back, passing a small smile.

The patriarch then stepped forward to touch his father's feet as well.

Shubhankar nodded at him and went on to stand next to his wife. There was no exchange of expressions or dialogue between the father-son duo.

Something felt odd in their interaction.

"Where is my baby?" Hinduja watched on in amusement as her mother-in-law tossed her next query on the table.

"He is sleeping in the bedroom." She answered with a faint smile.

"Okay then, I am going up to see him."

"Okay, Amma." She nodded her head, gazing fondly at the older couple, and then said, "Since it's already nine p.m., how about you bring Anirudh along with yourself while coming back, after which we can have dinner? Till then, someone will to keep your luggage bags in your room."

"We'll have dinner here, but there is no need to keep the luggage in our rooms; we are here for just three hours. Our next flight to New York is scheduled for two a.m." Shubhankar said as he dotingly gazed at the young girl in front of him.

"You both are not staying here?" Hinduja looked on downheartedly.

"Unfortunately, no."

"Okay." A crestfallen smile tugged at her lips.

The next morning, Hinduja woke up late, which was quite contradictory to her everyday habits, but one thing that remained the same as the other days was the series of alarms set one after the other.

She tried to locate her husband and her toddler in the room groggily, but neither of them was around.

The malaise in her abdomen and the dampness between her legs forced her to get up from the bed and venture into the bathroom. And sure enough, it was exactly what she deduced it to be—her monthly guest.

But then it crossed her mind that she didn't have any sanitary pads in her luggage at the moment.

She stepped out of the bathroom to find her husband keenly surveying something on her side of the bed. Moving closer to him, she turned her gaze to what he was so intently peering at.

And there it was, on the pristine white bedsheet, a bright crimson blot.

Mahadevan first stared at the red spot, then gaped at his wife's awkward frame and then at her flushed face, turning a degree carmine by every fleeting second. "Period?"

She looked down at her wiggling toes. "Yes." She nodded.

In the blink of an eye, the patriarch felt his face flush. "Oh." Then, introspecting about something deeply, he said, "Do you need my help in anything?"

"Just call Poorna here, please." She replied hurriedly.

"Oh, okay." And he strode out of the door in a trice.

Five minutes later, Poorna, the head of the Dogra Manor housekeeping staff, walked into the room.

"Yes, madam, you summoned me." The woman bowed her head.

"Yeah, do we have any sanitary pads in the supply chamber as of now?" Hinduja dove straight to the point without beating around the bush.

"No, madam; actually, none of the female members of the family had resided in the manor for a very long period of time, so the supply chamber was not restocked with any of the female sanitary essentials. Sorry for intruding, but do you need the pads for yourself?" The lady asked cautiously.

"Yes."

"In that case, madam, if you don't mind, can I provide you with a packet from my personal stash?" The housekeeper suggested.

"Will that be fine with you?" Hinduja counter-questioned, half relieved, half hesitant.

"Absolutely, madam! Please wait here; I'll get it for you." The lady smiled reassuringly at her.

"By the way, can you please fetch me two buckets and some detergent powder on your way as well?"

"Madam, please, you can put all your clothes in the laundry. We have female attendees present there as well; they'll wash it for you."

"No, please; I would like to do it on my own. And yes, I have removed the previous bed linen and the pillow covers; please ask someone to spread a new one."

"Sure, madam."

"One more thing, where is Anirudh?"

"He is with Karim sir, madam."

"Alright."

After a slight bow of her head in the direction of the Dogra matriarch, the housekeeper got out of the bedroom.

Hinduja then took a long and refreshing shower.

Clothing herself in a fresh pair of clothes, she proceeded to handwash the previously spread bed linen in a mixture of detergent and water in the first bucket. Then she soaked her stained pieces of garments in a mixture of warm water, detergent, and some liquid fabric softener in the second bucket and kept it aside in the far left corner of the massive and chic Edwardian-era bathroom.

Carrying the freshly washed bedsheet in her hands, she stepped out of their bedroom and handed it over to a staff member nearby for drying.

She then climbed down the stairs and ventured straight into Anirudh's playroom.

And as per her predictions, she found both her husband and her child exactly there, along with the chief of security, both of whom were deeply engrossed in a game of chess.

The toddler, on the other hand, was gaping queerly at the physiognomies of both the elderly men in front of him, completely mystified by what that black and white object they were playing with was.

The moment the boy sensed her presence, he knocked down the entire board game, causing all the chess pieces to fly around. The two men around him ululated in exasperation as he moved towards her. "Mamma!" His dark black curls jiggled, and his puffy red cheeks wobbled as he hugged her legs.

She laughed in glee as she crouched down to pick him up.

A few wet kisses, some random blabbering, and a few hugs later, the mother-son pair finally paid attention to the two men sitting on the floor. One of them had his gaze fondly fixated on them, while the other one was staring grievously at the scattered chess pieces. Karim looked like a petulant child who would burst into tears any second.

"I apologize on his behalf, Karim Bhai." Hinduja struggled to stop the amused smile emerging on her visage.

"No, no, it's okay." The 41-year-old man with a slight salt and pepper mane answered back.

"Alright." Faintly smiling at him, she then shifted her gaze to the heftily built, bespectacled patriarch settled next to him and said, "Dogra Sahib, can you please come outside for a second?"

Nodding his head, Mahadevan got up and walked out of the playroom along with his wife and son. The moment they were in the vast corridor, he immediately wound his robust left arm around her upper back, hauling her close to himself. "Are you okay? Is there any sort of physical discomfort that you are going through?" He asked, tenderly fondling her back.

