Nalini could not accept this. She was a woman of traditional values, and while she understood Priya's resentment toward her father, this felt like an overcorrection, a cruel punishment inflicted on a man who seemed entirely too compliant.
She decided to intervene, subtly at first.
One morning, after Rohan had left for work, Nalini gathered her dirty laundry, intending to wash it by hand in the bathroom.
"Ma, what are you doing?" Priya asked, looking up from her laptop.
"Just washing a few clothes, beta. I don't want to burden Rohan."
Priya closed her laptop with a snap. "No, Ma. Put them in the hamper. That is Rohan's job."
"But Priya, it's just a few things. I have always washed my own innerwear. It's unseemly for him to—"
"It is not unseemly, it is his chore," Priya interrupted, her voice rising. "This is my house, Ma, and these are my rules. He washes everything. All of it. By hand, if necessary. You will not do a single chore in this house. Is that understood?"
Nalini shrank back slightly from her daughter's fierce gaze. "Okay, beta. As you say."
She left the clothes in the hamper, feeling a mix of frustration and pity.
The real test came on a Saturday. The weekend routine was different. Rohan didn't go to the office. After the morning rituals, he went straight into his full attire—a heavy silk saree today, elaborate makeup, and high heels. Saturday was for deep cleaning.
Nalini watched him struggle with a heavy bucket of water, his heels clicking unsteadily on the wet floor as he prepared to mop the living room. The physical strain was evident, but his face remained a serene, heavily painted mask.
Unable to bear it, Nalini stepped forward. "Let me help you with that, Rohan. It's too heavy." She reached for the handle of the bucket.
Rohan's eyes widened in sheer panic. He snatched the bucket away, sloshing water onto his saree. "No, Ma! Please, no!" he whispered frantically, looking terrified toward Priya's closed office door. "You must not help me. Please."
"But you are struggling," Nalini insisted, keeping her voice low.
"It is my duty, Ma. The Mistress..." He swallowed hard. "Priya will be very angry. I must do it alone. It is my place."
Before Nalini could argue further, the office door clicked open. Priya stood there, her eyes taking in the scene—the spilled water, Nalini's outstretched hand, Rohan's panicked expression.
"What is going on here?" Priya demanded, her voice like cracking ice.
"Nothing, Mistress," Rohan said quickly, bowing deeply. "I just spilled some water. I am cleaning it up immediately."
Priya looked at her mother. "Were you trying to help him, Ma?"
Nalini stood her ground. "He was struggling with the heavy bucket, Priya. It's not right."
Priya walked over, her heels clicking authoritatively. She stopped in front of Rohan, who was now kneeling on the wet floor, frantically wiping the spill with a cloth.
"Stand up, Rohan," Priya commanded.
He stood instantly, his head bowed, his hands clasped nervously in front of him.
"Did you ask for help?"
"No, Mistress. Never."
"Are you incapable of managing your chores?"
"I am capable, Mistress. I am sorry for the mess."
Priya turned to Nalini. "You see, Ma? He does not want your help. He does not need your help. If he gets even a hint that you pity him or want to assist him, he will slack off. He will start thinking of himself as a man again, thinking he is above this work. I will not allow that."
"He is a human being, Priya!" Nalini argued.
"He is my husband, and this is how he serves me," Priya retorted. She turned back to Rohan. "For creating this scene and spilling water, you will clean the entire living room on your hands and knees today. The mop is forbidden. Understood?"
"Yes, Mistress," Rohan whispered, a tear escaping his mascara-laden eyelashes. "Thank you, Mistress."
Nalini felt sick. She retreated to her room, locking the door. She had wanted to save him, but she had only made it worse. She realized then the absolute control Priya held, and the deep, perhaps irreversible, conditioning Rohan had undergone.
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