Bugs Bite

CHAPTER TWELVE: Lifeless

Everything is too vivid to be true.

'Momma!' he yells, but in vain.
He forces a barefoot self down the arching, wooden staircase, massaging his temples. Once or twice he makes as if to stumble, but catches himself on time. He does fall eventually, but only on the last step, by which time his head is ready to explode and he does not really care.

A lute is playing somewhere in the main foyer. Each string pulled causing his heart to shake.

'Mom! Is that you?'

No response.

Shivering, with a twisted ankle and an aching head, he picks himself up and slowly limps toward the porch. He can see the outline of an old-fashioned, mushy ole' recliner. The lute is playing louder than ever, louder than the drumsticks clobbering against his skull.

A distasteful rank reaches his nostrils, which dilate in irate reflex.

'What's that?' he says, and all of a sudden he knows this is a dream. He never says such idiotic things aloud to himself in real life. He is too mature for that.

But he is again reminded by the torturous pain in his head, of the vividness of the whole scenario. In fact, he feels a strange sense of dejà-vù take over his own self.

'Momma! C'mon!'

The lute stops playing. His heart stops too.

The recliner moves. Someone is sitting in it.

A hand slides into view, a slimy, glistening thing. Like a centipede with those five fingers instead of all those legs.

His heart is racing so fast, it might leave his body behind.

'Uhm . . . excuse me?'

It is Grandma.

'No! NO! NOOOOO - !'

*

The nightmare. Again.

______________________________________
It was in August that Shweta finally returned home. Well, grandma's home. Which was now theirs, too - so yes, home.

Their old house had been sold to an affluent businessman who was going to convert it into a storehouse of some kind (or whatever, Shweta didn't care) at a hefty price. Court was convened. Dhruv would have no share in the property money. Their marriage was no more. Much physical damage had been done to Dhruv, too, and his lawyer - a cheap, government one - fought unenthusiastically to prove his innocence. Dhruv had shown up haggard and drunk on a date. Bibi slapped him in court one fine day, and the drunken dog could but growl, not bark or bite.

Antra was supportive, but Shweta liked independence - it had always been her way of life -and no house-maiden would be able to convince her otherwise. Yet Mom-Senior, the legendarily worldly Bibi - on her command, Antra rarely left her side.

Sometimes Shweta would stand in front of a mirror and just look at her permanently scarred face and just scream and pull her hair out of her miserable scalp. Sometimes, she would claw at her own face, hoping to maybe rip out the mark from her once guileless and beautiful face. The following days Antra would find fresh gashes on her face.

Whenever Avish came to her - which wasn't very often, not anymore - she held back impromptu tears. He looked so much like his father. So much. And his grandpa as well. Hopefully, he would make his own mistakes, not inherit them. Hopefully he would survive.