The prodigal son

That particular morning is forever burnt into my memory . It was still dark. People were snoring and muttering in their sleep. Some early birds were stirring . I was awakened suddenly. There was something and someone that woke me up . A faint rustle , a soft thud of a bag kept down , a scrunch of cycle rickshaw tyres on the gravel and murmured transaction. 

I knew it in my bones that something was afoot. I softly padded up to the front door and tried looking through the peephole, but some thing or someone blocked my view. Someone breathing hard and wondering if it was too early to knock. I prised the latch open and there he was , my long lost uncle . He had left couple of years ago, suddenly , having pocketed my grandmothers harvest savings , and disappeared one wintry morning . His departure and subsequent total loss of contact created an initial furore, then plateaued onto palpable relief , as time passed. And now , he was back. 

It was awkward. I cleared my throat , he too coughed. Then , looking down , he said , “Aren’t you awake a bit too early ?” I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say actually. So did my grandfather  who was standing in the dark behind me , muttering in controlled agitation.

Uncle , showing remarkable presence of mind , burst into tears (fake !! cried my heart)and lunged at Dadu's feet. Dadu , in turn , with remarkable agility, moved aside , and uncle fell flat on his face . Leaving him crying on the floor, Dadu, grabbed my hand and we brought 

his bag in , shut the door , and left him there .It was firmly believed in the family that family dramas should not be witnessed by scandal-loving neighbours. 

The commotion roused the house and the females gathered around the prostrate figure, wiping their still sleepy eyes with their dupattas. Relief at having seeing him alive and well was tremendous , and like all good Indian families, all his misdeeds were forgotten , in the sympathetic wave of his prodigal return.

The only sceptics in the family, it would seem , were Dadu and me , who would give uncle wide berth at mealtimes . Dadu continued to give him dark looks and wouldn't talk to him even as uncle  chatted up the teenagers , threw squealing toddlers in the air , and made friends with the ladies , helping in the kitchen and fetching groceries. Dadu knew him better. Like the proverbial mongoose , he remained wary of the snake and when it would strike next .

All questions of his  where abouts were shrugged off by a suddenly forcibly jovial uncle . No one pestered him further . That there was  a game afoot was not apparent to all. 

One day , Dadu came back from office and announced in  a loud whisper to my grandmother, in the bedroom , that he had encashed his FD(Fixed Deposit) to pay the servants and munims (clerks ) of the gargantuan household. He noted with satisfaction the swish of curtains right then , and a sharp movement , as if some one was eavesdropping.

That was a fortnight ago. 

Yesterday , Dadus safe was again broken into and all the cash looted . This time again , uncle went missing . Predictably . Only Dadu seemed happy . Relieved . He had jalebis and kulfi bought for the dessert . Grandmother was livid . "How could you ? Your son has looted you once again , and you are celebrating ?"

Dadu smiled his taciturn smile "Yes , I am ."

Today , I heard munimji ask Dadu"By the way, the stationers wanted to know , why had you bought so many fake paper notes with SRK on them ? Ghar mein shaadi hai kya (Is there a wedding afoot ?) "

Dadu smiled and said -"Aisa hi samjho " ( Somewhat similar situation !)