Wait, what was that?
A dark silhoutte flitted across the terrace.
It was about 1.15 am.
Krishna had just settled down to sleep. His head was on my arm, growing heavier by the second. His father had already fallen asleep outside in the sitting room.
And just beyond, against the deep grey night sky left visible by open door curtains, a black figure flitted.
Not very tall, close-cropped head. Perhaps Dad’s caregiver Kishore? Did he need something?
I squinted into the dark. In vain. No figure flitted back. Then it wasn’t Kishore.
Had i fallen asleep for a moment?
No…
Was it an intruder?
The bedroom was glowing a safe, gentle gold in the light of the night lamp. A pleasant breeze encouraged the fan into competition. Krishna’s little head pressed hard into my arm, slack in sleep.
I gently extracted my arm, shaking it awake. Stole out of bed. Peered out. All was still and dark. My husband was in the deep sleep of a blameless soul. Peeked downstairs. All innocent souls and their hopefully innocent caregivers fast asleep in their beds.
I shut the bedroom door and crawled back into bed.
Let figures flit…
The sun beamed happily down on the morning chaos of my house.
“Kishore,” I asked. “Did you come upstairs last night?”
“Nooo Didi, why? When?”
“I saw a dark figure upstairs.”
“Nooo, it was not me. I don’t want to wake Krishna. Meera?” He looked at mom’s caregiver. (Yes, my home is now like a rehab centre. I’m waiting to get admitted myself.)
“What?” She blinked.
“Did you go up?”
“Baapre, no! I’m scared of the dark!” She then stared at me in horror. “Didi, you saw a ghost! Hai Ram!”
My gated complex’s security chief arrived.
“Madam, we will look around. We will find Evidence!”
I hurried after him. “What evidence?”
“A footprint. A chappal print. A shoe print!”
“How? I have a 2-foot concrete paving around the house. And then grass. The mud under the parijat tree is hard packed earth. “
He smiled indulgently. Crept around, examining the ground. Squinted up at the trees. Knocked on the waterpipe. Tried to climb the wall. Found it trivially easy.
But nary a print of Evidence.
“I will investigate, Madam,” he said, and pushed off.
“Vilaa!” Krishna flew upstairs and threw himself flat on the terrace floor, ready to lick it. My husband sprang at him and picked him up.
“Manjamma!” I cried out. “Hurry up, wipe the terrace!”
She came charging up with her mop and bucket. “Why Madam?”
“I doubt the intruder took off his chappals, washed his feet and hands and then came up! Krishna is licking the floor!”
