The first thing he needed now was to write down a suicide note, he thought. The note would be a simple and formal one, exactly like the damned thing that is always left before a suicide so the police could not harass anybody, in his case his wife and son. He had already bought a rope of suitable length from the market with which to hang from the ceiling fan of his bedroom. A stool was also there in the corner of the room.

It was 11 pm sharp. In the drawing room, his wife Soma, and son Baban – marketing executive of a private bank – were watching a soap sitting on the sofa side by side. They looked like friends or colleagues with the same interest. No dinner yet. It was never served before twelve midnight. She would do this thing and that, move from one room to other, watch the telly, hear a song on the FM radio, and fiddle with sundry trivialities till midnight. Then she would slothfully enter the kitchen, and light up the gas oven to heat the food cooked in the daytime. When she would serve the dinner, she seemed to ooze mercy like Mother Teresa.

Should he take his dinner tonight? He had no idea whether he should hang with a full or empty stomach. He was really feeling hungry like any other night. But his plan could be upset if he would wait that long. He began to look for a piece of white paper in his bedroom. When he failed to find it out, he was peeved. Was it an educated man’s room? He remembered he didn’t write anything for a while, and last time he put his pen to paper was when he signed on the dotted lines when drawing his pension on the first day of the month.

He entered Baban’s room for the paper. Some books in the bookcase, a laptop on the computer table, but nowhere a piece of paper. Equally illiterate, he muttered. Like father, like son. A fool of a marketing executive! Duping people smartly, and without batting an eyelid! The police came to the house sometime ago in search of him, but he must have managed it.

So he confronted them in the drawing room.

Baban, could you give me a piece of paper?

Paper? I don’t use paper.

Don’t you write anything in office or at home?

I type everything out on my laptop.

Never for once Baban looked at him. His eyes were on TV screen, and he was answering very casually and
carelessly. Oh, son, how many times I taught you to talk to elders with respect! You should make eye contact. Soma, absorbed in the serial, did not seem to take note of their conversation. Equally disrespectful like his dear son. He returned to his room hurt. So this was his position at home.

But why did he visit his doctor this morning for a check-up? Was it not bizarre for him to consult a doctor just hours before drawing a conscious end to his life?

In fact, he did not want to see his doctor. On his way back from market – how on earth could he get the desire to go to the market even today, the last day of his life? – he slowed down his pace before the clinic. There were few people in the waiting room, and the doctor was inside. Suddenly, he had a huge urge to meet the doctor.

Oh, Mr. Banerjee! The doctor was in his routine jovial mood. Anything wrong?

Nothing serious. Just a check-up.

The doctor made him lie down on his examination table, and examined him minutely, and for quite some time. He looked very grave and concerned.

Are you on to some mischievous thing? He asked him abruptly.

What? He sensed his face was having a rush of blood from the rest of his body. Inside, he felt nervous.

The doctor had a long, brooding look at his face. Don’t do it, Mr. Banerjee. You shouldn’t.

The next patient was in line, and he left the doctor without any delay. But the doctor’s words unsettled him in a way he never conceived. He found himself mulling the whole thing ever since he came back home from the clinic. But how did the doctor know of it? Had his system been so corrupt that it was reeking of death? Or was it the guess of an experienced doctor who could read the cardinal clues of any life?

He ate his lunch heartily and had a short though disturbed nap. There was no reason why he would back out from his plan. He even thought of calling in a Kolkata TV channel to telecast his imminent suicide live. Of late, the audience had tastes for such things, and the channels were cashing heavily on such telecast for their TRP. It was not a bad idea to commit suicide in full glare before a camera crew with a young lady describing in exciting tone the moves he would be taking through. It could be a lesson for those who would need to hang themselves in future. And a viewing experience for aam admi. Real entertainment! But it might create law and order problem. Worse, his plan could be totally upset.

He had a brisk walk in the evening as he did six days of the week. Alone. It was during this time he had thought he was not in the right mode to execute his plan. Of course, there was distraction, first from the doctor and then from that TV channel idea. Yet he should have been focused by now. Suicide’s no ordinary deal. In case he could not pull it off successfully, he would surely be a laughing stock. Why he was not getting serious enough about the business, he wondered.

He stood before the dressing table, and minutely observed his image in the mirror. Age had caught up with him, but in a nice way. His body, specially face, had aged gracefully. There was baldness on the scalp, but it did not disfigure his face. Rather, it had made him look more dignified and respectable. He found his body still taut. Except mild hypertension, he had no disease. He could still survive another ten years easily.

Then he suddenly grimaced at himself, rolled his eyes as if to frighten somebody, and tried to look like a villain. Ha ha, I would kill myself in an hour. Then his jaws fell down abruptly, and his eyes swelled with tears.

Any regrets, Mr. Banerjee?

No, yes. I couldn’t live life as I wanted to. I did a series of blunders. One after another.

Like?

My first blunder was to marry Soma.

You ran after her. You loved her like crazy.

I was one of her many lovers.

But finally it was you who won her over.

It looked like that. But actually she cheated me.

How?

She had already conceived before she married me. She needed a father for her child.

How did you catch it?

The gynecologist had a hard time corroborating her last period with her pregnancy status.

Did you ever query her about this discrepancy?

No.

Cowardice?

Actually I compromised with it for not disturbing the peace at home.

So your first offspring, a daughter, is not really yours?

