Chapter 5: The Saree

The morning light filtered through the kitchen windows, casting rectangular patches of brightness across the breakfast table. Raj sat hunched over a plate of idli, mechanically bringing small portions to his mouth without really tasting anything. His sleep had been fragmented, broken by recurring images of Rony's hand gripping his mother's wrist, that unsettling smile he'd glimpsed in the darkness.

Sri sat across from him, her posture straighter than usual, defensive even though no one was attacking her. She'd barely acknowledged him when they'd both come downstairs. Just a curt nod before busying herself with preparing breakfast.

Uncle Prakash entered the kitchen still adjusting his watch, his face drawn with stress lines that hadn't been there yesterday. He pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, the wood creaking under his weight.

"I have some unfortunate news," he said without preamble.

Sri looked up from her coffee, her expression shifting to concern. "What happened?"

"The Bangalore office." Uncle Prakash rubbed his temples. "There's been a major issue with the Reddy project. The client is threatening to pull out entirely unless we can resolve the structural concerns immediately. My manager called this morning—I need to be on-site to handle it personally."

"When do you need to leave?" Sri asked.

"Tonight." Uncle Prakash's shoulders sagged. "I'm catching the 6 PM train. The meeting is scheduled for tomorrow morning, and these things never resolve quickly. I'll probably be gone for three days, maybe four."

Raj's fingers tightened around his fork. Three days. Maybe four. Alone in this house with Rony and his mother, with no buffer, no adult supervision beyond Sri herself.

"I'm so sorry to do this to you," Uncle Prakash continued, looking at Sri with genuine apology. "You just arrived, and now I'm abandoning you in an unfamiliar house. If there was any way to avoid it—"

"Don't be silly." Sri reached across the table and patted his hand. "Family is family. You have to take care of your work. We'll be perfectly fine here."

"Are you sure? I could possibly send someone else, though honestly none of the other senior engineers have the relationship with this client that I do, and—"

"Prakash." Sri's voice was firm but gentle. "Go. Do what you need to do. I'll take excellent care of Rony while you're gone. That's what we're here for, isn't it? To help."

Uncle Prakash's expression flooded with relief. "You're a blessing, Sri. Truly. I don't know what we would have done without you."

Raj cleared his throat. Both adults looked at him.

"Actually," Raj said carefully, "maybe we should go with Uncle Prakash. Or at least—"

"Go with me?" Uncle Prakash blinked in confusion. "To Bangalore? For a work trip?"

"No, I mean—" Raj struggled to find words that didn't sound insane. "I mean maybe Mom and I should head home for a few days while you're gone. We could come back when you return."

Sri's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"That doesn't make any sense," Uncle Prakash said, clearly baffled. "You just got here. The whole point was for Sri to spend time with Rony, to provide some maternal support. Why would you leave now?"

"I just think—" Raj glanced at his mother's warning expression but pushed forward anyway. "I think maybe it would be better if there was another adult here. An actual parent. Not just us."

"Raj." Sri's voice could have cut glass. "That's enough."

"I'm just saying—"

"You're being ridiculous." Sri stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Your uncle has a work emergency. We're here to help with Rony. There's absolutely no reason for us to leave."

Uncle Prakash looked between them, sensing the tension but misunderstanding its source. "If this is about me leaving you alone with the responsibility, I really am sorry. But honestly, Rony barely needs supervision at his age. He mainly just needs company. Someone to be present so he doesn't feel so isolated in his grief."

"Exactly," Sri said pointedly, her gaze boring into Raj. "He needs company. Support. Not to be abandoned again by more family members."

Raj felt the accusation like a physical blow. His mother was deliberately twisting his concern into something callous. Making him the bad guy for trying to protect her.

"That's not what I meant," Raj said quietly.

"Then what did you mean?" Sri challenged.

Raj couldn't answer. Not with Uncle Prakash sitting right there, looking confused and concerned. He couldn't explain his unease about Rony without sounding paranoid or cruel. Without making accusations that would devastate his uncle and make his mother even angrier.

"Nothing," Raj muttered, looking down at his plate.

"That's what I thought." Sri turned back to Uncle Prakash with a warm smile, the anger evaporating from her expression like it had never existed. "We'll be absolutely fine. Don't give it another thought. Focus on your work."

Uncle Prakash still looked uncertain. "If you're sure..."

"Completely sure." Sri refilled his coffee cup. "Rony needs stability right now. Consistency. Having us here while you handle this emergency will actually be good for him. He won't be left alone wondering where everyone went."

Uncle Prakash's face relaxed. "You're right. Thank you, Sri. I don't know what I'd do without you."

