The household was wholly disorientated. The worst fears of its members suddenly materialised with a finality which left no margin of time for anyone to adapt to the changed circumstances. Prabhu finally decided that there were other ways of making a living, with returns adequate to accommodate his future. His dreams were alright, but bereft of his ubiquity in the Barua household, things were bound to crack up. And crack up they did, with a vengeance.

Prabhu had made his appearance at the home as a lad of eleven years, and he had commenced as a playmate to the children of the household. But his chores had steadily increased over the years, and he finally emerged as a multi-functional machine, which could be called upon to undertake any chore, at any time of the day or night. Where once Prabhu was the assistant to the lady of the house in the kitchen, the roles were now reversed and he took over as head chef. Commencing from the early hours of the day, cranking up the rundown water pump, watering the garden, washing the car, sweeping the front yard, bed tea, breakfast, seeing the children on to the school bus, and so it went on till the late hours of the night. All this was interspersed by frequent trips to the shop for cigarettes, matches, paan, spices, erasers, pencils, ink and other daily requirements of the household members. And wonder of wonders, the human machine did it all with gusto and a smile that earned the Barua family the envy of the neighbours. Prabhu’s existence was taken for granted. He was there to do at their bidding. He would always be there.

Then came the bang. In the kitchen that evening, he came out with it before the lady of the house. He had put some money by. At his age, he had to get into some means of earning a steady income. So, he had decided to open a small paan and cigarette shop, a little away from Deka’s store and gradually, expand with the profits therefrom. He wanted their blessings for the project. Of course, he would be available for odd jobs now and then. He had to take over the cubicle the next day, otherwise, it wouldn’t be available later. There was no getting around the logic of the move. The master of the house sighed before he said, “I knew it was coming.” The eldest son told his wife, “After all, he’s old enough, you can’t force him to stay. I suppose Akon will have to see the children on to the bus from now on. Akon, the second son and the layabout, remarked, “Now we had it. Rupa, you’ll have to ...” Younger sister, Rupa, flashed back, “Don’t even think about it. I’ve got lots of things to do.” The lady of the house put it across to the daughter-in-law. “We’ll have to start early in the kitchen or the children will never get to school in time.” “I hope no guest turns up,” quipped Bhonti, the youngest. That sent ripples through everyone’s thought process.

A day later, Prabhu was gone. Come next morning, things started in fits and starts in the household. Frayed tempers and bedlam. No water in the tap. Bhaiti tried his hand in starting up the aging water pump, but no luck. “Maybe, you didn’t do it the right way, it always did work,” Akon suggested. “Why don’t you try it yourself,” Bhaiti shot back. Elder brother hurried by, towel and shaving brush in hand. “Stop arguing, one of you go get the pump mistry,” Mother shouted from the kitchen, “And on the way back”, she continued, “get these things from the grocery. That Prabhu, he should have told us a week earlier.” The master of the house walked in with his kurta pyjamas completely drenched. “Watering the garden is no joke. I wonder how Prabhu did it so fast every day.” Daughter-in-law, buckling on the school bag of the elder one from behind, said, “Akon, please get these two on to the bus. Wait till the bus leaves, will you.” Rupa cut in, “I want a refill, please get me a blue one on the way back, Akonda.” “Sorry Princess, there’s only a tea shop between here and the bus stop. You’ll have to get it yourself from Deka’s store.” So, day one started and went on till a late dinner. With much grumbling, the mosquito nets were up.

Day two was no better. In the kitchen, the gas had run out. The agency couldn’t deliver the cylinder in the morning. Fortunately, there was a stock of kerosene, and two rusty stoves were pressed into service. Breakfast was late. Akon came back with a sullen look, the children prancing happily ahead of him. “The bus left before we got there.” So, no school. Rupa had planned to invite two of her best friends to evening tea. That had to be put off. And when that happens, she can really sulk. Evening in the house was rather quiet and the palpable silence was the result of the mother-in-law chiding the daughter-in-law for coming up with the burnt bread rolls for evening tea. Actually, she wasn’t to blame either. When Prabhu was there, she had plenty of time for the children’s homework. Mother-in-law’s irritation, too, stemmed in reality from the over the fence query by the lady next door. “Baideu, I hear Prabhu has left. I wonder why, after all these years. These people are always like that, you know, no gratitude at all.” Dinner was a low-key affair.

So, the days rolled into a week. The two weeks that followed were devoid of the bonhomie that was characteristic of the Barua household. The tranquil ambience of the home had received a serious jolt and the undercurrent of friction and resentment, prompted by the sudden exit of the versatile Prabhu, had cast its shadow on all the members.

Since Prabhu’s departure, no one in the house had heard of bed tea. The beginning of week three came with a pleasant surprise. Rupa, sauntering into the kitchen for her own early morning ‘cuppa’, suddenly thought, ‘Why not?’ So, she washed the umpteen cups at the sink, and came out with a tray of steaming tea and salted biscuits. She placed the tray on the dining table and declared with feigned annoyance, “If you want your tea, come and get it here.” The rest of the family, each pre-occupied with combing, shaving, pruning, paring sheepishly trooped into the room and eagerly picked up a cup and biscuits each. They milled about in the dining room, sipping the tea, as if savouring a long denied repast. Daughter-in-law quipped, “Rupa really makes nice tea.”

That singular event somehow touched a chord in each of them and provoked introspection among the menfolk in the house – “Have I been doing anything to really help?” “Have I been the proverbial ostrich lately?” “What’s keeping me from doing a few extra household chores?”

That evening, elder brother came back from office with a bagful of fish and vegetables, stating pompously, “You people don’t know anything about marketing. Look at what I got. Absolutely fresh, so cheap. From now on, leave it to me.”

And so it was. The tide had turned. Early morning found Akon raking the fallen leaves in the compound after starting the stubborn water-pump. He shouted to his sister-in- law to let him know if there was anything to be got from the grocery, after getting the kids on to the school bus. Sister-in-law was pleasantly surprised to find Rupa pressing the children’s uniforms. The master of the house watched and heard everything, a smile playing on the corners of his lips.

The orientation had reached its final stage. The household was returning to its natural rhythm, with its usual buzz of small talk.

Early one morning, in the fourth week since Prabhu’s egress, the lady of the house opened the front door and lo and behold, there was Prabhu in flesh and blood.. “What happened?”, she queried incredulously. “Who is it?” asked the master of the house. “It’s Prabhu, he’s back!” She exclaimed, looking down at his meagre luggage. Prabhu, striding into the house as if he hadn’t left it at all, nonchalantly replied. “It didn’t work out.” With that, he hurried off into the rear of the house, to his own room.

The master of the house shot a look of mild disdain towards the retreating Prabhu. “You stupid oaf, go and get me a cup of tea,’ was all he said. In quiet satisfaction he mused, “Till you grow wings again – but the next time, maybe, we won’t fare so badly on our own”.

Satya Jyoti Sarma