My dad had an inherent trait of being in touch with his childhood buddies and college mates. Therefore, the arrival of the yellow colored post cards or the blue tinged envelopes brought immense joy to one and all. On one bright afternoon my mom’s face beamed as she rushed into my dad’s room with a letter in hand, announcing that Susan (name changed) would visit us the week following. She was my dad’s closest friend’s newly married daughter. Susan’s forefathers remained well-known for their foreign degrees and contributions towards their district’s progress .Their huge bungalow with orchards spoke of their wealth.
My mother’s thought process instantly gained pace as she sat deciding upon the menu for them, as it was a matter of a short stay. Pulao of the finest basmati rice, spiced pulses, stuffed capsicum, prawn coconut curry, sprout salad and what not! Caramel pudding and ice-cream for the dessert! As the day was approaching my mother’s visits to the market increased and the fridge gradually got stacked with the ingredients. Even the closet received its share, for enough money was withdrawn from the bank and carefully kept in the case.
On arrival, the couple was welcomed with warm embraces by my parents while our maid poured the fresh orange juice into the tall glasses and served them. Breakfast done, Susan’s husband went out to complete his work in our town. Susan nagged about her tiredness although her travel time was only two hours .As my mother advised her to freshen, she insisted to do some exercise prior to the shower. She chose my parents’ room for there was a full size mirror on the wall that would aid her. She kept admiring every corner of the spacious room. Like every young girl she wanted to have a look of all the dresses and sarees bought during the festive season. As my mother opened her closet, tumbled out all the gorgeous silks and pure cotton weaves. Soon we were out and Susan closed the door for her exercise.
It was lunch time – the crockery and cutlery were laid. Starters to the desserts came one after another and my mom felt contended that they ate the sumptuous lunch with sheer joy. Evening passed away entertaining them outdoor.The very next dawn they parted by train.
Exhausted my mom walked into her bedroom to take out some money from the bedroom closet. She found the door of the closet kept ajar.Then when she took out the case, she found a few thousands of paper currency missing. She repeatedly counted, checked her bank statement and recalled that she came home directly from the bank.
Who could it be? Was this room specifically chosen keeping in mind the closet? Was exercise just an excuse and to see the clothes another way to have a glimpse of the locker and the keys? The mystery remained unsolved. Since then never did Susan write to us.
For us the breach of the bond and trust was much more painful than the financial loss. She had robbed not us of our finances, but herself of the moral virtues.