The rest of breakfast passed in stilted conversation. Uncle Prakash talked about the project issues, the client's unreasonable demands, the technical specifications that needed review. Sri made sympathetic noises and asked appropriate questions. Raj said nothing, pushing food around his plate while his stomach churned.

Rony never appeared for breakfast. His absence was noted but not surprising. According to Uncle Prakash, he rarely ate in the mornings anymore.

After breakfast, Uncle Prakash disappeared upstairs to pack. Sri began clearing the table, her movements sharp and angry despite her calm expression.

Raj stood to help, but she waved him away.

"I've got it."

"Mom—"

"I said I've got it." She didn't look at him.

Raj left the kitchen feeling like he'd failed some test he hadn't known he was taking. He wandered into the living room, half expecting to see Rony in his corner. But the space was empty. The cushion sat undisturbed against the wall.

Where was he?

Raj checked the ground floor rooms—the study, the bathroom, even peeking into Uncle Prakash's bedroom though he knew it was intrusive. No sign of Rony anywhere.

Unease prickled along Raj's spine. He climbed the stairs quietly, listening for any sound that might indicate where his cousin had gone.

The hallway was silent. All the doors were closed.

Raj paused outside his mother's bedroom door. Should he knock? Check on her? Try again to make her understand his concerns?

Before he could decide, footsteps sounded on the stairs behind him. Uncle Prakash appeared carrying a half-packed duffel bag.

"Have you seen Rony this morning?" his uncle asked.

"No. I was just wondering the same thing."

Uncle Prakash frowned. "He's probably in his room. Sometimes he stays up there all day." He moved past Raj toward the end of the hall where Rony's bedroom door remained closed. He knocked gently. "Rony? Son, are you awake?"

No response.

Uncle Prakash knocked again, louder. "Rony?"

Still nothing.

He tried the doorknob. Locked from the inside.

"Rony, I need to talk to you before I leave for my trip. Can you open the door, please?"

Several long seconds passed. Then the lock clicked and the door opened just wide enough for Rony's face to appear in the gap. His hair was disheveled, his eyes red-rimmed like he'd been crying. Or maybe not sleeping.

"Sorry," Rony mumbled. "I was asleep."

Uncle Prakash's expression softened immediately. "It's alright. I just wanted to let you know I have to go to Bangalore for a few days. Work emergency. But your aunt and Raj will be here with you, okay? You won't be alone."

Rony's gaze shifted past his father to where Raj stood in the hallway. Their eyes met for just a moment. Something flickered in Rony's expression—there and gone so fast Raj might have imagined it.

"Okay," Rony said to his father. "How long?"

"Three or four days. I'll call every evening to check in." Uncle Prakash hesitated, then added, "Your aunt is really looking forward to spending more time with you. She wants to help. Please try to let her, alright?"

"Alright."

"Good boy." Uncle Prakash patted Rony's shoulder through the narrow door opening. "I'll say goodbye before I leave this evening."

Rony nodded and closed the door. The lock clicked back into place.

Uncle Prakash sighed and headed back toward his room. Raj stood alone in the hallway, staring at Rony's locked door, wondering what was happening on the other side.

---

The rest of the day crawled by with excruciating slowness. Uncle Prakash spent hours on phone calls and packing. Sri busied herself with cleaning the kitchen despite it being already clean, clearly still angry with Raj. Rony remained invisible, locked in his room.

Raj tried to read, tried to distract himself with his phone, tried to do anything other than obsessively check the time and dread the moment his uncle would leave.

But nothing worked. The anxiety sat in his chest like a physical weight, growing heavier with each passing hour.

At 5:30 PM, Uncle Prakash's taxi arrived. The driver honked twice from the driveway.

Uncle Prakash appeared at the top of the stairs with his duffel bag, looking harried and stressed. "Sri? Raj? I'm heading out!"

They gathered in the foyer. Sri gave her brother a warm hug.

"Don't worry about anything here," she said. "Just focus on your work. We'll take care of everything."

"Thank you." Uncle Prakash pulled back and looked at Raj. "Take care of your mother, alright? And try to be patient with Rony. I know he's been difficult, but he's going through hell right now."

Raj nodded, not trusting his voice.

Uncle Prakash climbed the stairs one more time to knock on Rony's door. "Son? I'm leaving now."

The door opened. Rony appeared, still looking disheveled and red-eyed.

"Goodbye, Papa."

Uncle Prakash pulled him into a brief hug. "Behave yourself. Listen to your aunt. I'll call tonight."

"Okay."

The door closed again. Uncle Prakash came back downstairs, grabbed his bag, and headed out into the evening light. The taxi door slammed. The engine revved. Gravel crunched under tires.

Then silence.

Sri, Raj, and Rony. Alone in the house together.

Sri turned from the closed front door and looked up the staircase. "Rony? Would you come down please? I'd like to talk to you about something."

