It was an unusually sultry Saturday night. He went to sleep late, after spending the hours in front of the two screens – TV and his laptop. He thought he would be oblivious to the proceeding of the night. But he woke up, with perspiration dotting his forehead, the throat dry and an unusual emptiness inside. Hand went out; in the darkness of the room he searched for the bottle. With a thud it announced that it has been displaced by the seeking hand. He scampered to rescue it, salvaged the water, and tried to moisten the parched throats. The last drop dropped inside; even after emptying the entire bottle the innards were still as dry. Is it the end?
He stood up, with one half of his soul still enslaved by the sleep dragon, he moved with unsettled rhythm. Reaching the cabinet his half dead hands opened the doors, searching for it, his last hope. His half asleep brain told him, it’s not there. He didn’t replenish his life saving stock. Still he prayed for some miracle, hoped to find some leftovers from his last stock. Cabinets after cabinets he kept on the search, his mind getting more sluggish, his will is on its southward journey. Even the faithful plastic containers declared the emptiness; none of it is there.
Another door is opened; the yellow streak of light coming out accompanied the chilly draft. The mixed smell of all the greens kept inside for the next day morning announced opening of the refrigerator door. The salamis and salad dressings are there, the blue cheese sitting in-between the smoked cheese and cheddar confirmed, nothing has changed, no miracles. With last hope he shifted thought the bottles on the rack, even the ever-faithful small bottle has dried up. This must be the end. His feet gave way, he could not stand any longer, he knows he must have it; and must have it now.
His head was spinning. How can he do this? Not a single piece of sweet thing in the entire house? No Chocolates, no gulab jamun, no sweets, no candy, not even the bourbon or the cream biscuits? How can he do that to himself? How can he be so irresponsible? Even the bottle of honey tucked in the corner of the shelf has dried up. No, wait, what’s that? Lying in the farthest corner of the bottom shelf? Is that the Mango Bar Ammi left? With frantic efforts, everything made way to his reaching hands; yes! It is the juicy one, with trembling hand he puts them in his wanting mouth, the juice starts flowing in; eyes can focus now; he lives for another day!
The disastrous night saw Horus make to the stores the Sunday morning he dedicates to his faithful bed. The room is now full, chocolates (Bournville dark, Rum n Raisin, Tobleron), Biscuits (Bourbon, and strawberry cream), a pack of Gulab jamuns, hundred grams of mixed candies. The evening saw the First Chocolate Caked baked by Hours in this millennium (first outside Kolkata – in fact). Now he knows, he can sleep well, without the fear of the end.