No. But Baban is from my seed.

So, you were compensated. You should not have a chip on your shoulder.

But I have. I raised the two children in exactly the same way without any discrimination. The daughter went to school, college, and then university. She blossomed into a beautiful lady like her mother. But never for once she addressed me as father.

Did you ever take this issue with Soma?

Again for the sake of peace, I ignored it and didn’t let her know about it.

Could it be that she herself told her daughter the truth?

Might be. She remained totally estranged from me, and still remains so after her marriage.

You spent a lot on occasion of her marriage.

I had to. Soma wanted to make it a gala affair.

You were always obliging to your wife.

True. Though I knew she was a slut.

Slut?

Yes, she continued her affair even after the marriage. She entertained her lovers when I was away in office.

Did you ever protest it?

No. I was a fool. I seethed with anger, but could not say her anything. Actually, I made peace with her whatever the circumstances.

The rule of your conjugal living?

Sort of.

So what’s the problem now?

I’m burnt out. I’m gutted.

Why?

My wife hates me. I’m now one of her pet peeves.

Don’t you hate her?

Her body still attracts me.

But she’s old. Beauty faded, body loosened, eyes without that coquettish gleam.

She’s still marvelous in bed.

When did you know she hated you?

The night she stopped sleeping with me. Imagine my condition now: I’m bursting with desire, and she ignores my need for days, weeks, months.

You’re sixty five.

Yes, but my libido has not diminished a bit.

Hmm...

Sex has always disturbed and delighted my system.

Why does your wife hate you despite your loyalty?

It’s a long story. It relates to my younger brother who returned from US to settle here.

What happened?

He’s an engineer, and came back with pots of money. So when he built up an elegant and well-designed one-storied house, my wife felt jealous. He prodded me to renovate our house, and decorate it.

You sure did it.

Yes, but my brother soon went to structure another storey. My wife got crazy, and ordered me to add another storey.

Of course, you heard her.

But in doing so I had to cough up a large chunk of my savings. I was just a just a junior officer in a state government office, and I had not much extra income. I had already spent heavily for our daughter’s marriage. But Soma never considered these things.

So?

My brother has always been a cruel and insensitive sod. He had by now an inkling of my wife’s mindset, and began playing out the game. Now he bought a couple ACs and installed them in his house.

Your wife now ordered you to bring AC?

Right. I knew a local dealer who agreed to sell one by monthly installment scheme. But consider the huge electric charge it incurs.

So things were even now, and there should not be any reason why your wife is peeved with you.

There’s more to this story. My brother then got to buy one of those big flashy cars. The day he came up with that car, I knew I was damned.

Now your wife pleaded with you to buy a car like that.

Right. But where’s money? I had just a small balance left in my account. Post-office savings have been exhausted. I’ve only a pension each month to carry through. Think I’ve to pay back my installments for ACs out of this.

Does not your son contribute anything to the family?

Not a paisa ever. An insensitive beast. And it was he who did the most damage in this situation.

How?

One night he came along with his mother to say that he would arrange the car loan from his bank.
I should go to bank with him the next day. Only seven thousand and six hundred bucks every month. For seven months. I could not bear it any longer. I shouted at him – for the first time in my life. Why don’t you buy it yourself, I said to him. Why it was me all the time? Soma reacted strongly. She fumed and fretted, and began to curse me for my lack of sense of duty. Later, I tried to reason with them in cool, measured words, but they would not listen anything. They stopped talking to me.

That’s good for your health. Nobody is disturbing you now.

They are actually after me in a more sinister way. Soma always tongue-lashes me in undertones, uses filthy language, and has of late begun tormented me physically with Baban by his side. I can’t counter her. I’m such a wimp.

Now he felt a flash of exhaustion coming over him. Suddenly, he leaped into a state of mind free of any fear and worry. He had a feeling of holy happiness and bliss in a way he never experienced before. He felt totally disconnected. But how transcendent he felt! Oh, the moment had arrived for him. He brought out, as if with love, the coiled rope from the nook of the almirah. As if pre-programmed, he performed one step after another successfully until he finally kicked off the stool from below his feet.

Kasam Se ended at twelve-thirty sharp. The mother-son duo rose from their seats. What a harrowing life for Bani, she said, how they could be so cruel to her.

Get the dinner ready. Baban left for the toilet.

A scream followed soon after. Soma rushed.

Look, what the old devil had done.

Oh, my God! But where does the stench come from?

It’s his shit. You see it’s rolling down from his anus.

She tried not to puke. She covered her face with sari. What’re you going to do with it now?

Let us first look for his suicide note. We’ll be in a hell of trouble without it.

The duo began to rummage about the room.

After a while, Baban said, remember he asked me for a piece of paper?

You didn’t care to give it.

How would I know he needed it to write his suicide note?

What’ll happen to us now?

The police are going to grill us. They would also enquire our neighbors of us.

Why don’t you approach them? Most of them, you know, are our relatives from your father’s side.

But I’ve never talked with them. You have always advised me to ignore them. He also didn’t like them.

But this is an hour of crisis.

In any case, they’re not going to mouth sweet things about us.

So, is there any other option?

Look, it’s a plain case of suicide. We didn’t murder him, none of us. Right? So it can be managed.

How?

Get ten thousand ready. Remember last time the police was after me? I just threw a wad of hundred rupee notes at them.