Prompt-O-Rama

Trust Grandpa (Prompt: Sign)

"... don't chase the lizard away. The goddess of wealth will leave the house." I couldn't hold back a snort when my grandfather in his late eighties said this. He laboured to raise his hand and wave, either to lay emphasis or to make up for what was lost due to his feeble, whistle-interjected voice. 

"Thatha," I said reassuringly, "don't worry. The Lizard is keeping the womenfolk on tenterhooks. The goddess of wealth will heave a sigh of relief once this damned reptile leaves. Don't be superstitious." My grandfather turned downcast and he withdrew into a state of reflection or a longing to join his dead wife so he wouldn't have to bear with the ignominy of being put down as a matter of routine by everyone at home. 

"You won't lose your throne by listening to your grandfather," our maid, grandpa's only ally said. "Annamma, let me handle this. The lizard is a menace and it has to go," I said firmly and went about setting a trap. She mumbled something and went away to mind her business. With grandpa and the maid out of the way, there was only one more left - the lizard. I made a contraption using an empty water bottle, a fish-net and some bugs I managed to catch. The plan was simple - bugs create a ruckus in the bottle, the lizard makes its way in through the narrow mouth, and as it eats, I bring the fish-net - the trapdoor - down and the lizard will have no getaway. The plan worked like magic and soon not one, but two lizards were in the bottle and were promptly consigned to the streets. The womenfolk were pleased that there would be no more tumbling vessels to ruin their siesta. 

For a while, there were no signs of the goddess of wealth leaving. The only minor annoyance was a slight increase in the population of cockroaches. They were harmless, just running around on the countertops and could be brushed aside with a swipe. Or so it seemed until my niece ran out of the bathroom one day, screaming, "cockroaaaaaaaaaaaach." The entire family rushed to the spot to find a large flying cockroach that must've scared her. I promptly squished it and we all made fun of her till she left the place in a huff. We could live with that - the cockroaches.

Soon, there were cockroach eggs everywhere and we had to buy double the amount of detergent to keep the vessels clean. Our water bill had increased too. To nip this in the bud, I hired an exterminator to rid the house of cockroaches. Hotel rooms were booked for the family for a couple of days, nauseous toxins sprayed in the drains and strange gels were applied to shelves and cupboards. A fat extermination bill later, the house saw a mass death march of cockroaches of all sizes. Two days of sweeping and cleaning later, the house was fit for humans again. 

Everyone returned, and my grandfather sat on his rocking chair glancing wistfully at the ceiling for most part of the day. 

In few days, the house was free of pests, so much so the Burma teak pillars turned a vibrant red.  This, I realised was the work of an army of ants thanks to the unlimited food supply and none to fear. Even as I sat contemplating why I hadn't mentioned ants to the exterminator, my friend walked in and I told him of my predicament. I didn't mention the lizard. 

"You spent a fortune on pest-control? Get a lizard man. That will save you tons of money," he said flatly.  This time, my grandfather couldn't hold back his snort.

I am at the altar with a basket of flowers, propitiating the goddess of wealth to bless me with a lizard now.