"I am completely fine, but I need something."

"Alright," he tipped his chin, "what do you want?"

"I searched on the internet, but I found that there are absolutely no supermarkets within even a two-kilometer radius of the manor. Why so?"

His brows rose up. "This manor and a large chunk of the land around it are part of our ancestral property. On top of that, it's a green zone, which is why, other than government officials and members of our own family, no one else is allowed to enter this region. Even the forest officials who are posted here to take care of the guava orchards, estates, and maple groves here have to first get their identities cross-verified using their biometrics, and then only are they allowed to enter inside the main gate. You won't find any supermarkets or convenience stores here because this is a heavily guarded area with extreme security detailing." He explained.

"Oh, I get it now." She voiced it thoughtfully.

"Exactly." He smiled feebly as he watched his son play with the nuptial chain around her slender neck. "By the way, do you want to go to a supermarket?" he asked.

"Yes, actually, I need a few essentials." She replied.

"Okay, then, leave Anirudh with Karim. I know a supermarket that is a bit far away from here, but it's always well-equipped; I'll drive you there." He stroked her cheeks one last time and walked away to fetch his car keys.

In around fifteen minutes they were far ahead of the main exit and were a few minutes away from the supermarket Mahadevan had spoken about.

Taking a left turn, he slowed down the black Range Rover near the parking area and then finally pulled on the brakes. He adjusted the mask and glasses on his facial profile and then wore a cap, while she followed the same order of tasks, after which they both got out of the car from their respective sides and wended their way into the supermarket nearby.

"You need sanitary napkins, I believe?" He asked her.

She downcast her eyes while scratching the back of her hands and whispered, "Yeah." Licking both lips, she continued, "I didn't have any with me, so I borrowed a pack of sanitary pads from Poorna, but a single packet won't last for the whole duration of five days, plus I need to return the one I borrowed from her as well, so I need to purchase a few packets of sanitary pads."

Mahadevan softly gazed at the woman in front of him, her eyes downcast and her supple cheeks a deep shade of rubicund.

He gently poked both sides of her flushed cheeks with the tips of his index fingers. "You know, you don't need to feel shy in front of me, right?" He breathed into her left ear.

She immediately awkwardly scurried away to the next aisle while he convulsed with laughter watching her state.

"Hina?" The frail voice of a woman echoed behind Mahadevan. "Hinduja? Oh my god, is that you, my child?"

Mahadevan turned around in uncertainty to face an age-enfeebled elderly lady dressed in a yellow cotton saree, ambling slowly towards him with the help of a wooden walking cane encrusted with silver carvings.

"Hinduja!" She called out his wife again, but after getting no response in return, she instead redirected her visual organs to peer at him. "Are you her husband? I heard she got married." She asked him with a fragile smile.

She didn't recognize him because of the mask, glasses, and cap, perhaps.

"Yes, I am her husband." He nodded his head once with a gentle tug of his lips behind his mask. "May I know your name, ma'am?" He asked her.

"I am Poornima Dixit; I used to be Hinduja's neighbor almost nine years ago. I hope she is in the pink of her health now." She asked with a hint of genuine consideration reflecting in her tone.

Mahadevan's brows knitted as he looked perplexedly at the old woman in front of him. "Pink of health? Aunty, I am sorry, but I didn't get you. I mean—" He inquired, suddenly poker-faced behind his cover.

"You don't know?" Now the senior citizen looked skeptical herself.

"What?" He probed further.

"Arey, the child, was in so much torment when she was sixteen. I don't know what really transpired, but suddenly she was not doing mentally well. Hallucinations, depression, panic attacks, randomly stopping people passing by in front of her house to tell them weird things—something like a murder, if I am guessing right—she went through all these mental health issues." The older lady paused to breathe.

"Once, she had even hightailed to the Esselford police station which was close to our colony, apparently, to complain about something uncanny. Eventually, her mother completely locked her up at their home itself, and then a month later, all of a sudden the family left. I hypothesize it was due to her father's posting at another place, but who knows what really ensued." The lady continued her monologue, still deeply entangled in the thoughts of the past.

"It's better they left; the senior Rao couple, that is, Hinduja's paternal grandparents anyway, didn't like her at all. How could someone dislike their own grandchild? No matter how ill she was, that too, such a sweet little girl? She was reserved but very kind, gentle, and helpful. You know, she used to tutor my grandchildren at that time as well. I don't know what really happened, but some of our old neighbors used to say that it could be due to the untimely demise of her maternal grandmother. They were really close, like water and milk." Just as she finished with her soliloquy, her phone rang from inside her purse—a classic tune of Gayatri Mantra.

Taking the phone out of her purse, she received the call in front of him.

"Haan Babu?"

...

"Achaa, you are waiting for me outside?"

...

"Okay, okay, I am coming." She hung up the call.

Then she turned around and flashed a benignly gentle smile at him. "I need to go now, beta; my grandson is waiting outside. But please tell Hinduja about me, okay? Tell her that Poornima Granny misses her. I stay in the Aravalli enclave, nearby. You are most welcome to visit me along with her whenever you are free. I'll make her favorite coconut barfi; she used to love them. Bye!" Saying so, she slowly walked off to the exit.

Mahadevan stood there, gazing at the distant gait of the frail elderly woman.

A wide range of thoughts galloped at a high frequency in his mind as he finally saw his wife approaching him with a paper bag clasped in her right hand.

Mystification and abstruseness were always an integral part of his wife's personality.

And he, Mahadevan Dogra, was well aware of this, after all.

After all, no one knew her like he did, or did they?

***

Target : 300

***