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then Rony's door opened and he emerged onto the landing, moving slowly down the stairs like each step required conscious effort.

He reached the bottom and stood there, head slightly bowed, waiting.

Sri's expression softened. "I've been thinking. Your uncle mentioned you haven't really sorted through your mother's belongings yet. The items in the storage room."

Rony's head jerked up slightly at the mention of his mother.

"I know it's painful," Sri continued gently. "But sometimes going through those memories, honoring them properly, can help with the grief. It's a way of staying connected."

Raj's hands clenched into fists at his sides. He knew exactly where this was going and he hated it.

"I thought maybe we could do it together," Sri said. "If you'd like. You don't have to face it alone."

Rony's eyes were fixed on Sri's face with that same intense focus from last night. "Together?"

"Yes. As a way of bonding. Mother and son working through grief together." Sri smiled warmly. "What do you think?"

Rony nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Wait—" Raj started.

Sri shot him a look that could freeze fire. "Raj, this doesn't concern you."

"It does if—"

"It doesn't." Her voice carried absolute finality. "This is between Rony and me. A private moment of healing. You can occupy yourself with something else."

Raj felt the dismissal like a slap. His mother was actively excluding him from whatever was about to happen, creating space for Rony to manipulate the situation exactly how Raj knew he would.

"Mom, please—"

"Enough." Sri turned her back on him. "Rony, where is the storage room?"

"Upstairs," Rony said quietly. "End of the hall. The locked door."

"Do you have the key?"

"Papa keeps it in his bedroom. Top dresser drawer."

Sri moved toward the stairs. Rony followed her like a shadow. Neither of them looked back at Raj.

He stood frozen in the foyer, watching them climb the stairs together, helpless to stop what was happening.

---

The storage room door stood at the end of the upstairs hallway, distinguished from the other doors by a different style of lock—an old-fashioned deadbolt that required a physical key.

Sri inserted the key Uncle Prakash kept in his dresser and turned it. The mechanism clicked. The door swung inward, revealing a narrow room lined with boxes, stacked furniture, and the accumulated debris of a life interrupted.

Dust motes swirled in the light from the hallway. The air smelled stale and unused.

Rony stood at the threshold, his breathing suddenly audible. Quick, shallow breaths like someone preparing to dive underwater.

Sri placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. We can take this as slowly as you need."

Rony stepped inside. His eyes moved across the boxes, the covered furniture, the garment bags hanging from a rod along one wall. His hands were trembling.

"Where are her clothes?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Probably in those garment bags." Sri pointed to the covered items hanging in the corner.

Rony moved toward them like a sleepwalker. His fingers found the zipper of the first bag and pulled it down slowly. The sound was unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

Sarees. Dozens of them, carefully hung and preserved. Bright colors and muted tones, silk and cotton, everyday wear and special occasion pieces.

Rony's hand reached out and touched the fabric of the nearest saree—a deep blue silk with gold embroidery along the border. His fingers traced the pattern.

Then his face crumpled.

Tears spilled down his cheeks without warning, his whole body beginning to shake. A sob broke from his throat, raw and painful.

Sri moved closer immediately. "Oh, Rony—"

"She wore this one on Diwali," Rony choked out between sobs. "Last year. She looked so beautiful. She was smiling and laughing and alive and now she's—she's—"

He couldn't finish. His legs gave out and he sank to his knees on the dusty floor, still clutching the saree fabric, his whole body wracked with grief.

Sri knelt beside him, pulling him into an embrace. "I know. I'm so sorry. I know it hurts."

Rony pressed his face against her shoulder and wept. His hands fisted in her kurta, holding on like she was the only solid thing in a collapsing world.

From the doorway, Raj watched with a sick feeling in his stomach. He'd followed them upstairs despite his mother's dismissal, unable to leave her alone with Rony. He stood just outside the storage room, partially hidden by the doorframe, observing.

Part of him wondered if he was wrong. If this was genuine grief and nothing more. The way Rony was crying seemed real. The trembling, the sobbing, the visible anguish.

But another part of him remembered last night. The calculating smile in the darkness. The deliberate grip on his mother's wrist.

Rony's crying gradually subsided into shuddering breaths. He pulled back from Sri's embrace but kept his eyes fixed on the sarees hanging in front of him.

"I miss her so much," he whispered. "Every day I wake up and for just a moment I forget she's gone. And then I remember and it's like losing her all over again."

Sri's eyes were wet with sympathetic tears. "That's normal. That's part of grief."

"I keep trying to remember what she looked like. Her face. The way she moved. But it's getting harder. Like she's fading." Rony's voice broke again. "I'm forgetting my own mother."

"No, you're not. You'll never forget her. She's part of you."

