Karma

“Don’t think about it! Do it right now!”

The child held the rusty machete over his left ankle, wondering what he did in his past life to have such awful karma. Ruhan closed his eyes and lifted the sword, reminding himself that beggars without all four limbs get thousands more rupees than beggars with.

“Jaaldi Karo!” the man barked. “You want me to make it both legs? You think you can survive Delhi on your own idiot!”

Ruhan had not thought about that until just now. He had never wondered if handing over almost all his rupees at the end of every day in exchange for sleeping in a hut with a dirt floor and fifteen other boys and doing everything his handler said was worth it. But how would he know? Ruhan couldn’t remember a life before this, although sometimes at night when his empty stomach kept him awake, he looked for the faces of his parents in his memories.

“Kattham! I’ll do it myself!”

But before the man could reach for the sword it was lodged in his neck. And without pausing for a second, Ruhan ran faster than he ever had in his life (or the parts of his life he could remember), kicking up a cloud of dust and praying to the gods he hated that no police were nearby. ­

**

Anirudh lazily forced his eyes open and jumped out of bed when he saw the time. “Mummy! Kya hua! The IB history exam starts in thirty minutes!”

And the house bent to his will. The maid quickly ironed his school uniform, the cook prepared a nutritious, energy-boosting smoothie, and the mom tried to wake up the driver who had fallen asleep cuddling a half-drunk bottle of rum.

“Bekaar ka admi! I’ll drive myself.”

Anirudh almost forgot to open the gate before he slammed the accelerator on his Mercedes. He did forget to close the gate and lock the front door. And the maid, cook, and mom had already gone back to sleep.

**

Ruhan wasn’t even offended when the car almost ran him over. Why would he be? Nobody had ever acted like his life matters, except the odd starving stray dog that would give him a few licks. Only after getting some scraps though.

It looked like killing that man had turned his karma around. Still clutching his bloody machete, Ruhan walked through the gate and figured he had nothing to lose by trying the door. For the first time, he felt the cool rush of A.C. on his sweat-drenched face. He didn’t know what a kitchen was, but the smell of fresh dosa led him right to it. Ruhan had pretty much given up on his current life; he had accepted that it would be spent begging on the streets of Delhi. Yet he still had hope for his next life, and decided that all he would do was fill his stomach, maybe find some shoes for his blistered feet, and leave without taking any gold or cash. But Ruhan had never had a full stomach before, and didn’t know what a food coma was, or that IB history was only a 90-minute exam.

**

“And what time did this all happen?” asked the police chief, twirling his pen in one hand.

“Like, 1.30?” replied Anirudh disinterestedly, ready to get out of the humid station and celebrate the end of his semester.

“And you say he threatened your life? The cook told us he was sleeping.”

“Yea, sleeping with a bloody machete on his chest! In my home! What would you have done!”

“You could have called us first. I mean, you know how this looks right? Brahmin family slaying a defenseless Dalit?”

“Oh please, everything is about caste these days. Like I said, he wasn’t defenseless. Can I go now?”

“I don’t know beta. I would hate to give your family any trouble over this little incident.” The chief glanced at Anirudh’s Rolex watch, wondering what kind of parent would get that for a sixteen-year-old. Taking the hint, Anirudh put 4,000 rupees on his desk and got up to leave. He didn’t care about the dead Dalit boy: he had better things to worry about, like getting his mother to fire that damn driver. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the boy’s face when the knife severed his throat. That deranged boy had grinned ear to ear, and forced out something that sounded like “thank you” as he drowned in his own blood. He truly looked at peace, as if he had forgotten that he was a Dalit that would probably be reborn as a cockroach or something. On the walk home, Anirudh decided to give the rest of the money in his wallet to some old beggar on the street with stitches across his neck, figuring that would counter any blow to his Karma from today.