Brihannala

The first week began before Arjun had time to understand what had happened to him.
Monday morning.
His alarm rang at five-thirty.
He opened his eyes and stared at the living-room ceiling.
For a few seconds he forgot.
Then he saw the mattress.
The folded half-saree waiting nearby.
And remembered.
He got up.
By six, he was sweeping the house.
By six-thirty, he was helping with breakfast.
By seven, he had packed his own tiffin box.
By seven-fifteen, he was standing at the bus stop.
His father watched from the doorway.
No car.
No driver.
No last-minute privilege.
Just the bus.
At college, Monday was the worst.
Everyone already knew.
The story had travelled across campus over the weekend.
Some students stared.
Some whispered.
A few laughed.
"Archana!"
Arjun remembered the HOD's advice.
He turned.
The student grinned.
"Ussu!"
Arjun swallowed.
"Yes."
The student seemed surprised.
Arjun simply continued walking.
The laughter followed him for several seconds.
But he didn't turn around.
That evening, he reached home at 6:51.
His mother was waiting with another list.
He stared at it.
There was no time to sit.
Sweep.
Wash.
Fold.
Prepare vegetables.
Help with cooking.
Serve dinner.
Clean.
The routine began again.
Kavitha was studying at the dining table.
Arjun carried a glass of water toward the kitchen.
"Kavitha."
She didn't look up.
He waited.
Then she spoke without raising her eyes.
"Water."
Arjun understood.
He filled a glass and placed it beside her.
She continued studying.
No thank-you.
No conversation.
Just the request.
It reminded him of countless evenings when he had done exactly the same thing to her.
Tuesday was slightly easier.
Not because the work was less.
Because he was beginning to understand the sequence.
He knew which clothes needed soaking.
He knew where the cleaning supplies were.
He learned how his mother organized the kitchen.
He could prepare vegetables without being corrected.
The maid noticed.
"You learn quickly."
Arjun nodded.
That was all.
At college, however, things were no easier.
Some students deliberately called him names whenever they passed.
Others laughed at his feminine appearance.
He remembered the HOD.
Don't give them power.
So he kept walking.
When he reached home, Kavitha was studying.
She pointed toward the kitchen.
"Water bottle."
Arjun picked it up.
Filled it.
Placed it beside her.
A few minutes later:
"Pen."
He found it.
"Notebook."
He brought it.
Then:
"My geometry box."
He searched.
Found it.
Placed it beside her.
She didn't look at him.
She simply continued studying.
Arjun said nothing.
It was difficult not to notice the irony.
For years, he had treated her like this.
Now she was returning every request.
Wednesday.
His hands hurt.
The skin around his fingers had begun to roughen from constant washing.
He noticed it while waiting for the bus.
He looked at his hands.
Then at the hands of the women around him.
Some carried bags.
Some held children.
Some were talking on phones.
Some were simply commuting to work.
He had never looked at them this way before.
He had never wondered what they did after reaching home.
He used to think household work was easy.
Now he wasn't so sure.
At college, one of the girls who had decorated him on the first day passed him in the corridor.
She looked at the jasmine flowers he had pinned into his hair that morning.
"You still wear everything?"
Arjun nodded.
She smiled.
"Good."
She walked away.
He didn't know whether it was mockery or approval.
Perhaps it didn't matter.
He had stopped trying to interpret every expression.
Thursday.
He made his first serious mistake in the kitchen.
He added too much salt.
His mother noticed immediately.
"Start again."
Arjun looked at the dish.
He was exhausted.
He wanted to argue.
Instead:
"Okay."
He started again.
The second attempt was better.
His mother said nothing.
But she didn't need to.
The absence of criticism felt like a small victory.
That evening, Kavitha handed him a small piece of paper.
He opened it.
It contained three things.
A notebook from the stationery shop.
A calculator battery.
A packet of chart paper.
He looked toward her.
She was already studying.
He took the paper.
After dinner, he completed the errands.
When he returned, he placed everything beside her.
She checked them.
All correct.
She continued studying.
Arjun went back to the kitchen.
Friday arrived.
For the first time, Arjun woke before the alarm.
He knew what had to be done.
He no longer needed his mother to explain every task.
He swept the house.
Started the laundry.
Prepared his tiffin.
Helped with breakfast.
Packed his college bag.
Checked the time.
He left.
At the bus stop, he realized something strange.
He wasn't thinking about the car anymore.
Not constantly.
He still missed it.
But the anger had faded slightly.
College was still difficult.
The jokes hadn't stopped.
The names hadn't stopped.
But Arjun had learned something during the week.
People eventually became bored when their target stopped reacting.
Someone called:
"Ussu!"
He looked over.
"Yes?"
The boy laughed.
Arjun nodded politely and walked away.
That was it.
No argument.
No anger.
No threat.
Just acceptance.
He returned home at 6:48.
The house was quiet.
Kavitha was studying.
She looked at him.
Then at the clock.
He had arrived early.
She placed her water bottle on the table.
"Water."
Arjun filled it.
She drank.
Then she held out her hand.
"Tea."
He made it.
Then:
"Can you bring my notes from upstairs?"
He went upstairs.
Returned.
Then she pointed toward the front door.
"The courier."
He went outside.
Collected it.
Returned.
She opened it.
Arjun waited.
There was no acknowledgement.
He walked back toward the kitchen.
For the first time, he realized something.
A week earlier, he would have considered these requests insulting.
Now they were simply tasks.
He had spent years believing that being asked to do something by his sister diminished him.
Yet his sister had been doing exactly that kind of work while he sat comfortably watching television.
The thought stayed with him.
Friday dinner was quieter than usual.
Arjun served everyone.
He cleaned the table.
Washed the dishes.
Swept the kitchen.
Finished the last task at 9:20.
He stood for a moment in the doorway.
Five days.
Only five days.
Yet the week felt much longer.
He sat down with his textbook.
Kavitha was already studying.
Their books were open under the same light.
She didn't speak to him.
He didn't speak to her.
But for the first time, Arjun didn't feel angry about it.
He opened his textbook.
Before beginning, he looked at his hands.
Then he looked toward the kitchen.
The house was quiet.
He finally understood one small thing.
The work didn't disappear when nobody talked about it.
Someone always did it.
And for years, that someone had usually been his mother or his sister.
He turned the page.
Five days had not changed Arjun.
But they had begun to change the way he looked at his own life.
And Monday would bring another week.