Rony's hands returned to the blue saree, touching it with something close to reverence. "I wish—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "This is going to sound crazy."

"Tell me," Sri encouraged gently.

"I wish I could see you in one of her sarees." The words came out in a rush, like he'd been holding them back and they'd finally burst free. "Just to remember. Just to feel like she's still here somehow. You remind me of her already, the way you smile, the way you talk. If you wore her clothes, maybe I could—"

He stopped again, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. That's too much to ask. That's insane."

Sri was quiet for a long moment. Raj could see her hesitation, the internal debate playing across her features.

"Mom, no," Raj said from the doorway. "Don't."

Both Rony and Sri's heads snapped toward him. They'd apparently forgotten he was there.

"I told you this was private," Sri said coldly.

"He's manipulating you."

"He's grieving!"

"He's using his grief to manipulate you into doing something inappropriate."

Rony made a wounded sound, his face contorting with fresh tears. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry." He started to stand, to flee, but Sri caught his arm.

"Wait." She looked at Raj with something close to fury. "You need to leave. Now."

"Mom—"

"NOW."

The word echoed in the small space. Raj had never heard his mother use that tone with him before. It was absolute. Unyielding.

He took a step backward, stunned.

Sri turned back to Rony, her expression transforming back to gentle compassion. "It's alright. I don't think it's crazy at all. If wearing one of these sarees helps you feel closer to your mother's memory, then that's a beautiful thing."

"Really?" Rony's voice was small, childlike.

"Really." Sri stood and moved to the garment bags, examining the sarees hanging there. "Which one would you like me to wear?"

Rony's tears were still falling, but something shifted in his eyes. Something Raj saw even from the doorway.

Triumph.

"The blue one," Rony said softly. "The one she wore on Diwali."

Sri carefully removed the saree from its hanger. The fabric whispered as she gathered it into her arms.

"Mom, please don't do this," Raj tried one more time.

Sri didn't even look at him. "Rony, would you give me a few minutes to change? I'll need some privacy."

"You can use the guest room." Rony's voice was still thick with tears, but steadier now. "The one you're staying in."

Sri nodded and walked past Raj without acknowledging his presence. Her shoulder brushed his as she passed, a deliberate reminder that she was choosing Rony over him.

Raj and Rony were left standing in the hallway. Sri disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door behind her with a firm click.

The moment she was gone, Raj turned on his cousin.

"I know what you're doing," he said quietly. "The crying, the emotional manipulation, all of it. I see you."

Rony wiped at his tears with the back of his hand. His face was still blotchy and red, his eyes still wet. But when he met Raj's gaze, there was something cold underneath the grief.

"I'm just missing my mother," Rony said. "Is that a crime?"

"You're using that grief to manipulate my mother into inappropriate situations."

"Inappropriate?" Rony's eyebrows rose. "She's going to wear a saree. How is that inappropriate?"

"You know exactly how."

"I know that I'm sad. I know that your mother is kind enough to help me feel less alone. And I know that you keep trying to stop her from showing me basic compassion." Rony's voice remained soft, but each word was precisely aimed. "Who's really being inappropriate here, Raj?"

Raj's hands clenched into fists. "Stop this. Whatever you're planning, stop it now."

"I'm not planning anything. I'm just a grieving boy who needs his aunt's comfort." Rony smiled slightly, though tears still tracked down his face. "And thanks to you making such a scene every time I reach out to her, your mother is more determined than ever to prove you wrong. So really, you're helping me more than hurting me."

The words landed like punches. Because they were true. Every time Raj tried to intervene, he pushed his mother further into Rony's manipulations.

Before Raj could respond, Sri's bedroom door opened.

Both boys turned to look.

Sri emerged wearing the blue silk saree with gold embroidery. She'd draped it in the traditional style, the pallu falling over her left shoulder, the pleats at her waist precise and neat. The fabric caught the hallway light, shimmering as she moved.

She looked different. Older somehow. More formal. The saree transformed her from Raj's casually dressed mother into something else entirely.

Rony made a sound—a choked gasp that could have been grief or wonder or something else entirely.

Fresh tears spilled down his face as he stared at Sri in his mother's saree. "You look just like her," he whispered. "Just like I remember."

He took a step toward her. Then another. His movements were slow, hesitant, like approaching something sacred.

Sri stood still, letting him come to her. Her expression was soft with sympathy and maybe a hint of uncertainty about what she'd agreed to do.

Rony stopped directly in front of her. His hands lifted, trembling visibly. His fingers reached out toward the saree fabric draped at her waist.

Raj stood frozen in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. His voice had disappeared. His ability to intervene had evaporated. He could only stand there, helpless, as Rony's trembling fingers made contact with the fabric of the saree at his mother's waist.