The Dagger of Death

On that pivotal evening, Mannat, typically absorbed in the television,  after his return from work, unexpectedly called out to his wife, Suma with a sense of urgency and concern. This was a rare event that their family had not experienced for quite some time. 

Mannat and Suma, who had grown accustomed to a silent coexistence, engaged in conversation that evening. Unfortunately, I was not included in this discussion. 

 I had remained in the drawing room for the past seven years, whereas the television was in the master bedroom. Mannat pulled Suma towards the television, continually gesturing at it, and their dialogue diminished, making it difficult for me to ascertain the cause of this sudden change in them. 

More surprises unfolded as the usually reserved couple hastened to the table in the drawing room where their children aged six and four, were creatively engaged in craft work. The parents embraced them, showering them with affection. Surprised by this abrupt change in their parents’ behaviour, the children looked back at them with a mixture of astonishment and delight, reflecting my own feelings. 

The kids had always seen their parents busy, and they hardly got quality time to spend together.

The couple began to make urgent phone calls, further adding to my confusion. As they walked back and forth, their voices fluctuated in volume, complicating my ability to grasp the essence of their serious conversation. Then, I overheard Suma’s distressed voice on the phone as she sincerely tried to encapsulate an impending disaster. “The world is going to end in a year, Ma. Please come and stay with us. Your presence and Baba’s would provide comfort amidst this looming fear.”

At that moment, the weight of Suma’s words did not resonate with me because I was preoccupied with more significant concerns. Assuming  Suma was talking to her parents, I was anxious about her mother, whom I regarded as a source of trouble. This elderly woman, in her sixties, constantly wore a scowl and disliked my presence in the drawing room, suggesting I should belong in the dustbin. Her husband a dispassionate gentleman never snubbed her.

Suma would often attempt to silence her mother whenever she disparaged me, explaining, “It is a wedding gift from Mannat’s colleagues. He wouldn’t appreciate such comments.” Thus, my status in the drawing room remained unchanged, yet every visit from Suma’s mother only amplified my distress. I often contemplated when she might devise a plan to have me expelled, as she was cunning. She had already limited the visits from Mannat’s parents by training her only daughter to decline their frequent appearances assertively. 

Consequently, Mannat’s parents, a gentle septuagenarian couple, began visiting their sole progeny’s house lless often.

Yet more surprises awaited. It was her in-laws whom Suma had called first. She welcomed them with open arms, expressing gratitude, “Ma and Baba, thank you for coming. It is terrifying to know that everything is going to perish!”

I was taken aback at this newfound affection, as I had previously heard Suma refer to them as pests, and now realised she had made a distress call to them. 

The notion of the world ending jolted me awake: ‘Oh, finally, I would be displaced from this drawing room. Suma’s mother might even rejoice at my misfortune, though the thought of everyone facing annihilation was not lost on her.’

Soon, Suma’s parents came with their bags. Tears replaced the scowl on the ladies face. She embraced Mannat’s mother, calling her ‘Didi,’ and then reverently touched Mannat’s father’s feet, addressing him as ‘Bhaiyya.’ 

The very next day, both Mannat and Suma ceased going to work. 

“What are we to do with our savings? We were accumulating it for Rishi and Avantika’s future, but the concept of ‘future’ seems so ironic now. How can one understand such cruelty from God?” Suma moaned.

“What actions can God take in response to the chaos brought about by the anticipated collision of asteroids with the Earth?” Mannat’s mother’s words which might have been dismissed as harsh criticism on another occasion, were instead regarded as profound wisdom akin to the divine’s.

Suma received comfort from the older woman’s gentle reassurances. “Do not weep; cherish the remaining time on this Earth with your children.” 

“Mannat,” his father called to him. I had never witnessed their interactions before. Reflecting on it, I recognised that the older man had made several unsuccessful efforts to engage in conversation with his son, yet Mannat had consistently displayed disinterest. However, today was different. 

“What is it, Baba?” Mannat asked as he took a seat beside his father. 

“Let us refrain from discussing the looming catastrophe within this household. Instead, let us focus on living joyfully, enjoying diverse meals, and embarking on family outings. I am confident the children are unaware of the gravity of the situation; let us avoid alarming them with our sorrowful expressions.” The father told his son.

“Indeed, Baba. From this point forward, schools have ceased operations. I wish to spend meaningful moments with the children and you all. Let us unite as a family during this crisis. Let us avoid addressing matters beyond our control.” 

If I possessed tear glands, I might have shed tears upon witnessing the unfolding loving events in a household with extremely poor interaction between its members before the impending disaster. I had inadvertently become a member of this household, and was rejoiced to see the kids enjoying the adulations.

Days flowed into weeks and months, leading to the anticipated day. I was aware that I would be unable to withstand the asteroid impact; after all, I am a delicate wall clock. I knew my hands would cease to move, my glass face will be shattered, I will be gone with everyone.

I carry one question with me: ‘Why was the dagger of death deemed necessary to achieve what could have been accomplished through love and compassion?’ 

Prompt Details: https://prowritersroom.com/unik-20-writing-event/